“By which time,” said the king, “I shall have made an impression on the rustic beauty. If she will not consent to be my mistress, why, then, I will give the signal, Rochfort, and be you ready with a guard and a barge to bear her away by force; but let all things be done in secret so that not a syllable may be known to Blood on his return, for I want to make a fool of him after all his deception with me.”
These were the instructions given to Rochfort, and at the moment that Captain Jack was quietly preparing his rope-ladder outside, the king was already secreted in the mansion.
Ellen Harmer, in her sumptuous chamber, was reclining on a sofa.
She could not sleep, and the splendid bed with its satin hangings was uncreased.
The Nubian slave stood watching her, and his dark eyes flashed with admiration as he furtively gazed at the beauty it was his duty to watch and guard.
Ellen tried to read; but she tossed from her indignantly the only books the colonel allowed her to receive—namely, some of the licentious works of the time, which, in our day, would not be tolerated in the lowest of society: but which in the period we speak of, passed off for works of wit and amusement.
“Infamous man,” sighed Ellen, “to incarcerate me thus from my poor old father, and endeavour to poison my heart and mind with such beastly reading. Oh, that I were free or dead.”
She beckoned to the slave.
He noiselessly approached her, and knelt at her feet.
“You are the only friend I have found,” she whispered.