She turned half from him, sobbing, hands held to face. Señora Vallejo had collapsed at the foot of the bed. There was silence for the moment, and then the man’s laugh rang out--raucous, sneering, malevolent. “By the saints, you are beautiful when aroused!” he cried. “These heroics will not outlast the day, I vow! If I took you in my arms, perhaps----” She heard his quick step, and turned to confront him. So they stood for a breath, a foot apart and then the man laughed and raised his arms. One of her hands darted forward and then, when she sprang back to avoid him, she gripped the poniard he had worn at his belt. Her arm drove it forward. Her head was half turned away as she felt it strike his breast. She dropped the weapon and covered her face with hands again, waiting for the crash that would tell her his body had fallen to the floor and that she had slain a man. But the crash came not, and in its stead there was a muttered exclamation of surprise, and a chuckle of relief. “Your blow was strong and sure, _señorita_,” he said. “Fortune favours me in that the point struck on the buckle of my sword-belt. As for the poniard--I intended leaving it with you, that you would feel more secure. I always did fancy a woman of spirit. You will make a right royal queen for such a warrior as myself.” “Go--go!” she cried. “Immediately, though I dislike to leave such good company; yet there is work to be done and the time is short. Within a short time an Indian will come with food, and if there is anything you lack for comfort, you have but to command.” He turned his back deliberately and walked to the door, and she could not nerve herself to pick up the poniard and strike again. She felt herself reeling and knew that reaction soon would be upon her. But she bit her lip cruelly to force herself to gather her scattering senses, and once more she addressed him. “Send no Indian with food. I do not eat what traitors prepare, and neither does my _duenna_. And when that door is opened again after you are gone--no matter by whom--I plunge this dagger into my own heart, Rojerio Rocha, and so pay in part for the stain you have put upon our family. I swear that I’ll do this--and there will be no belt buckle to turn aside the point!” His face sobered for an instant, for there was no mistaking her determination. He threw open the door and looked back toward her and finally laughed again. “_Adios, señorita_,” he called. “When hunger makes you forget what you have just said, you may call to someone in the patio and they will carry me word.” He went out and closed the door. The girl heard the bolt shot into place. One moan came from between her lips, and then she collapsed at the foot of the bed beside Señora Vallejo. CHAPTER XV THE WAY IN