But I could bear it no longer; and would have risked the chances at that moment, had not my foot been stayed by some words that followed.
“Come!” exclaimed the renegade, speaking to his victim, and making sign for her to follow him—“Come, sweet señorita! This place is too public. I would talk with you elsewhere: I know where there are softer spots for that fair form to recline upon—pretty glades and arbours, choice retreats within the shadow of the grove. There, dearest, shall we retire. Vamos!”
Though hideous the signification of this mock-poetic speech, I joyed at hearing it. It arrested my hand and limb, both of which had been ready for action. The “choice retreats within the shadow of the grove” promised a better opportunity.
With an effort, therefore, I restrained myself, and resolved to wait.
I listened for the reply of Isolina; I watched her as well; I noted her every movement.
I saw that she pointed to her limbs—to the thong-fastenings around her ankles.
“How can I follow you?” she inquired, in a calm voice, and in a tone of surprise. Surely that tone was feigned. Surely she meditated some design?
“True,” said the man, turning back, and drawing the knife from his belt. “Carrai! I had not thought of that; but we shall soon—”
He did not finish the sentence; he stopped in the middle of it, and in an attitude that betokened hesitation.
In this attitude he remained awhile, gazing into the eyes of his victim: then, as if suddenly changing his mind, he struck the knife back into his sheath, and at the same time cried out—