“I have only one relative, Mr Hume, and he is my father, a prisoner in the hands of Balmaceda. It is to rescue him that I have risked the passage of the Thames, and if I cannot save his life I will die with him.” There was subdued passion in her voice, and her hands were clenched.
“Your father a prisoner in Brazil! How can they imprison an Englishman?”
“He is no Englishman. My father is Manuel da Gama Lobo de Anstrade, Colonel in the Army, and member of a noble Spanish family, treacherously seized by that ruffian President.”
“But you—surely you are of English descent?”
“My mother was English, Mr Hume, and I have been educated in England.” She paused for some moments, then continued quickly: “I have told you more than is known by any on board, except Mr Commins and Captain Pardoe. But I am seldom misled, and I am sure you will respect my confidence.”
“I will, Miss de Anstrade.”
“You must not mention my name. If you knew the Brazilians you would understand. Were this ship to fall into the hands of the President’s party, and my name were discovered, there would be little mercy shown. Ah! what fiendish punishment they can devise! Luiz, my brother, they made him walk blindfolded over the precipice at Garanagua.”
She spoke scarcely above a whisper, but with an intentness that thrilled her listener, and her eyes were fixed before her, wide open and gleaming. He had seen that look before, as she stood on the bridge gazing into the tossing seas ahead, and yet seeing nothing. Now he knew that a terrible picture was before her eyes.
Instinctively he took her hand.
“I am grieved I should have awakened these memories,” he said gently.