Martin Conisby's Vengeance Part 19

"_Martino mio_!" said she at last, and sure this pen of mine may never tell all the languorous caress of these two words; and then, or ever I might speak or stir, she was beside me and had caught my hand to her lips. And then I saw Joan standing in the doorway, the Damaris of my dreams, and though her lips smiled upon us, there was that in her eyes that filled me with bitter shame and an agony beyond the telling.

"Damaris!" I groaned and freed my hand so suddenly that Joanna stumbled and would have fallen, but for Adam's ready arm. "Damaris!" I cried. "Ah, G.o.d,'--look not so! All these weary years I have lived and dreamed but of you--Joan, beloved, 'twas thy sweet memory made my solitude worth the living--without thee I had died--" Choking with my grief, I reached out my hands in pa.s.sionate supplication to that loved shape that drooped in the doorway, one white hand against the carven panelling; and then Joanna was on her knees, her soft cheek pressed to my quivering fist, wetting it with her tears:

"Martino!" she sobbed. "Ah, _caro mio_, art so strange--dost not know thy Joanna--dost not know me, Martino?"

"Aye, I know you, Captain Jo," I cried. "Well I know you to my cost, as hath many another: I know you for 'La Culebra,' for Joanna that is wors.h.i.+pped, obeyed and followed by every pirate rogue along the Main. Oh, truly I know you to my bitter sorrow--"

Now at this she gave a little, pitiful, helpless gesture and looked from me to the others, her eyes a-swim with tears.

"Alas!" she sobbed. "And is he yet so direly sick?" Then, bowing her head to the pillow beside me, "Oh, loved Martino," she sighed, "art so sick not to remember all that is betwixt us, that which doth make thee mine so long as life shall be to me--the wonder I have told to my lady Damaris--"

Now here I caught her in savage gripe. "What," cried I, shaking her to and fro despite my weakness, "what ha' you told my lady?"

"Beloved Martino--I confessed our love--alas, was I wrong, Martino--I told her my joyous hope to be the mother of your child ere long--"

"Oh, shame!" cried I. "Oh, accursed liar!" And I hurled her from me; then, lying gasping amid my tumbled pillows, my aching head between my hands, I saw my beloved lady stoop to lift her, saw that lying head pillowed on Joan's pure bosom and uttering a great cry, I sank to a merciful unconsciousness.

CHAPTER XVI

HOW I HAD WORD WITH MY LADY, JOAN BRANDON

"A marvel, Sir Adam (perceive me), a wonder! The const.i.tution of a horse, an ox, nay an elephant, the which monstrous beast (you'll allow me!) hath a pachydermatous hide tolerably impervious to spears, axes, darts, javelins and the like puny offences, and a const.i.tution whereby he liveth (you'll observe) whole centuries. Indeed, Sir Adam, 'tis a cure marvellous, being one I ha' wrought on my patient in spite of said patient. For look now (and heed me) here we have soul, mind and will, or what you will, pulling one way, and body hauling t'other, and body hath it, physics versus metaphysics--a pretty and notable case--"

"Why, he hath a notable hard head, Master Penruddock--"

"Head, Sir Adam, head--were his head as adamantine, as millstone or hard as one o' your cannon b.a.l.l.s that shall not save him, if mind and body agreeably seek and desire death, and mind (pray understand, sir) is the more potent factor, thus (saving and excepting the abnormal vigour of his body) by all the rules of chirurgical science he should ha' died three days agone--when the seizure took him."

"Would to heaven I had!" said I, opening my eyes to scowl up at the little man who beamed down on me through monstrous horn-rimmed spectacles.

"Aha, and there we have it confessed, Sir Adam!" said he. "Yet we shall have him on his legs again in a day or so, thanks to my art--"

"And his lady's nursing!"

"What, hath she been with me in my sickness, Adam?" I questioned when the doctor had departed.

"Night and day, Martin, as sweet and patient with you as any angel in heaven, and you cursing and reviling her the while in your ravings--"

"Oh, G.o.d forgive me! Where is she now, Adam?"

"With my Lady Joan--"

"How?" I cried. "Was this Joanna nursed me?"

"Why, truly, Martin. Could she have better employ?" But hereupon I fell to such fury that Adam turned to stare at me, pen in hand.

"Lord love you, Martin," said he, pinching his chin, "I begin to think that skull o' yours is none so hard, after all--"

"And you," quoth I bitterly. "Your wits are none so keen as I had judged 'em. You are grown a very credulous fool, it seems!"

"Ha--'tis very well, s.h.i.+pmate!"

"For here you have Joanna--this evil creature stained by G.o.d knoweth how many shameful crimes--you have her beneath your hand and let her come and go as she lists, to work such new harms as her cunning may suggest--either you disbelieve my statements, or you've run mad, unless--"

"Unless what, Martin?"

"Unless she's bewitched you as she hath full many a man ere now."

Adam blenched and (for the first time in my remembrance) his keen eyes quailed before mine, and over his bronzed face, from aggressive chin to prominent brow, crept a slow and painful red.

"Martin," said he, his eyes steady again, "I will confess to you that is my blood-brother and comrade sworn, I have--thought better of--of her than any proud lady or d.u.c.h.ess of 'em all--"

"Despite the foul and shameful lie you heard her utter?"

"Despite everything, Martin."

"Then G.o.d help you, Adam!"

"Amen," said he.

"You are surely crazed--"

"Why, very well, Martin, though you know me for a timid man--"

"Tus.h.!.+" quoth I, turning my back on him.

"And a cautious, more especially in regard to women, having known but few and understanding none. Thus, Martin, though I seem crazed and foolish, 'tis very well, so long as I have eyes to see and ears to hear, and now I'll away and use 'em awhile. And here," said he, rising as a knock sounded on the door, "should be an old friend o' yours that got himself something scorched on your account." And opening the door he disclosed a squat, broad-shouldered fellow of a sober habit, his head swathed in a bandage, but the eyes of him very round and bright and his wide mouth up-curving in a smile.

"G.o.dby!" said I, and reached but my hand to him.

"Why, Mart'n!" cried he. "Oh, pal--here's j'y, choke me wi' a rammer else!

Lord, Mart'n--three years--how time doth gallop! And you no whit changed, save for your beard! But here's me wi' a fine stocked farm t'other side Lamberhurst--and, what's more, a wife in't as be sister to Cecily as you'll mind at the 'Hoppole'--and, what's more, a blessed infant, pal, as I've named Tom arter myself, by reason that my name is G.o.d-be-here, and Mart'n arter you, by reason you are my pal and brought me all the good fortun'

as I ever had. Aha, 'twas a mortal good hour for me when we first struck hands, Mart'n."

"And you're more than quits, G.o.dby, by saving me from the fire--"

"Why, pal, you fell all of a swound, d'ye see, and there's my Lady Brandon and t'other 'un a-running to fetch ye, flames or no--so what could I do--"

"My lady Joan?"

"Aye and t'other 'un--the Spanish dame as you come up a-cuddling of, Mart'n--and a notable fine piece she be, as I'm a gunner--"

"Is my lady on deck?"

"Which on 'em, pal?"