They were the mere wild, idle words of a distracted woman, the cry of a true heart torn asunder by the vehemence of emotion. To my surprise, her brother did not instantly repudiate them, however, but sat with pent, frowning brows in deep thought for a moment. "Would you go alone?" he asked then, without relaxing the stern, set expression of face. "Do you mean would anything ever make me consent to see Sarita Castelar your wife?" "Would you go alone?" he repeated, in the same tone. "Nothing would make me consent to that," I replied, answering my own question. "And nothing will ever induce me not to hold you responsible for her safety." He heard me without a sign, and again buried himself in his thoughts. Then he pushed his chair back, rose, and went to the door. "Leave us a few minutes, Dolores," he said, still in the same set, even tone. "It is possible that we may yet arrive at an understanding." She looked at him in fear, then at me, doubtingly, and again back at him. "No, I cannot leave you. I—I dare not." "Leave us, Dolores. I shall not murder Lord Glisfoyle." She still hesitated and lingered, but at length yielded, saying as she passed me— "I shall see you again?" I bowed, but said nothing; I was too full of surprise at the turn things were taking, and too thoughtful, wondering what was to come next. Quesada held the door while his sister passed out, and closed and locked it after her, and turned back to his table. "We are now quite alone, Lord Glisfoyle, and can speak plainly. You love Sarita Castelar, and hope to make her your wife?" "I decline to discuss her with you, Senor Quesada." "Well, then, I tell you she is pledged to marry me, and I will suffer no man on earth to take her from me." "You did not speak so to your tool, Colonel Juan Livenza. I am aware of the infamous bargain you made with him." "I will not allow anyone to take her from me," he said again, between his teeth, the increased tenseness of the tone being his only notice of my words. "You are an English nobleman, and presumably a man of courage. When you were here last time in my house, you struck me. You are now bent on ruining me, and have set everything on that venture. Owing to my sister’s interference, you are free; and because she loves you, she is mad enough to stay my hands in dealing with you, knowing, what you also know, things that must be kept secret. And as a crowning stroke you threaten to rob me of the woman I love. Under those circumstances, what think you is the fitting course for two men—two enemies, if you will—placed as you and I are, to pursue?" "If I understand you, I decline to discuss such a proposal."