Hearing a bustle in the room, Adderfang now spoke, in a low and interrupted voice—it was in Spanish.
"Padre, do not persist—I do not want your services—you cannot smooth my pillow—do not therefore try to strew more thorns there—Heaven knows they are numerous enough, and sharp enough already."
"Can this be the villain who stabbed me?" said I, somewhat moved.
The poor girl at this stooped down, and whispered something into his ear.
"Ah!" said he, "I had forgot—I had forgot; but your tears scald me, Antonia—hot—hot;" and with a sudden effort, as if ashamed to evince how much he was suffering, and a fierce energy, he controlled the twitching of his feverish limbs, clasped his hands on his bosom, and opening his blood-shot eyes for the first time, took a steady survey of us. He then glanced to the jailer.
"This is the gentleman who was stabbed by you," said the Spaniard. He nodded. "This is the English marine, Lennox, who came up with the guard and took you prisoner."
I could not help remarking, when Lennox was introduced to him, that the wounded man smiled bitterly, as much as to say—"I know him but too well, and he has fearful cause to know me." "Mr Brail," said he (I had to stoop to catch his words, he spoke in so low a tone), "I am aware of the object of this visit—it is all proper. Let the escribano there get his paper ready; I shall make short work of the confessional."
The man sat down. Adderfang again shut his eyes, and seemed for a few moments to be gathering his thoughts about him; at length—
"I acknowledge that I stabbed the Englishman, Mr Brail, and robbed him afterwards; and that the English marine, Lennox, acted nobly and honourably in coming to the assistance of his countryman. He was the man who wounded me. There you have it all; engross it, and I will sign it."
As if desirous of being heard distinctly, he had, as he pronounced these words with difficulty, in detached sentences, raised himself on his left arm, and now, as if exhausted, he fell back with his head on poor Antonia's lap.