“You, Señorita!” he said.
“I was beguiled with fair words and promises,” said she, “and then they made me a prisoner, but I escaped from them. War have I declared against them, and a great revenge shall I take. You, I hear, are a brave man, and I have need of such in this contest with the English. Will you join me?”
“That will I not,” said he; and I heard him muttering to himself, “She is a devil.”
“Better consider before you speak,” said I, seizing his arm roughly.
“Let me be, let me be,” said he, “for I am a dying man!” And he swooned upon the deck. Reviving in a few minutes, he staggered to his feet, whereupon I put my arm round him for his support.
“Where are the other ships of the fleet, tell me,” said Grace O’Malley, “and how many are there?”
“You can kill me,” said he, “and I shall thank you for it, but that which I know I shall never tell you.”
And again I heard him muttering, “Devil, devil!” and calling upon “Santiago” to protect him from her spells.
Grace O’Malley gazed at him, and of a sudden there was in her eyes—what I never looked to see in them on such an occasion—a dew of tears springing from an unsuspected fount of pity. After all, she was a woman, as I have said.
“You are a brave man and a true,” said she, “and I will not plague you more. Let him die in peace,” cried she to me, “if die he must.”