“Four days—and I was there ten,” she said, as though reflecting.
“Ten—in the house of the alcalde?” I asked, determined to pursue the subject.
“Yes; always in that house,” with a shudder.
“They kept you there against your will?”
“Until you came—yes. At first I defied them, but my spirit was slowly breaking down, and because of the threats they made, threats that concerned others besides myself, I must soon have yielded.”
I began to feel my blood boiling. Who was it dared to threaten her?—who had any right to demand that she do this or that? Since I had released her from her vows what man on earth had any authority over her?
What was it made me suddenly gasp and cringe as though a bucket of ice water had been dashed over me? What but a flash of memory, as that hated photograph again played the deuce with my nerves? Some other man might indeed have the rights I had chosen to discard.
I had a little struggle with myself, and managed to gain the mastery over this weakness. If my hand trembled as I mechanically passed it over my head, it did not affect my voice.
“I don’t know that I have any right to ask you to tell me all about this affair, Hildegarde—I forfeited that privilege long ago; but you must understand that I have done what I could while utterly in the dark, and if you think it worth while to enlighten me, I should be glad to hear the solution of the mystery, and equally glad to go to any length to serve you further.”
That was not a speech from the heart, but rather one dictated by reason and prudence.