When Stephanie opened her eyes again the sound of the sea was in her ears, and she felt as if she must have heard it for some time. She was lying in a chair amid surroundings wholly strange to her, and some one--a man whose face she could not see--was beside her, bending over a table, evidently engaged upon something that occupied his most minute attention. She watched him dreamily for a little, till the immense breadth of his shoulders struck a quick-growing fear into her heart; then she made a sudden effort to raise herself.
Instantly she was stabbed by a dart of pain so acute that she barely repressed a cry.
"Keep still, mademoiselle!" It was Pierre's voice; he spoke without turning. "I shall not hurt you more than I can help."
She sank back again, shuddering uncontrollably. She knew now what he was doing. It had flashed upon her in that moment of horrible suffering. He was probing for a bullet in her left hand. Dumbly she shut her eyes and set herself to endure.
But the pain was almost insupportable; it seemed to rack her whole body. And the presence of the man she feared, his nearness to her, his touch, added tenfold to the torture. Yet she was helpless, and, spent, exhausted though she was, for very pride she would utter no complaint.
Minutes passed. She was near to fainting again, when abruptly Pierre stood up. She heard him move, and she was conscious of a blessed lessening of the pain. But she dared not stir or open her eyes, lest her self-control should forsake her utterly. She could only lie and wait in quivering suspense.
He bent over her without speaking, and suddenly she felt the rim of a glass against her lips. With a start she looked up. His swarthy face was close to her own, but it was grimly immobile. He seemed to have clad himself from head to foot in an impenetrable armour of reserve. His lips were set in a firm line, as though all speech were locked securely behind them.
Mutely she obeyed his unspoken command and drank. The draught was unlike anything she had ever tasted before. It revived her, renewing her failing strength.
"I thank you, monsieur," she said faintly.
He set down the glass, and busied himself once more with her wounded hand.
"I shall not hurt you any further," he said, as involuntarily she winced.
And he kept his word. The worst of his task was over. He only bathed and bandaged with a gentleness and dexterity at which she marvelled.
At last he looked at her.
"You are better?" he asked.
She met his eyes for an instant. They were absolutely steady, but they told her nothing whatever of his thoughts.
"Yes, I am better," she said, with an effort.
"Can you walk?" he said.
"I think so, monsieur."
"Then come with me," he rejoined, "and I will show you where you can rest."
She sat up slowly. He bent to help her, but she would not accept his help till, rising to her feet, she felt the floor sway beneath her. Then, with a sharp exclamation, she clutched for support and gripped his proffered arm.
"Monsieur!" she gasped.
He held her up, for she was tottering. Her pale face stared panic-stricken up to his.
"Monsieur!" she gasped again. "What is this? Where am I?"
He made answer curtly, in a tone that sounded repressive.
"You are on board my yacht, mademoiselle." She swayed, and he put his arm round her. "You are in safety," he said, in the same brief fashion.
"As--as your prisoner?" she whispered, trying weakly to free herself from his hold.
"As my guest," he said.
By an immense effort she controlled herself, meeting his stern eyes with something like composure. But the memory of that single, scorching kiss was still with her. And in spite of her utmost resolution, she flinched from his direct gaze.
"If I am your guest," she said, her low voice quivering a very little, "I am at liberty to come--and to go--as I will."
"Absolutely!" said Pierre, and she fancied for an instant that he smiled.
"You will take me wherever I desire to go?" she persisted, still battling with her agitation.
"With one exception," he answered quietly. "I will not take you back to Maritas."
She shivered. "Then where, monsieur?"
His expression changed slightly. She had a momentary glimpse of the arrogance she dreaded.
"The world is wide," he said. "And there is plenty of time before us. We need not decide to-night."
She trembled more at the tone than the words. "I did not think you would leave Maritas so soon," she murmured.
"Why not, mademoiselle?" His voice suddenly rang hard; it almost held a threat.
She had withdrawn herself from him, but she was hardly capable of standing alone. She leaned secretly against the chair from which she had just risen.
"Because," she made answer, still desperately facing him, "I thought that Maritas wanted you."
He uttered a brief laugh that sounded savage.
"That was yesterday," he told her grimly. "I have forfeited my popularity since then."
A slow, painful flush rose in Stephanie's drawn face, but she shrank no longer from his look. "And you have gained nothing in exchange," she said, her voice very low.
"Except what I desired to gain," said Pierre Dumaresq.
She made a slight, involuntary movement, and instantly her brows contracted. She closed her eyes with a shudder. The pain was almost intolerable.
A moment later she felt his strong arms lift her and a sudden passion of misery swept over her. Where was the use of feigning strength when he knew so well her utter weakness; of fighting, when she was already so hopelessly beaten; of begging his mercy even when he had warned her so emphatically that she must not expect it?
Despair entered into her. She could resist him no longer by so much as the lifting of a finger. And as the knowledge swept overwhelmingly upon her, the last poor shred of her pride crumbled to nothing in a rush of anguished tears.
Pierre said no more. His hard mouth grew a little harder, his steely eyes a shade more steely--that was all. He bore her unfaltering through the saloon to the state cabin beyond, and laid her down there.
In another second she heard the click of the latch, and his step upon the threshold. Softly the door closed. Softly he went away.