"I did not know you had honored us with a visit on a previous occasion," said Sir William.
"It was very different from the present, I can assure you," answered the lady. "Now it is voluntarily—then it was much the contrary. Now I have come among very dear and kind friends, then—I fell among thieves."
"Indeed!"
"It was on my return from India," said Lady Knighton. "Look at my hand!" She held forth her arm, and showed how it shook as with palsy. "This hand was firm then. I even played several games of spellikins on board ship on the voyage home, and, Sir William, I won invariably, so steady was my hold of the crook, so evenly did I raise each of the little sticks. But ever since then I have had this nervous tremor that makes me dread holding anything."
"But how came it about?" asked the baronet.
"I will tell you, but—who is that just entered the room?" she pointed with trembling finger.
Judith had come in along with Captain Coppinger, and stood near the door, the light of the wax candles twinkling in her bugles, glancing in flashes from her radiant hair. She was looking about her, and her bosom heaved, she sought Oliver, and he was near at hand. A flush of pleasure sprang into her cheeks as she caught his eye, and held out her hand.
"I demand my dance!" said he.
"No, not the first, Oliver," she answered.
Coppinger's brows knit.
"Who is this?" he asked.
"Oh! do you not know? Mr. Menaida's son, Mr. Oliver."
The two men's eyes met, their irises contracted.
"I think we have met before," said Oliver.
"That is possible," answered Captain Cruel, contemptuously, looking in another direction.
"When we met I knew you without your knowing me," pursued the young man, in a voice that shook with anger. He had recognized the tone of the voice that had spoken on the wreck.
"Of that I, neither, have any doubt as to its possibility. I do not recollect every Jack I encounter."
A moment after an idea struck him, and he turned his head sharply, fixed his eyes on young Menaida, and said, "Where did we meet?"
