The ring and the hand that held it were alike caught in a strong hold. She was swept out of the circle of light cast by the lamp above, and stood face to face with Beauvallet in the friendly darkness. She felt his arms go round her, and stood still, with her hands clasped at her breast. He held her in a tight embrace, laid his cheek against her curls, and murmured: “Sweetheart! Fondling!” Madness, madness, but it was sweet to be mad just once in one’s life! She lifted her face, put up a hand to touch his bronzed cheek, and gave him back kisses that were shy and very fugitive. Her senses swam; she thought she would never forget how an Englishman’s arms felt, iron barriers holding one hard against a leaping heart. A shiver of ecstasy ran through her; she whispered: “Querido! Dear one! Do not quite forget!”
“Forget!” he said. “Oh, little unbeliever! Feel how I hold you: shall I ever let you go?”
She came back to earth; she was blushing and shaken. “Oh, loose me!” she begged, and seemed to flutter in his arms. “How may I believe that you could do the impossible?”
“There is naught impossible that I have found,” he said. “You shall leave me for a space, since to that I pledged my word, but not for long, my little love, not for long! Look for me before the year is out; I shall surely come.”
A rich voice sounded close at hand. “Where are you, sir? They answer the signal right enough.”
Beauvallet put the lady quickly behind him; the boatswain came to them, peering through the darkness.
What followed passed as a dream for Dominica. There was a furtive light dipping and shining on the mainland; she escaped below decks, and saw her baggage borne away, and heard the bustle of a boat being prepared. Don Manuel sat ready, wrapped about in a fur-lined cloak, but shivering always. “He hath compassed it,” Don Manuel said in quiet satisfaction. “He is a brave man.”
Master Dangerfield came to fetch them in a little while; he gave an arm to Don Manuel, spoke words of cheer, but cast a regretful eye towards my lady. They came up on deck and found Beauvallet by a rope-ladder. Below, bobbing on the ink-black water, a boat waited, manned by the boatswain and some of his men, and with the baggage stowed safely in it.
Sir Nicholas came forward. “Don Manuel, have you strength to descend yon ladder?”
“I can essay, señor,” Don Manuel said. “Bartolomeo, go before me.” He faced Beauvallet in the shaded lamplight. “Señor, this is farewell. You will let me say—”
“No need, señor. Let it be said anon. I shall see you safely ashore.”
“Yourself, señor? Nay, that is too much to ask of you.”
“Be at ease, ye did not ask it. It is my pleasure,” Beauvallet said, and put out a strong hand to help him down the ladder.
Don Manuel went painfully down the side with Bartolomeo watchful below him. Beauvallet turned to Dominica, and opened his arms. “Trust yourself to me yet again, sweetheart,” he said.
Without a word she went to him and let him swing her up to his shoulder. He went lightly down the side with her, let her slip to her feet in the boat below, and held her still with one supporting hand. She found a seat beside Maria, crouched in the stern, and nestled beside her. Beauvallet left the ladder and gained the boat, stepped past the two women to the tiller behind them, and called a low order to his men. There was a casting off, long oars dipped into the heaving water; silently the boat cleaved forward towards the land.
A crescent moon gleamed suddenly through a rift in the clouds above; Dominica looked round and saw Beauvallet behind her, holding the tiller. He was looking frowningly ahead, but as she turned he glanced down at her and smiled. She said suddenly on a sharp note of fear: “Ah, if there should be soldiers! A trap!”
His white teeth shone between the black of beard and mustachio. “Never fear.”
“Foolhardy!” she whispered. “I would you had not come.”
“What, and send my men into a danger I dare not face?” he rallied her.
She looked at him, so straight and handsome in the pale moonlight. “No, that is not your way,” she said. “I cry pardon.”
The clouds covered the moon’s face again; Beauvallet was a dark shadow against the night. “I have a sword, child. Fear not.”
“Rather, Reck Not,” she said in a low voice.
She heard the ripple of his gay laugh.
Soon, too soon, the boat’s keel grated on the beach. There were men running down to meet them now, men who caught at the boat, and held her, and questioned eagerly, in low, rough Spanish. Sir Nicholas picked his way across the baggage, and between the rowers to the nose of the boat, and sprang ashore, closely followed by his boatswain. There was the quick give and take of question and answer, a sharp exclamation, a subdued babel of voices in a long parley. Then Beauvallet came back to the boat, with the sea washing about his ankles, and gave his hand to Don Manuel. “All is well, señor; these worthy fellows will give you a lodging for the night, and your man may ride into Santander tomorrow to find a coach to bear you hence.”
A burly sailor lifted Don Manuel on to dry land; his daughter lay in tenderer arms. She was carried up the beach, held closer still for a moment. Beauvallet bent his head and kissed her. “Till I come again!” he said, and set her on her feet. “Trust me!”
VI
The Venture was left in Plymouth
