Part 51 (1/2)

Shaw thunderstruck by these words, p.r.o.nounced in a tone that admitted of no reply; he saw the fearful position he was in, and a mad fury seized on him. Dona Clara had left her head fall again in her hands and was weeping: The young man felt a sob choking him.

”Oh!” he said, ”What pleasure you take in torturing my heart. You say I betrayed you, I who loved you so!”

Dona Clara drew herself up, haughty and implacable.

”Yes,” she answered ironically, ”you love me, sir, but it is after the fas.h.i.+on of wild beasts, that carry off their prey to their den to rend it at their pleasure; yours is a tiger's love.”

Shaw seized her arm violently, and looked firmly in her eyes.

”One word more, one insult further, madam,” he gasped, ”and I stab myself at your feet: when you see my corpse writhing on the ground, possibly you may then believe in my innocence.”

Dona Clara, surprised, gazed at him fixedly.

”What do I care?” she then said, coldly.

”Oh!” the young man exclaimed in his despair, ”You shall be satisfied.”

And with a movement rapid as thought, he drew his dagger. Suddenly a hand was roughly laid on his arm; but Dona Clara had not stirred.

Shaw turned round. Fray Ambrosio was standing behind him, smiling, but not relaxing his grasp.

”Let me go,” the young man said, in a hollow voice.

”Not so, my son,” the monk said gently, ”unless you first promise to give up your homicidal project.”

”Do you not see,” Shaw exclaimed pa.s.sionately, ”that she believes me guilty?”

”It must be so: leave it to me to persuade her of the contrary.”

”Oh! if you did that?” the young man muttered, with an accent of doubt.

”I will do it, my son,” Fray Ambrosio said, still smiling; ”but you must first be reasonable.”

Shaw hesitated for a moment, then let fall the weapon, as he muttered--

”There will still be time.”

”Excellently reasoned,” said the monk. ”Now, sit down, and let us talk.

Trust to me: the senora ere long will not feel the slightest doubt about your innocence.”

During this scene Dona Clara had remained motionless as a statue of grief, apparently taking no interest in what pa.s.sed between the two men.

”This young man has told you the perfect truth,” he said; ”it is a justice I take pleasure in rendering him. I know not what cause urged him to act so, but, in order to save you, he achieved impossibilities; holding you in his arms, he fought with a cloud of redskins thirsting for his blood. When Heaven sent us so miraculously to his a.s.sistance, he was about to succ.u.mb, and he rolled unconscious under our horses' hoofs, still holding against his bleeding breast the precious burthen which had doubtless been confided to him, and from which he had sworn only death should separate him. That is the real truth, madam: I swear it on my honour.”

Dona Clara smiled bitterly.

”Oh,” she answered, ”keep these deceitful and useless protestations to yourself, father; I have learned to know you too, thanks be to Heaven, for some time past, and am aware what faith can be placed in your word.”

The monk bit his lips spitefully.