"I'll shame your cursed pride," cried she. "You shall be rove to a gun and flayed with whips--"
But here, reaching forward or ever she might stay me, I caught up the ivory-hilted dagger: "Ah!" said she softly, staring where it glittered in my shackled hand. "Would you kill me! Come then, death have I never feared--strike, Martino mio!" and she proffered her white bosom to the blow; but I laughed in fierce derision.
"Silly wench," said I, "this steel is not for you! Call in your rogues and watch me blood a few--"
"Ah, damned coward," she cried, "ye dare not slay me lest Belvedere torment ye to death--'tis your own vile carcase you do think of!"
At this I did but laugh anew, whereat, falling to pallid fury, she sprang upon me, smiting with passionate, small fists, besetting me so close that I cowered and shrank back lest she impale herself on the dagger I grasped. But presently being wearied she turned away, then staggered as the ship rolled to a great sea, and would have fallen but for me. Suddenly, as she leaned upon me thus, her dark head pillowed on my breast, she reached up and clasped her hands about my neck and with head yet hid against me burst into a storm of fierce sobbing. Staring down at this bowed head, feeling the pleading passion of these vital, soft-clasping hands and shaken by her heart-bursting sobs, I grew swiftly abashed and discomfited and let the dagger fall and lie unheeded.
"Ah, Martino," said she at last, her voice muffled in my breast. "Surely nought is there in all this wretched world so desolate as a loveless woman! Can you not--pity me--a little, yes?"
"Aye, I do pity you!" quoth I, on impulse.
"And pity is kin to love, Martino! And I can be patient, patient, yes!"
"'Twere vain!" said I. At this she loosed me and uttering a desolate cry, cast herself face down upon her couch.
"Be yourself," said I, spurning the dagger into a corner; "rather would I have your scorn and hate than tears--"
"You have," said she, never stirring. "I do scorn you greatly, hate you mightily, despise you infinitely--yet is my love greater than all--"
Suddenly she started to an elbow, dashing away her tears, fierce-eyed, grim-lipped, all womanly tenderness gone, as from the deck above rose the hoarse roar of a speaking trumpet and the running of feet; and now was loud rapping on the door that, opening, disclosed Diccon, the quartermaster.
"By your leave, Captain Jo," cried he, "but your luck's wi' us--aye, is it! A fine large ship a-plying to wind'ard of us--"