"He has robbed the Church. He has stripped the Blessed Virgin of her jewels. He—has—murdered—a—priest of the Holy Catholic Church."
Horror stayed them for a moment, and then they rushed at De la Vega. "He does not deny it!" they cried. "Is it true? Is it true?" and they surged about him hot with menace.
"It is quite true," said De la Vega, coldly. "I plundered the shrine of
Loreto and murdered its priest."
The women panted and gasped; for a moment even the men were stunned, and in that moment an ominous sound mingled with the roar of the surf. Before the respite was over Ysabel had reached his side.
"He did it for me!" she cried, in her clear triumphant voice. "For me! And although you kill us both, I am the proudest woman in all the Californias, and I love him."
"Good!" cried Castro, and he placed himself before them. "Stand back, every one of you. What? are you barbarians, Indians, that you would do violence to a guest in your town? What if he has committed a crime? Is he not one of you, then, that you offer him blood instead of protection? Where is your pride of caste? your hospitality? Oh, perfidy! Fall back, and leave the guest of your capital to those who are compelled to judge him."
The caballeros shrank back, sullen but abashed. He had touched the quick of their pride.
"Never mind!" cried the friar. "You cannot protect him from that.
Listen!"
Had the bay risen about the Custom-house?
"What is that?" demanded Castro, sharply.