"I'm going, Hilda," imperturbably. "You can follow me in the launch."

Of Hermia's companions, Olga Tcherny alone said nothing. She had no
humor to waste her breath. And Markham stood beside the group, his
arms folded, his head bowed, listening. But when Hermia went into the
cottage for her things he followed her.

"You're resolved?" he asked, helping her into her blouse.

"Well, rather."

"I wish I might persuade you--your nerves were--a little shaken this
morning."

She paused in the act of putting on her gauntlets and held one small
bare hand under his nose that he might see how steady it was. He
grasped it in both of his own and then, with an impulse that he
couldn't explain, kissed it again and again.

"Don't go, child," he whispered gently. "Not today."

She struggled to withdraw her hand, a warm flush stealing up her neck
and temples.

"Let me go, Mr. Markham. Let me go."

He relinquished her and stood aside.

"As you please," he muttered. "I'm sorry--"