“It rests wholly with you,” she said solemnly, “and God.”

Twice, three times, I paced slowly across the floor in anxious reflection; each time, as I turned, I gazed again into her trustful, appealing eyes.  It was love calling to me in silent language far more effective than speech; at last, I paused and faced her.

“Madame de Noyan,” I said deliberately, my voice seeming to falter with the intensity of my feelings, “I beg you do not expect too much from me.  Your appeal has been made to a simple frontiersman, unskilled in war except with savages, and it is hardly probable I shall be able to outwit the trained guardsmen of Spain.  Yet this I will say:  I have determined to venture all at your desire.  As I possess small skill or knowledge to aid me, I shall put audacity to the front, permitting sheer daring either to succeed or fail.  But it would be wrong, Madame, for me to encourage you with false expectation.  I deem it best to be perfectly frank, and I do not clearly see how this rescue is to be accomplished.  I can form no definite plan of action; all I even hope for is, that the good God will open up a path, showing me how such desperate purpose may be accomplished.  If this prove true—­and I beg you pray fervently to that end—­you may trust me to accept the guidance, let the personal danger be what it may.  But I cannot plan, cannot promise—­I can only go forward blindly, seeking some opening not now apparent.  This alone I know, to remain here in conversation is useless.  I must discover means by which I may reach the ‘Santa Maria’ and penetrate below her deck if possible.  That is my first object, and it alone presents a problem sufficient to tax my poor wits to the uttermost.  So all I dare say now, Madame, is, that I will use my utmost endeavor to save your hus—­the Chevalier de Noyan.  I request you both remain here—­it would be well in prayer—­ready to receive, and obey at once, any message I may need to send.  If possible I will visit you again in person before nightfall, but in any case, and whatever happens, try to believe that I am doing all I can with such brains as I possess, and that I count my own life nothing in your service.”

However they may sound now, there was no spirit of boasting in these words.  Conceit is not of my nature, and, indeed, at that time I had small enough faith in myself.  I merely sought to encourage the poor girl with what little hope I possessed, and knew she read the truth behind those utterances which sounded so brave.  Even as I finished she arose to her feet, standing erect before me, looking a very queen.

“Never will I doubt that, Geoffrey Benteen,” she declared impulsively.  “I have seen you in danger, and never forgotten it.  If it is any encouragement to hear it spoken from my lips, know, even as you go forth from here, that never did woman trust man as I trust you.”

The hot blood surged into my face with a madness I retained barely sufficient strength to conquer.