She nodded, meeting my eyes for an instant only, and averting hers again to the horizon.  To my dismay they were dark and troubled.

“Not now—­not now!” she murmured hurriedly, almost fiercely, as I would have touched her hand.  Again her eyes crossed mine, and I read that love no longer looked forth from them, but a gloomy doubt in its place.

From the next window my Uncle Gervase had spied the ships, and now drew Dom Basilio’s attention to them.  The two discussed them for a minute.  “Were they Corsican vessels, or Genoese?” Dom Basilio plucked me by the arm, to know my opinion.  I told him of the firing we had heard off Nonza.

“In my belief,” said I, “they are Corsicans that have drawn off from the bombardment, though why I cannot divine, unless it be in curiosity to discover why Giraglia was a-burning last night.”

“If, on the other hand they be Genoese,” answered my uncle, shaking his head, “this is a serious matter for us.  The Gauntlet has but five men aboard, and will be culled like a peach.”

“Had she fifty, she could not keep up a fight against two gunboats—­ as gunboats they appear to be,” said I.  “You will make a better defence of it from the island here, with the few cannon you have not dismounted.”

“In that case I had best take boat, tell Captain Pomery to drop his anchor, leaving the ketch to her fate, and fetch him ashore to help us.”

“Do so,” said I.  “Yet I trust ’tis a false alarm; for that these are Corsicans I’ll lay odds.”

“It may even be,” suggested Dom Basilio, “that the two are enemies, the one in chase of the other.”

“No,” I decided, scanning them; “for they have the look of being sister ships.  And, see you, the leader has rounded the point and caught sight of the Gauntlet.  Mark how she is carrying her headsheets over to windward, to let her consort overtake her.”

“The lad’s right!” exclaimed my uncle.  “Well, God send they be not Genoese! but I must pull out to the ketch and make sure.  You, Prosper, can help Dom Basilio meanwhile to muster his men and right as many cannon as time allows.”

He stepped to the door, tip-toeing softly, and we followed him—­with a glance, as we went, at the figure bending over the bed.  The Queen did not heed us.

From the upper terrace at the foot of the tower the Princess and I watched my uncle as, with two stalwart Trappists to row him, he pushed out and steered for the Gauntlet.  We saw him run his boat alongside and climb aboard.  Five slow minutes passed, and it became apparent that Captain Pomery had views of his own about abandoning the ship, for the Gauntlet neither dropped anchor nor took in canvas, but held on her tack, letting the boat drop astern on a tow-rope.

Just then Dom Basilio sent up half a dozen stout monks to me from the base of the rock; and for the next few minutes I was kept busy with them on the eastern bastion, refixing a gun which had been thrown off its carriage in the assault, until, casting another glance seaward, I saw to my amazement that the ketch had run up her British colours to her mizzen.