"You have very strong suspicions?" "Yes, I have." "Why did you take such a thing?" "I promised." "Whom?" "I can't tell you. It is a matter of honour. I--I didn't want to involve you if things turned badly. I asked you to leave me.... Even at the last moment I tried to give you a chance to go ashore and escape. Kervyn, I've tried to be honourable and to be loyal to you at the same time. I've tried--I've tried--" Her childish voice faltered, almost broke, and she turned her head sharply away from him. He dropped onto the lounge beside her, sick with anxiety, and laid his hand over hers where it lay in her lap. "I'm afraid that you have papers in that satchel which might mean the end of the world for you," he said under his breath. "God alone knows why you carry them if you suspect their contents.... Well, I won't ask you anything more at present.... If your conscience acquits you, I do. I do anyway. You have given me plenty of chances to escape. You have been very plucky, very generous to me, Karen." "I have tried to be," she said unsteadily. "You have been far too kind to me, Kervyn.... I--I don't mean to tremble so. I think I am, feeling the--the reaction." "Lie down. I am afraid I'll have to stay here----" "Yes; don't go out on deck. Don't take any more risks.... I'll lie down if I may." She rose, looked around with eyes still darkly dilated by fear: "Oh!" she breathed--"if we were only out of British waters!" He looked at his watch, and at the same moment a deep blast from the steamer vibrated through the cabin. "They've cast off," he said calmly. The girl had flung herself on the bed and buried her face in the pillow. Her brown velvet hat had fallen to the floor, her thick brown hair clustered in glossy disorder over neck and cheek. One slim hand clutched convulsively a tiny handkerchief crushed into a ball. "We have every chance now," he said very gently, bending over the pillow--"barring a wireless to some British guard-ship. Don't give way yet, Karen." He laid a cool, firm hand over hers and tried to speak jestingly. "Wait until there's no danger at all before you go all to pieces," he whispered. As he bent above her, he became conscious of the warm fragrance of tears. But no sound came, not a quiver. And after a while he went over to the sofa and sat down, staring at the locked satchel on the floor, vaguely aware that the boat was in steady motion. "Karen," he said after a moment. "Yes--dear." "You know," he said, forcing a laugh, "you needn't say it when we're alone--except for practice." "Yes, dear, I know." "May I ask you something?" "Yes, please." "Did you know that official named Mitchell?" "Yes." "Who was he?" "Mr. Grätz." CHAPTER VIII AT SEA