“Ah?” ejaculated the Maltese, and he turned to one of his companions, and interpreted what he had heard in a language Vlacco did not understand.
It seemed much to affect the man, who was a young, dark-skinned Maltese, though with features more of the European cast than theirs generally are. He spoke a few words to the interpreter, who then said—
“But, tell me, my friend, is the lady you speak of a Greek of these islands, or a stranger? We are anxious to know who our intended benefactress is.”
“I don’t see how it matters to you, who or what she is, provided she is of service to you,” returned the pirate. “But as you want to know, I’ll tell you, she’s a foreigner, and our chief seems very fond of her; and she is of him, I should think, by the way she looks at him. Will that answer serve you?”
The interpreter repeated what he had heard to his companion, who was evidently greatly agitated, though he tried to master his feelings, so as not to allow them to attract the attention of the islanders. He was able to say a few words to the interpreter, who immediately asked—
“Has the lady been long in the island, or has she lately arrived, friend?”
“I am not going to answer any more of your questions,” replied old Vlacco, who had gradually been losing the little amiability he ever possessed. “I don’t know why I said anything at all to you. My orders were to see you safely into the lady’s tower, where I must lock you up; and, as soon as our chief comes back, if he takes my advice, he’ll heave you all off the top of the cliff together.”
“What, is your chief absent then?” said the Maltese, with a gleam of satisfaction in his countenance.
“He is,” replied Vlacco.
“Where has he gone, friend?” asked the persevering interpreter.