She took the fan from the negress, and waved it lazily to and fro. “When do we go?” she asked at last.
“We!” I answered. “I had thought to go alone.”
The fan dropped to the floor, and her eyes opened wide. “And leave me here!” she exclaimed. “Leave me in these woods, at the mercy of Indians, wolves, and your rabble of servants!”
I smiled. “We are at peace with the Indians; it would be a stout wolf that could leap this palisade; and the servants know their master too well to care to offend their mistress. Moreover, I would leave Diccon in charge.”
“Diccon!” she cried. “The old woman in the kitchen hath told me tales of Diccon! Diccon Bravo! Diccon Gamester! Diccon Cutthroat!”
“Granted,” I said. “But Diccon Faithful as well. I can trust him.”
“But I do not trust him!” she retorted. “And I wish to go to Jamestown. This forest wearies me.” Her tone was imperious.
“I must think it over,” I said coolly. “I may take you, or I may not. I cannot tell yet.”
“But I desire to go, sir!”
“And I may desire you to stay.”