"You dog!" she cried, through her white teeth.
"Do you mock me again?"
"Oh! no, of course not," sneered Nick.
"You lie! You do! You think some one will come—that you will then escape me," screamed Cervera, quivering through and through with venomous passion.
Nick watched her as a cat watches a mouse.
Her face was ghastly and distorted, her breast heaving, her every nerve quivering, and her eyes were like balls of fire under their knitted brows.
Still clutching the poniard, her jeweled fingers worked convulsively around its haft, like those of one who fain would strike a death blow, yet whose hand was briefly held by consuming horror.
Suddenly she darted nearer, with a vicious snarl.
"You think you'll escape me," she screamed, with bitter ferocity. "It shows in your eyes. I'll make sure that you don't. Let come who may, you shall be found—dead! Dead!—do you hear?"
"Oh! yes, I hear."