The girl stood as though frozen into stone, during this conversation, as if dazed by the terrible scene through which she had passed. But as DeNortier motioned a seaman to find the priest, whom he called Father Francis, the full horror of the situation seemed to burst upon her, and breaking away from the grasp of old Herrick, she threw herself at DeNortier's feet, in a torrent of tears.
"Señor! Señor!" she cried, "for the love of God, have mercy! Hast thou no soul? Hadst thou a mother? For her sake I implore! Kill me if thou wilt, but do not do this act; 'twill be a stone about thy neck, to drag thee down to the bottomless pit."
The Count smiled and touched her with his hand.
"Rise up, fair one," he said; "thou shalt be queen of the tropic isles, and share my throne. Thou shalt have slaves to answer thy beck and call; thy slightest wish shall be my law. Dry those tears; Father Francis shall tie the wedding knot—and then, ho! for the fragrant isle where we shall reign."
The girl sprang to her feet, her eyes flashing.
"Dog!" she cried, "rather would I die than be the wife of such as thou! Rather would I let the crows pick the flesh from my bones, than to submit to such an outrage! Knowest thou not that I am the Donna Maria DeCarnova, the daughter of the Duc DeCarnova? The blood of kings and princes runs in my veins. Kill me, if thou wilt, but do not compel me to be thy wife."
The Count laughed—such a laugh as the damned might have uttered, as they gloat in the regions of the Inferno over a soul that is lost.
"Donna," he said, "save thy pretty blandishments, until after the priest hath finished with us. Thou mightst as well try to climb into the clouds of Heaven as to move me, after my mind has been made up. My wife thou shalt be, whether thou dost desire it or not. Prepare thyself for the wedding."
I could stand this scene no longer; for, from where I lay, bound and tied, I could see and hear all that passed. The agony of the girl touched me to the heart. I have seen much of the evil side of life; but all the scenes of sin and sorrow have made me unable to turn a deaf ear to the cry of suffering, agonizing humanity.
Naught had I to live for, disowned and spurned by my own father; cut off by an impenetrable barrier from all I knew and loved, what did there remain for me? What mattered a few short days? I could not ask the Lady Margaret Carroll to share such a life as this—would not let her do so, even were she willing.