Сердца трех / Hearts of Three

And you will marry me, my Leoncia. We will forget this mad Gringo who is as already dead. I shall be gentle, kind. I shall love you always. And never shall any vision of him arise between us. For myself, I shall not permit it. For you… I shall love you so that it will be impossible for the memory of him to arise between us and give you one moment’s heart-hurt.’

Leoncia debated in a long pause that added fuel to Torres’ hopes. She felt the need to temporize. If Henry were to be saved… and had not Torres offered his services? Not lightly could she turn him away when a man’s life might depend upon him.

�Speak! I am consuming!’ Torres urged in a choking voice.

�Hush! Hush!’ she said softly. �How can I listen to love from a live man, when the man I loved is yet alive?’

Loved! The past tense of it startled her. Likewise it startled Torres, fanning his hopes to fairer flames. Almost was she his. She had said loved. She no longer bore love for Henry.

She had loved him, but no longer. And she, a maid and woman of delicacy and sensibility, could not, of course, give name to her love for him while the other man still lived. It was subtle of her. He prided himself on his own subtlety, and he flattered himself that he had interpreted her veiled thought aright. And… well, he resolved, he would see to it that the man who was to die at ten next morning should have neither reprieve nor rescue. The one thing clear, if he were to win Leoncia quickly, was that Henry Morgan should die quickly.

�We will speak of it no more… now,’ he said with chivalric gentleness, as he gently pressed her hand, rose to his feet, and gazed down on her.

She returned a soft pressure of thanks with her own hand ere she released it and stood up.

�Come,’ she said. �We will join the others. They are planning now, or trying to find some plan, to save Henry Morgan.’

The conversation of the group ebbed away as they joined it, as if out of half – suspicion of Torres.

�Have you hit upon anything yet?’ Leoncia asked.

Old Enrico, straight and slender and graceful as any of his sons despite his age, shook his head.

�I have a plan, if you will pardon me,’ Torres began, but ceased at a warning glance from Alesandro, the eldest son.

On the walk, below the piazza, had appeared two scarecrows of beggar boys.