With an imperious gesture, Doña Julia checked his speech. Her symmetrical, somewhat voluptuous, mouth was curved at that moment in a smile of disdain.
“Spare me—and spare yourself, Juan Rodriquez,” she said, coldly, turning her back to the sea and facing squarely the youth, whose eyes met hers with a glance of crafty defiance not unmingled with an admiration that filled her with loathing. “You say more only at your peril. I’ll forgive you your presumption—once. But take good heed of what I say. If you address me in such words again, it shall go hard with you.”
A grayish pallor overspread Juan’s face in the twilight. A cruel smile played across his thin lips, and his hand grasped a railing at his side as if it would crush the stubborn wood.
“THE CAPTAIN HURLED HIM DOWN UPON THE DECK”
“You threaten me, Doña Julia de Aquilar,” he murmured, showing his teeth in an evil smile. “You know not what you do. See how our ship is driving toward the murky blackness of the West. Think you I shall be powerless beyond? I say to you, señora, that you, your father, and all you hold most dear, are in the grasp of Juan Rodriquez—your servant in Seville, your master in New Spain.”
He had seized the girl’s wrist and was gazing into her white face with vindictive, hungry eyes. She wrenched her arm free from his repellent grasp, and, drawing herself up to her full height, gazed haughtily at the boastful youth.
“What mad fancies there may be in your mind, Juan Rodriquez, I cannot guess. But this I know: if I should breathe a word of what you’ve said into my father’s ears, you’d lie a prisoner between the decks. And he shall know of this, unless you swear to me to leave me to myself, to speak no word to me, to keep your eyes from off my face, my name from off your lips.”
The threatening smile upon Juan’s mobile face had changed to a spiteful grin while the girl was speaking.
“Your love for Don Rodrigo would be weak, indeed, should you, señora, speak a word of this. I tell you, Doña Julia, your father’s in my grasp. I’ll show him mercy—but I make my terms with you. ’Tis no mad fancy, nor an idle boast,” went on Juan, making a significant gesture toward the slashed velvet upon his breast, “which you have heard from me. I know my power. If you are wise, you’ll take my word for this.”