"Not so, my son," the monk said gently, "unless you first promise to give up your homicidal project."
"Do you not see," Shaw exclaimed passionately, "that she believes me guilty?"
"It must be so: leave it to me to persuade her of the contrary."
"Oh! if you did that?" the young man muttered, with an accent of doubt.
"I will do it, my son," Fray Ambrosio said, still smiling; "but you must first be reasonable."
Shaw hesitated for a moment, then let fall the weapon, as he muttered—
"There will still be time."
"Excellently reasoned," said the monk. "Now, sit down, and let us talk. Trust to me: the señora ere long will not feel the slightest doubt about your innocence."
During this scene Doña Clara had remained motionless as a statue of grief, apparently taking no interest in what passed between the two men.
"This young man has told you the perfect truth," he said; "it is a justice I take pleasure in rendering him. I know not what cause urged him to act so, but, in order to save you, he achieved impossibilities; holding you in his arms, he fought with a cloud of redskins thirsting for his blood. When Heaven sent us so miraculously to his assistance, he was about to succumb, and he rolled unconscious under our horses' hoofs, still holding against his bleeding breast the precious burthen which had doubtless been confided to him, and from which he had sworn only death should separate him. That is the real truth, madam: I swear it on my honour."