"I listen not to anydthing you zay."
"Yes, you will. You know you would half kill the man who would strike a woman. Some half-mad man has done worse than strike me, Guillermo, and his name is Guillermo de Bach. You are so strong, and you say you love me; will you take my part against this man?"
The moon comes out of a cloud, and shows me a white face above my own, drawn tense with emotion. "It ees all settle, Blanca; I go not back."
"Oh, God! what shall I do! What kind of man are you? You complain that my countrymen are cold and deliberate; do you know why we love them? They know how to keep faith, but you not twenty-four hours."
"Vhat mean you?" His voice is husky and sounds strange.
"You promised in the San Miguel this morning, if we trusted you enough to come with you to Guatemala, you would see that the San Miguel did not sail without us. Guillermo!"—with an inspiration I draw the white face down to mine—"forgive me for doubting you; you will keep your word," and I kiss him between the pain-contracted brows.
"Oh, Blanca, Blanca, you vill kill me!"
Is it a tear that drops on my face? I put my arm in his and draw him up the dark street, whispering some incoherent prayer.
"Blanca, I cannot! I am not a man dthat I gif you up!"
We have turned into the broad avenue and an occasional pedestrian passes by. The Baron seems to see nothing.