"Does that prevent your thinking?" she softly asked, dropping on her
knees at his side and letting one hand rest on his shoulder.
For moments, lengthening into minutes, he sat immovable, fighting back
the agonized and torrential flood of thought which burst upon him with
unwarned temptation. The danger was not after all a danger to the woman
he loved, but a menace to his enemy. She was safe three thousand feet
above the threatening city. He had only to hold his hand, perhaps, for a
half-hour; had only to keep her here and let matters follow their
course.
He was not entertaining the thought, except to assure himself that he
could not entertain it, but it was racking him with its suddenness. The
King was there--in peril. She was here--safe. Insistently these two
facts assaulted his brain.
"Pardon, Señor." Blanco broke noisily down through the pines and
halted where the path emerged. For an instant he stood in bewildered
surprise.
"Pardon, Your Highness--" he exclaimed, bending low; then, quenching the
recognition in his eyes and assuming mistake, he laughed. "Ah, I ask
forgiveness, Señorita. I mistook you for the Princess. The resemblance
is strong. I see my error."
"Manuel!" Benton rose unsteadily and stared at the toreador with a
face pallid as chalk. He spoke wildly, "Quick, Manuel--have you learned
anything?"
The Spaniard glanced inquiringly at the girl, and as Benton nodded
reassurance went on in a lowered voice. Only fragments of his speech
reached Cara's ears. Her own thoughts left her too apathetic to listen.
"The plan is this. It is to happen at the Fortress do Freres this
afternoon while the King inspects the arsenal. Now, in fifteen minutes!"
He pointed down toward the city. "See, the cortége leaves the Palace!
Lapas was to be here at the rock--the blessed Saints help him! He is
hobbled to his telescope." Swiftly he rehearsed the story as it had come
from the lips of Lapas.
Benton was studying the Duke's lodge with his glasses. "There is a flag
flying on the west tower," he muttered.
He turned slowly toward the Princess. Outstanding veins were tracing
cordlike lines on his temples. His fingers trembled as he focused the
glasses.
Blanco looked slowly from one to the other. Suddenly he threw back both
shoulders and his eyes grew bright in full comprehension of the
situation he had discovered.
"Señor!" he whispered.
"Yes?" echoed the American in a dull voice.
"Señor--suppose--suppose I have confused the signals?" The tone was
insinuating.
Benton's mind flashed back to a Sunday School class of his childhood and
his infantile horror for the tale of a tempter on a high mountain
offering the possession of all the world if only--if only-He took a step forward. Speech seemed to choke him.
"In God's name!" he cried, "you have not forgotten?"