Myra shook her red-gold head despairingly, and sank down into a corner
of the couch with a sigh.
"If he were the only man on earth, I would not marry him now," she
answered. "But that does not alter the case or excuse your conduct."
"I do not understand, Myra," said Don Carlos. "It was only because you
had promised to marry Standish that you hardened your heart against
love and me. You have surrendered to love now, at last, and----"
"I have not," interrupted Myra. "I hate you for what has happened."
"Yet, hating me, you have become my wife," Don Carlos commented, with
an air of perplexity.
"I am not your wife," protested Myra. "You have fooled me before, but
you cannot fool me into believing that the farcical service, gabbled in
a language I do not understand by one of your men masquerading as a
monk, constitutes a marriage."
"Padre Sancho is an ordained priest. The ceremony was not a farce.
You are now my wife--the wife of El Diablo Cojuelo, the outlaw. Later
on, when you marry Don Carlos--if Don Carlos still desires you--you
shall have a more elaborate ceremony, if you wish it, and you will be
doubly married without being a bigamist."
There came an interruption at that moment. Madre Dolores appeared,
murmuring apologies, with a tall glass of wine in her skinny hand, and
seemingly made some appeal to Don Carlos.
"Myra, some of my men are holding festival to celebrate our marriage,
and they have sent Mother Dolores to ask us to do them the honour of
taking wine with them and allowing them to toast us," Don Carlos
explained. "It would be a gracious act, which will endear you to all
my men, to consent."
"But I have told you I cannot believe the marriage ceremony was other
than a farce," objected Myra. "Is this another trick to humiliate me
and make it appear I have surrendered?"
"Again you misjudge me," replied Don Carlos abruptly. "It is a
compliment, and should be proof to you that my men know the marriage
ceremony was no farce. They will take it as an affront if you refuse
their invitation."
"What does that matter to me?" exclaimed Myra rebelliously.
Don Carlos's brows drew together and he looked chagrined.
"Tell the men, Mother Dolores, that the señora is either as lacking in
courage as the Englishman, or considers them such a gang of cut-throat
ruffians, that she cannot be persuaded to nerve herself to face them,"
he said, addressing the old woman. "Tell them she is aware she is
affronting them and----"