Martin Conisby

"And must I weep therefore?" said I, and glancing from her haggard face I beheld a small, ivory-hilted dagger on the table at her elbow.

"Ah, mercy of God--how the ship rolls!" she moaned feebly and then burst forth into cursings and passionate revilings of ship and wind and sea until these futile ravings were hushed for lack of breath; anon she fell to sighing and with many wistful looks, but finding me all unheeding, fell foul of me therefore: "Ha, scowl, beast--scowl--this becomes thy surly visage. I shall not know thee else! Didst ever smile in all thy sullen days or speak me gentle word or kindly? Never to me, oh, never to me! Will ye not spare a look? Will ye not speak--have ye no word to my comfort?"

"Why seek such of me?" I demanded bitterly. "I have endured much of shame and evil at your will--"

"Ah, fool," sighed she, "had you but sent to me--one word--and I had freed you ere this! And I have delivered you at last because I am sick and weak--a woman and lonely--"

"Why, there be rogues for you a-plenty hereabouts shall fit ye better than I--"

"Oh, 'tis a foul tongue yours, Martino!"

"Why, then, give me a boat, cast me adrift and be done with me."

"Ah, no, I would not you should die yet--"

"Mayhap you will torture me a little more first."

"'Tis for you to choose! Oh, Martino," she cried; "will you not be my friend, rather?"

"Never in this world!"

At this, and all at once, she was weeping.

"Ah, but you are cruel!" she sobbed, looking up at me through her tears. "Have you no pity for one hath never known aught of true love or gentleness? Wilt not forget past scores and strive to love me--some little--Martino?"

Now hearkening to her piteous accents, beholding her thus transfigured, her tear-wet eyes, the pitiful tremor of her vivid lips and all the pleading humility of her, I was beyond all thought amazed.

"Surely," said I, "surely you are the strangest woman God ever made--"

"Why then," said she, smiling through her tears, "since God made me, then surely--ah, surely is there something in me worthy your love?"

"Love?" quoth I, frowning and clenching my shackled hands. "'Tis an emptiness--I am done with the folly henceforth--"

"Ah--ah ... and what of your Joan--your Damaris?" she questioned eagerly. "Do you not love her--no?"

"No!" said I fiercely. "My life holdeth but one purpose--"

"What purpose, Martino, what?"

"Vengeance!"

"On whom?"

"'Tis no matter!" said I, and question me how she might I would say no more, whereupon she importuned me with more talk of love and the like folly until, finding me heedless alike of her tears and pleadings, she turned on me in sudden fury, vowing she would have me dragged back to the hell of the forecastle there and then.