He smiled. “I am not gripping you at all, sweetheart, and well you know it.”
“Let me go!”
“But if I do you will run away,” he pointed out.
“I wonder that you desire to talk to one who—who hates you!”
“Not I, child. But you do not hate me.”
“I do! I do!”
“God’s Death, then, why do you play poor Diccon on your line to tease me?”
That was too much for the lady. She hit him, full across his smiling mouth.
It was no sooner done that she knew a frightened leap of the heart, an instant regret, for he swooped quickly, caught her hands fast in his, and locked them behind her back. She looked up, in part afraid, in part defiant, and saw him laughing still.
“Now what do you think you deserve of me?” Beauvallet asked.
She had recourse to her strongest weapon, and burst into tears. She was set free on the instant.
“Sweetheart, sweetheart!” Beauvallet said remorsefully. “Here’s no matter for tears! What, am I so grim an ogre? I did but tease you, child. Look up! Nay, but smile! See, I will kiss the very hem of your gown! Only do not weep!” He was on his knee before her; she looked down through her tears at his bent head, more shaken still, and heard footsteps coming up the companion leading from the waist of the ship. She touched Beauvallet’s crisp hair fleetingly. “Oh, do not! One comes—get up, get up!”
He sprang up as his Master appeared at the head of the companion, and stepped quickly forward to shield Dominica from this worthy’s notice.
It was easily possible now for her to escape below decks. Sir Nicholas’ attention was held by his Master; the way lay open to her. Doña Dominica walked to the bulwarks, and carefully dried her eyes, and stood looking out to sea.
In a minute or two the Master’s retreating steps sounded, and a lighter footfall, nearer at hand. Beauvallet’s fingers covered hers as they lay on the rail. “Forgive the rough, boisterous fellow!” he begged.
The tone won her; a dimple peeped, and was gone. “You use me monstrously,” complained Dominica.
“But you do not hate me?”
She left that unanswered. “I cannot find it in me to envy the lady you take to wife,” she said.
“Nay, how should you?”
She looked sharply up at that, blushed, and turned her face away. “I do not know how the English ladies can bear with you, señor.”
He looked merrily down at her. “Why, I have not called upon them to bear with me, señora.”
She faced him suddenly. “You will scarce have me believe you have not trifled often and often!” she said hotly. “No doubt ye deem women of small account!”
“I do not deem you of small account, child.”
She smiled disdainfully. “You are mightily apt. Do you use this manner with the English ladies, pray?”
“Nay, sweetheart, this is the manner I use,” Sir Nicholas answered, and promptly kissed her.
Dominica choked, pushed him violently away, and fled down the companion to her cabin. She found her woman there, and was at once conscious of a heightened colour, and ruffled hair. Maria, noting these portents and the storm in her mistress’ eyes, set her arms akimbo and looked fiercely. “That bully!” she said darkly. “He has insulted you, señorita? He dared to lay his hands on you?”
Dominica was biting her handkerchief; her eyes looked this way and that, and at the end she laughed uneasily. “He kissed me,” she said.
“I will tear the eyes from his head!” vowed Maria, and made for the door.
“Silly wench! Fond fool! Stay still!” Dominica commanded.
“You shall not again stir forth without me to be your duenna, señorita,” promised Maria.
Dominica stamped her foot. “Oh, blind! I wanted him to kiss me!”
Maria’s jaw dropped. “Señorita!”
Dominica gave a tiny laugh. “He swears he will come into Spain to seek me. If he but dared!”
“Not even an Englishman would be fool enough, señorita.”
“Alack, no!” Dominica sighed. “But if he did—oh, I become infected with his madness!” She lifted the tiny mirror that hung at her girdle, and frowned at her own reflection. A pat here and a twist there, and she had her curls demure again under the net. She let fall the mirror, blushed to see Maria still wondering at her, and was off to visit her father.
She found Joshua Dimmock in the cabin, vociferous in defence of his gallows’ chips, which he believed, privately, might serve at least to stave off Don Manuel’s death until he was set safe ashore.
Don Manuel looked wearily at his daughter. “Is there none to rid me of this fool?” he said.
Joshua tried the effect of coaxing. “See, señor, I have them safe tied in a sachet. I bought them of a very holy man, versed in these matters. If you would but wear them about your neck I might vouch for a certain cure.”
“Bartolomeo, set wide that door,” commanded Don Manuel. “Now, fellow, depart from me!”
“Most gracious señor—”
Bartolomeo fell back from the open doorway, bowing. A voice that to Dominica’s fancy seemed to hold all the sunshine and the salt wind of fine days at sea smote her ears. “What’s this?”
Sir Nicholas stood on the threshold.
Don Manuel raised himself on his elbow. “Señor, in good time! Rid me of your knave there, and his damnable chips from a gallows!”
Beauvallet came quickly in, saw Joshua standing aggrieved by the side of the bunk, and caught him by the nape of the neck, and with no more ado hurled him forth. He kicked the door to behind him, and stood looking down at Don Manuel. “Is there aught else I may do for you, señor? You have but to name it.”
Don Manuel lay back against the pillows and smiled wrily. “You are short in your dealings, señor.”
“But to the point, you’ll allow. I am come to see how you do this morning. The fever still hath you in its hold?”
“A little.” Don Manuel frowned a warning. Beauvallet turned his head to observe the reason
