The senor felt his mind much relieved. He had no wish, of course, to commit the murder himself; for he was a good Catholic, and feared the devil. But Tita was an Indian, and her being lost did not matter so much. Indians' souls were cheap, like their bodies. So he answered, “But we shall be discovered!”
“I will leap out of the window with the casket, and swim ashore. They will never suspect you, and they will fancy I am drowned.”
“The sharks may seize you, Tita. You had better give me the casket.”
Tita smiled. “You would not like to lose that, eh? though you care little about losing me. And yet you told me that you loved me!”
“And I do love you, Tita! light of my eyes! life of my heart! I swear, by all the saints, I love you. I will marry you, I swear I will—I will swear on the crucifix, if you like!”
“Swear, then, or I do not give you the casket,” said she, holding out the little crucifix round her neck, and devouring him with the wild eyes of passionate unreasoning tropic love.
He swore, trembling, and deadly pale.
“Give me your dagger.”
“No, not mine. It may be found. I shall be suspected. What if my sheath were seen to be empty?”
“Your knife will do. His throat is soft enough.”