She had promised to give him her answer at day-break, and to wait for him on the little spit of sand that jutted out into the sea.
William would take her to him, William the faithful, somehow they would find their way across the country in the darkness, and when they reached the cove the boat would put off from the ship towards them, even as he had said. She thought of the coast of Brittany as she had seen it once before, golden at sunrise, with the rocks about it jagged and crimson, like the coast of Devon.
The white breakers hurled themselves upon the sand, and the spray threw a fine mist onto the cliffs, the smell of it mingling with the warm earth and the grass.
Somewhere there was a house which she had never seen, but he would take her to it, and she would feel the grey walls with her hands.
She wanted to sleep now, and dream of these things, and remember no more the guttering candles in the dining-hall below, with the smashed glass and the broken chairs, and Rockingham's face when the knife touched his flesh.
She wanted to sleep, and it seemed to her suddenly that she stood no longer, that she was falling too, as Rockingham had done, and the blackness came about her and covered her, and there was a rushing of wind in her ears…
Surely it was long afterwards that people came and bent over her, and hands lifted her and carried her.
And someone bathed her face, and her throat, and laid pillows under her head.
There were many voices in the distance, men's voices, and the coming and going of heavy footsteps, and there must have been horses in the courtyard outside the house; she could hear their hoofs on the cobbles.
Once too she heard the stable clock strike three.
And dimly, in the back of her mind, something whispered,
"He will be waiting for me on the spit of sand, and I am lying here, and I cannot move, and I cannot go to him," and she tried to raise herself from her bed, but she had no strength.
It was still dark, while outside her window she could hear a little thin trickle of rain.
Then she must have slept, the heavy dull sleep of exhaustion, for when she opened her eyes it was daylight, and the curtains had been drawn, and there was Harry kneeling by her side, fondling her hair with his great clumsy hands.
He was peering into her face, his blue eyes troubled, and he was blubbing like a child.
"Are you all right, Dona?" he said, "are you better, are you well?"
She stared at him without understanding, the dull ache still behind her eyes, and she thought how ridiculous it was that he should kneel there, in so foolish a manner, and she felt a sort of shame upon her that he should do so.
"Rock's dead," he said. "We found him dead there, on the floor, with his poor neck broken.
Rock, the best friend I have ever had."
And the tears rolled down his cheeks, and she went on staring at him.
"He saved your life, you know," said Harry; "he must have fought that devil single-handed, alone there in the darkness, while you fled up here to warn us. My poor beautiful, my poor sweet."
She did not listen to him any more, she sat up, looking at the daylight as it streamed into her window.
"What is the time?" she said, "how long has the sun been risen?"
"The sun?" he said blankly, "why, it's nearly noon I believe.
What of it?
You are going to rest, are you not? You must, after all you have suffered last night."
She put her hands over her eyes and tried to think.
It was noon then, and the ship would have sailed, for he could not have waited for her after the day had broken. She had lain here sleeping on her bed, while the little boat put in to the spit of sand and found it empty.
"Try and rest again, my lovely," said Harry, "try and forget the confounded Goddamned night.
I'll never drink again, I swear it.
It's my fault, I ought to have stopped it all.
But you shall have your revenge, I promise you that.
We've caught him, you know, we've got the blasted fellow."
"What do you mean?" she said slowly, "what are you talking about?"
"Why, the Frenchman of course," he said, "the devil who killed Rock, and would have killed you too.
The ship's gone, and the rest of his battered crew, but we've got him, the leader, the damned pirate."
She went on staring at him without understanding, dazed, as though he had struck her, and he, seeing her eyes, was troubled, and began once more to fondle her hair and to kiss her fingers, murmuring,
"My poor girl, what a confounded to-do, eh, what a night, what a devilish thing."
And then, pausing a moment, he looked at her, and flushed, a little confused, still holding her fingers, and because the despair in her eyes was something dark and new, was a thing he did not understand, he said to her awkwardly, like a shy and clumsy boy:
"That Frenchman, that pirate, he didn't molest you in any way, did he, Dona?"
CHAPTER XXI
Two days came and went, things without hours or minutes, in which she dressed herself, and ate, and went out into the garden, and all the while she was possessed by a strange sense of unreality, as though it was not she who moved, but some other woman, whose very words she did not understand.
No thoughts came to her mind: it was as though part of her slept still, and the numbness spread from her mind to her body, so that she felt nothing of the sun when it came from two clouds and shone a moment, and when a little chill wind blew she was not cold.
At one time the children ran out to greet her, and James climbed on her knee, and Henrietta, dancing before her, said,
"A wicked pirate has been caught, and Prue says he will be hanged."
She was aware of Prue's face, pale, rather subdued, and with an effort she remembered that there had been death, of course, at Navron, that at this moment Rockingham would be lying in a darkened church awaiting burial.
There was a dull greyness about these days, like the Sundays she remembered as a child, when the Puritans forbade dancing on the green.
There was a moment when the rector of Helston Church appeared and spoke to her gravely, condoling with her on the loss of so great a friend.
And afterwards he rode away, and Harry was beside her again, blowing his nose, and speaking in a hushed voice entirely unlike himself. He stayed by her continually, humble and anxious to please, and kept asking her whether she needed anything, a cloak, or a coverlet for her knees, and when she shook her head, wishing he would leave her quietly, so that she could sit, staring at nothing, he began protesting once more how much he loved her, and that he would never drink again: it was all because he had drunk too much that fatal night that they had let themselves be trapped in such a way, and but for his carelessness and sloth poor Rockingham would be alive.
"I'll cut out gambling too," he said. "I'll never touch another card, and I'll sell the town house, and we'll go and live in Hampshire, Dona, near your old home, where we first met.