“‘What shall I do?’ I asked: ‘will you——?’
“‘Conceal myself?—no,’ she answered proudly; adding quickly. ‘No one but a friend of Her Majesty would come to your room at this hour.’
“‘No one but one of my officers,’ I said; and I felt myself blushing, for I remembered those two visits from Emma, and the Princess might not understand the spirit in which dear Emma comes. Heavens! if it were Emma, in deshabille! to tell me of a relapse of Sir William and call my aid! All these thoughts flashed through my mind in a few seconds. There was a still louder knock at the door.
“‘What am I to do, Princess?’ I asked.
“‘Open it,’ she said, simply.
“I opened it, with her standing by this table, with one hand resting on the corner, a picture of pride and innocence. But the blood flew to her cheeks as Will entered with an expression of utter astonishment on his face, which I could see would have turned into something stronger, but for his filial respect and affection. Disciplined as he was, he could not keep the question out of his eyes. A lesser man than Will would have beat a retreat—most likely have held his tongue, perhaps for the honour of the fleet, perhaps in gratitude for future favours. But Will stood plainly—as she had said plainly—‘Open the door.’ It was a picture: these two fine young creatures, so full of pride and breeding; and, placed in a false position, one whose rank prevented ordinary explanations, and who, as it seemed, was party to an injurious situation to which he should have been superior.”
That moment came near changing the whole current of Will’s life—not in the direction of ill-will to our beloved Admiral, though he had wondered how he was to believe in spite of his senses, but in the direction of winning that which lay nearest his heart in despite of Katherine—the love of Donna Rusidda. Our Katherine can never hear of it now without blushing for pleasure. She loves it best of anything in Will’s whole life. For, walking up to Donna Rusidda, he knelt before her and kissed her hand. As he rose his eyes fell instinctively upon her feet, which were beautiful even for a Sicilian aristocrat. The slender slippers were all dusty and cut, and the ruined white satin of one of them had a tell-tale stain of blood; and then the swift intuition of love told him that his trust was justified—that she must have run herself from the Palace to bring the cry for help—and he knelt once more before her, and covered her hands with tears as well as kisses. And tears rained down the cheeks of the conqueror of the Nile, as he called out in a broken voice: “Brave Will! I would rather have done that than win a battle!”
Such a flush of gratitude swept over Donna Rusidda that she was tongue-tied, and could only thank him with her eyes, and the glory of beauty at its highest tension. And Will, dreading the words of gratitude which were struggling to come, cried: “The news, Rusidda? The Palace has not fallen?”
“Not that—but the Queen’s diamonds——”