Now that scene all came back to her in a flash, as it were; and she saw again the dark snarling face of the Mussulman, the blue-and-white silk of his turban, the black and white of his waistcoat, the red of the long robe, and the glint of his uplifted sword.

Then in contrast, the warmth, brightness, and bravery on the face of the lad in blue and gold who struck aside the descending blade and caught her up in his arms; and she had nestled there--in those arms of Philip d'Avranche.

She remembered how he had kissed her, and how she had kissed him--he a lad and she a little child--as he left her with her mother in the watchmaker's shop in the Vier Marchi that day....

And she had never seen him again until yesterday.
She looked from the rocks to the approaching frigate.

Was it the Narcissus coming--coming to this very island?
She recalled Philip--how gallant he was yesterday, how cool, with what an air of command! How light he had made of the riot! Ranulph's strength and courage she accepted as a matter of course, and was glad that he was brave, generous, and good; but the glamour of distance and mystery were around d'Avranche.