"I will make for you!" cried the wretched cook, opening his eyes, and so relieved to be still alive that he could scarcely articulate.
"Pronto," ordered Lopez.
"Si, Madre di Dios!" cried the cook; and fled to his kitchen, tumbling over himself in his eagerness to get a meal for the bandit.
There was a pause. What would Lopez do next? Kill them all? In Spanish he began, turning to Lucia:
"Santa Maria—You come here."
Angela stepped forward.
"You mean me?" she asked, sweetly.
"No!" came the gruff voice of Lopez. "You!" pointing to the frightened Lucia.
"Why do you want me?" she asked, moving slightly toward him.
"I would look at you," the bandit replied. He was appraising her already. "Turn around." She obeyed, like an automaton, "'Ow old are you?"