n," said Urquhart--as if he had been saying "Where did you
get this tobacco?"--"Do you mean that you're afraid we may hurt each
other?"

She hung her head deeply.

"You needn't be. If you can fear that you must forget my promise." He
saw her eyes clear, then cloud again before her difficulties.

"James, at least," she said, "has never done you any harm." It was
awfully true. But it annoyed him. Damn James!

"None whatever," he answered sharply. "I wonder if I haven't done him
any good."

Looking at her guardedly, through half-closed eyes, he saw that she
was strongly moved. Her bosom rose and fell hastily, like short waves
lipping a wharf. Her hands were shut tight. "You have been the best
friend I ever had," she said. "Don't think I'm not grateful."

That came better. He tapped his pipe on the ash-tray at hand. "My
dear," he said, "I intend to live on your gratitude. Don't be afraid
of anything. _Lascia fare a me._" She rewarded him with a shy look. A
rueful look, it cut him like a knife; but he could have screwed it
round in the wound to get more of such pain. There's no more
bitter-sweet torment to a man than the thanks of the beloved woman for
her freedom given back to her.

He felt very sick indeed--but almost entirely with himself. For her he
chose to have pity; of Macartney he would not allow himself to think
at all. Danger lay that way, and he did not intend to be dangerous. He
would not even remember that he was subject to whims. The thought
flitted over his mind, like an angel of death, but he dismissed it
with an effort. After all, what good could come of freebooting? The
game was up. Like all men of his stamp, he cast about him far and wide
for a line of action; for directly the Folgefond walk was over he
would be off. To stay here was intolerable--just as to back out of the
walk would be ignominious. No, he would go through with that somehow;
but from Odde, he thought, he might send for his things and clear out.
It did not occur to him that he might have to deal with Macartney.
What should Macartney want that he had not? He had vindicated the law!

But the hour was come when Macartney was to know everything. Lucy was
adorable, and he simply adored her; then in the melting mood which
follows she sobbed and whispered her broken confession. He had the
whole story from the beginning.

He listened and learned; he was confounded, he was deeply touched. He
might have been humiliated, and so frozen; he m