She was afraid, desperately afraid, but no sign of it appeared in her face. "You will let your desires ride you to your own undoing, cousin. Work your will on me: you will lose my substance." He sprang up. "By God, woman, you are shameless!" he said violently. "Is this the bold spirit the New World breeds? Do you hold your honour of so small account? Out on you, I say!" "Do you then hold my honour in so great account?" she asked contemptuously. "Was it your care for it induced you to bear me off to-day?" He began to walk up and down the room, kicking a joint-stool out of his way. She sat still, watching him, and courage soared high. He was irresolute. She knew herself to be the stronger of the two; she could hold him off for a while yet. His thoughts raced; he shot a quick look at her as he passed in his impatient stride. She was sitting straight in her chair, hedged about by a flaming barrier of resolve. She was strung up; events had marched too swiftly to allow her girl's imagination to sap her courage. In a dim way he realized this. Stealing yet another look at her rigid face, and the dark eyes that burned in it, he could picture her very clearly following out her threat. He had her in his power; he could work his will on her, but some instinct told him that she was in too exalted a mood to capitulate. He was honestly shocked by the attitude she chose to take up. It had been unforeseen; it took him so much by surprise that he was thrown out of his stride. She sat like a goddess, fearless and invincible. So much he could see. He went on with his pacing, biting his finger-nails now, as he always did when he was put out. He knew something of women; he had had dealings with a-many and a-many, but this girl was out of his ken. He reflected. Her uplifted mood could not last; she was no goddess, but a girl strung up to a pitch of abnormal excitement that would die. He made up his mind to wait, to allow anticipation to wear down her courage. He came to a halt opposite her. "We will see how you feel in the morning, my cousin," he said. "Let the night bring sager counsel. You are over-wrought, and I would not hurry you, nor do I wish to constrain you by force. But mark me well! To-morrow night, if I have not your promise to wed with me, you will not find me so gentle. If you will not have me with the Church's holy tie you shall have me without it. You have a night and a day to make up your mind whether you will be wife or mistress, but one or the other you shall be. That I swear!" Some of the tension went out of her. She let her eyes fall that he might not see the relief in them. Much might happen in a night and a day; there was hope still. She rose. "Then I desire to retire to my chamber, señor, with your good leave," she said. CHAPTER XXII