But the morrow was not to be denied. Its bitter awakening had come.
In the very agony of a sublime withdrawal Iris realized what manner of
man this was whom she had determined to thrust aside so that she might
keep her troth. She dared not look at him. She could not compel her
quivering lips to frame a word of excuse or reiterated resolve. With a
heart-breaking cry of sheer anguish she fled from him, running away
along the deck with the uncertain steps of some sorely stricken
creature of the wild.
He did not try to restrain her. Heedless of the perplexed scowl with
which Coke was watching him from the bridge, he looked after her until
she vanished in the cabin which had been vacated for her use by the
chief engineer of the vessel. Even her manifest distress gave him a
sense of riotous joy that was hardly distinguishable from the keenest
spiritual suffering.
"Give you up!" he muttered again. "No, Iris, not if Satan brought
every dead Verity to aid the living one in his demand."
Coke, to whom tact was anathema, chose that unhappy instant to summon
him to take charge of the ship. The German master and crew had not
caused trouble to their conquerors after the first short struggle.
They washed their hands of responsibility, professed to be satisfied
with the written indemnity and promise of reward given by De Sylva, and
otherwise placed the resources of the vessel entirely at his disposal.
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