“Then of course I promise you.” “Good. I shall depend on you. Let me say how I thank you for this trust.” “As if I should not,” she said again, with a look of reproach. “But--but can’t you tell me something? I am all at sea.” “I wish we both were,” I cried impulsively. “That would put an end to all this ugly business.” Her face clouded. “I can see no end to it but trouble and disaster,” she replied with a gesture of despair that went to my heart. “I believe I can see the end, if all goes well just now. But if I fail----” I paused and looked at her earnestly. “If you fail?” she repeated questioningly. “There is still the sea,” I said, with as much under-current of meaning as I could put into tone, looks, manner. She sighed. “Yes, there is still the sea; but----” and she shook her head despondently. “Would you dare?” I asked in little more than a whisper. “I am fettered like a slave--oh, once more to be free!” she sighed. “Will you dare it now?” But at that she flinched. “I am talking like a madwoman. It is impossible, impossible.” “I don’t understand that word when I am in such earnest as now. Sampayo has left Lisbon. I have driven him away. I will sweep every other obstacle out of our path. Miralda?” She trembled as I uttered her name and took her hand in mine; the colour flushed her cheeks and she stood hesitating with downcast eyes. “Miralda?” I said again appealingly, hoping she would yield. “Ah, how you tempt me!” she whispered. “In less than an hour we can be out of the river, homeward bound. For God’s sake come--now,” I said passionately. But I failed. She started as if from a dream and shivered. “You made me forget, but----” “Remember only your happiness and the freedom from all these troubles. Trust me.” She shook her head, sighed deeply, and withdrew her hand. “It is not that I distrust. But there is my mother. If I were to play these men false they would visit it upon her.” “But she can come with us. Let me see her.” “It is impossible. Impossible. Would to Heaven it were not?” “Then I’ll try the other way,” I said. “But if I fail----” After a pause she lifted her eyes to mine, let them rest there a second and then smiled, but shook her head despondently again. “It must be as you will,” I said. “And now there is one thing more. It may be necessary for me to communicate with you. If I send one of my people to your house, will you see him?” “Yes. I will help you all I can and pray for your success.” I held out my hand. “Till we meet again.” She put hers into it with a delighting pressure. “And if I fail,” I said again, “there is still the sea.” “There is still the sea,” she whispered; “for you, but not for me.” I watched her go and presently saw her enter a carriage.