“What is the matter?” he repeated, a strange fear at his heart.
“You have broken one of the most sacred laws of our country,” she faltered, in great embarrassment; “my father would punish me very severely if he knew of it, and he would banish you; for, to treat me in that manner, as his daughter, is regarded as an insult to him.”
“I beg your pardon most humbly,” said the contrite Englishman. “It was all on account of my ignorance of your customs and my impulsiveness. It shall never happen again, I promise you.”
Her face brightened a little and the color came back slowly. She sat down again, but not so near Thorndyke, and seemed desirous of changing the subject.
“And do you love the man my father has transported?” she questioned.
“Yes, he is a good, faithful fellow, and it is hard to die so far away from friends.”
“We must try to save him, but I cannot now think of a safe plan. The police are very vigilant.”
“Where was he taken?”
“Into the darkness behind the sun—beyond the wall of which I spoke.”
A flush of shame came into Thorndyke's face over the remembrance that he had made no effort to aid poor Johnston, and was sitting listening with delight to the conversation of Bernardino. He rose suddenly.