Sestrina gazed into his eyes a moment, then turned her face away. Ah, how beautiful she looked as she stood there clasped in Clensy’s arms, wiping the tears from her eyes with the tiny flower-decorated handkerchief. For she had wept afresh in her delight at the sudden presence of her handsome lover.
Clensy bade her sit down on the couch. And there, as Clensy held her hand, while the fireflies danced about the wine-scented flowers of the open casement and the Haytian nightingale sang in the palms, Sestrina took delicate sniffs from her salt-bottle and slowly told him all that troubled her.
When Clensy heard of her father’s fears over a possible revolution, he could hardly believe his ears. Though he was acquainted with all that rumour told about the mysterious Cacaos in the Black Mountains, he had not really seriously reflected over the matter, but had put it all down to the ignorant babblings of the negro population. It all sounded so different to him, coming from Sestrina’s lips. “Revolution! Palace bombarded! Incredible!” And as the girl spoke on and he reflected deeply and began to see things in their serious, possibly true perspective, his first thought was over Sestrina’s safety. The ardency of his affection for Sestrina swiftly inspired him with thoughts as to the best and happiest way to get out of the difficulty.
“Sestrina, if the palace is attacked by the rebels, you might get killed.”
“I know, Monsieur Royal.”
“And, knowing this, Sestrina dearest, I beg of you to consent to fly with me from this cursed hole at the first opportunity. I’ve got plenty of money, and we can get married somewhere and somehow. Will you do this, Sestrina?”
President Gravelot’s daughter gazed at the flushed face of the young Englishman like a wondering child—with wide-open eyes. Then she blushed deeply. She had realised something of the import of what he had suddenly asked of her.
“Do you mean that I be your wife?” she whispered as she gazed intently into his eyes. Then she smiled, and placing her arms round his neck, kissed him softly on the cheek. Then she softly released her clasp and slid gently to the floor, fell on her knees before Clensy so that he could kiss the flowers in her hair. It was an old Haytian custom, and exactly according to fashion when a maid was willing to accept one as a husband.
Clensy sat perfectly silent. Boundless happiness had left him speechless for the moment.
“Way in Australia; how beautiful!” whispered Sestrina when Clensy had told her that he had wealthy relatives in Melbourne, and it was there that he would take her.