"Alaire!" Dave exclaimed.
She stilled him with a gesture. "Quick! Will you?"
Father O'Malley was bewildered. "I don't understand," he expostulated.
"Nor I," echoed Dave.
"You don't need to understand. I know what I'm doing. I've thought of a way to save us all."
Through Dave's mind flashed the memory of that thing which had haunted him and made his life a nightmare. An incoherent refusal was upon his lips, but Alaire's face besought him; it was shining with a strange, new ecstasy, and he could not bring himself to deny her. Of what her plan consisted he had only the dimmest idea, but he assured himself that it could by no possibility succeed. After all, what did it matter? he asked himself. They were trapped. This might serve, somehow, to cheat Longorio, and—Alaire would be his wife.
"Very well," he stammered, weakly. "What are you thinking of?"
"I haven't thought it all out yet, but—"
At that moment Dolores returned, bringing with her the three black-haired, black-shawled house servants, bundling them through the door and ranging them along the wall.
Father O'Malley's face was puckered; he said, hesitatingly: "My dear madam, this isn't regular; you are not Catholics. How can I bless you?"