As she speaks the girl, springing from Guy’s arms, starts up and whispers: “What’s that? Hark! My heaven, it is Alida!”
For a faint wailing sigh seems to come floating to the room from some distant apartment. “It is Alida! That coward has struck her!” she cries as the sound of agony comes floating in again.
And in a flash, with blazing eyes and vengeance on her face, Hermoine de Alva darts from the room, Guy following her, his feet scarce keeping up with her rapid flight. Turning up a passage, he finds himself—for the girl has hurriedly dashed open a door—gazing on a curious picture.
It is the chamber of the duenna; in it stands Doña de Pariza, with vicious whip upraised, and cowering before her crouches Alida, the Moorish slave. But the lash does not descend. With the spring of a young tigress Hermoine plucks the whip from the astounded Countess.
“How dare you intrude into my chamber?” cries the duenna.
“How dare you strike one that belongs to me?”
“Your pardon, Doña de Alva,” sneers La Pariza. “This girl is the gift of your father to me. Give me my whip, that I may continue my correction.”
“Never! Alida is mine; you made her over to me in words; she is mine to love, mine to protect, she is my Alida. Cruel one! you have asked for your whip! You shall have it!” And an avenging goddess is standing over the shuddering duenna, who gives an affrighted scream.
But Guy has hand upon the white arm that is upraised.
“I’ll do it if she dares to touch her again!” says [[239]]Hermoine savagely to Guy; then whispers gently: “Alida, go to my chamber and stay; there you are safe,” next breaks out: “Let her dare to lay hand on you and I’ll not respect even her gray hairs!”