made another voyage; this time to the surly Flemish coast, to the grey cloudy Scheldt, carrying his rich amber and green Sicilian fruit through the snowstorms and the north winds of the great waves that Scandinavia and Iceland sent rolling in to the Low Country shores.
He was paler and thinner than before, but his eyes were bright and full of eagerness.
'I have found you once more!' he cried to her. 'Ah! do not move, do not go away, you hurt me. Why will you mistrust me?'
All the softness had gone out of her face, and all the light had gone, too, as soon as she had seen him. He was nothing to her but another danger, another difficulty, another trouble the more.
'I do not mistrust you,' she said, remembering how he had lent her his boat and bade his boatswain not follow her. 'I think you are a loyal man; sailors are always loyal. But I am sorry that you do not forget me, and cease to come after me, for though you should so come for twenty years, never shall I say you are welcome.'
Pain and anger both swept over his
