"It is for you to decide, Katherine. The boat is here. Even I must obey
or disobey orders. Will you not go with me, your husband, to love and
life and honour; or shall I stay with you, for disgrace and death? For
from you I will not part again."
She had no time to consider how much truth there was in this desperate
statement. The boat was waiting. Richard was wooing her consent with
kisses and entreaties. Her own soul urged her, not only by the joy of
his presence, but by the memory of the anguish she had endured that day
in the terror of his desertion. From the first moment she had hesitated;
therefore, from the first moment she had yielded. She clung to her
husband's arm, she lifted her face to his, she said softly, but clearly,
"I will go with you, Richard. With you I will go. Where to, I care not
at all."
They stepped into the boat, and Hyde said, "Oars." Not a word was
spoken. He held her within his left arm, close to his side, and
partially covered with his military cloak. It was the boat belonging to
the commander of "The Dauntless," and the six sailors manning it sent
the light craft flying like an arrow down the bay. All the past was
behind her. She had done what was irrevocable. For joy or for sorrow,
her place was evermore at her husband's side. Richard understood the
decision she was coming to; knew that every doubt and fear had vanished
when her hand stole into his hand, when she slightly lifted her face,
and whispered, "Richard."
They were practically alone upon the misty river; and Richard answered
the tender call with sweet, impassioned kisses; with low, lover-like,
encouraging words; with a silence that thrilled with such soft beat and
subsidence of the spirit's wing, as-"When it feels, in cloud-girt wayfaring,
The breath of kindred plumes against its feet."