He was standing almost over her, within distance of a single leap. In his belt I saw the long triangular blade of a Spanish knife. He could have cut me down ere I could have severed a cord of her fastenings. The attempt would fail; success was hopeless—impossible. I must wait for a better opportunity; and I waited.
I remembered Rube’s last word of counsel, not to act too hastily—and his reasons, that if I must make a “desprit strike for it,” to leave the grand coup to the last moment. The circumstances could be no more unfavourable then than now.
Under the influence of this idea, I checked my impatience, and waited.
I watched Hissoo-royo; I watched the squatted forms around the fire; I watched the straggling groups behind them. In turn, my eyes wandered from one to the other. At intervals, too, they rested upon Isolina.
Up to this moment I had not seen her countenance; I saw only the reverse of that beautiful image so deeply graven upon my heart. But even then—under that suspense of peril—strange thoughts were passing within me. I felt a singular longing to look upon her face; I remembered the herredero.
It pleased fortune to smile upon me. So many little incidents were occurring in my favour, that I began to believe the fates propitious, and my hopes of success were growing stronger apace.
Just then the captive turned her head, and her face was towards me. There was no mark on that fair brow; that soft cheek was without a scar; the delicate skin was intact, smooth, and diaphanous as ever. The herredero had been merciful!
Perhaps something had occurred to interrupt or hinder him from his horrid work?
I prayed that the matador had met with a similar interruption! I could not tell—those profuse clusters covered all—neck, bosom, and shoulders—all were hidden under the dark dishevelment. I could not tell, but I did not dare to hope. Cyprio had seen the blood!
It was but a momentary glance, and her face was again turned away.