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With her own dream still vivid in her memory; Myra was startled. Her heart seemed to miss a beat, she felt the hot colour rush to her face, and she bent forward to stroke her horse's neck lest her expression might betray her if she met Don Carlos's eyes. "How utterly preposterous!" she commented. "However, it is said that dreams are contrary.
No young gentleman ever had such a pother to make among his fellow-creatures about a little heritable property. If Baby Carlos's performance in it be anything in proportion, he will be a supereminent sovereign! "There is still some haggle about Tuscany, the Duke of which is old and heirless; Last of the Medici, as he proved.
Alfred went through the motions of assisting Madeline and Florence to mount, which assistance they always flouted, and then he, too, swung up astride. "I guess it's all right," he said, rather dubiously. "You really must not go over toward Don Carlos's. It's only a few miles home." "Sure it's all right. We can ride, can't we?" retorted Florence.
Don Carlos's face went white beneath the tan as he listened to the scathing words, and a gleam of anger flashed into his dark eyes. "You do me an injustice, and I think you are doing your own heart an injustice, Myra," he said, in a curiously quiet voice, after a momentary pause. "If " "I object to your calling me by my Christian name," Myra interposed abruptly, intent on snubbing him.
His comrades led the way, with their horses clattering into a canter. They disappeared through the gate. When, later in the day, Madeline and Florence, accompanied by Alfred and Stillwell, left Don Carlos's ranch it was not any too soon for Madeline. The inside of the Mexican's home was more unprepossessing and uncomfortable than the outside.
She was wondering if Don Carlos's invitation had been by way of an elaborate practical joke, wondering if he intended to subject her to intense discomfort under the guise of hospitality, or if he had some surprise in store.
I heard Carlos's loud cries as if from some extreme grief too poignant for words. I heard the complaining murmur of the crew and the maledictions of Torres, the sailing master I could not bear to look. "By night some degree of order had been restored in camp.
Don Carlos's lips were crushed on her own, and his burning kisses seemed to be drugging her brain and drawing the very heart out of her. Then suddenly she struggled and broke from him, her lovely face aflame, her bosom heaving tempestuously, her breath coming and going in sobbing gasps. "How dare you! Oh, how dare you!" she panted. "You brute! You brute! I could kill you!"
Temporarily, Myra completely lost her head. "Speak to me, Don Carlos," she gasped brokenly. "Open your eyes and look at me, darling. Oh, surely, surely you can't be going to die! What can I do? Oh, my dear, my dear " Her voice failed her, she tried to cry out for help but sobs choked her utterance. Don Carlos's eyes fluttered open for a moment then closed again.
Standish's face contorted in momentary passion, then with a sigh and a gesture of utter despair he submitted himself to be led away by Mendoza and Garcilaso. Myra, her face tense and white, took an involuntary step forward, and instantly Don Carlos's hand closed on her arm.
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