shall become a man of the world,--which is necessary
to control men. That is _his_ power,--curse him! And he--he will not
let me go there. Even Alvarado listens to him. The Departmental Junta
is under his thumb. I will never be anything but a caballero of Santa
Barbara--I, an Iturbi y Moncada, the last scion of a line illustrious
in war, in diplomacy, in politics--until he is either dead--do not
jump, my sister; it is not my intention to murder him and ruin my
career--or becomes my friend."

"Canst thou not put thy meaning in fewer words?"

"My sister, he loves thee, and thou lovest thy brother and thy house."

Chonita rose to her full height, and although he rose too, and was
taller, she seemed to look down upon him.

"Thou wouldst have me marry him? Is that thy meaning?"

"Ay." His voice trembled. Under his swagger he was always a little
afraid of the Doomswoman.

"Thou askest perjury and disloyalty and dishonor of an Iturbi y
Moncada?"

"An Iturbi y Moncada asks it of an Iturbi y Moncada. If the man is
ready to bend his neck in sacrifice to the glory of his house, is it
for the woman to think?"

Chonita stood grasping the back of her chair convulsively; it was
the only sign of emotion she betrayed. She knew that what he said was
true: that Estenega, for public and personal reasons, never would
let him go to Mexico; he would permit no enemy at court. But this
knowledge drifted through her mind and out of it at the moment; she
was struggling to hold down a hot wave of contempt rushing upward
within her. She clung to her traditions as frantically as she clung to
her religion.

"Go," she said, after a moment.

"Thou wilt think of what I have said?"

"I shall pray to forget it."

"Chonita!" his voice rang out so loud that she placed her hand on his
mouth. He dashed it away. "Thou wilt!" he cried, like a spoilt child.
"Thou wilt! I shall go to the city of Mexico, and only thou canst send
me there. All my father's gold and leagues will not buy me a seat in
the Mexican Congress, unless this accursed Estenega lifts his hand
and says, 'Thou shalt.' Holy God! how I hate him! Would that I had
the chance to murder him! I would cut his heart out to-morrow. And
my father likes him, and has outlived rancor. And thou--thou art not
indifferent."

"Go!"

He threw his arms about her, kissing and caressing her. "My sister! My
sister! Thou wilt! Say that thou wilt!" But she flung him off as if he
were a snake.

"Wil