“Is it a sin, then, Senhor, to stroll at nights in the garden?” demanded Inez.
“’Tis a fair night, certes, for ladies to go strolling,” answered Gonzalez.
“Thou art too careful for me, Sir,” returned Inez. “There was no rain.”
“No rain!” exclaimed Gonzalez. “Wouldst thou make me doubt mine own senses? But, no! I will not be braved thus. Thou shalt confess, with thine own lips, and before thy helpmate here, that the rain hath been abundant.”
As he thus spoke, he caught a firm hold of her wrist, and drew her towards the chamber casement. The detection of her lover, to whom the curtain of the casement had hitherto afforded a secure covert, seemed inevitable; and her rage sank under her anxiety and terror.
“Hold, Senhor! hold!” she exclaimed, throwing all her weight on her guardian’s arm: “I know it hath rained hard.”
But her submission had not the effect she sought. Indeed, it rather increased suspicion, than subdued it; and as it was not till he moved towards the casement that she had tried to conciliate him, Gonzalez fancied that the casement would present something to view, in some way or other, that she desired to conceal. Directly the thought occurred to him, he cast off her hold, and threw her from him.
Inez beheld him approach the curtain of the casement, behind which her lover had taken refuge, without the power of interposing. The old duenna, in the back-ground, was equally helpless, and could only raise her hands in speechless terror. Inez scarcely dared to breathe, when, twining one hand round the hilt of his rapier, Gonzalez fastened the other on the curtain, and tore it aside.
The two females started back in astonishment: the casement was open, and Hildebrand had gone.