Lady George glanced at her rival across the sea; how strange it was, she thought, that any man should live who could look at a lateen-boat rather than at her!
"As with a bound
Into the rosy and golden half
Of the sky,
I suppose," she quoted listlessly.
Their own vessel floated lazily and slowly; the lateen-craft came on after them, as he had said, turned into a pleasure-boat, and draped with costliness, and laden with a fragrant load of violets gathered for distilling, piled high, and filling the air with odour. The skiff passed them swiftly;—half-screened by the rich draperies, the tawny sails, and the purple mound of the violets, and turned half from them, and towards the western skies, as the boat flashed past in the haze of light, he saw a woman.
With a loud cry he sprang to his feet, the vessel rocking and lurching under the sudden impetus;—he had seen the face of his dreams, the face of his saviour. And the lateen-boat was cutting its swift way through the waves, away into the misty purple shadow out of reach, out of sight!
"Neuralgia?" said one of the men. "Ah! that is always the worst of shot-wounds."
