Of course she had often heard sailors hammering out their ditties. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. They would arrest him for the French spy they had thought her at first. “If any one should know——you should! He was your friend. ‘Coward,’ she threw at him, brandishing the sword. She leaned forward in her chair, as if petrified in fear by the scary story. " "You, Miss Enschede?"—frankly astonished that one stranger should offer succour to another.
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