"Verily!" said he, when I had done. "Never heard man stranger story!" But seeing how he regarded me in the same dubious manner, I leapt out of bed ere he might prevent and staggered with weakness. "Lord love you, Martin," said he, snatching me in his iron grip, "Lord love you, what would you be at? Here's Surgeon Penruddock and his two mates with their hands full enough, as it is, God knoweth, and you sick o' your wound--" So saying, Adam bundled me back into bed, willy-nilly.
"Why, then, question Don Federigo, who knoweth her better than I--summon him hither--"
"Impossible, Martin, he lieth very nigh to death."
"And what of Joanna? She is as swift as a snake and as deadly--she is a lurking danger--a constant menace, beyond thought subtle and crafty--"
"Hist!" quoth Adam, catching me by the arm and turning suddenly as came a soft rapping; then the door opened and Joanna herself stood before us, but indeed a Joanna such as I had never seen. Timid, abashed, great-eyed and wistful, she stood looking on me, her slender hands tight-clasped, her tremulous, parted lips more vivid by reason of the pallor of her cheeks, all shy and tender womanhood from the glossy ringlets at her white brow to the dainty shoe that peeped forth of her petticoat; as for me, I sank back among my pillows amazed beyond--all speech by the infinite change in her, for here was a transformation that went beyond mere lace and velvets; the change was in her very self, her look, her voice, her every gesture.
"Martino mio!" said she at last, and sure this pen of mine may never tell all the languorous caress of these two words; and then, or ever I might speak or stir, she was beside me and had caught my hand to her lips. And then I saw Joan standing in the doorway, the Damaris of my dreams, and though her lips smiled upon us, there was that in her eyes that filled me with bitter shame and an agony beyond the telling.
"Damaris!" I groaned and freed my hand so suddenly that Joanna stumbled and would have fallen, but for Adam's ready arm. "Damaris!" I cried. "Ah, God,'--look not so! All these weary years I have lived and dreamed but of you--Joan, beloved, 'twas thy sweet memory made my solitude worth the living--without thee I had died--" Choking with my grief, I reached out my hands in passionate supplication to that loved shape that drooped in the doorway, one white hand against the carven panelling; and then Joanna was on her knees, her soft cheek pressed to my quivering fist, wetting it with her tears: "Martino!" she sobbed. "Ah, caro mio, art so strange--dost not know thy Joanna--dost not know me, Martino?"