“Yes,” said de Vilela—Fitzmaurice had not taken the proffered sword—”no one will impugn your courage. But if you do not refuse, you will not seek to detain this man?” And he looked searchingly at Fitzmaurice, who did not answer, but curtly nodded assent.
“Go, Señor Ruari!” said de Vilela; but I stood firm.
“Go,” said Fitzmaurice. “Do not fear, we shall meet again!”
“To meet again, then,” I said, and went out from the tent.
Summoning my men, I returned, darkly brooding over these strange happenings, to the camp of the Burkes. I had failed entirely to compass the object for which I had set out, for I was no nearer knowing where Desmond had taken my mistress. But Fitzmaurice knew, and when I recalled what he had said my heart overflowed with bitterness.
I would be just to this man, if I could. I can see now, looking across the grave of the years, that he viewed my mistress solely in the light of an obstacle in his path, and so he cared not what her fate was, so long as she was out of the way.
“Only a woman!” he had said of her, and that she was only a woman doubtless increased his sense of injury. But he forgot that it was for “only a woman” that men have ever fought and died.
When I arrived at the camp, Richard Burke was waiting for me. When he had heard me to the end, he said, “You should have killed him!” I had had the same thought myself, but de Vilela and the Spanish soldiers had come too quickly upon the scene for that. Besides, we should meet again, and thus I comforted my soul.
“Let us to sleep,” said I.
“I cannot sleep,” said he, and I heard him pacing up and down through the rest of what remained of the night, for though I shut my eyes, no sleep came to me either.