And then between them, her beauty illuminated by the glare of the swords, stood María, lovely and seductive, her eyes glowing with passion while her lips affected a peevish hypocrisy.
“Priest!” she cried, “leave him to me! Do you not see that he is mine—that I love him?”
“Wretch, begone....”
“Oh! what wild raving,” exclaimed Leon, passing his hand across his forehead which was damp with cold sweat, and shaking off the hideous vision. Then he heard his wife’s voice calling him.
That cry: “Leon, Leon!” rang in his ears like a knell. He rose, and slowly, slowly—grudgingly, almost revengefully—he went into the garden.
CHAPTER XXII.
CONQUERED BY THE ANGEL.
“It is nothing, it is over,” murmured Luis as he saw his brother-in-law coming towards them. “A sharper attack than usual ... to-morrow....”