There was something blade-like in the outcome of this sentence; but it brought help in seeming to call the conduct of Dylar in question.
Tacita folded her hands, raised her head with a dignified gesture, and looked the speaker steadily in the face without replying.
“Ah!” Iona turned away with a fierce gesture, then returned. “It is not a son of yours who will save San Salvador!” she exclaimed.
“Perhaps God will save it, Iona,” said Tacita gently, and rising, went toward the stair.
She had descended but a few steps when Iona followed her. “I hope that I have not been too rude,” she said. “Pardon me if I have offended you! The subject is to me of such supreme importance that I forget all lesser considerations in it.”
Her voice, though conventionally modulated, had something in it which told her heart was beating violently.
“I am not offended,” murmured Tacita. “I respect and appreciate your position, your authority, your rights.”
At the lower landing they found Dylar. He looked anxiously at Tacita. “I have been waiting for you to come down,” he said. “And Elena has gone to order our supper to be brought here. We are going to have the sun-dance in the Square. Do you wish to go home first?”
She shook her head, and tried to smile. She could not speak.
“I will leave you both in better company,” Iona said courteously, declining to stay; and bowing, left them.