She received Montesma with the faintest inclination of the head, and she
carefully avoided all occasion of speech with him during the leisurely,
long spun-out meal. She was as white as her muslin gown, and her eyes
told of a sleepless night. She talked a little, very little to Lady
Kirkbank and Mr. Smithson; to the Spaniard not at all. And yet Montesma
was in no manner dashed by this appearance of deep offence. So might
Francesca have looked the morning after that little scene over the book;
yet she sacrificed her salvation for her lover all the same. It was a
familiar stage upon the journey which Montesma knew by heart. Here the
inclination of the road was so many degrees more or less; for this hill
you are commanded to put on an extra horse; at this stage it is
forbidden to go more than eight miles an hour, and so on, and so on.
Montesma knew every inch of the ground. He put on a melancholy look, and
talked very little. He had been on deck all night, and so there was an
excuse for his being quiet.
Lady Kirkbank related her impressions of the storm, and talked enough
for four.
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