"And I have shown you that you cannot avoid it. For good or ill, the use of my name before I arrived has made it inevitable. You are doing things in my name, and whether you wish it or not, that fact brings us together in close association. What has happened with Vidal de Pelayo may happen at any moment with another; and how can we escape the consequences? But I must make terms, even with you. For instance, you have in the making a plan to carry off the young King——" "What?" she cried, in a tone of profound astonishment. "Is it not so?" "Did Pelayo tell you anything of the kind?" "Can the followers of Ferdinand Carbonnell have any secrets from him—when they find him in the flesh? He told me no more than he knew—that he was to procure a safe place for a little guest; the rest is surmise; but surmise made easy. And I have come to tell you that the project must be stopped." "Must?" she cried, angrily. "Must," I answered, firmly. "Stopped either by you or else go on to be checkmated by me." "That is a word I have never yet heard from anyone," she exclaimed. "Then it is quite time somebody used it," said I, as firmly and masterfully as I could make my manner. "I mean it." "I will not listen to you. I won’t bear it," and she got up and stared at me with resentment, surprise and rebellion in every feature of her face. "I am not going because you are angry, Sarita. I care for you far too much to let a passing mood like that ruffle my purpose. I will not let you commit this crime." "This is ridiculous—monstrous;" and she tossed her head disdainfully. "You are presuming on what passed when you were here yesterday." "I am doing nothing of the kind, and only your anger would lead you to make so unjust an accusation. What I am doing is to use some of the privileges which you have given to Ferdinand Carbonnell. I have been within an ace of losing my life through the use of the name; I have been recognised by one of your chief agents as the leader himself—and now I intend to use that leadership to save you from the consequences of your own blindness. A moment’s reflection will convince you that I am not speaking at random." "You would make me your enemy?" she asked. "It would not be the first time that enmity has followed acts which should have generated sincere friendship. Would the Ferdinand Carbonnell of your making be deterred from doing what he deemed right by such a motive? No; and neither will the real man." "It is the very key-note of our plans," she cried. "Then you must arrange a different harmony." "You shall not interfere with it. You shall not, I say," she exclaimed, tempestuously. "I am absolutely resolved. You shall either abandon the mad project, or I myself will thwart it." "Would you quarrel with me?" "If you force a quarrel on me because of it; yes." This reply seemed to amaze her more than anything I had said, and her gaze was full of reproach and consternation.