“The car was very hot, and I am so tired.  I only want some air.”

They reached the deck.

“You will go down-stairs?”

“No, no—­some air!” she murmured, and he saw that she could hardly keep her feet.

But in a few moments they had reached the shelter on the upper deck usually so well filled with chairs and passengers on a day crossing.  Now it was entirely deserted.  The boat was not full, the night was cold and stormy, and the stream of passengers had poured down into the shelter of the lower deck.

Julie sank into a chair.  Delafield hurriedly loosened the shawl she carried with her from its attendant bag and umbrella, and wrapped it round her.

“It will be a rough crossing,” he said, in her ear.  “Can you stand it on deck?”

“I am a good sailor.  Let me stay here.”

Her eyes closed.  He stooped over her in an anguish.  One of the boat officials approached him.

“Madame ferait mieux de descendre, monsieur.  La traversee ne sera pas bonne.”

Delafield explained that the lady must have air, and was a good sailor.  Then he pressed into the man’s hand his three francs, and sent him for brandy and an extra covering of some kind.  The man went unwillingly.

During the whole bustle of departure, Delafield saw nothing but Julie’s helpless and motionless form; he heard nothing but the faint words by which, once or twice, she tried to convey to him that she was not unconscious.

The brandy came.  The man who brought it again objected to Julie’s presence on deck.  Delafield took no heed.  He was absorbed in making Julie swallow some of the brandy.

At last they were off.  The vessel glided slowly out of the old harbor, and they were immediately in rough water.

Delafield was roused by a peremptory voice at his elbow.

“This lady ought not to stay here, sir.  There is plenty of room in the ladies’ cabin.”

Delafield looked up and recognized the captain of the boat, the same man who, thirty-six hours before, had shown special civilities to the Duke of Chudleigh and his party.

“Ah, you are Captain Whittaker,” he said.

The shrewd, stout man who had accosted him raised his eyebrows in astonishment.

Delafield drew him aside a moment.  After a short conversation the captain lifted his cap and departed, with a few words to the subordinate officer who had drawn his attention to the matter.  Henceforward they were unmolested, and presently the officer brought a pillow and striped blanket, saying they might be useful to the lady.  Julie was soon comfortably placed, lying down on the seat under the wooden shelter.  Delicacy seemed to suggest that her companion should leave her to herself.

Jacob walked up and down briskly, trying to shake off the cold which benumbed him.  Every now and then he paused to look at the lights on the receding French coast, at its gray phantom line sweeping southward under the stormy moon, or disappearing to the north in clouds of rain.  There was a roar of waves and a dashing of spray.  The boat, not a large one, was pitching heavily, and the few male passengers who had at first haunted the deck soon disappeared.