Therefore, after some half hour more of confidences in which the girl gives him one or two beautiful glimpses of her lovely soul, the Englishman, fighting with his very self, rises to go, reluctantly, lingeringly, but still—to go. “Oh, not so soon,” pleads Hermoine. “You’ve—you’ve been away so long!” “But I’ll be back to-morrow.” “At what hour?” “In the evening.” “In the evening? Ah! That is many seconds from now.” “I can’t come before, but I’ll be here as early as possible. For that you have my word.” “Where are you stopping?” “On board the vessel that brought me from the North, the Esperanza.” “The Esperanza? The fort at Lillo is nearer to me!” “At Lillo perhaps the commander would think me well enough for duty. I should have a garrison routine and would not be my own master to come to see you at my will.” “Yes, you’re right. My wounded hero, who made that wondrous march over the drowned lands over there deserves a lazy month or two. All Brabant, Flanders and Spain rang with the glory of that march.” And the girl puts her arms about him whispering compliments that would make Guy very happy did he not know that they belong to the passed away Guido Amati. Then seeing his determination, she adds: “If you must go I’ll have three minutes more of you.” “How?” “By going to your boat to see you off.” Putting her hand in his arm she strolls with him down the little path, the poplars throwing shadows on it here and there. Each time they reach a shadow they pause for a farewell—and as they near the boat each farewell grows longer and more drawn out, so it is many minutes before they reach the last shadowed nook and stand there listening to the sailors’ voices coming up to them from the landing. The men are making merry, having brought provisions and wine with them for their stay. Then the girl suddenly puts her arms about the lost one that has returned to her and whispers impulsively: “Oh, my Guido, if we never had to say good-night!” “That time is coming soon.” “Soon? Papa doesn’t even know yet.” “Nevertheless the time is coming soon. I swear to you by this!” And Guy Chester, leaving Hermoine’s fair cheeks very blushing and her dark eyes in grandest brunette sparkle, walks down the stairs to the landing place and gets into his gig, in his heart a great determination to make good his words. Curiously his boat does not drive up the Schelde, but turns the other way, and after a two hours’ hard pull, the tide being against it, makes the Dover Lass, in the cabin of which Chester has long and careful converse with Dalton. The immediate result of this is that the long boat of his vessel is put overboard fully armed and equipped, and all that night and the succeeding ones patrols the Schelde in front of Dona Hermoine’s country house, guarding the slumbers of Alva’s daughter. For Chester has not as much faith as his sweetheart in the absence of all marauding Gueux, and has made up his mind that no other pirate shall carry off his treasure.