Merryon, oddly sobered by her utter dependence upon him, turned aside
and foraged for brandy. She came close to him while he poured it out.

"It isn't for me, is it? I couldn't drink it, darling. I shouldn't know
what was happening for the next twenty-four hours if I did."

"It doesn't matter whether you do or not," he said. "I shall be here to
look after you."

She laughed at that, a little quivering laugh of sheer content. Her
cheek was against his shoulder. "Live for ever, O king!" she said, and
softly kissed it.

Then she caught sight of something on the arm below. "Oh, darling, did I
do that?" she cried, in distress.

He put the arm about her. "It doesn't matter. I don't feel it," he
said. "I've got you."

She lifted her lips to his again. "Billikins, darling, I didn't know it
was you--at first, not till I heard you laugh. I'd rather die than hurt
you. You know it, don't you?"

"Of course I know it," he said.

He caught her to him passionately for a moment, then slowly relaxed his
hold. "Drink this, like a good child," he said, "and then you must get
to bed. You are wet to the skin."