Part 15 (1/2)
”What is this you have dared to do?” she murmured, so low I could scarce hear her.
”I could not help it,” I said, and would have told her there and then that I loved her, had not my courage all gone to wreck before her visible anger. She drew herself to her full height, and keeping her eyes on mine said in a louder voice--
”Ay, you could not help intruding upon a defenceless girl, and yet you went nigh enough to slaying Mr. Malpas, poor man! for that same fault.
Have I not given you thanks enough, that you are come hither for more?
Are you greedy of so much praise? Else indeed wherefore have you come?”
Her words so stung me, and her coldness after all I had suffered to get speech with her, that I felt the tears very close behind my eyes, and, as a schoolboy that has been detected in some misdemeanour casts about for any excuse however vain, so did I; for all in a hurry I stammered out--
”I came hither to tell you I have twelve s.h.i.+llings.”
Was ever any excuse so ill-considered?
”Twelve s.h.i.+llings!” cried Idonia; but my self-respect was all down by that time, and I could not stop; I spoke of my father's letter, mine own penury, and the detestation in which I held the necessity to enter into trade.
”I have but twelve s.h.i.+llings in the whole world,” said I, but she not answering, I turned my head sharply to see how she had received it. To my utter astonishment Idonia was laughing at me through a blind of tears.
CHAPTER XIV
HOW IDONIA TAUGHT ME AND A CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD HOW TO KEEP BOOKS
”Now, cry you mercy, Mr. Denis!” said Idonia, ”for indeed I guessed not that affairs of trade were to be in debate between us.”
But so confused as I was by her laughter, I could neither deny nor confirm that saying, but stood before her very hot in the face and, I make no question, as sour to look upon as she was merry to see me so.
”I had thought you had forced your way hither,” she continued, setting her head a little aside, ”in order to rid me of such dangers as might beset me here, albeit I know of none.”
”And knew you of any,” said I, pretty desperate by this, ”my sword should make it none, if you would.”
Perhaps it was the bitter tone I used, or the knowledge that I spoke not in mere idle boastfulness; but upon the sudden her manner changed wholly and she was pleading with me in so tender and deep a voice as it thrilled me through to hear it.
”Ah, Mr. Denis,” said she, coming close and laying her hand on my arm, ”we be friends surely, or if we be not, I know not where I am to seek for a friend as true hearted, nor one that would venture as far to aid me. I meant no harm, indeed I did not, though my tongue played my meaning false, as it doth, alas! too often. If I laughed, 'twas to fend off weeping, for once I fall to that, I know not when I should be done.”
”Yet you said you had no especial trouble,” I returned.
”Nay, if I did, I lied,” said Idonia, ”for I am beset with troubles here.”
”I thought no less,” said I, ”and 'twas for that very reason, and in despite of your refusal to admit me awhile since, that I sought out other ways to come to you.”
She smiled when she heard this honest confession. ”So much trade as that comes to, Mr. Denis, will hardly satisfy your father's debts, I think.”
”I gave myself this one day more,” I told her, ”but to-morrow I must necessarily seek employment, though the doing of it I can scarce abide to think of.”
”Having but an half-handful of s.h.i.+llings,” said she, ”poor lad! there seemeth nought else to do, unless indeed you steal.”
”Steal!” cried I.
”And wherefore not?” said Idonia, with a little hard laugh, ”seeing we all do worse than steal here, or if we do not all so, yet do we stand by permissively while others do. Oh, sir,” she cried, ”I warned you this very morning I was not worth your thought of me, and 'twas truth, or less than the truth, I told, who live amongst evil folk in this place and secret men that whisper as they come and go.”