I had anticipated a pleasant cruise in the society of these old friends, and had hoped their genial company would help to dissipate the fog that hovered about my spirits.
Now, strange to say, I deeply regretted their presence aboard, nor could I give a plausible reason for such a complete change in my feelings, save that the strange events of this evening had revealed my own soul to my astonished gaze, and a mad hope had sprung up in my heart.
My guests awaited me on deck.
Already we were beginning to move through the water, and soon the light of gay old Bolivar would be lost over the expanse of sea.
I rejoiced that far, and saw nothing to regret in leaving the place; it was a little too hot a town for my blood.
We chatted for a time on various matters.
I knew both of my guests were just dying to question me about the mysterious lady who had come aboard in such a strange way, and with whose arrival my affair on the bay must certainly have had close connection.
But I was in no hurry to speak—they could pique their curiosity until I had arranged in my mind just how much I wanted to tell them now.
One thing I meant to keep quiet, remembering my promise to Hildegarde, and this concerned her identity; I really enjoyed having a secret from Diana, usually so quick to read the meaning of all signs, and mentally pictured her astonishment when, later, she would learn who my passenger was.
Finally, she demanded that I redeem my promise, and tell what brought me into conflict with the people of Bolivar.