A deep voice interrupted from a corner of the room: “Command _me_, _señorita_!” CHAPTER XXIII LOVE IN DARKNESS The hand of the girl’s tormentor flew to the hilt of his poniard as he whirled toward the sound. Anita gave a cry of relief and gladness, and then stared with bulging eyes toward the corner. An aperture had appeared in the wall there, and Captain Fly-by-Night was standing just before it, bowing. Now he raised his head and advanced two steps, and his blazing eyes met those of the other man. It seemed to the girl crouching at the end of the fireplace that the caballero’s shoulders grew broader and that he grew in height. His clothing was covered with dirt, the beard on his face was scraggy, there were deep hollows in his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes--yet Señorita Anita thought him handsome now as he confronted the man who had insulted her. “Hah! ’Tis Claudio again!” sneered the raging man in the centre of the room. “You call yourself Rojerio Rocha, I believe,” came the answer. “I am happy to find you here, _señor_. I have promised to slay you.” “Indeed?” “To send your black soul to the Hades where it belongs,” the caballero continued. “Men have died to-day because you plotted--better men than you! You have broken faith with friends, betrayed those who have been near you, swindled, lied, insulted helpless women, sent human beings to agonising death----” “Enough! This from a man known as Captain Fly-by-Night, a man hunted by soldiers and hostiles alike? I have but to open the door, my fine caballero, and some of these same hostiles will finish you in the twinkling of an eye. You hear those shrieks, caballero? They mean the hostiles have gained entrance to the church--that I am master--that I have won!” “And in the hour of your hellish victory, you are to die! I have promised it!... _Señorita_, will you kindly step through this hole in the wall? There will be happenings here women’s eyes should not see.” “I want--to see,” she gasped. “I appreciate your feelings in the matter, _señorita_,” the caballero replied, bowing again. “Do you remain in the corner, then, out of the way.... As for you, _señor_, I notice you did not carry sword with you when you pretended an escape and reached sanctuary in the mission. But there is a poniard in your belt, and another on the floor beneath your foot. So it shall be poniards, _señor_!” As he spoke, he took off his sword and threw it in the corner behind him, took dagger from his belt, and advanced two steps more with coolness and deliberation, as if he had been treading the measure of a dance. The man before him retreated, still clutching at his belt. “’Tis like you,” he cried, “to fight a wounded man. Think you the slash you gave me in the shoulder has healed?” “As to that, we are on equal terms,” the caballero announced. “I carry in my shoulder a musket slug no surgeon has had chance to remove, given me by one of your sentinels.”