I felt my heart grow cold. Must I still cling to the lie? I looked at Dona Orosia, whose black eyes flashed a warning. "That is true, Senor de Colis," I said, and my voice sounded far off and strange. "You would wish to remain here as my guest and companion, Margarita," said the Governor's wife in vehement tones. I looked at her in wonder. What did they desire between them? My head swam, and I would have said Yes to her also; but her black eyes menaced me again. I drew a deep breath and shook my head. "No, please your Excellency." Melinza smiled a slow triumphant smile. "Dona Orosia is unfortunate. I trust I shall be more successful. You would rather go to Habana as _my_ companion,--is it not so, Margarita mia?"--and he stepped forward and held forth his hand to me. One day in the early spring Dona Orosia had called me to see a new pet which had been brought to her, a young crocodile, loathsome and hideous; and she had forced me to touch the tethered monster as it crawled, the length of its chain, over the floor. I do remember the cold disgust I felt at the horrid contact; but it was as naught to the feeling that passed over me when I let the Spaniard take my hand. He drew me toward him, laughing softly. "Who doubts that the lady goes willingly?" and lifted his voice with a defiant question in its ringing tones. "I do, senor!"--and it was my dear love who pushed aside the arras and came forward into the room,--my dear love, wasted by fever and long imprisonment, white and gaunt and spectral, yet bearing himself with all his olden dignity. The Spaniard turned to meet him, holding me still within the circle of his arm. I gave one final glance at the Governor's wife and read my cue. After that I could see nothing but my love's white face. "Have I lied to you, Senor Englishman? Do you believe, now, that I hold that golden tress as a pledge of future favours? The lady on whose faith you were ready to stake your soul is here to answer for herself, and she has thrown in her lot with me--with me, senor." "Margaret--Margaret!" cried my dear love, "tell him he lies, sweetheart!" I opened my lips, but the words died on my tongue. Again my poor love cried to me, holding out his arms. I saw his white face grow paler still, and he swayed uncertainly where he stood. Then, gathering all his strength, he threw himself upon the Spaniard and would have torn us apart, had not his weak limbs given way, so that he fell prone upon the floor. Melinza's hand went to his sword; he drew the blade and held it to my dear love's throat. [Illustration: "SPARE THE MAN, DON PEDRO! I LIKE NOT THE SIGHT OF BLOOD."--_Page 125._] At last my voice came back to me; I laid my hand upon the Spaniard's arm. "Spare the man, Don Pedro! I like not the sight of blood!" Then I saw mortal agony in a brave man's eyes. He made no move to rise, but lay there at my feet and looked at me. "Margaret Tudor," he said, "do you love me still?"