Doña Clara drew herself up, haughty and implacable.
"Yes," she answered ironically, "you love me, sir, but it is after the fashion of wild beasts, that carry off their prey to their den to rend it at their pleasure; yours is a tiger's love."
Shaw seized her arm violently, and looked firmly in her eyes.
"One word more, one insult further, madam," he gasped, "and I stab myself at your feet: when you see my corpse writhing on the ground, possibly you may then believe in my innocence."
Doña Clara, surprised, gazed at him fixedly.
"What do I care?" she then said, coldly.
"Oh!" the young man exclaimed in his despair, "You shall be satisfied."
And with a movement rapid as thought, he drew his dagger. Suddenly a hand was roughly laid on his arm; but Doña Clara had not stirred.
Shaw turned round. Fray Ambrosio was standing behind him, smiling, but not relaxing his grasp.
"Let me go," the young man said, in a hollow voice.