I lay back on my mattress no longer fretting and chafing at the slow passage of time. I had ample food for thought. I pieced together these speculative doings of Bryant in the intervals of giving rein to the fresh hopes and new delights engendered by my interview with Miralda. I recalled word by word all she had said, treasuring her little asides, her significant glances, her changes of tone and manner, as jewels whose every facet reflected her trust, her courage, and above all her care for me. I was confident now of success, and it was she who had given me confidence. As the darkness deepened I rejoiced. Each minute was bringing nearer our delivery and reunion. Some long time after she had left me--perhaps an hour or perhaps two hours, I had no means of reckoning the time, but it had long been quite dark--I heard footsteps approaching the room; and I guessed the curtain was to go up for the next scene. Barosa and Inez entered together. He carried a lamp, and I could see by its light that the faces of both were very pale. He set the lamp down on the little table and then bent over me. “Mr. Donnington!” he said. His voice was low and slightly husky, either from suppressed passion or anxiety. I made no reply, and when he repeated my name and shook me I moaned as if in great pain. There was little enough pretence about it indeed, for the tightness of my bonds was causing acute suffering. I rolled my eyes upon him, uttered another moan, shook my head feebly, and then closed my eyes. “He is almost unconscious, Manoel,” said Inez. I read that use of his name to mean much. She had been asking herself the question I had suggested--about the real reason for detaining Miralda--and finding it unanswerable had passed it on to him. “Mr. Donnington!” he said again angrily. It was my object to waste time, of course; so I took no notice except to sigh heavily, open my eyes again and close them instantly as if the effort tried my strength. “You are not so bad as all that,” he said, and shook me again very roughly. When this had no effect, he felt my pulse, and in doing so put a finger under the rope which bound my left hand. “See how swollen the hands are, Manoel,” said Inez, holding the lamp close to me. “It must be torture.” But Barosa knew better than to be taken in by my malingering. “He can speak well enough as he is if he pleases. Mr. Donnington, we have come to set you at liberty.” Then why didn’t he do it, was my natural thought. But I went through another little pantomime. I showed slightly more strength this time, as if invigorated by the news, but sank back again exhausted. “He is only shamming, curse him,” muttered Barosa. “These cords are cruelly tight, Manoel. Ease them, and see the effect. I’ll go and fetch some brandy.”