For a moment Benicia met his gaze, and saw the little glint in his eyes. She also saw how worn his face was, and the gauntness of his frame, and her compassion was stronger than her pride.
"Ah," she said, "I know it already. I have known it all along."
"Still," said Ormsgill, "there is a little more to be said. I am not going back to Las Palmas if I am set at liberty."
He saw the crimson creep into her forehead. "Benicia," he said, "the woman I was pledged to has cast me off. I am going back to England, and—after all you know—I wonder if I dare venture to ask you if you will come with me."
"Ah," said the girl with a simplicity that had a certain stateliness in it, "I think I would go anywhere with you."
Then Ormsgill strode forward masterfully, and it was a minute later when she smiled up at him. "This," she said, "is not what I meant to do—at least, just now—but when I saw you looking so worn and anxious and remembered that you were still a prisoner I forgot how I hated that Englishwoman. I only remembered how I loved you."
A little later there were footsteps outside, and the black sergeant once more appeared in the doorway, while when he led Ormsgill away Benicia went straight to a room guarded by a dusky soldier, and demanded to see the officer within. He sent his secretary away, and then looked up at her with a little smile.
"You have a promise to keep," she said. "I have come to ask you to set these two Englishmen at liberty."
"Ah," said the man, "there are, no doubt, one or two reasons for this that you can suggest?"
"You know they have done no wrong."