"You took, then, the trouble to prearrange that a _barca_ should come alongside of your ship at such a time; it is not necessary that the watch should know this, for a _barca_ man can move in silence when directed, and on such an occasion would not use lights. The spot where he should lie under the ship therefore would have been indicated with some care, and most secret signals concerted. Also there was a guard at the landing stage even at Syracuse, when your great fleet seemed like to blow us out of memory; also there was the sentry to be bribed at the town gates, or a rope ladder to be at a certain place for scaling the walls; also without a trusty guide you would have searched all night for the Mont' alti Palace, which you had never seen; also the lute which you played was native Sicilian, and like to be especially procured for the purpose. If your Admiral had meant to take the city by a night surprise, he could not have laid his plans more carefully; and you did all this without any definite object?" "Madam, if you must have it, I thought you very pretty and proud." "More desirable than some ladies in Syracuse?" "More desirable than any lady in Syracuse." "At the same time, a woman upon whom you could play a scurvy jest?" "A pure jest, without any _arrière pensee_." "And you thought a high-born lady was the proper food for such a jest?" "Madam, I do not think so. I behaved like a young blackguard, and I am utterly ashamed of myself." "Well, you fought like a young lion to atone for it." Then, as if she had said too much, or used too soft a tone, she added quickly: "But how is a woman going to forgive you, when you thought it a mere jest to woo her, and were so deadly serious about not marrying her that you were ready to die for it?" "I don't know," gasped the bewildered Will. "Perhaps--perhaps--you can tell me?" "Oh, I.... Well, a woman is always flattered by a man being willing to die for her, even if he is only dying to be rid of her." "I deserve your sarcasm; but I had your good will the night the Admiral came to the Mont' alti Palace, or I might not be here now." "A woman can forgive anything to a brave--boy!" "Say cub, madam." "No, I will not," she said, with a pretty toss of her head, which I noted. "You began like a Neapolitan, but you ended like a hero. And it would have been a very sorry affair to have had blood, or death, or anything unforgetable marring so fair a performance; and there was more besides, which I would fain not tell you." "I pray you." (This was the time at which I, Thomas Trinder, noted what seemed a struggle between hesitancy and archness.) "I _pray_ you," reiterated Will. "Must I tell you?" she asked, in the prettiest confusion. A look of mastery passed over Will's face. There was no smile of triumph, as there might have been on most young officers' faces at such a moment; but he showed sufficient to the quick eye of a fencing woman.