Part 15 (1/2)
”I have come,” says he, ”to know if I can add anything to your convenience or comfort here during the stay which, as I pointed out yesterday, circ.u.mstances have necessitated.”
”You can make my captivity less intolerable,” replies Lady Biddy, ”by letting me know at once when it is to end.”
”If this breeze continues we may fairly expect to be at our journey's end in four days,” says he.
”And what do you intend to do with me then?” asks Lady Biddy.
”Rather let me ask you, madam,” says he, with a hideous smile, ”what you intend to do with me?”
”I do not understand what you mean by that,” replies Lady Biddy.
”It is for you to command,” says he, ”and for me to obey in anything that is possible.”
”If I demand my freedom--liberty to return to my friends!” says she, perplexed by his sophistry, for she knew full well that this seeming compliance was but a mask and a snare.
”Certainly,” says he, still with that hideous smile, ”nothing can be more reasonable; and if it will give you happiness and promote that better opinion of me, which I hope one day you will entertain, I shall do my utmost to help you to find your friends.”
Lady Biddy knew not what response to make to this fine speech, his promises being far too good to accept for his true intent; so she waited, looking at him to continue, but with much disgust and loathing, for there was l.u.s.t in his face and devilish wickedness in his eyes, as leaning back on the sofett he surveyed her person from head to foot, and again brought his gaze slowly up to her face.
”Pardon me,” says he, ”your beauty distracts my thoughts from the subject of our conversation. Where was I? Ah, yes. Santiago de Leon de Caracas, whither we are now sailing, is an agreeable place. I have friends there. You must know that I am a Spanish gentleman by birth.
There is a palace on the side of a hill facing the sea which I think will prove to your taste. You who have lived always in England can have no idea of the beauty of the country. I am sure you will be enchanted with it.”
”What is this country or its palaces to me?” cries Lady Biddy, beginning to see his drift.
”You must have a roof to shelter you, and I could offer nothing less than a palace.”
”I ask but my liberty that I may return to my friends in England.”
”As you please,” says he, airily. ”I think you will change your mind when you see what a lovely place I propose for your home. However, if, after seeing it, you are still minded to return to England, to England you shall return. It will not be far out of that course to run round by the mouth of the Oronoque and take up poor Sir Harry Smidmore, if he be still on the island where the mutineers left him. Nor is there any reason why you should not cruise about in search of your uncle, Sir Bartlemy Pengilly. Thus would your pleasure in going home be unmarred by any anxiety on account of absent friends.”
Once more did he pause to gloat on the perplexity and trouble in that dear face, which I warrant was become deadly pale with dreadful apprehension. His delight in her torture was like nothing but the pleasure of some cat that plays with a poor mouse before tearing it with cruel talons. Nay, I have observed that some men of the baser sort do strangely mingle cruelty with that sort of love they cherish, so that you will see such fellows take pleasure in making women weep.
”For my own part,” continues this Rodrigues, with cool audacity, ”it is no matter whether I live in the Indies or in Cornwall, so that I be in your company.”
Thus did this wicked cynic so reveal his intent that Lady Biddy could no longer doubt what was behind. Yet did she strive to control her indignation, with the faint hope that she misjudged his meaning.
”I do not ask you to go to England,” says she. ”All I beg is that you set me ash.o.r.e, and let me make my way home as G.o.d shall please to guide me.”
”That is impossible, and I should be unworthy of your respect if I consented to such a course. Beauty such as yours is too rare at Santiago to be set light store by. Believe me, you would never be suffered to leave that city if once you set foot in it. You would become the slave and property of the first who could lay his hand on you. I myself should not dare to take you on sh.o.r.e till a priest had given me a legal right to possess you.”
”What!” cries she, losing control of her temper; ”do you think I will ever consent to become your wife?”
”Yes,” he replies, ”I think you will when you consider the matter calmly.”
And with that he rose, as if to give her opportunity for reflection. But now, her spirit terribly moved with righteous anger, she stopped him.
”Villain,” says she, ”do you refuse to give me my liberty?”