He looked now into
her eyes, and of all that they contained he saw only fear; he saw
nothing of the hatred into which her love had been transmuted in
that moment by his unsparing insults to herself, her race and her
home, by the purpose which she clearly read in him.
"Whither?" he echoed, and sought to shake her off.
"Whither my Christian duty bids me."
It was enough for her. Before he could prevent or suspect her
purpose, she had snatched the heavy Toledo blade from his girdle,
and armed with it stood between the door and him.
"A moment, Don Rodrigo. Do not attempt to advance, or, as Heaven
watches us, I strike, and it maybe that I shall kill you. We must
talk awhile before you go."
Amazed, chapfallen, half-palsied, he stood before her, his fine
religious zeal wiped out by fear of that knife in her weak
woman's hand. Rapidly to-night was she coming into real knowledge
of this Castilian gentleman, whom with pride she had taken for
her lover. It was a knowledge that was to sear her presently with
self-loathing and self-contempt. But for the moment her only
consideration was that, as a direct result of her own wantonness,
her father stood in mortal peril. If he should perish through the
deletion of this creature, she would account herself his slayer.
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