It was on my tongue to ask for Mr. Rivers; then, of a sudden, it came over me how we had parted. So! and he still believed me—that thing which I had shown myself. He had nursed his doubts for two whole days and nights, and now he would not even come forward to touch my hand and wish me joy of my escape. It seemed to me I caught glances of pity passing between one and another of the lookers-on. Did they wait to see how Margaret Tudor would bear her lover's apathy? A jilted maid!
There was a mist before my eyes; but I smiled and said little gracious words of thanks to each and all of them, and wished in my heart that I was dead. Oh, my love! whatever doubts you may have had of me were paid back that cruel moment in full measure. I recalled some of the hard speeches I had heard from the embittered Spanish woman, and I thought within myself, All men are made after the same pattern!
Captain Brayne and Master Collins and good old Captain Baulk of the Three Brothers had been in earnest conversation for some moments; and now the Carolina's commander came to me and took me gently by the hand, leading me aside.
"Mistress Margaret," he said, "there is one aboard this ship to whom your coming may mean life instead of death. He is very ill,—so ill that we despaired of him till now,—and one name is ever on his lips. Are you too weak and unstrung, my dear young lady, to go with me to his sick bed?"
That was how the truth came to me. I cannot write of what I felt.
"Take me to him," I said.
He lay in his berth; his large eyes were alight with fever, and he was talking ceaselessly, now in broken whispers, now with a proud defiance in his husky tones.
"God knows what the devils did to him," murmured Henry Brayne. "He was once a proper figure of a man; but starvation and ill usage have worn him to a shadow!"
Aye, but a shadow with a gnawing sorrow at its heart.
"You may taunt me, Señor de Melinza," whispered the broken voice, "you may taunt me with my helplessness. I may not break these bonds, it is true; but neither can you sever those that bind to me the love of a true-hearted English maid.... That is a foul lie, Don Pedro, and I cast it back into your teeth!... Strike a helpless prisoner? Do so, and you add but another black deed to the long score that stands against the name of Spaniard. Some day the reckoning will come, señor—I dare stake my soul on that!... I'll not believe it; no! not upon your oath, Don Pedro!... Margaret, Margaret! Tell him he lies, dear lady!... In God's name, speak, sweetheart!" And though I knelt beside him, and called his name again and again, he was deaf to my voice and put me by with feeble hands, crying ever: "Margaret! Margaret!" till I thought my heart would break.