“So you will not come with me, my beautiful one?” he said, still smiling, and leaning across the table toward the girl.
Anny looked at him and her spirits rose; he was only playing with her, after all, she thought, as she saw his dark eyes smiling at her.
Yet she wished that Nan would come, although she was still vague in her mind as to what she expected the old woman to do when she did come.
“Nay, sir,” she said, smiling, “not this time.”
The Spaniard laughed again.
“Not this time, my Ann? Not this time?” he questioned in an almost threatening note, which crept into his laughing tone.
“Here, boy, more rum,” he called over his shoulder.
Hal brought the liquor; the Spaniard drew his knife from his belt and held it up by the blade so that the flickering light fell on its jewelled hilt.
“’Tis a fair blade,” he said admiringly.
“Ay, it is,” agreed Anny, as she took the rum from Hal, who nearly cried out as he saw her bright, eager face lifted to the foreigner’s.