“My mother did; she worked always,” Nemecia brooded. “Her body grew to be all bones. Then she was stolen by the Moros—to be a slave, till she died. When the pirates came I hid in a hole in the ground. They took my brother too.”
Her voice commenced to choke. She broke off harshly. “Señorita, have you heard the evil that man says of you?”
She lifted up her arms, beautiful soft arms, hardening as they rose with a fury of passion that for the moment seemed to eclipse the great golden calm of the morning world.
“Men I have known many, but that white one is a devil! I ha-a-te him, and since I am afraid Hell will not get him—I shall kill him!”
To Julie’s dumbfounded amazement she drew from her bosom a long, thin, cruel strip of a blade and held it in her clenched fist before her contorted face.
Julie knew these people too well to be panic-stricken.
“Put it away, Nemecia!” she ordered. “They would put you in the calaboose and keep you there till you died, an old, old woman.”
Nemecia’s great eyes flashed fire. “Are you then cool over the things he said of you all over the village? Will you allow him to insult you to the world, you who brought about peace for Nahal? He seeks to ruin you, as he sought to torture me. Let me go for us both,” she whispered tensely, “to-night, to the hammock in the gallery—and when he sleeps—give two quick blows, one for you and the other for me!”
“Alas, Nemecia, the calaboose is dark and cold. In your little cell of stone by yourself forever, you would never see the sun. You love the sun, Nemecia. You love the praise of your pretty face. No one would ever listen to the music of your ear hoops again. Just stillness and dark, forever, as if you had died and hung by your hair in space!
“Come!” she seized Nemecia’s arm, and the knife went clattering to the floor. Julie’s eyes shone with pleading. “Do this for me, Nemecia! Let him go! Ah! What a wonderful revenge! To hold the option of one’s enemy’s life in one’s hand—and to toss it back to him. Give me that power, Nemecia! Give me that strength!”