Sir Nicholas let fall his pomander, and sat straight in his chair. His hand went to his belt; he drew his dagger from the sheath. It was a rich piece, with a hilt of wrought gold and a thin, flashing blade. He leaned forward, and presented the hilt to the lady. "I make you a present of it, señora," he said in a humble voice. Dominica flung up her head at that, and tried to push the dagger away. "I do not want it." "Oh, but surely!" "You are pleased to mock me, señor. I have no need of your dagger." "But you would like so much to kill me," Sir Nicholas said softly. Dominica looked at him indignantly. He was abominable, and to make matters the more insupportable he had a smile that set a poor maid's heart in a flutter. "You laugh at me. Take your fill of it, señor: I shall not heed your sneers," she said. "I?" Beauvallet said, and shot out a hand to grasp her wrist. "Now look me boldly in the face and tell me if I sneer at you!" Dominica looked instead toward her father, but he had turned his shoulder, and was descanting to Master Dangerfield upon the works of Livy. "Come!" insisted the tormentor. "What, afraid?" Stung, she looked up. Defiance gleamed in her eyes. Sir Nicholas kept his steadily upon her, raised her hand to his lips, kissed it fleetingly, and held it still. "You will know me better one day," he said. "I've no ambition for it," Dominica answered, but without truth. "Have you not? Have you not indeed?" His fingers tightened about her wrist; there was a brilliant look of inquiry before he let her go. It disturbed her oddly; the man had no right to such bright, challenging eyes. A silence fell between them. Don Manuel, absorbed in his topic, had passed on to the poet Horace, and was inflicting quotations upon Master Dangerfield. "What came to Don Juan, señor?" asked Dominica, finding the silence oppressive. "I suppose him to be steering for the island of your name, señora," Sir Nicholas replied, and cracked a nut between finger and thumb. The problems besetting Don Juan seemed to hold no interest for him. "And Señor Cruzada? And the rest?" "I did not send him alone, señora," said Beauvallet, one eyebrow lifting humorously. "I suppose Señor Cruzada, whomsoever he may be, to be of his company." The lady selected another fragment of marchpane from the dish, and refused an offer of Hippocras to drink with it. She looked pensive. "You give quarter then, you English?" "God's Life, did you suppose otherwise?" "I did not know, señor. They tell strange tales of you in the Indies." "It seems so indeed." He looked amused. "Am I said to burn, torture, and slay, señora?" She met his gaze gravely. "You are a hardy man, señor. There are those who say you use witchcraft."