"Very well," he said, "if you think my love is worth so little. If you can't brave one miserable medieval superstition for it, then I've got the answer to what I asked you, and you're right: I'd better go." He turned to the narrow door at the head of the spiral stairs. "I know," he said, as if to the stone walls about them, "that I'm not worth much sacrifice; but my love has been worth a sacrifice. Some day you'll understand what my love might have meant. Some day, when you're old, you'll look from one of these windows out over these valleys and mountains and think of what could have happened--what there was once, just this one time, one chance for." He half faced her. "Other men will love you, many of them. They'll love your happiness and grace and beauty as well, I dare say, as I do and always will. But you'll remember one man that loved your soul; you'll remember me----" Vitoria was swaying dizzily. Her recaptured self-command visibly wavered. She leaned against the rough wall. He leaped toward her, but she had the strength left to warn him away. "No, no, no!" she repeated. "I do not----" She raised her hands to the vaulted roof. By a tremendous effort she became again mistress of herself--and of him. "Why will you not understand? I do not love you. Go!" At that moment a cry rang out. It was a cry from the gateway. It was the cry of Chitta, who came bounding into the narrow room and hurled herself at her mistress's feet. Before any one of the trio could speak, there was the clatter of a galloping horse on the road, the thunder of hoofs over the drawbridge above that frightful chasm. "Go!" shrieked Vitoria. "Will you never go? Do you not understand what this means? Do you not know who is coming here?" Chitta set up a loud wail. "I don't care who's coming here," said Cartaret. "If there's any danger----" Vitoria leaped over the prostrate servant and began pushing Cartaret away. "I hate you!" she cried. "Do you hear that? _I hate you!_ Now will you go?" He looked at her, and his face hardened. "I'll go," he said. He turned away. "My brother!" gasped Vitoria. Don Ricardo came in at the door of the tower-room. CHAPTER XV IN WHICH CARTARET TAKES PART IN THE REVIVAL OF AN ANCIENT CUSTOM La vieille humanité porte encore dans ses entrailles la brutalité primitive; un anthropoïde féroce survit en chacun de nous.--Opinions à Répandre.