Andrew de la Borne looked out through the wizened branches of his stunted trees, to the white-flecked sea rolling in below.  The Princess was right.  He knew that she was right.  Those other thoughts were little short of madness.  Jeanne was no coquette at heart, but she was a child.  She had great responsibilities.  She was turned into the world with a heavy burden upon her shoulders.  It was not he or any man who could help her.  She must fight her own battle, win or lose her own happiness.  A few years’ time might see her the wife of a great statesman or a great soldier, proud and happy to feel herself the means by which the man she loved might climb one step higher upon the great ladder of fame.  How like a child’s dream these few days upon the marshes, talking to one who was no more than a looker-on at the great things of life, must seem!  He could imagine her thinking of them with a shiver as she remembered her escape.  The Princess was right, she was very right indeed.  He rose to his feet.

“Madam,” he said, “I have not pretended to misunderstand you.  I think that you have spoken wisely.  Your stepdaughter must solve for herself the great riddle.  It is not for any one of us to handicap her in her choice while she is yet a child.”

“You are going, Mr. De la Borne?” she asked.

He pointed to a brown-sailed fishing-boat passing slowly down from the village toward the sea.

“That is one of my boats,” he said.  “I shall signal to her from the island to call for me.  I need a change, and she is going out into the North Sea for five weeks’ fishing.”

The Princess held out her hand, and Andrew took it in his.

“You are a man,” she said.  “I wish there were more of your sort in the world where I live.”

The Princess stood for a moment on the edge of the lawn, watching Andrew’s tall figure as he strode across the marsh toward the village.  Never once did he look back or hesitate on his swift, vigorous way.  Then she sighed a little and turned away toward the house.  After all, this was a man, although he was so far removed from the type she knew and understood.

Cecil was walking restlessly up and down the hall when she entered.  He drew her eagerly into the library.

“Look here,” he said, “Forrest declares that he is going.  He is upstairs now packing his things.”

“Your brother,” the Princess answered, “scarcely left him much alternative.”

“That’s all very well,” Cecil answered, “but if he goes I go.  I am not going to be left here alone.”

The Princess looked at him, and the colour came into his cheeks.  It is never well for a man when he sees such a look upon a woman’s face.

“It isn’t that I’m afraid,” Cecil declared.  “I can stand any ordinary danger, but I am not going to be left shut up here alone, with the whole responsibility upon me.  I couldn’t do it.  It wouldn’t be fair to ask me.”