Teresa arose quickly, no longer humble and timid, but haughty as a queen whom a ruffian has insulted, and said—
"Listen to me, Don Suero, for you do not deserve that my lips should give you the dear name of brother; perhaps you may be able to escape the justice of men; perhaps God will permit you to escape even His justice for some time; perhaps you will torture me as long as I live; but the Infanta of Carrion will never bestow her hand on the son of the Count of Cabra, nor on anyone whom her heart has not chosen. A woman may be dragged to the steps of the altar, may be calumniated, may be barbarously ill-treated; but if she has courage enough to die without opening her lips, as I have, that vow cannot be dragged from her—that vow which alone constitutes the union of husband and wife."
"Silence, silence!" cried Don Suero, clutching at the handle of his dagger, "or you will force me, at this very moment, to punish your rebellion."
"I have told you already that you may kill me, for death does not terrify me; but my hand shall never belong to anyone who is not master of my heart."
"Then you shall suffer on earth all the tortures of hell; you shall be scoffed at by even the worst ruffians; ignominy and shame shall follow you everywhere."
"Shame shall never humiliate my brow, for in my life there never has been, nor shall there ever be, anything of which I can feel ashamed."
"Do you dare to speak thus, traitress? Bow your haughty brow to the ground, for the noble Infanta of Carrion cannot raise it proudly when she has become a renegade to her glorious race by loving one who is base-born, one of her wretched menials."
Don Suero repented, perhaps, of that burst of anger which had caused him to reveal to his sister what he had intended to conceal. Teresa trembled when she heard those words, which showed that her brother was aware of her love for Guillen; but both of them now felt that dissimulation was useless, and the masks having been torn off, they made up their minds to fight face to face.
"Well, then," said the Infanta, "I do confess my love for the menial whom you allude to; but I feel no shame on that account, for that menial, that peasant, has a heart as noble as that of the proudest hidalgo of Castile. I shall never feel shame for having loved him."