I looked at the strange girl curiously. She had seated herself upon a large chest, and with her hands clasped about one knee was watching us load our weapons with as much calmness as if no crisis of our fate was impending.
“Be kind to him, Lesba,” remarked Paola, tucking a revolver underneath his arm while he rolled and lighted a cigarette. “Think of his grief at being separated from you.”
She laughed again, with real enjoyment, and shook the tangled locks of hair from her eyes.
“Perhaps if I accept his attentions he will marry me, and I shall escape,” she rejoined, lightly.
“Open, I command you!” came the voice from without.
“Really,” said Lesba, looking upon us brightly, “it was too funny for anything. Twice this morning the brave captain nearly succeeded in capturing me. He might have shot me with ease, but called out that he could not bear to injure the woman he loved!”
“Does he indeed love you, Lesba?” asked de Pintra, gently.
“So he says, Uncle. But it must have been a sudden inspiration, for I never saw him until yesterday.”
“Nevertheless, I am glad to learn of this,” resumed Dom Miguel; “for there is no disguising the fact that they outnumber us and are better armed, and it is good to know that whatever happens to us, you will be protected.”
“Whatever happens to you will happen to me,” declared the girl, springing to her feet. “Give me a gun, Uncle!”