They made a brief stop in Seoul early the next evening, and while Jiyong attended to some sort of business he had there, their driver gave Dara a two-hour tour of what she was convinced must be the most exciting city in the world.

The sun was sinking into the sea on the horizon when they arrived at their ship the following day. Dara drank in the sights and sounds of the seaport with greedy delight, watching stevedores walking up and down planks with huge crates slung effortlessly over their shoulders, while giant cranes lifted cargo nets off the docks and lowered them onto the vessels.

The captain of the Fair Winds greeted them personally as they came on board and invited them to join him for "a simple supper" in his cabin. The "simple" meal consisted of fourteen courses, each served with a different wine.

By the time Jiyong escorted her down to their cabin, however, she had drunk so much wine at the captain's urging that she was feeling a little giddy and extremely sleepy. Jiyong's trunks had been put in their cabin, and Dara smiled with rosy contentment, wondering if he intended to make love to her tonight. He'd seemed a little distant after he finally returned from his meeting in Seoul last night, and he hadn't made love to her when they finally stopped in a hotel south of the city. He had kissed her goodnight, though, and held her in his arms until she slept.

"Shall I play lady's maid?" Jiyong asked. Without waiting for her to answer, he turned her around and began unfastening the long row of rose-silk-covered buttons down her back.

"Is this boat swaying?" Dara asked, grabbing for the small oaken table beside her. Jiyong's chuckle was rich and deep. "This is a ship, not a 'boat' and you are doing the swaying, my sweet ”the result, I fear, of a shocking overindulgence in wine at dinner."

"The captain was so determined I try each one," she protested. "He's very nice," she added, rather pleased with the world in general.

"You won't think so when you wake up in the morning," Jiyong teased.

He obligingly turned his back while she changed, then he tucked her into their bed, drawing up the sheets to her chin. "Jiyong," she asked, "aren't you coming to bed?" Dara wished.

"I'm going up on deck for a little while to get some air," he said, stopping to take his gun out of his other jacket and tuck it in the waistband of his dark-blue trousers.

Dara was fast asleep before Jiyong had finished walking down the narrow passageway toward the steps that led to the upper deck.

At the railing, Jiyong reached into his pocket and took out cigarettes he usually enjoyed after supper. Cupping his hands around the tip, he lit it, then he stood looking out across the Channel, contemplating the highly complex problem of Dara. After years of associating with sophisticated, mercenary, shallow women and of condemning the entire on the basis of those women he had married a girl who was artless, candid, intelligent, and generous.

And he didn't know what to do with her. Dara had some foolish, quixotic notion that he was noble and gentle and "beautiful." When, as he well knew, he was jaded, disillusioned, and morally corrupt, bedded more women than he could possibly recall.

Sandara believed in openness, trust, and love and she fully intended to try to make him participate in her beliefs. He wanted nothing to do with openness, trust, or love.

She was a gentle dreamer, he was a hard realist.

She was, in fact, such a dreamer that she actually believed "something wonderful" was going to happen which wasn't that surprising, since she also believed wet dirt in the springtime smelled like perfume Dara wanted to make him see the world as she saw it fresh and alive and unspoiled, but it was too late for that. All he could do was to try to keep the world that way for her for as long as possible. But he would not share her imaginary world with her. He didn't want to. He didn't belong there. At Devon she would be safe from the corrosive effects of Society, safe from the dissipations and brittle sophistication of his world the world where he was comfortable where he was not expected to feel things like love; where he wasn't expected to trust, or to reveal his inner thoughts and feeling.

He dreaded the hurt he knew he'd see on her face when she realized he did not intend to stay in Devon with her, but that he would not do. Could not do. In front of him, the Channel stretched for as far as he could see, its inky surface swept by a giant yellow moonbeam. Irritably, Jiyong flicked his cigarette over the side, then he remembered it was his only one. He'd left the flat gold case with the others in it at Sulli's house in Seoul the night before last.

Restless from days of enforced confinement in their travel and from trying unsuccessfully to find a better solution to the problem of Sandara, he turned from the rail and glanced along the wharf, where light spilled out from taverns and inebriated sailors staggered along, their arms flung over the shoulders of the who walked at their sides.

Less than four yards away, two men darted swiftly into the shadows of the ship and crouched down among the coiled ropes out of his sight.

Hoping to buy a few cigars in the tavern across the wharf, Jiyong strolled across the deck and headed for the gangplank. Two shadows emerged from the ropes and followed him, hanging back, watching. Jiyong was aware that the wharf was a dangerous place to be at night, particularly with impressment gangs ranging about, pouncing upon the unwary and loading their unconscious victims.

"Stay back, yer fool let 'im get to th' wharf," one of the shadows whispered to the other as they moved silently down the gangplank in Jiyong's wake. "What the bloody hell are we waitin' for," the second shadow demanded of his cohort as they waited in the darkness under the eaves of the tavern, where their prey had disappeared. "We was supposed ter hit him over the head and dump him into the water, which we coulda done better while he was on the ship."

The first man smiled sardonically. "I got a better idea it ain't more work, and it'll get us more blunt." Jiyong emerged from the tavern with three fat, unappealing cigars stuck in the inside pocket of his coat. Now that he had them, he doubted he'd want to light them. Behind him, shadows shifted suddenly, a board creaked, and Jiyong tensed. Without changing his pace, he reached inside his coat for the gun, but before his hand ever touched it, his skull had already exploded into shards of agonizing pain, sending him sliding into a black tunnel of oblivion. And then he was floating, drifting, moving toward a welcoming light at the end of the tunnel that seemed to beckon him.

Dara awoke at dawn to the shouts of seamen moving above her, getting the ship ready to put out to sea. Despite the fact that her head felt as if it was stuffed with wool, she was still eager to be up on deck when the lines were cast off and the ship set sail. Her husband must have had a similar idea in mind, she thought as she pulled on a fresh clothes and wrapped herself in a matching cloak of soft lavender wool. He had already arisen and left the cabin.

A band of grey and pink was streaking the horizon when Dara arrived on deck. Seamen hurried about their tasks, sidestepping her as they uncoiled ropes and scrambled up the rigging. In front of her, the first mate stood with his feet braced wide apart, his back to her, calling out orders to the men climbing the masts. She looked about for her husband, but she seemed to be the only passenger on deck. At supper last night, she'd heard Jiyong tell Captain Farraday that he always enjoyed being on deck when the lines were cast off and the ship set sail. Picking up her skirts, Dara walked over to the captain as he came on deck. "Captain Farraday, by any chance have you seen my husband?"

Seeing the impatience on his face, she quickly explained her reason for detaining him. "He isn't in our cabin and he's not on deck. Is there anywhere else on this ship he might be?"

"It's not likely, Jiyong," he said absently, his gaze on the lightening sky, assessing the amount of time before it was fully dawn. "Now, if you'll excuse me" Puzzled, trying to ignore the tingles of alarm dancing up and down her spine, Dara went down to their cabin and stood in the center of it, looking uncertainly about. Deciding Jiyong had probably gone for a stroll on the docks, she walked over and picked up the tan coat he'd tossed over the back of the chair after they boarded the ship last night. Carrying it over to the wardrobe to hang it inside, she rubbed her cheek against the soft superfine fabric, inhaling the faint scent of Jiyong's cologne, then she put it away. He was accustomed to having a maid picking up after him, she realized with a fond smile, as she reached for his tan trousers and took them to the wardrobe. Turning, she looked for the dark blue coat he'd been wearing when he went up on deck late last night. The blue jacket was nowhere in the cabin; neither was the rest of the clothing he'd had on last night when she last saw him.

Captain Farraday sympathized with her concern, but he did not intend to let the tide go out without his ship, and he said so. A terrible premonition of calamity was raging through Dara, making her tremble, but she knew instinctively that pleading would have no effect on the man in front of her. "Captain Farraday," she said, drawing herself up and speaking in what she hoped was a good imitation of Jiyong's grandmother's imperious voice, "if my husband is lying injured somewhere on this ship, the blame will be on your head, not only for his injury, but for putting out to sea instead of getting him off this ship and into the hands of a proper doctor. Furthermore," she said, struggling to keep her voice from shaking, "unless I misunderstood what my husband told me yesterday, he owns part of the company that owns this ship."