“It is the end, beloved,” the caballero breathed. “Our love dies almost as soon as ’twas born. You do not regret——?”
“I regret only that we cannot spend a life together, my caballero,” she replied. “Ah, ’tis cruel!”
Again their lips touched, and then he half turned from her, and motioned to the corner.
“Pray,” he whispered. “Pray there, beloved, with your back to me. I could not do it if I looked into your face. Pray until the end——”
Now she was white of face, and her lips were trembling, but she only looked him once in the eyes and then did as he said. Facing the wall, she knelt and prayed, while the caballero looked to his pistol to see that it was properly charged, and himself said a prayer under his breath.
Six feet behind her he stood, his eyes upon the floor, his ears strained to catch every sound from the church. The defenders were putting up a stubborn resistance, for the comandante was still screeching orders, and the volleys crashed, and the hostiles shrieked their anger at being held from their prey.
And then the tone of the shrieks changed from anger to fear! The caballero stepped swiftly close to the door. He heard the defenders cheering; heard heavy volleying that was not inside the church; heard strong voices raised in shouts and the sound of galloping hoofs, the wailing cry of a fray.
“My God, I thank Thee!”
Sergeant Cassara’s great voice was raised in a howl of relief and encouragement. Running feet sounded in the church. The caballero’s heart was pounding at his ribs, and he was trying to beat from his brain the sudden hope he felt for fear it would prove unfounded.
Another volley; another chorus of shrieks as from a far distance; more cries of anger, and gladness, and surprise! Then a strong voice that had not been heard before: