low. From the distance came a rumble of thunder, and the whole
night was dull, heavy, and breathless. Hot anger possessed me:
anger against Rolfe for suggesting this thing to me; anger against
myself for that unlucky throw; anger, most of all, against the
woman who had so cozened me. In the servants' huts, a hundred
yards away, lights were still burning, against rule, for the hour was
late. Glad that there was something I could rail out against, I strode
down upon the men, and caught them assembled in Diccon's cabin,
dicing for to-morrow's rum. When I had struck out the light with
my rapier, and had rated the rogues to their several quarters, I went
back through the gathering storm to the brightly-lit, flower-decked
room, and to Mistress Percy.

She was still kneeling, her hands at her breast, and her eyes, wide
and dark, fixed upon the blackness without the open door. I went
up to her and took her by the hand.

"I am a gentleman, madam," I said. "You need have no fear of me.
I pray you to rise."

She stood up at that, and her breath came hurriedly through her
parted lips, but she did not speak.

"It grows late, and you must be weary," I continued. "Your room is
yonder. I trust that you will sleep well. Good-night."

I bowed low, and she curtsied to me. "Good-night," she said.

On her way to the door, she brushed against the rack wherein hung
my weapons. Among them was a small dagger. Her quick eye