“Then it was he! I’ll have him—”
“Caramba!” He shrugged. “What a heat! But easy—do not blame Tomas for your gringo’s fault. What else could you expect from a peon that found himself enriched at a stroke? The wonder is that he did not proclaim his news from your topmost wall. Be content that he will never whisper one word again.”
“You didn’t—” she began, alarmed now for her servant.
“No. Pancho, to whom he told it, I flogged for the liar he now thinks Tomas, and Tomas—is trembling for his tongue. Except between us the matter is dead. Yet Tomas served his purpose. Thanks to him, we may now pass words and come to terms.”
“Terms?” She faltered it after a silence.
“Terms!” he repeated, gravely. “That is, if you would save your gringo alive. Supposing this were to escape to the good uncle? Soft as he has been with these gringos of late, supposing that he were to hear of both this and that other night in the hut, how long, think you, would the man last?”
Her eyes told. After a pause her mouth opened with a small gasp. “You—oh! you will not?”
“Not if you obey. Now see you, Francesca.” He dropped into a tone of grave confidence which was really winning. “If I had not known that his death at my hands would place you forever beyond me the man had never seen the dawn of another day. Whether he sees its setting depends on you. If you will go with my mother to Europe—”
“Si—if—I—go?” It issued between pauses of pain after a long silence.
“He lives. I will even protect him till he arrives at the end of his fool’s rope.”