The Siege of Malta

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IIILa Cerda met Angelica in the hall.

“Don Garcio,” he asked, with more courtesy than he would have given to whom she professed to be, “may I speak with you apart?”

“Yes,” she said, with a readiness which she would have found it hard to assume, “we can talk here, if you will. . . . But will you do me the kindness to recollect that I am that which you called me now?”

As she spoke, she had turned to a window-seat in an alcove near, which was so placed that those who were seated there could not be secretly overheard. She had no quarrel with La Cerda, whom she might rather have felt to be somewhat in her own case, and in an alliance of which she could not make him aware, but the tone and gesture of his address had been such as would be given more naturally to a woman than to another knight, and her first thought had been to restrain that and to draw him quietly apart. It was only when they were seated that she recalled that there were things which she knew or guessed that he must not suspect, but by that time the frankness of her first response had assured him that she had no reserve on her mind, and that her sole fear had been that he might make disclosure of whom she was, which her first words confirmed.

“I would be sure,” she said, “that you would not reveal——”

“It was needless to ask, for that which you did being for Venetia, and therefore for me, we are bound alike to hold the confidence which you thereby gave.”

“I did not doubt,” she replied, “that you would regard it thus; but I had rather in mind that more is disclosed by inadvertence than by design.” She did not add that she would not trust Venetia a yard away, let him protest as he might. If Venetia kept a closed mouth, it must be that she could open it to no gain, or that it had been shut for another than her.

“It shall be my care,” he said, “that I do not err in that wise. . . . It was from your room, as I understand, that Venetia went. May I ask if you have either knowledge or guess as to where she may be now, which, though you might withhold from others, you would not cover from me?”

“She went while I slept, having said nothing of her intent. I have not heard from her since.”

“Do you think she went out alone, or was she taken or lured?”

“As I think, she went of herself, and with a good will, for she had unbolted the door, and she had dressed with some leisure and care, taking some things of mine which she must have preferred.”

“It was freely done,” La Cerda allowed. “She may have thought it was for your own peace that you should have no knowledge of where she went.”

Angelica agreed about that, thinking it might have even more reason that he supposed. She said: “Well, she took naught that I grudge, and her need was surely the more.” She turned the course of her words to ask of his hurt, which he answered was well enough. He looked at her for herself at this time, and had a wonder of what she did. He could not think that she had come with no more resolve than to be her cousin’s mistress in that inferno of bitter war, nor did it consort either with the way in which he had seen her to risk her life in active affairs, nor with Sir Oliver’s knowledge of whom she was and that she was allowed to remain. Yet Sir Oliver (he reminded himself) had been more lenient to Venetia than the Grand Master might have approved. It was a puzzle it might be profit to solve, with Venetia in jeopard, and in a case that seemed somewhat alike, and yet it might be that which his honour would not allow.

“I would,” he said, “that you could have shown me more than you do. But I can see that she went in a secret way. I owe you thanks, which I will pay if occasion come.”

He went with no other courtesy of retreat than he would have shown to a knight of his own rank, being much younger than he.

Angelica reflected that she had revealed no more than she had told Sir Oliver at the first, and that La Cerda had no share in her own guess, of which she supposed that she must be glad.