“She’s alive,” he said. “Alive! As for where, it matters little. I’ll search every inch of the island, every road, every hacienda. You don’t realize my power.”
“Then search the bottom of the sea,” I shouted.
“Let’s look at the matter in the right light.”
He had mastered his grief, his incertitude. He was himself again, and the smile had returned—as if at the moment he forced his features to their natural lines.
“Send one of your friars to heaven—you’ll never go there yourself to meet her.”
“If you will tell me she’s alive, I’ll save you.”
I made a mute, obstinate gesture.
“If she’s alive, and you don’t tell me, I can’t but find her. And I’ll make you know the agonies of suspense—a long way from here.”
I was silent.
“If she’s dead, and you’ll tell me, I’ll save you some trouble. If she’s dead and you don’t, you’ll have your own remorse and the rest, too.”