My manner caused him to view me steadfastly, and the odd expression of expectation in his eyes grew more defined.
"When your daughter awoke from her first swoon, Captain Noble, she awoke—mad."
"What do you mean by mad?" he said.
"She was a maniac," said I. "And I wish that were all."
"Out with it—out with it all, then, man, for God's sake!" he exclaimed.
"Only one Spaniard, along with the Spanish steward, left the schooner. The body of the other Spaniard we dropped overboard."
He put his note-book on the table and tightly folded his arms on his breast. I believe, though I could not be sure, that he then guessed what I was about to tell him.
"I knew that your daughter was mad," said I. "Don Christoval introduced me into her cabin, hoping, I know not what, from my visit. It was not long after, that, being in the quarters which I then occupied yonder," said I, pointing, "I heard a terrible cry, and opening that door there I witnessed Don Christoval in the act of falling and expiring, stabbed to the heart by your daughter, who stood just within her cabin—that one there—grasping a large knife she had managed to get possession of."
He fell back in his chair, and remained for some moments looking at me as though he could not understand my meaning; then a sort of groan escaped him, and he got up and began to march about the cabin.