The old woman looked at me with searching eyes.
‘You are a bold man, my lord,’ said she.
‘I see nothing to be afraid of up to now,’ said I. ‘Such courage as is needed to tell a scoundrel what I think of him I believe I can claim.’
‘But he will never let you go now. You would go to Rhodes, and tell his—tell what you say of him.’
‘Yes, and further than Rhodes, if need be. He shall die for it as sure as I live.’
A thousand men might have tried in vain to persuade me; the treachery of Constantine had fired my heart and driven out all opposing motives.
‘Do as I bid you,’ said I sternly, ‘and waste no time on it. We will watch here by the old man till you return.’
‘My lord,’ she replied, ‘you run on your own death. And you are young; and the youth by you is yet younger.’
‘We are not dead yet,’ said Denny; I had never seen him look as he did then; for the gaiety was out of his face, and his lips had grown set and hard.
She raised her hands towards heaven, whether in prayer or in lamentation I do not know. We turned away and left her to her sad work; going back to our places, we waited there till dawn began to break and from the narrow windows we saw the grey crests of the waves dancing and frolicking in the early dawn. As I watched them, the old woman was by my elbow.