Part 36 (1/2)

There was no mistaking the gleam in those jet-black eyes. The smoldering fire flamed into furnace heat at the implied indignity of such a mandate being delivered by Iris.

”I suppose so,” said Iris carelessly. ”A servant brought the message.

He came to me in the first instance, but I am just going to my room to pack my few belongings. We leave here at daybreak, you know.”

Carmela tried to smile.

”I shall be sorry to lose you,” she said, ”though I admit it will be pleasant to occupy my own room again.”

Then Iris was genuinely distressed.

”I had not the least notion----” she began, but Carmela nodded and made off, saying as she went:

”What matter--for one night?”

So, at last, she would learn the truth. Salvador was out there, alone.

She would soon judge him. If he were innocent, she would know. If he had merely been made the sport of a designing woman, she was ready to forgive. In a more amiable mood than she had displayed at any moment since her arrival at Las FIores, Carmela hastened along a dark corridor, crossed a bare hall, pa.s.sed through a porch, and searched the shadows of the pateo for the form of her one-time lover.

A voice whispered, in French:

”Come quickly, Senhora, I pray you!”

It startled her to find San Benavides talking French, until it occurred to her that Iris and he must converse in that language or hardly at all.

The thought was disquieting. The volcano stirred again.

”Senhora, je vous prie!” again pleaded the man, who was on horseback under the trees.

She did not hesitate, but ran to him. Without a word of explanation, he bent sideways, caught her in his arms, drew her up until she was seated on the holsters strapped to a gaucho saddle, and wheeled his horse into a gallop. Filled with a grim determination, she uttered no protest. Not a syllable crossed her lips lest he should strive to amend his woeful blunder. She noticed that they were not going toward the camp, but circling round the enclosed land in the direction of the hills. Though the night was dark, the stars gave light enough for the horse to move freely. Carmela's head was bent. A gauze-like mantilla covered her black hair, and, strange though it may seem, one woman's small waist and slim figure can be amazingly like the same physical attributes in another woman.

But San Benavides wondered why the cold Ingleza had surrendered so silently. He expected at least a scream, a struggle, an impa.s.sioned demand to be released. He was prepared for anything save a dumb acceptance of this extraordinary raid.

So he began to explain.

”One word, Senhora!” he muttered. ”You must think me mad. I am not.

All is lost! Our army is defeated! In an hour Las Flores will be in flames!”

The girl quivered in his arms. A moaning cry came from her.

”It is true, I swear it!” he vowed. ”I mean you no ill. I fought till the end, and my good horse alone carried me in advance of the routed troops. Dom Corria may reach the _finca_ alive, but, even so, he and the rest will be killed. I refused to escape without you. Believe me or not, you are dearer than life itself. In the confusion we two may not be missed. Trust yourself wholly to me, I beseech you!”

He spoke jerkily, in the labored phrase of a man who has to pick and choose the readiest words in an unfamiliar language.

Carmela, with a sudden movement, raised her face to his, and threw aside her veil.

”Salvador!” she said.

His eyes glared into hers. His frenzied clutch at the reins pulled the horse on to its haunches.

”My G.o.d! . . . Carmela!” he almost shrieked.