“But do you believe the tale?” he asked.
“I cannot but believe, señor,” she answered; “one of our slaves saw the murdered man on the beach where he fell, and the dagger sticking in his bosom.”
“But how can you suppose from that circumstance that an Englishman did the deed.”
“Because the dagger was such as the young officers wear,” answered the girl; “and they were seen walking together.”
“Know you the name, then, of the supposed murderer?” he asked.
“I could not pronounce it if I did,” she said.
“It matters not—but believe not the tale—at all events, you would not believe me guilty of such a deed?”
“Oh, heavens, certainly not!” she replied, casting a glance which told plainly the secret of her heart.
He saw that the victory was gained, and clasping her to his bosom, he urged her to form a plan for his concealment.
“No one saw me approach the house,” he observed, “so you will not be suspected; yet hasten, for should I now be observed, our difficulties would be increased.”