He sneered at that. “Oh, methought he could burst all bars and bolts, this famous pirate!”
“I suppose you thought so indeed, cousin, since you fled Madrid in such haste,” she said tartly.
He showed his teeth a moment. “Do you imagine these holiday terms serve you, señorita? I would be gentle with you, but you drive me to harsh measures. You are besotted; you do not know in how dire a state you stand. The hour grows late already, my cousin, and there is only Luis in the house. I warrant you he will not hear a cry for help.”
She was afraid, desperately afraid, but no sign of it appeared in her face. “You will let your desires ride you to your own undoing, cousin. Work your will on me: you will lose my substance.”
He sprang up. “By God, woman, you are shameless!” he said violently. “Is this the bold spirit the New World breeds? Do you hold your honour of so small account? Out on you, I say!”
“Do you then hold my honour in so great account?” she asked contemptuously. “Was it your care for it induced you to bear me off today?”
He began to walk up and down the room, kicking a joint-stool out of his way. She sat still, watching him, and courage soared high. He was irresolute. She knew herself to be the stronger of the two; she could hold him off for a while yet.
His thoughts raced; he shot a quick look at her as he passed in his impatient stride. She was sitting straight in her chair, hedged about by a flaming barrier of resolve. She was strung up; events had marched too swiftly to allow her girl’s imagination to sap her courage. In a dim way he realized this. Stealing yet another look at her rigid face, and the dark eyes that burned in it, he could picture her very clearly following out her threat. He had her in his power; he could work his will on her, but some instinct told him that she was in too exalted a mood to capitulate.
He was honestly shocked by the attitude she chose to take up. It had been unforeseen; it took him so much by surprise that he was thrown out of his stride. She sat like a goddess, fearless and invincible. So much he could see.
He went on with his pacing, biting his fingernails now, as he always did when he was put out. He knew something of women; he had had dealings with a-many and a-many, but this girl was out of his ken.
He reflected. Her uplifted mood could not last; she was no goddess, but a girl strung up to a pitch of abnormal excitement that would die. He made up his mind to wait, to allow anticipation to wear down her courage.
He came to a halt opposite her. “We will see how you feel in the morning, my cousin,” he said. “Let the night bring sager counsel. You are overwrought, and I would not hurry you, nor do I wish to constrain you by force. But mark me well! Tomorrow night, if I have not your promise to wed with me, you will not find me so gentle. If you will not have me with the Church’s holy tie you shall have me without it. You have a night and a day to make up your mind whether you will be wife or mistress, but one or the other you shall be. That I swear!”
Some of the tension went out of her. She let her eyes fall that he might not see the relief in them. Much might happen in a night and a day; there was hope still.
She rose. “Then I desire to retire to my chamber, señor, with your good leave,” she said.
XXII
Of that mad ride through Spain Joshua never afterwards spoke without a shake of the head, and a gesture of incredulity. “You ask me how we compassed it?” says he. “I will tell you very simply, I do not know. We were out of Madrid featly enough, none saying us nay. Why should they? My master wore the collar of the Golden Fleece about his neck, a fine gaudy thing, to rank with our Garter, so I believe. That weighed with them, I warrant you. If any speered after us, why, we were on the King’s business, and you may believe we tarried not to see how they stomached that.
“We rode through that first night without drawing rein. I thanked Jupiter—a very potent planet in my affairs—that there was some faint moonlight, else had we been shent. Past some town—you would not know it, and nor did I—clouds came up, and we were left to flounder among the ruts and the boulders. As I remember, we lost the road twice between that stage and the next. I was near to breaking my head against low-hanging tree-branches, lost, then bogged in some swamp. ‘How fares your honour?’ sing I out into the darkness. ‘Merrily, merrily!’ calls Sir Nicholas back to me. What can be done with such a mad-wag? We were casting about to find the road, stumbling here, foundering there, with all Spain hunting us to the rearward. But ‘Merrily, merrily!’ quoth Sir Nicholas, and I doubt he thought so. Did he lose the road? What matter for that? Trust him to nose out the north; it was enough. The dawn came up, and a sharp wind with it, enough to cut one in two. I was never more glad of the daylight. We struck the road—God’s light, there was little enough to choose between it and the open country!—pushed on, the horses nigh done. My nag went lame: small blame to him. We fetched up at the next stage, walking the last league. You may be sure we had put a-many between us and Madrid.
“My head
