“You can find me the means of escaping from this prison.”
“Ah! that is just possible, but not so easy. If I succeeded, it could only be by giving my life for yours! Would you wish me to do that, signore?”
“No—no!”
“Such a sacrifice would be certain. You know not how I am watched. ’Tis only by stealth, and a bribe to Tommaso, I’ve been able to enter here. Corvino’s jealousy—ah, Signor Inglese, I have been deemed handsome!—you may not think so.”
Her hand once more rested on the young Englishman’s shoulder—once more to be repelled, but this time with greater gentleness. He feared to wound her self-esteem, and stir the tigress that slumbered in that darkened Italian heart. He made reply as he best could, without committing himself.
“Even were he to know of this interview,” she continued, still speaking of Corvino, “by the law of our band my life would be forfeited. You see that I am ready to serve you!”
“You would have me write, then? How is it to be done? Can a letter be sent?”
“Leave that to me. Here are some sheets of paper, ink, and a pen. I have brought them with me. You can have no light now; I dare not give it you. Corvino’s captives must not be made too comfortable—else they would be less urgent for their friends to set them free. When the morning sun shines in through your window, then write. Tommaso will bring you your breakfast, and take your letter in exchange. It will be my care to see that it be sent.”
“Oh, thanks, signora!” exclaimed the grateful captive, seizing hold of the offered gift with an eagerness he had not hitherto shown. A new idea had come suddenly into his mind. “A thousand thanks!” he repeated; “I shall do as you say.”
“Buono notte!” said the brigandess, putting the writing materials into his hand, at the same time pressing it with a fervour that betrayed something more than pity. “Buono notte, galantuomo!” she added. “Sleep without fear. If it should come to that, you may command even the life of her you have heard called Cara Popetta.”