“I believe so,” Leonard replied, bowing his head to his breast. “We are prisoners in a secret cell beneath the feet of the statue. There has been great noise and confusion without, and now for some time silence.”
Then Juanna sprang up and stood over him with flashing eyes.
“How dared you do this?” she said. “Who gave you leave to do it? I thought that you were a man, now I see that you are a coward.”
“Juanna,” said Leonard, “it is useless for you to talk like this. Whatever was done was done for your sake, not for that of anybody else.”
“Oh, yes, you say so, but I believe that you made a plot with Soa to murder Francisco in order that you might save your own life. I have done with you. I will never speak to you again.”
“You can please yourself about that,” answered Leonard, who by now was thoroughly enraged, “but I am going to speak to you. Look here, you have said words to me for which, were you a man, I would do my best to be avenged upon you. But as you are a woman I can only answer them, and then wash my hands of you. As you must know, or will know when you come to your right mind, I would gladly have taken Francisco’s place. But it was impossible, for had I attempted to dress myself up in the robe of Aca, I should instantly have been discovered, and you would have paid the price of my folly. We all knew this, and after we had consulted, things were arranged as I have told you. I only consented to your being brought here on the condition that I was allowed to accompany you for your protection. Now I wish that I had left it alone and gone with Francisco, then perhaps I should have found peace instead of bitter words and reproaches. However, do not be afraid, for I think it probable that I shall soon follow him. I know that you were very fond of this man—this hero—and also, either by accident or design, that you had succeeded in making him a great deal too fond of you for his peace of mind; therefore I make excuses for your conduct, which, with all such deductions, still remains perfectly intolerable.”
He paused and looked at her as she sat on the edge of the couch, biting her lip and glancing towards him now and again with a curious expression on her beautiful face, in which grief, pride, and anger all had their share. Yet at that moment Juanna was thinking not of Francisco and his sacrifice, but of the man before her whom she had never loved so well as now, when he spoke to her thus bitterly, paying her back in her own coin.
“I cannot pretend to match you in scolding and violence,” she said, “therefore I will give up argument. Perhaps, however, when you come to your right mind, you will remember that my life is my own, and that I gave nobody permission to save it at the cost of another person’s.”
“What is done, is done,” answered Leonard moodily, for his anger had burnt out. “Another time I will not interfere without your express wish. By the way, my poor friend asked me to give you these,” and he handed her the rosary and the notebook; “he has written something for you to read on the last sheet of the journal, and he bade me say that, should you live to escape, he hoped that you will wear these in memory of him,” and he touched the beads, “and also that you would not forget him in your prayers.”
Juanna took the journal, and holding it to the light, opened it at hazard. The first thing that she saw was her own name, for in truth it contained, among many other matters, a record of the priest’s unhappy infatuation from the first moment of their meeting, and also of his pious efforts to overcome it. Turning the pages rapidly she came to the last on which there was any writing. It ran as follows: