"Oh, ay! I had quite forgotten," he explained bitterly. "They enjoy the ministrations of Father Cassati, of our Order, as representative of Holy Church."
"Pouf!" I muttered gloomily. "It is bad to have the guard-lines drawn so closely. Besides, I know little about the way of ships; how they are arranged within, or even along the open decks. We meet them not in the backwoods, so this is an adventure little to my taste. It would hardly be prudent, even could I obtain safe footing there, to attempt following a trail in the dark when I knew not where it led. I must either see the path I am to travel by good daylight, or else procure a guide. This Father Cassati might answer. Is he one to trust?"
The priest turned his head away with a quick gesture of indignant dissent.
"Nay!" he exclaimed emphatically. "He must never be approached upon such a matter. He can be sweet enough with all men to their faces; the words of his mouth are as honey; yet he would be true to none. It is not according to the canons of our Order for me thus to speak, yet I only give utterance to truth as I know it in the sight of God. Not even the Spaniards themselves have faith in him. He has not been permitted to set foot upon shore since first he went aboard."
"And you have no plan, no suggestion to offer for my guidance?"
"Mon Dieu, no!" he cried dramatically. "I cannot think the first thing."
"And you, Madame?"
She was kneeling close beside a large chair, her fine dark eyes eagerly searching my face.
"It rests wholly with you," she said solemnly, "and God."
Twice, three times, I paced slowly across the floor in anxious reflection; each time, as I turned, I gazed again into her trustful, appealing eyes. It was love calling to me in silent language far more effective than speech; at last, I paused and faced her.