The Lady of the Mount. Isham Frederic Stewart

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      "Why not?" A smile, slightly forced, crossed his face. "Does your Ladyship think I make war on women? Only, before your Ladyship departs, it will be necessary for you to agree to a little condition."

      "Condition?" She drew her breath quickly.

      "That you will say nothing to incriminate him. He is an old servant of mine; has broken none of the laws of the land," with a somewhat contemptuous accent, "works his bit of ground; pays métayage, and a tax on all the fish he brings in. Only in a certain matter to-day has he served me."

      "You mean I must say nothing about meeting him? You?"

      "For his sake!"

      "And your own!"

      "Mine?" He made a careless gesture. "I should not presume! For myself I should exact, or expect, from your Ladyship no promise. To-night I shall be far away. But this good fellow remains behind; should be allowed to continue his peaceful, lowly occupation. I would not have anything happen to him on my account."

      "And if I refuse to promise?" she asked haughtily. "To enter into any covenant with – you!"

      "But you will not!" he said steadily. "Your Ladyship, for her own sake, should not force the alternative."

      "Alternative?"

      "Why speak of it?"

      "What is the alternative?" she demanded.

      "If your Ladyship refuses to promise, it will be necessary for the man to return alone."

      "You mean," in spite of herself, she gave a start, "you would make me – a prisoner?"

      "It should not be necessary."

      "But you would not dare!" indignantly.

      "Not dare! Your Ladyship forgets – "

      "True!" with a scornful glance. After a pause: "But suppose I did promise? Are you not reposing a good deal of confidence in me?"

      "Not too much!"

      "I presume," disdainfully, "I should feel flattered in being trusted by – " She did not finish the sentence.

      But the young man apparently had not heard. "I'll take the chance on your own words," he added unexpectedly.

      "My words?"

      "That you are no telltale."

      The girl started. "Telltale?" she repeated.

      "You once told me you were not!"

      "I – told you!" She stared at him.

      "Told me you were no telltale," he repeated. "And – when Beppo lied, you told the truth – about a ragged vagabond of a boy."

      "Beppo!" The look in her eyes deepened; cleared. "I remember now," she said slowly. "You were the boy with the fish, who said he lived in the woods. I met you while riding, and again that night, as a child, leaving for Paris; but I did not know, then, you would become – "

      The young man's face changed. "An outlaw!" he said coolly.

      "Yes; an outlaw," she repeated firmly. Angered by his unflinching gaze, she went on: "Who dares not fly the flag of his king! Who dares not come openly into any honest port!"

      She ended, her brown eyes flashing. His own darkened; but he only remarked coldly; "My Lady, at any rate, dares much!"

      "Oh, I've no doubt you don't care to hear – "

      "From you!" He looked at her oddly, from the golden hair to the small, dainty foot. "From your Ladyship!" he repeated, as if amused. An instant he regarded her silently, intently; but his voice when at length he again spoke was cool and slightly mocking: "My Lady speaks, of course, from the standpoint of her own world – a very pretty world! A park of plaisance, wherein, I can vouch for it, my Lady dances very prettily."

      She started; a flush of resentment glowed and faded on her cheek; a question his words suggested trembled on her lips.

      "Why did you come to the beach that night of the dance? How dared you, knowing that if – "

      "Why?" His eyes lost their ironical light. "Why?" he repeated; then laughed with sudden recklessness. "I wished to see your Ladyship."

      "Me?" She shrank back.

      "You!" he repeated, his gaze fastened on the startled, proud face. "Though I looked not forward to a dance – with your Ladyship!" The black eyes glowed. "Pardi! It was worth the risk." A moment he waited; then his manner changed. "I will leave your Ladyship now," he said quietly. "You will have opportunity to consider" – she did not answer – "whether you will give me your promise, or not," he added, and, wheeling abruptly, walked away.

      Some time later, in the fast-gathering darkness, from the cove a small boat put out, with Sanchez, gloomy and sullen, in the stern; at the bow, the Governor's daughter. As the isle receded and the point of land loomed bigger before them, the girl gazed straight ahead; but the man looked back: to the sands of the little cove, a pale simitar in the dragon-like mouth of the rock; toward the tower, near which he fancied he could see a figure, turned from them – seaward – where, far out, a ship might just be discerned, a dim outline on the horizon.

      CHAPTER X

      THE CLOISTER IN THE AIR

      Irrespective of environment, the cloister of the Mount would have been a delight to the eye, but, upheld in mid air, with the sky so near and the sands so far below, it seemed more an inspiration of fancy than a work of hand. Dainty, delicate, its rose-colored columns of granite appeared too thin for tangible weight; the tympan's sculptured designs, fanciful as the carvings in some palace of a poet's dreams. Despite, however, this first impression of evanescence, it carried a charm against the ravages of time, and ethereal though it was, had rested like a crown on the grim head of the rock through the ages.

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