“More than the sea will just yet,” laughed the captain.  “However, as soon as this villainous weather is a bit abated, I’ll be off across the Island to do your little errand, and only ask a kiss of the bride for my pains; but if the parson be at Portsmouth there will be no getting him to budge till the water is smooth.  Never mind, madam, we’ll have a merry wedding feast, whichever side of the water it is.  I should recommend the voyage first for my part.”

All Anne could do was to sit as upright and still as she could, apparently ignoring the man’s meaning.  She did not know how dignified she looked, and how she was daunting his insolence.  When presently Sir George Barclay proposed as a toast a health to the bride of to-morrow, she took her part by raising the glass to her lips as well as the gentlemen, and adding, “May the brides be happy, wherever they may be.”

“Coy, upon my soul,” laughed Sir George.  “You have not made the best of your opportunities, Pil.”  But with an oath, “It becomes her well.”

“A truce with fooling, Barclay,” muttered Peregrine.

“Come, come, remember faint heart—­no lowering your crest, more than enough to bring that devilish sparkle in the eyes, and turn of the neck!”

“Sir,” said Anne rising, “Monsieur de Pilpignon is an old neighbour, and understands how to respect his most unwilling guest.  I wish you a good-night, gentlemen.  Guennik, venez ici, je vous prie.”

Guennik, the Breton boatswain’s wife, understood French thus far, and comprehended the situation enough to follow willingly, leaving the remainder of the attendance to Hans, who was fully equal to it.  The door was secured by a long knife in the post, but Anne could hear plainly the rude laugh at her entrenchment within her fortress and much of the banter of Peregrine for having proceeded no further.  It was impossible to shut out all the voices, and very alarming they were, as well as sometimes so coarse that they made her cheeks glow, while she felt thankful that the Bretonne could not understand.

These three men were all proscribed traitors in haste to be off, but Peregrine, to whom the yacht and her crew belonged, had lingered to obtain possession of the lady, and they were declaring that now they had caught his game and given him his toy, they would brook no longer delay than was absolutely necessitated by the storm, and married or not married, he and she should both be carried off together, let the damsel-errant give herself what haughty airs she would.  It was a weak concession on their part to the old Puritan scruples that he might have got rid of by this time, to attempt to bring about the marriage.  They jested at him for being afraid of her, and then there were jokes about gray mares.

The one voice she could not hear was Peregrine’s, perhaps because he realised more than they did that she was within ear-shot, and besides, he was absolutely sober; but she thought he silenced them; and then she heard sounds of card-playing, which made an accompaniment to her agonised prayers.