"Then," said I, "you have not lived always in Corsica."
Her face flushed darkly, even while the disdain in her eyes grew colder, more guarded.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked.
"Why," said I, "you are not one, I believe, to speak so positively in mere ignorance. But see!" I went on, pointing down upon the bay over which this higher slope gave us a clear view, "there goes the ship that brought us here."
She gazed at it for a while, with bent brow, evidently puzzled.
"No," said I, watching her, "I shall not tell you yet why she goes, nor where her port lies. But I have something to propose to you."
"Say it."
"It leaves one man behind, and one only, in our camp below. He is my father, and he has some knowledge of surgery; I believe he could save my friend here."
She stood considering. "So much was known to me," she answered at length; "that, after you, there would be but one left. Three of my men have gone down to take him. He will be here before long."
"But, pardon me—for as yet I know not whether your aim is to kill us or take us alive—"