He had been easily beaten in the little game of the knife, but there were still trump cards up his sleeve—he laughed loudest who laughed last, and the time had come for him to settle that long standing debt—the scar of that wound had burned like wild fire every time he looked at it, but it would cease to cry out for satisfaction after this August night.
"Aha! Senor Owen, 'tis thus we meet again. You thought this lady was your sweet Georgia—you took your life in your hands when you set out to discover the truth. Again you have crossed my path—this time it is your last. I shall turn to these brave soldiers of Spain and tell them who you are. They will be very affectionate Senor Owen, they will love you so well that every mother's son will want a portion of your precious body to remember this night by. Have you anything to say before I give the word?"
Roderic remembered how the judge when about to pass sentence of death used words like this.
He was mute—it would avail nothing after all, and he did not intend the Spaniard should have the satisfaction of hearing him plead.
This trouble had come upon him through his own stupidity—the burning in his chest, the unjust suspicions that found lodgment in his mind urged him to take drastic measures in order to learn the truth; and now that he had found out just what it all meant he should not complain if it came hard.
"Ho! he has lost his tongue—or his knowledge of the noble Spanish language fails him. Por Dios! we shall see how he can be made to lift up his voice, to cry like a dog, to squeal like the pig he is, to beg for mercy. Now Senor Hero of the Knife, take notice that it is I, Julio, the Maccarena dancer and bull fighter who contemptuously tosses you to the tender mercies of these gentlemen as I would a yellow cur."
He turned to bawl his intelligence to the gaping crowd, to proclaim the seeming dark faced stranger a wolf in sheep's clothing, one of the hated Yengees who were coming to destroy everything.
Before he could burst out with his startling tale however, the girl who had accompanied him took a sudden part in the drama, springing forward and catching hold of his arm as she cried:
"You speak of Senor Owen, of Georgia—and a light breaks in upon my mind. Julio, you must not go further—this man should be safe from your malice. He has not injured me—see, because of Leon I forgive him—I even extend him my hand. Why not, when he loves the sister and my heart belongs to the brother?"
Then Roderic's turn came to be amazed, for these words informed him of a strange fact—he remembered the story Georgia had told him of her brother, and how Leon had been saved by the daughter of the Spanish governor in charge of Morro Castle—fate had brought him face to face with that devoted girl, and through her might he not learn where Leon could be found?