Truly he had never looked into such honest eyes, or into lovelier ones,--two clear, violet wells of light. And Truth, who abides in wells, could not have chosen for her dwelling place habitations more suitable.
She seemed to possess all qualities as well as all accomplishments and graces of mind and body. The quality of courage was hers--a courage adorable in its femininity. But there was nothing hard about it, only firmness--like the white firmness of her skin. And her intuitive generosity was as quick and melting as the exquisite motives which prompted it.
Never could he forget that in the dreadful peril of the moment, she had tried to give him a chance to escape the consequences of his companionship with her,--had tried to send him ashore at the last moment so that she alone might remain to face whatever there was confronting her.
It was a brave thing to do, generous, self-forgetful, merciful, and finely just. For though she had not tried to deceive him she had gradually realized that she herself might be deceived, and that she was in honour bound to warn him concerning her suspicions of the satchel's contents.
And now--in the end--and after danger was practically over, how did they stand, he and she? How had they emerged from the snarl of circumstances?
Had his gentle violence killed forever a very wonderful beginning of what they both had spoken of as friendship? And she--he reddened in the darkness as he remembered--she had begged him in the name of friendship not to violate it--had spoken of it, in the excitement of emotion, as _more_ than friendship.
It had been the most difficult thing he ever had had to do.
Was it true that her friendship had turned to hatred?
He wondered, wondered at the dull unhappiness which the thought brought with it. And, wondering, fell asleep.
In the grey of dawn Karen sat up, wide-eyed, still tremulous from the dream of death that had awakened her.
Through the open port a grey sky glimmered. She rose to her knees and gazed out upon a grey waste of water heaving to the horizon.
Then she turned and looked across at the bed where Guild lay, his blond head cradled on one arm, asleep.
Her eyes rested on him a long while. Then she caught sight of her shoes and spats on the floor--looked down at the blankets and covers that had kept her warm. The next moment her eyes fell on her satchel where it stood open, the key still in the lock, and her silver toilet articles glimmering dully inside.