"Love?" quoth I, frowning and clenching my shackled hands. "'Tis an emptiness—I am done with the folly henceforth—"
"Ah—ah … and what of your Joan—your Damaris?" she questioned eagerly.
"Do you not love her—no?"
"No!" said I fiercely. "My life holdeth but one purpose—"
"What purpose, Martino, what?"
"Vengeance!"
"On whom?"
"'Tis no matter!" said I, and question me how she might I would say no more, whereupon she importuned me with more talk of love and the like folly until, finding me heedless alike of her tears and pleadings, she turned on me in sudden fury, vowing she would have me dragged back to the hell of the forecastle there and then.
"I'll shame your cursed pride," cried she. "You shall be rove to a gun and flayed with whips—"
But here, reaching forward or ever she might stay me, I caught up the ivory-hilted dagger:
"Ah!" said she softly, staring where it glittered in my shackled hand. "Would you kill me! Come then, death have I never feared—strike, Martino mio!" and she proffered her white bosom to the blow; but I laughed in fierce derision.