She tossed up her hands. “Some day, perhaps.”
“There is no ‘perhaps’ about it and no ‘some day.’ Do you know that if it had not been for you I should have had that lash this morning. If you had not mentioned the Governor’s name, I should not have known him and been able to do what I did. You will go out to New York by the first boat you can catch, and you will leave Lisbon for Paris to-day, and go to an address I will give you to wait in safety until that boat starts.”
“Monsieur!” she cried tremulously.
“I am your gaoler, remember, and responsible for you. You must let me persuade you to do what I say. And now, I must go. Hurry your preparations and return to me here;” and I gave her the address of my flat.
“But I—I cannot accept your money, monsieur.”
“But you can use it. I shall lend it to you, and when you are married in the new world, you will soon be able to repay me. There is a place for such a woman as you in the world and good work waiting to be done by you. You promise to come to me?”
She could not speak. The tears, which no persecution, nor the horrors of the past night, nor even the almost certain prospect of the lash itself had been able to draw from her, were standing thick in her eyes as I left her and hurried to my rooms.
I decided to go to Volheno as soon as I had changed into some decent clothes, and secure a pardon for Miralda in return for a full statement of what I knew, and then obtain his assistance in searching for her. There was a faint chance that Bryant would bring back some news of her from the vicontesse; but he did not arrive before I was ready to go to Volheno.
I found him studying the paper which General de Sama had sent to him from the prison, and his first question was about it.
“Why have you made prisoners of some of His Majesty’s officers?” he asked.