And the commandant’s face worked frightfully.
“She was my sister, señor!”
“Heavens! sir, and have you not avenged her?”
“On churchmen, señor, and I a Catholic? To be burned at the stake in this life, and after that to all eternity beside? Even a Spaniard dare not face that. Beside, sir, the mob like this Inquisition, and an Auto-da-fe is even better sport to them than a bull-fight. They would be the first to tear a man in pieces who dare touch an Inquisitor. Sir, may all the saints in heaven obtain me forgiveness for my blasphemy, but when I saw you just now fearing those churchmen no more than you feared me, I longed, sinner that I am, to be a heretic like you.”
“It will not take long to make a brave and wise gentleman who has suffered such things as you have, a heretic, as you call it—a free Christian man, as we call it.”
“Tempt me not, sir!” said the poor man, crossing himself fervently. “Let us say no more. Obedience is my duty; and for the rest the Church must decide, according to her infallible authority—for I am a good Catholic, señor, the best of Catholics, though a great sinner.—I trust no one has overheard us!”
Amyas left him with a smile of pity, and went to look for Lucy Passmore, whom the sailors were nursing and feeding, while Ayacanora watched them with a puzzled face.
“I will talk to you when you are better, Lucy,” said he, taking her hand. “Now you must eat and drink, and forget all among us lads of Devon.”
“Oh, dear blessed sir, and you will send Sir John to pray with me? For I turned, sir, I turned: but I could not help it—I could not abear the torments: but she bore them, sweet angel—and more than I did. Oh, dear me!”
“Lucy, I am not fit now to hear more. You shall tell me all to-morrow;” and he turned away.
“Why do you take her hand?” said Ayacanora, half-scornfully. “She is old, and ugly, and dirty.”
“She is an Englishwoman, child, and a martyr, poor thing; and I would nurse her as I would my own mother.”
“Why don’t you make me an Englishwoman, and a martyr? I could learn how to do anything that that old hag could do!”
“Instead of calling her names, go and tend her; that would be much fitter work for a woman than fighting among men.”
Ayacanora darted from him, thrust the sailors aside, and took possession of Lucy Passmore.
“Where shall I put her?” asked she of Amyas, without looking up.
“In the best cabin; and let her be served like a queen, lads.”
“No one shall touch her but me;” and taking up the withered frame in her arms, as if it were a doll, Ayacanora walked off with her in triumph, telling the men to go and mind the ship.
“The girl is mad,” said one.
“Mad or not, she has an eye to our captain,” said another.
“And where’s the man that would behave to the poor wild thing as he does?”