“I thought you were acquainted with its contents. It was dictated in your hearing, and penned in your presence.”
“I know, I know; but was that all? I saw that you were unwilling to sign it. You had a reason?”
“I had.”
“Some difference with your family? You are not friends with your father—am I right?”
“Something of that,” answered the young Englishman, knowing no reason why he should conceal a quarrel—so far away from those whom it might concern.
“I thought so,” said the woman. “And this,” she continued, changing her tone to one of greater earnestness, “this quarrel may prevent your father from sending the riscatta.”
“Possibly it may.”
“Possibly it may! You treat the matter lightly; you have done so all along. I have noticed it. One cannot help admiring your courage; I cannot. Perhaps that is why I am here.”
Again there was something like a sigh, which added to the surprise of the captive, something of embarrassment.
“You know not,” continued Popetta, “the fate that is before you if the riscatta should not come.”