neighbours, who, moreover, would have
been more likely to lock themselves in their rooms for fear of Juancho,
than to render assistance. There were no means of apprising the police,
or obtaining succour from without. Poor Andres, severely wounded, weak
from loss of blood, without arms, and unable to use them had he had any,
lay at the mercy of a ruffian intoxicated with rage and jealousy. All
this because he had ogled a pretty manola at a bull-fight. It is
allowable to suppose that at that moment he regretted the tea-table,
piano, and prosaic society of Dona Feliciana de los Rios. Nevertheless,
on casting a supplicatory glance at Militona, as if to implore her not
to risk her safety in his defence, he found her so marvellously lovely
in her pallor and emotion, that he could not think her acquaintance
dearly purchased even by this great peril. She stood erect, one hand on
the edge of Andres' bed, whom she seemed resolved to protect, the other
extended towards the door with a gesture of supreme majesty.

"What do you here, murderer?" she cried, in clear and thrilling tones.
"You sought a lover; you find a wounded and helpless man. Begone! Fear
you not lest the wound break out afresh at your presence? Are you not
sick of bloodshed? Do you come as an assassin?"

The young girl accentuated the last word in so singular a manner, and
accompanied it with so piercing and terrible a look, that Juancho was
embarrassed, reddened, turned pale, and the ferocity of his countenance
was exchanged for an expression of uneasiness. After a pause, he spoke
in a choked and faltering voice.

"Swear, by the relics of Monte Sagrado, and by the image of the Virgin
del Pilar, by your dead father, and your sainted mother, that you do not
love this man, and I instantly depart."

Andres awaited Militona's reply with intense anxiety. She made none. Her
long black lashes drooped over her cheek, which was suffused with a
faint tinge of pink. Although this silence was perhaps his doom to
death, Andres felt his heart leap with joy.

"If you will not swear," continued Juancho, "affirm it. I will believe
you; you have never lied. But if you keep silence, I must kill him." And
he approached the bed with uplifted knife.

"You love him?"

"Yes!" exclaimed the young girl, with flashing eyes and a voice
trembling with passion and indignation. "I love him. If he dies on my
account, let him know at least that he is beloved. Let him carry to his
grave that