"That is the very word, madam," he said, with a bitter smile; "but in order to cut short useless recriminations, and lay down the question distinctly, let me make a confession which will establish our position to each other."
"Speak, speak! What frightful revelation have you to make to me?"
"I, madam," he replied, drawing himself up majestically, and fixing on her a fiendish glance, "am the son of Running Water, the Chief of the tribe of Red Buffaloes, whom your family so cowardly and obstinately hunted down. Do you now understand why I hate you, and why you are here?"
"Oh!" she shrieked, clasping her hands in despair, "We are lost."
Doña Diana was annihilated; she fancied it was all a fearful dream.
"No, madam," he replied in his calm and metallic voice, "your safety is in your own hands."
"My safety?" she asked ironically.
"Yes, madam, your safety. You are really conscious of the situation in which you are, I assume? You are thoroughly convinced that you are in my power, and that no human help can save you?"
"Yes, but God remains—God, who sees, and will save us," she exclaimed fervently, "God who will foil your odious machinations!"
"God!" he said, with a hoarse laugh. "You forget, madam, that I am a Comanche, and that your God is not mine. Bow your head before the fatality that crushes you. Your God, if He exist, is powerless against me. I deride his power!"