"I say yes! And I want to know! And if it's what I think it is we're going to clear out of here now!"
"As though we could!"
"We can! We have enough provisions to last for weeks. And see here," he ran to the corner where he had hidden the golden clubs and returned with them in his hands, "with these we could make our way through them all. Tell me!"
There was a strange smile on Desiree's lips.
"And so you would fight for me, Harry?" she said half-wistfully, half—I know not what. Then she continued in a tone low but quite distinct: "Well, it is too late. I am the king's."
She lied—I saw it in her eyes. Perhaps she meant to save Harry from his folly, to quiet him by the knowledge that he need not fight for what was no longer his own; but she was mistaken in her man.
Harry did not stop to read her eyes—he heard her words. He took two slow steps backward, then stood quite still, while his face grew deadly white and his eyes were fastened on hers with a look that made me turn my own away. His soul looked out from them—how he loved the woman—and I could not bear it!
Nor, after a moment, could Desiree. She took a step forward, extending her arms to him and cried out:
"Harry! No! It was a lie, Harry! Don't—don't!"
And they gazed at each other, and I at Desiree, and thus we were unaware that a fourth person had entered the room, until he had crossed its full length and stood before me. It was the Inca king.