“You are a fool!” he said, with an attempt to seem indifferent; “I did but play with you. Were you to inform the King, your position would not improve. For if he believed you, which is doubtful, he would take you away instantly, and your next keeper might not be as lenient as I am.”
Flora saw the force of this argument, and thought it was better to endure what she was enduring than to take a leap in the dark and in all probability increase her woes.
“Although you deserve it, I have no desire to bring harm upon you,” she replied; “but relieve me of your presence. Go away, I beseech you.”
“I do as you request,” was his answer; “but the next time we meet you may be in a better frame of mind. Think over it. You would find me a better master than the King’s son.”
When Flora was alone she wept very bitterly. The trials she was going through almost threatened to affect her reason. Every channel of hope seemed shut against her. Day after day she heard with a sickening sensation at the heart the roar of the guns, as besieged and besiegers were struggling for the mastery. She knew that outside the English troops were making desperate efforts to reduce the city. But with such a full force it almost seemed like a waste of time. Her rooms and the terrace before them were situated in a part of the building not exposed to the besiegers’ fire, but she was often startled by the bursting of a shell in close proximity to her quarters, or the scream of a round shot as it hurtled through the air. She grew despondent when she saw how fruitless were the efforts of the troops outside, and how those inside laughed them to scorn.
When she had relieved her overburdened soul with a passionate outburst of grief she grew calmer. It was drawing towards the close of day, when, availing herself of her privilege, she sought the garden. She was faint and weak, and was glad of the fragrance and the cool air.
At the further end of the garden, away from the Palace, was a small summer-house, a sort of bower embosomed amongst some mango and orange trees, and covered all over with roses. It was quite sheltered from the heat of the sun, and formed a cool and quiet retreat. And here Flora had spent many hours, grateful for the undisturbed solitude. It was furnished with a couch, a few chairs and a table, some pictures and books.
Feeling unequal to walking about, she entered this place, and taking up a book, reclined on the couch and tried to read. But her mind was too confused to allow her to concentrate her thoughts. A mass of things rushed through her brain, until she became bewildered with the conflicting emotions which agitated her.
In a little while she realised that something was moving under the couch. Her first thought was that it was a snake, and she held her breath in alarm, but in a few moments she uttered a half-suppressed cry, as a voice close to her whispered—
“Hush! Silence, for your life.”