When she awoke, it was some time before she could think where she was. A strange ghostly light was about her, in which she could see nothing plain; but the motion helped her to understand. She rose, and crept to the companion ladder, and up on deck. Wonder upon wonder! A clear full moon reigned high in the heavens, and below there was nothing but water, gleaming with her molten face, or rushing past the boat lead-coloured, gray, and white. Here and there a vessel --a snow-cloud of sails--would glide between them and the moon, and turn black from truck to water-line. The mast of the Psyche had shot up to its full height; the reef-points of the main-sail were loose, and the gaff was crowned with its topsail; foresail and jib were full; and she was flying as if her soul thirsted within her after infinite spaces. Yet what more could she want? All around her was wave rushing upon wave, and above her blue heaven and regnant moon. Florimel gave a great sigh of delight. But what did it--what could it mean? What was Malcolm about? Where was he taking her? What would London say to such an escapade extraordinary? Lady Bellair would be the first to believe she had run away with her groom--she knew so many instances of that sort of thing! and Lord Liftore would be the next. It was too bad of Malcolm! But she did not feel very angry with him, notwithstanding, for had he not done it to give her pleasure? And assuredly he had not failed. He knew better than anyone how to please her--better even than Lenorme. She looked around her. No one was to be seen but Davie, who was steering. The main-sail hid the men, and Rose, having been on deck for two or three hours, was again below. She turned to Davy. But the boy had been schooled, and only answered, “I maunna say naething sae lang ’s I’m steerin’, mem.” She called Malcolm. He was beside her ere his name had left her lips. The boy’s reply had irritated her, and, coming upon this sudden and utter change in her circumstances, made her feel as one no longer lady of herself and her people, but a prisoner. “Once more, what does this mean, Malcolm?” she said, in high displeasure. “You have deceived me shamefully! You left me to believe we were on our way back to London--and here we are out at sea! Am I no longer your mistress? Am I a child, to be taken where you please?--And what, pray, is to become of the horses you left at Mr Lenorme’s?” Malcolm was glad of a question he was prepared to answer. “They are in their own stalls by this time, my lady. I took care of that.” “Then it was all a trick to carry me off against my will!” she cried, with growing indignation. “Hardly against your will, my lady,” said Malcolm, embarrassed and thoughtful, in a tone deprecating and apologetic. “Utterly against my will!” insisted Florimel. “Could I ever have consented to go to sea with a boatful of men, and not a woman on board? You have disgraced me, Malcolm.” Between anger and annoyance she was on the point of crying.