He knew the power of his voice over her—he could see her bosom heave with the intensity of her feelings.
Still she did not yield—this daughter of the Antilles was made of sterner stuff than to be swept along by every passing breeze like the fallen leaves of autumn.
"Perhaps," she replied, slowly.
"You would impose conditions—well, it is only right and fair. Let them be what they will I am ready to undertake them. The harder the better, since by that means I can prove the strength of my love, the bitterness with which I regard my conduct of the past."
"I said perhaps. Have you forgotten what I declared last night?" and her eyes dropped in confusion.
"You warned me—you saved me from a complication that was intended to injure me with my employers, with those whose respect I held dear. You risked much to warn me, and it was the thought of this that renewed my courage, my hope."
"It was something else—something of a more personal nature."
Then her meaning flashed upon him.
"You refer to Cousin Cleo—ah! what you said cannot be true—her regard for me is warm and cousinly, as mine is for her, but that is all."
"And if it were true—if she did love you—devotedly with all her heart and soul, Senor Roderic?"