“Do what?”
“Kill Carmen Montijo! I swear it. I’m in earnest, Calderon, and mean it. If it be as you’ve heard, I’ll surely kill her. I’ve the right to her life—by her giving me the right to her love.”
“But did she do that? Has she ever confessed to loving you?”
“Not in words, I admit. But there are other signs of assent strong as speech, or the hand-squeezings you speak of. Carmen Montijo may be cunning. Some call her a coquette. All I know is, that she has led me to believe she loved me; and if she’s been playing a false game, she shall rue it, one way or the other. This day I’m determined to ascertain the truth, by offering her my hand, as I’ve said, and asking hers. If she refuse it, then I’ll know how things stand, and take steps for squaring accounts between us. She shall find that Frank Lara is not the sort of man to let one of womankind either laugh at, or play tricks with him.”
“I admire your spirit, amigo. I catch courage from it, and will imitate your action. If it turn out that Iñez has been trifling with me, I’ll—well, we must first find what answer there is for us; which we shall, I suppose, soon after ascending yonder hill. One of us may be accepted, the other rejected. In that case, one will be happy, the other wretched. Or both may be accepted, and then we’ll both be blessed. Taking things at their worst, and that we both get refused—what then? Despair, and a speedy end, I suppose?”
“The last, if you like, but not the first. When despair comes to Frank Lara, death will come along with it, of soon after. But we waste time talking; let us forward and learn our fate!”
With stroke of spur, urging their horses into a gallop, the two hasten on; in the countenances of both a cast showing them half-hopeful, half-doubting—such as may be seen when men are about to make some desperate attempt, with uncertainty as to the result. On Calderon’s, notwithstanding his assumed levity, the expression is almost despairing; on that of De Lara it is more defiant and demon-like.