Penny Blood Serial Fiction — page 148: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

—- LADY BESS’S. HISTORY 131 pass without any intimation being given that we were to resume our march toward the Pyrenees. I did not choose to manifest any immediate impatience, because I felt that I had no right to make my own particular objects predomi- nate over the views and interests of Don Diego Christoval and his band. I therefore maintained an outward appear- ance of cheerfulness, although I began to entertain some miseiving in respect to my position there. In short, I feared that the bandit chief was doing his best to keep me as long as he possibly could, and that I was virtually a prisoner. For when Christoval and his men went out on their preda- tory excursions, two of them invariably remained at the tower, ostensibly to act as a guard for the women, but I could not help fancying in reality to prevent my escape. Moreover, when I walked out, one of the women — Isabella generally — accompanied me, and one of the _ sentinels followed at a distance with the pretext of watching over us. But this had not been done when at the encampment, and I asked myself wherefore such precautions should be held necessary now. ‘““ A week had passed since our arrival at the tower, and there was no sign of a removal. I now purposely sought an opportunity of speaking to the count. He appeared to understand my wishes, and one day, returning home from the usual excursion much earlier than was his wont, he asked me to accompany him in a walk. It was now the close of October, and the weather was cold. We passed into the wood, and Don Diego speedily approached the subject which I was desirous of reaching. He said, ‘ I know what is passing in your mind, sefiora; you are impatient to leave us, — to leave me,’ he added, emphatically, ‘ and you think I am not behaving honourably or kindly toward you? Now, will you hear me? You are the first woman I ever loved in my life, and you will be the last. The sentiment with which you have smitten me is a deathless one. Not merely my happiness, but my very life, is in your hands, for if you were to leave me, I could not possibly survive your loss. This love of mine has rendered me desperate, so desperate indeed that it is making me act with duplicity and unkindness toward you. What is to be my fate? It is in your hands.’ “ It was impossible to be angry or indignant with that man; he spoke in language so fervid, and yet so replete a CONNIE OOKS (EO)