«Oh, you think the worst of me, of course. You account me just a light woman. But you shall know the truth.
«At the height of my disillusion some few months after my marriage, Don Juan de la Fuente came to us at Pau, where we lived, for my husband is a Gascon. My Don Juan was travelling in France. We loved each other from our first meeting. He saw my unhappiness, which was plain to all. He urged me to fly to Spain with him, and I would to Heaven I had yielded then, and so put an end to misery. Foolishly I resisted. A sense of duty kept me faithful to my vows. I dismissed him. Since then my cup of misery and shame has overflowed, and when a letter from him was brought to me here at Basseterre on the outbreak of war with Spain, to show me that his fond, loyal, noble heart had not forgotten, I answered him, and in my despair I bade him come for me whenever he would.»
She paused a moment, looking at Captain Blood with tragic eyes from which the tears were flowing.
«Now, sir, you know precisely what you have done, what havoc you have made.»
Blood's expression had lost some of its sternness. His voice, as he answered her, assumed a gentler note.
«The havoc exists only in your mind, madame. The change which you conceived to be from hell to heaven would have been from hell to deeper hell. You did not know this man, this loyal, noble heart, this Don Juan de la Fuente. You were taken by the external glitter of him. But it was the glitter, I tell you of decay, for at the core the man was rotten, and in his hands your fate would have been infamy.»
«Do you mend your case or mine by maligning the man you've murdered?»
«Malign him? Nay, madame. Proof of what I say is under my hand. You were in Basseterre to–day. You know something of the bloodshed, the slaughter of almost defenceless men, the dreadful violence to women…»
Faintly she interrupted him. «These things…in the way of war…»
«The way of war?» he roared. «Madame, undeceive yourself. Look truth boldly in the face though it condemn you both. Of what consequence Mariegalante to Spain? And, having been taken, is it held? War served your lover as a pretext. He let loose his dreadful soldiery upon the ill–defended place, solely so that he might answer your invitation. Men who to–day have been wantonly butchered, and unfortunate women who have suffered brutal violence, would now be sleeping tranquilly in their beds but for you and your evil lover. But for you —»