“Santos,” I said, “go out to the horses under the trees and wait there for us; and you, Ramona, say goodbye now to your mistress, then leave us together; for by and by she will recover courage and go with me.”
Santos, looking immensely relieved and grateful, though a little surprised at my confident tone, was hurrying out when I pointed to the saddlebags. He nodded, grinned, and, snatching them up, left the room. Poor old Ramona threw herself on to her knees, sobbing and pouring out farewell blessings on her mistress, kissing her hands and hair with sorrowful devotion.
When she left us I sat down by Demetria’s side, but she would not take her hands from her face or speak to me, and only wept hysterically when I addressed her. I succeeded at last in getting one of her hands in mine, and then drew her head gently down till it rested on my shoulder. When her sobs began to subside I said:
“Tell me, dear Demetria, have you lost faith in me that you fear to trust yourself with me now?”
“No, no, Richard, it is not that,” she faltered. “But I can never look into your face again. If you have any compassion for me you will leave me now.”
“What, leave you, Demetria, my sister, to that man—how can you imagine such a thing? Tell me, where is Don Hilario—is he coming back tonight?”
“I know nothing. He may come back at any moment. Leave me, Richard; every minute you remain here increases your danger.” Then she attempted to draw away from me, but I would not release her.
“If you fear his returning tonight, then it is time for you to come with me,” I answered.
“No, no, no, I cannot. All is changed now. It would kill me with shame to look on your face again.”
“You shall look on it again many times, Demetria. Do you think that after coming here to rescue you out of the coils of that serpent I am going to leave you because you are a little timid? Listen, Demetria, I shall save you from that devil tonight, even if I have to carry you out in my arms. Afterwards we can consider all there is to be done about your father and your property. Perhaps when the poor Colonel is taken out of this sad atmosphere, his health, his reason even, may improve.”
“Oh, Richard, are you deceiving me?” she exclaimed, suddenly dropping her hands and gazing full into my face.
“No, I am not deceiving you. And now you will lose all fear, Demetria, for you have looked into my face again and have not been changed to stone.”
She turned crimson in a moment; but did not attempt to cover her face again, for just then a clatter of hoofs was heard approaching the house.
“Mother of Heaven, save us!” she exclaimed in terror. “It is Don Hilario.”
I quickly blew out the one candle burning dimly in the room. “Fear nothing,” I said. “When all is quiet, after he has gone to his room, we will make our escape.”
She was trembling with apprehension and nestled close to me; while we both listened intently and heard Don Hilario unsaddle his horse, then going softly, whistling to himself, to his room.
“Now he has shut himself up,” I said, “and in a few minutes will be asleep. When you think of that man whose persecutions have made your life a burden, so that you tremble when he approaches you, do you not feel glad that I have come to take you away?”
“Richard, I could go willingly with you tonight but for one thing. Do you think after what has passed that I could ever face your wife?”
“She will know nothing of what has passed, Demetria. It would be dishonourable in me and a cruel injustice to you to speak to her of it. She will welcome you as a dear sister and love you as much as I love you. All these doubts and fears troubling you are very unsubstantial and can be blown away like thistledown. And now that you have confessed so much to me, Demetria, I wish to confess also the one thing that troubles my heart.”
“What is it, Richard, tell me?” she said very gently.
“Believe me, Demetria, I never had a suspicion that you loved me. Your manner did not show it, otherwise I should have told you long ago all about my past. I only knew you regarded me as a friend and one you could trust. If I have been mistaken all along, Demetria, if you have really felt a passion in your heart, then I shall have to lament bitterly that I have been the cause of a lasting sorrow to you. Will you not open your heart more to me and tell me frankly how it is with you?”
She caressed my hand in silence for a little while, and then answered, “I think you were right, Richard. Perhaps I am not capable of passion like some women. I felt—I knew that you were my friend. To be near you was like sitting in the shade of a green tree in some hot, desolate place. I thought it would be pleasant to sit there always and forget the bitter years. But, Richard, if you will always be my friend—my brother, I shall be more than content, and my life will seem different.”
“Demetria,
