THE MEETING
As the door slammed after the departing Admiral, Lord
Julian turned to Arabella, and actually smiled.
He felt that he was doing better, and gathered from
it an almost childish satisfaction — childish
in all the circumstances. “Decidedly I
think I had the last word there,” he said, with
a toss of his golden ringlets.
Miss Bishop, seated at the cabin-table, looked at
him steadily, without returning his smile. “Does
it matter, then, so much, having the last word?
I am thinking of those poor fellows on the Royal
Mary. Many of them have had their last word,
indeed. And for what? A fine ship sunk,
a score of lives lost, thrice that number now in jeopardy,
and all for what?”
“You are overwrought, ma’am. I....”
“Overwrought!” She uttered a single sharp
note of laughter. “I assure you I am calm.
I am asking you a question, Lord Julian. Why
has this Spaniard done all this? To what purpose?”
“You heard him.” Lord Julian shrugged
angrily. “Blood-lust,” he explained
shortly.
“Blood-lust?” she asked. She was
amazed. “Does such a thing exist, then?
It is insane, monstrous.”
“Fiendish,” his lordship agreed.
“Devil’s work.”
“I don’t understand. At Bridgetown
three years ago there was a Spanish raid, and things
were done that should have been impossible to men,
horrible, revolting things which strain belief, which
seem, when I think of them now, like the illusions
of some evil dream. Are men just beasts?”
“Men?” said Lord Julian, staring.
“Say Spaniards, and I’ll agree.”
He was an Englishman speaking of hereditary foes.
And yet there was a measure of truth in what he said.
“This is the Spanish way in the New World.
Faith, almost it justifies such men as Blood of what
they do.”
She shivered, as if cold, and setting her elbows on
the table, she took her chin in her hands, and sat
staring before her.
Observing her, his lordship noticed how drawn and
white her face had grown. There was reason enough
for that, and for worse. Not any other woman
of his acquaintance would have preserved her self-control
in such an ordeal; and of fear, at least, at no time
had Miss Bishop shown any sign. It is impossible
that he did not find her admirable.
A Spanish steward entered bearing a silver chocolate
service and a box of Peruvian candies, which he placed
on the table before the lady.
“With the Admiral’s homage,” he
said, then bowed, and withdrew.
Miss Bishop took no heed of him or his offering, but
continued to stare before her, lost in thought.
Lord Julian took a turn in the long low cabin, which
was lighted by a skylight above and great square windows
astern. It was luxuriously appointed: there
were rich Eastern rugs on the floor, well-filled bookcases
stood against the bulkheads, and there was a carved
walnut sideboard laden with silverware. On a
long, low chest standing under the middle stern port
lay a guitar that was gay with ribbons. Lord
Julian picked it up, twanged the strings once as if
moved by nervous irritation, and put it down.
