So many people had been invited to the Cavendish ball that there was scarce room to dance. Myra caught sight of Don Carlos several times, and her heart beat a trifle fast when at last she saw him making his way through the crowd towards her during an interval.
"May I have the pleasure and honour of dancing the next with you, Miss Rostrevor?" he inquired, with his usual courtly bow. "The floor is becoming less crowded now the news has gone round that supper is being served."
Myra's first impulse was to snub him, but she refrained, rose without a word as the music re-started, and they glided round together to the lilting refrain of the band. Both were extremely graceful and accomplished dancers, and several other couples ceased dancing to watch them, giving them the centre of the floor.
"Are you afraid to look at me, cara mia?" whispered Don Carlos, after a few minutes. "I want to look deep into your dear blue eyes and try to read what is in your heart."
"I am afraid the result would be a shock to your overweening vanity, Don Carlos," responded Myra coldly, still avoiding his eyes. "I am very angry with you, and I am surprised you should have had the audacity to ask me to dance with you before even attempting to offer any apology for your outrageous behaviour of this afternoon."
"Dear, darling, delicious, delectable lady, why should I apologise for taking up your challenge and redeeming my promise?" Don Carlos asked. "Why profess to be offended with the man who loves you so passionately for taking a few of the kisses for which he was craving and hungering? What is it your great Shakespeare wrote that fits our case? … Ah! I have it! …"
He sang the words softly, fitting them to the rhythm of the air the dance-band was playing:
"'A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;And pay them at your leisure, one by one.What are ten hundred touches unto thee?Are they not quickly told and quickly gone?Say for non-payment that the debt should double;Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?'"
"Oh, you are an utterly outrageous and impossible man!" exclaimed Myra, half-annoyed, half-amused, and at heart a little fascinated withal. "Even if I did flirt with you at Auchinleven to amuse myself, you had no right to take my teasing seriously—you, who are such an experienced flirt and philanderer, and who do not expect women to take your love-making seriously and laugh at them if they do."
"I expect you to take my love-making seriously, Myra," he answered.
"Your expectations will not be realised, Don Carlos, and if you attempt to repeat your conduct of to-day there will be trouble," said Myra, forcing herself to meet his ardent eyes unflinchingly. "It is unsportsmanlike to try to excuse yourself by throwing the blame on me, pleading, like Adam, 'The woman tempted me.' You might at least express regret for your conduct."
"I have no regrets, Myra," murmured Don Carlos. "I have tasted the nectar of your lips, and now I hunger for a banquet of love."
"In that case you will surely die of starvation," said Myra, with a light laugh.
"Dios! how you torture me, Myra!" muttered Don Carlos frowningly. "I hoped you would tell me you had found your heart, that my kisses had at last awakened it. I love you, love you with every fibre of my being, and you—you love, yet you refrain."
"Quoting Henley, aren't you, Don Carlos, and trying the effect of pathos by way of a change?" retorted Myra. "How amusing! As far as I am concerned, you can 'break your heart on my hard unfaith and break your heart in vain…' Don't grip my hand so tightly. You are hurting me."
"I will hurt you if you are trifling with me and making mock of my love," said Don Carlos quickly, through clenched teeth. "Don't try me too far, Myra. Beware lest my love turns to hate!"
"Beware lest my love turns to hate!" mimicked Myra, and trilled out a laugh. "You are talking like a character in an old-fashioned melodrama. Should I play up to you by crying, 'Unhand me, villain,' turning deathly pale, and screaming for help. Don't be absurd! … We won't dance the encore. But if you will promise to be sensible and refrain from talking extravagant nonsense, you may take me in to supper."
She felt certain that she had both hurt and puzzled Don Carlos, and she gloried in the thought, flattering herself that she was really taking her revenge. She was completely mistress of herself again, sure of her own powers, and during supper she laid herself out to be "nice," with almost devastating effect, playing on the emotions of the Spaniard like a skilled musician on a sensitive instrument. Deliberately she encouraged him, only to rebuff him when she had inflamed his ardour, deliberately she set herself to excite his passions, only to reward him with a cold douche of ridicule.
"I believe the man is actually in love with me," Myra soliloquised, smiling in self-satisfied fashion at her reflection in the mirror as she undressed that night. "He was grinding his teeth in sheer mortification and looking quite murderous when I told him he was boring me, and I went off with Tony. Yes, I think I am taking my revenge. What a triumph if I find myself able to twist round my little finger, so to speak, the man who boasted no woman could resist him!"
Yet when she fell asleep she dreamed that she was again in the arms of Don Carlos with his lips crushed on her own, and that she was returning his passionate kisses with fervour and straining the Spaniard close to her heart although Tony (in her dream) was looking on, feebly begging her to desist and to kiss him instead, and Lady Fermanagh was standing by protesting in solemn tones that she was "playing with fire."
"What an utterly absurd dream!" Myra reflected, when she woke with her heart thrilling queerly. "I wonder what particular and peculiar kink in my mental outfit made me enjoy kisses in my dreams which I hated while I was awake? How flattered Don Carlos would be if he knew!"
An hour or so later she chanced to encounter Don Carlos while she was taking her morning gallop in the Row, and he brought his horse abreast of hers, saluting in his usual gallant manner.
"You tortured me last night, Myra, but in my dreams I got full recompense," he said, after formal greetings.
"Really! How fortunate for you!" drawled Myra, with well-feigned lack of interest. "Do you flatter yourself even when you are asleep?"
"It was an extremely vivid dream, Myra," continued Don Carlos, ignoring the jocular question. "I dreamed you were in my arms, straining me close to your breast, and returning my hungry kisses with passionate ardour. We were drinking Love's cup of rapture together, my beloved and I, giving and taking all."
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 thatdreams are contrary. Incidentally, I meant what I said when I told youI should refuse to talk to you if you persisted in being sentimental.Good morning!"
Being Irish, Myra Rostrevor was by nature more than a little superstitious and inclined to attach some importance to dreams and omens, and she rode away feeling just a tiny bit scared at heart, and wondering uneasily if perchance Don Carlos de Ruiz was a thought-reader.
"Sure, and I don't know what to make of you, Myra," she whispered to her own reflection in the mirror, as she changed from her riding costume into a morning frock. "I don't know what to make of you at all, at all! And I don't know what to make of Don Carlos, either. I don't know if you are in love with him or not, and I'm not sure but what if he kissed you again you might make a fool of yourself and give up the idea of making a fool of him…. Oh, if only I knew whether he is in earnest or not!"
Myra was almost afraid to attempt to analyse her own feelings and emotions, and could come to no decision concerning either herself or Don Carlos. She continued to "blow hot, blow cold" every time they met, sometimes treating him with studied coldness, at other times flirting with him beguilingly, but always taking precautions against giving him any opportunity to kiss her again.
Meanwhile Tony Standish had taken Lady Fermanagh's advice, and he was wooing Myra with all the fervour and passion of which his somewhat phlegmatic nature was capable, wooing her as if their betrothal was yet to be, instead of an accomplished fact. Hardly a day passed but he brought or sent some expensive trifle, together with flowers, chocolates, or cigarettes, with assurances of his undying affection.
His tributes of devotion made Myra feel just a trifle guilty, made her wonder, too, if Tony had decided that the love-making of Don Carlos was something more than make-believe, and he was trying to make sure of her.
"Oh, Tony, dear, you make me feel as if you were buying me!" she exclaimed one afternoon, when her lover presented her with a diamond pendant. "Why have you given me such lots of presents lately, you extravagant old thing?"
"Well, darling, I want to show you how much in love with you I am," answered Tony, looking quite bashful. "I am tremendously in love with you, Myra, honour bright, and I'd do anything to prove it. I'd—I'd give my life for you, sweetheart. Honestly, it would break my heart if I lost you."
"Tony, what makes you talk of losing me?" Myra asked quickly.
"Oh—er—nothing, really, but—er—well, you're so beautiful, and fascinating, and attractive, and all the rest of it, and I know there are several men who are in love with you and would like to cut me out if they could," explained Tony. "I say, dear, I don't mean that I think you'd let me down and go back on your promise to marry me. Er—you weren't in earnest, were you, darling, when you talked about letting Don Carlos fall in love with you at Auchinleven, and making me jealous? Please don't mind my asking, but I'm rather worried, to tell the truth."
"Worried because you think I may be in love with Don Carlos?"
"No, Myra, not exactly, but because I know he is in love with you. He told me so himself last night."
"He told you so himself!" exclaimed Myra, startled.
"Yes. Placed me in a rather difficult position. I suppose it was really rather sporty of him. I don't know if I should tell you. He called on me and said he was afraid he'd have to ask me to release him from his promise to be my guest on the yachting tour. Naturally I asked him why, and he told me frankly that he had fallen in love with you."
Myra's heart beat a trifle faster as she listened.
"Said he thought it was only right I should know, and that he supposed it wouldn't be playing the game according to English ideas if he made love to you and tried to win you from me while he was my guest," continued Tony. "I didn't know quite what to say, except that I was sorry."
He looked at Myra expectantly and a little anxiously as he paused, and Myra laughed involuntarily. But her heart was still behaving rather oddly and she felt her face flushing.
"How absurd, Tony!" she exclaimed. "Do you think he was in earnest?"
"Oh, yes, he seemed to be in deadly earnest," replied Tony. "Er—I didn't quite know what to do about it, as I said before, but it suddenly occurred to me that if I let Don Carlos withdraw his acceptance of my invitation it might seem like an admission that I had not complete faith in you and was afraid of losing you. You see what I mean, Myra?"
"More or less," said Myra, rather bewildered. "But surely you don't mean that you pressed him to come, knowing he would go on making love to me?"
"I didn't exactly press him, but I told him that if he felt he must decline my invitation because he was in love with you, we should naturally have to decline his invitation to Spain for the same reason," responded Tony. "I told him he ought to have known you were only amusing yourself to pay him out, and that he should have known better than lose his heart after you had objected to his attempting to make love to you. So eventually he laughed and said if I wasn't afraid of him as a rival he would come. I hope you don't mind, darling. I told him he hadn't an earthly hope."
"It is nice to know you are so sure of me that you have no fear of a rival," commented Myra drily, after a momentary pause.
"I say, Myra, do you mean that, or are you being sarcastic?" asked Tony. "What could I do in the circumstances? Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned the matter to you at all, but—er—I thought you might feel rather flattered to know that you have made another conquest, and you know you said you weren't in the least afraid of Don Carlos. I thought, too, that you'd take it rather as a compliment if I showed I had complete faith in you. You didn't really want me to display jealousy, did you?"
"I don't know, Tony," replied Myra evasively. "If the positions were reversed and I were engaged to Don Carlos and you had been making love to me, I expect he would have killed you by now, and perhaps strangled me into the bargain."
"Englishmen don't do that sort of thing," remarked Tony, looking hurt. "If you mean you would prefer me to behave like an emotional foreigner——"
"Oh, Tony, dear, don't be absurd!" interrupted Myra, her mood changing. "I see how you looked at the matter, and I know I should be glad you have such faith in me. But don't you think Don Carlos may regard your indifference to his rivalry as being almost in the nature of a challenge?"
"I hadn't thought of it that way, Myra, but in any case I know you'll be able to keep Don Carlos at a distance if he should try to make love to you again," answered Tony. "Sure you're not vexed with me, dear?"
"I don't know whether I'm vexed or pleased, amused or scared, but I am certainly thrilled," said Myra. "To think that Don Carlos, who boasted that no woman could resist him, should confess to you, that he has lost his heart to me!"
"I couldn't help feeling rather sorry for the poor chap," remarked Tony. "I should feel ghastly if I had fallen in love with you after you had become engaged to another man, and knew there was no hope."
"Don't be too sure there is no hope for Don Carlos," said Myra provocatively; but Tony's look of piteous dismay caused her to relent almost instantly, and she kissed him.
Long after Tony had gone, Myra sat lost in thought, her heart still thrilling. Don Carlos's confession was, of course, a compliment and tribute to her powers of fascination, and naturally Myra was flattered; but she was also more than a little puzzled.
She could not quite fathom Don Carlos's motive for telling Tony Standish he was in love with her, and she realised that Tony had been cleverer than he knew. By telling her of Don Carlos's confession and assuring her that he had complete faith in her he had, as it were, placed her on her honour not to forsake him.
"I wonder what wise Aunt Clarissa would advise?" mused Myra. "I must tell her that although she said I was playing with fire it is Don Carlos, apparently, who has got burnt."
"You certainly appear to have reason to flatter yourself on your success as a coquette, Myra," commented Lady Fermanagh drily, after listening attentively to Myra's story of Don Carlos's confession to Tony, and, incidentally, without making any mention of the fact that she had already heard the story from Tony himself over the telephone. "You have the laugh on Don Carlos de Ruiz now, my dear, but don't forget the old proverb that he who laughs last laughs best. Actually, it is not a laughing matter at all, but a crime to break a man's heart in jest."
"You don't really suppose that Don Carlos is heart-broken, do you,Aunt?" asked Myra.
"Frankly, I do not," responded Lady Fermanagh. "I don't quite know what to make of it. My idea is that Don Carlos probably guessed you had boasted you would make him fall in love with you, and he may either be pandering to your vanity by leading you to believe you have succeeded in your object, or else trying to make a fool of you. Be careful, my dear! It isn't safe to trifle with men of the type of Don Carlos de Ruiz, as I have told you before."
"Pouf! If he has actually fallen in love with me, he is more likely to make a fool of himself than of me," Myra exclaimed.
"One never knows," Lady Fermanagh responded. "I believe you are half in love with him as it is, Myra, and if he cared to exercise all his powers he might be able to induce you to break with Tony."
Myra shook her red-gold head, but at heart she knew her aunt might be right.
"Your idea, as you have admitted, was to make Don Carlos fall in love with you in earnest, because he had made love to you in jest," continued Lady Fermanagh. "You wanted to have the satisfaction of 'turning him down'—to use the ultra-modern expression—and laughing at him for losing his heart. Take care, my dear Myra, that he does not turn the tables on you again."
"How could he?" asked Myra, feeling somewhat piqued.
"Well, it might amuse him to protest that he is heart-broken, to persuade you to take pity on him and forsake Tony, to confess yourself in love with him, and then in the end to remind you of his boast that no woman could resist him, and explain that he did not want you, had merely been testing his powers and taking revenge for your coquetry."
"Surely, he wouldn't be such a beast!"
"He might—and more particularly if he is in earnest," said Lady Fermanagh gravely. "No man likes being laughed at, except when he is appearing on the stage as a comedian. A man in love is particularly sensitive to ridicule. I wonder how many murders have been committed in Spain as a result of girls inducing men to make fools of themselves?"
"Oh, Aunt, don't be absurd!" interposed Myra. "Are you suggesting that Don Carlos may murder me? Do you anticipate his plunging a stiletto or some sort of Spanish dagger into my heart, or committing suicide on our nice clean doorstep, because I do not reciprocate his passion?"
She trilled out a laugh and her aunt had, perforce, to smile.
"One never knows," she said again. "My advice to you is not to take any further risks, and not to attempt to gloat over Don Carlos. And I think you should fix the date for your marriage to Tony Standish and make a good resolution to break no more hearts."
"And join a Dorcas society, and wear flannel next the skin, and woollen stockings and flat-heeled shoes!" Myra added frivolously. "Thank yousomuch, Aunt Clarissa!"
Sure of her own powers, but uncertain of her own heart, Myra could not make up her mind in advance what attitude to adopt towards Don Carlos at their next meeting, and wondered what his attitude would be towards her. Would he profess to be heart-broken, or continue to make passionate love to her at every opportunity?
She was left wondering, for Don Carlos left London that very day, after explaining to Tony that he had been called to Paris on important business.
"Said he might be away for a week or two, but promised he would make a point of getting back in time to join our yachting party," Tony informed Myra. "Just as well, perhaps, what? Give him time to get over having fallen in love with you, darling. Asked me to give you his humble and dutiful regards—I believe that was his expression—and to assure you he never broke a promise. I suppose he meant his promise to be back in time to join us at Southhampton."
"I suppose so," Myra equivocated. "I don't believe he is in love with me, Tony."
"I don't see how anyone could help being in love with you, darling," responded Tony gallantly. "My idea is that poor old Carlos is hard hit, and has probably gone to Paris to pull himself together, so to speak, and to avoid meeting you for a bit."
"Paris is so consoling!" commented Myra satirically. "Just the sort of quiet, soothing place where a heart-broken lover can find solace! I shall waste no sympathy on Don Carlos."
She was piqued and puzzled, and a little exasperated by the thought that Don Carlos was playing a joke on her.
"He probably thinks I am deeply in love with him, and flatters himself I shall be hurt and grieved by his sudden departure," reflected Myra. "Perhaps he thinks he is paying me back in my own coin, and he will find me ready to fall into his arms, so to speak, on his return. If so, I can promise him a disappointment."
She tried to put Don Carlos out of her mind, but she found herself thinking of him continually. Often in her dreams she was again enfolded in his arms with his lips crushed on her own, and she would wake with her heart throbbing wildly.
Tony never managed to set her heart throbbing in the same way. Myra wished he could and would. Perhaps it was her dreams of Don Carlos that caused her to be particularly nice to Tony during the next week or two, and to try to persuade herself that she was really in love with him.
No word came from Don Carlos, but he duly presented himself aboard theKillarney, Tony Standish's yacht, on the appointed day. And he looked as little like a heart-broken, forlorn lover as anyone could imagine. Indeed, he seemed to be in exceptionally high spirits, talked gaily of the enjoyable time he had had in Paris, explaining that he had combined business with pleasure.
He made no attempt to speak to Myra alone on the first night aboard, and joined a party of men playing poker in the smoking-room, in preference to dancing.
"He is really the most baffling and exasperating creature," Myra told herself. "I expect he thinks he is vexing me by being so casual, the conceited fellow. I am annoyed with myself for feeling annoyed."
She encountered Don Carlos next morning, when she went up on deck from her state room to take a stroll before breakfast, and he greeted her smilingly.
"Buenos dias, señorita," he said, with a gallant bow. "I start the day well by meeting you, my Myra. Has absence made your heart grow fonder, my heart's desire?"
"Yes, I am fonder of Tony than ever," answered Myra lightly. "I think I really ought to thank you, Don Carlos, for pretending to Tony that you had fallen in love with me. I was vastly amused, but Tony actually took you seriously, and he has been the most adorably devoted lover ever since. I am half inclined to suspect that you must have given Tony some lessons in love-making!"
Don Carlos flashed a searching glance at her, and his smile faded.
"If I thought that Standish would hold you to your promise to marry him, knowing that you love me, I should kill him," he said, quietly, calmly and deliberately.
"In that case, Tony is a doomed man," commented Myra, with a mocking laugh. "But perhaps the fact that I do not love you will induce you to spare his life," she added hastily. "Don't you find it rather difficult to be melodramatic and to talk farcical nonsense before breakfast, Don Carlos?"
"I am debating with myself how best to get rid of Standish," responded Don Carlos unsmilingly. "An opportunity may present itself during this cruise. I do not wish to kill him, and would much prefer him to surrender you to me voluntarily. But if he is obstinate, and if you persist in refusing to obey the dictates of your heart to break with him, he, as you have said, is a doomed man."
So earnest was his tone, so serious his manner, that Myra felt her heart contract, but she forced herself to treat his speech as a joke.
"Don Carlos, you are an impossible person!" she exclaimed. "Do you want me to rush away and warn Tony that his life is in danger? Shall I ask the captain to order two of the crew to play the part of Scotland Yard detectives, shadow your every movement and keep guard over Tony? You don't really expect me to take you seriously, do you?"
Before Don Carlos could answer, Tony, together with two or three other members of the party, came up the companion-way.
"Hallo, people, what are you looking so solemn about?" cried Tony cheerily. "Not feeling sea-sick, are you, what?"
"Good morning, darling, so glad you've come," said Myra, and tilted up her face for a kiss. She seldom greeted her betrothed with a kiss if there were others present, but she guessed the display of affection might annoy Don Carlos. "This dreadful man has been trying to make my blood run cold," she added smilingly, with a challenging glance at Don Carlos. "I think he must have spent most of his time in Paris at the Grand Guignol, and it has turned his brain. I'm afraid he is suffering from some sort of homicidal mania, poor fellow."
"I warn you, good people, and you, mine host in particular, that I am in a murderous mood," said Don Carlos gaily. "Miss Rostrevor has driven me insane, and I may go Berserker at any moment."
"Splendid, old chap!" laughed Tony. "What about attacking the breakfast with savage fury? There goes the gong…."
It was a beautifully calm day, and after breakfast most of the company assembled on the promenade deck, some to lounge and smoke and chat or read, others to play quoits or deck billiards.
For once in a way Myra did not feel particularly energetic, and she sat down on a comfortable deck chair beside her aunt and several other women and girls seated in a group gossiping and exchanging badinage with two or three men of the party standing by their chairs or lounging against the rail.
Tony Standish and Don Carlos were standing together, both leaning against the rail, and Myra lay back in her chair with her hands clasped behind her head, studying and comparing them through half-closed but keenly-observant eyes.
She noticed that as Don Carlos talked and laughed he was fingering a bolt under the rail behind him, saw him slide the bolt back, and she was in the act of sitting up and calling out to him to be careful, to point out that the part of the rail against which he and Tony were leaning was that which is swung open to make way for a gangway, when Don Carlos straightened himself and took a pace forward.
The rail swung loose at the same instant, and Tony, who had been leaning heavily against it with his arms folded, was precipitated backwards into the sea!
Screams of horror and consternation broke from all the women, and Myra sprang to her feet and made a dash towards the side of the yacht. Whether or not she intended to fling herself into the sea in the hope of rescuing Tony, she could not afterwards have told. As it was, Don Carlos seized her, hurled her aside, and flung off his coat.
"Man overboard!" he yelled at the top of his powerful voice, and as he did so he dived overside.
His cry was heard and repeated instantly by several of the crew. There was a clang of bells in the engine room as the chief officer on the bridge shot over the indicator, signalling "Full Speed Astern," at the same time shouting orders that sent men racing to swing out a boat from the davits, while others ran with life-buoys to the stern of the vessel, ready to fling them to the men in the water if the opportunity presented itself.
TheKillarneyhad been going full speed ahead when Standish went overboard, and at first Myra, when she began to recover her scattered wits, could see no trace of either Tony or Don Carlos. Then she glimpsed a black head, and saw Don Carlos swimming strongly towards a fair head, which she knew was Tony. A pair of hands shot up and the fair head disappeared just when Don Carlos had almost reached it, and a sob of anguish broke from Myra's white lips.
"He's gone down! He's drowning!" she gasped, and as the words passed her lips Don Carlos also disappeared—to reappear, however, a minute later, swimming on his back and supporting Tony.
He seemed to be having difficulty in keeping afloat, and it seemed to all those anxiously watching that he might go under before help could reach him. Again the engine-room bells clanged, and this time the signal from the bridge was "Stop"; the boat, fully-manned, was lowered with a run, and at the same time one of the sailors at the stern of the yacht slung a lifebuoy overside with such force and accuracy that it hit the water with a splash within ten yards of Don Carlos, who propelled himself towards it, and with its aid succeeded in supporting himself and Tony until the boat reached him and he and Tony were safely hauled aboard.
Orders were shouted from the bridge, sailors scurried to let down the accommodation ladder and stood by with ropes, awaiting the return of the boat, which was being rapidly rowed back to theKillarney.
The boat came alongside at last, and Tony, who appeared to be exhausted and almost unconscious, was with difficulty hoisted up the ladder to the deck, where the ship's doctor was already waiting with restoratives.
Someone started a cheer as Don Carlos, dripping wet but smiling, came up the ladder, and the cheer was taken up by practically everyone around, save Myra, who was standing tense and white, her brain in a turmoil.
"Bravo, Don Carlos, bravo!" shouted an excited and enthusiastic youngster, rushing forward and trying to shake Don Carlos's hand; but Don Carlos waved him off with an impatient frown and bent over Tony, who had opened his eyes and was making an effort to sit up.
"Is he all right, doctor?" he asked.
"Yes, I think he is only suffering from shock, sir," the doctor answered, unfastening Tony's collar, which seemed to be choking him.
"Thanks," gasped Tony faintly and painfully. "I—I'll be all right presently. Think I must have hit my head on something. Give me a drink, will you?"
The doctor gave him brandy, had him carried to his cabin, where he examined him carefully and discovered that he was not injured. He surmised that Tony had probably been partly stunned by falling flat on the water when he toppled overboard, and "knocked silly"—to use Tony's own expression—and he was able to tell the passengers that their host would probably be all right again within an hour or two.
"Thank heaven for that!" exclaimed Lady Fermanagh fervently. "Myra, darling, you look ghastly. Doctor, please give Miss Rostrevor something to pull her together."
"I'm quite all right, thanks," said Myra—and promptly disproved her own statement by dropping limply into a deck-chair, covering her face with her hands, and bursting into tears.
She speedily recovered herself, however, after she had been helped to her state-room and persuaded to swallow some sal volatile, but she still felt shaken and unnerved.
"Better lie down and rest for a little while until you have quite recovered from the shock, Myra dear," advised Lady Fermanagh. "Don't worry. You heard the doctor say that Tony will be quite all right and isn't hurt."
"I don't understand it," said Myra, more to herself than to her aunt. "Don Carlos meant to kill Tony, and yet he saved him. Does he want to make himself out to be a hero simply to flatter still further his own vanity, or is he trying to frighten me?"
"My dear Myra, what on earth are you talking about?" inquired LadyFermanagh in concern.
"Don Carlos undid the bolt of the rail against which Tony was leaning," explained Myra. "I saw him do it, but had no time to warn Tony. He threatened this morning that he would murder Tony rather than let me marry him. What can I do, Aunt?"
Lady Fermanagh shook her grey head, looking greatly concerned.
"I heard Don Carlos say something about being in a murderous mood, and perhaps the accident to Tony was only an unfortunate coincidence," she said.
"It was not an accident, Aunt," insisted Myra. "I tell you I saw him slip back the bolt that holds the rail."
"But that may have been accidental, Myra," suggested her aunt. "Don Carlos was talking at the time, and he may not have realised what he was doing. You know how often one fiddles with something while one is talking or thinking. Why, you are twiddling your necklace now, Myra, without knowing you are doing it, and a minute ago you were twisting your engagement ring round and round your finger. If Don Carlos had been in earnest about murdering Tony is it likely he would have gone to his rescue immediately the accident happened and risked his own life as he did? Why, he could easily have let Tony drown?"
"Yes, that's true," agreed Myra, with a despairing gesture. "I don't know what to make of it. I don't know what I should do. I feel now that Tony's life is actually in danger. Should I warn him, tell him of Don Carlos's threat?"
"No, I think not, Myra, unless he says something more which leads you to believe he meant the threat seriously," said Lady Fermanagh, after a thoughtful pause. "Oh, my dear, I do wish you had taken my warning not to play with fire, and I do hope Don Carlos was not in earnest!"
When Myra, having recovered herself, went from her state-room into the saloon a little later, it was to find that Don Carlos had, so to speak, "spiked her guns," had she intended to denounce him as being responsible for the "accident" to Tony.
The captain of theKillarney, it appeared, had held an inquiry as to who was responsible for having left the rail unfastened and charged two members of the crew with neglect. On learning this, Don Carlos had at once interviewed the captain and taken the blame upon himself, explaining that he remembered fingering the bolt while he was talking, and doubtless unfastened it.
He had told his fellow guests the same thing when they praised and complimented him for his gallant rescue.
"Don Carlos is a true sportsman," said one of the men of the party to Myra. "My own opinion is that he has made up the yarn about unfastening the bolt, just to prevent us making too much of a hero of him and to save any of the crew from getting into trouble. He has been in to see Tony, I hear, told him it was all his fault and asked him to accept his apologies. Of course, his idea is to try to prevent Tony from thanking him. But I guess you will thank him, Miss Rostrevor!"
"Perhaps it would please him better if I reproached him," respondedMyra, whereat her companion laughed.
Don Carlos was seated opposite her at lunch, but Myra did not attempt either to thank or blame him, deciding to wait until he himself referred to the "accident," and discover, if possible, what was in his mind.
After lunch, most of the other members of the party settled down to spend the afternoon playing bridge, but Myra went on deck and ensconced herself in a comfortable chair in a sheltered spot to read and think.
She had not been there more than a few minutes when Don Carlos appeared beside her chair with a cushion in his hand. Without a word he tossed the cushion down on the boat-deck at Myra's feet, sat down on it, and rested his dark head against Myra's knees. He did it all so deliberately and with such calm assurance that Myra was somehow amused in spite of herself and laughed involuntarily.
"Evidently the poor man is so overcome by sea-sickness that he doesn't know what he is doing and needs a nurse!" she exclaimed. "Shall I call for a steward?"
She slewed her chair round as she spoke, and laughed again as Don Carlos, suddenly deprived of the support of her knees, fell backward. He did not seem in the least disconcerted, however, and merely rolled over on his side, supported his head on one hand, and gazed up at Myra quizzically.
"That was rather the equivalent of unfastening the bolt of the rail, was it not, Myra?" he drawled. "I hope you will now proceed to rescue me from the slough of despond by telling me that you love me and will marry me?"
"You said once that I would be a suitable mate for El—er—what's his name?—El Cojuelo Diablo, isn't it?—your pet brigand, I mean," retorted Myra. "Now you are presumably suggesting that I am a fit mate for a man guilty of attempted murder!"
Don Carlos smiled enigmatically.
"El Diablo Cojuelo is the correct name, Myra," he said in the same lazy, unmoved tone. "If I fail to conquer you and teach you the meaning of love, perhaps El Diablo Cojuelo will. Beloved, I should love to rest my head against your knees and feel your fingers caressing my hair."
"Don't be so utterly ridiculous!" exclaimed Myra.
"In novels, as you know," went on Don Carlos, paying no heed to her protest, "the fair heroine usually marries the gallant who rescues her, or her half-witted brother, or her aged parent, from drowning. You can give the plot a new turn by marrying me for saving your lover from drowning. Mr. Standish was good enough to say that it was 'demmed sporty of me' to rescue him and that he owes me his life. Why not suggest to him, Myra, that he can best show his gratitude by surrendering to me his greatest pride and treasure—you?"
"Your audacity is only equalled by your conceit," Myra commented. "Let me warn you——"
"Let me warn you, you siren, that I shall go to any lengths to win you," interrupted Don Carlos with sudden passion. "This morning's incident was a warning to prove to you I am in earnest. Dios! why do you torture me so? At times you make me hate you almost as much as I love you!"
He sprang to his feet, picked up the cushion on which he had been reclining and hurled it overboard, then strode away without another word, leaving Myra thrilled and more than a little scared.
"It rather looks as if I shall have to take him seriously after all!" she soliloquised. "I wonder what I should do?"
She was left wondering and sorely perplexed, for within an hour she found Don Carlos obviously carrying on a violent flirtation with another girl, and at dinner, at which Tony Standish appeared looking little the worse for his adventure, he was the life and soul of the party.
After dinner he delighted the company by singing some Spanish songs, accompanying himself on the guitar, and he was enthusiastically applauded.
"Why, old chap, you ought to be the star baritone in Grand Opera!" cried Tony. "Sing us another, please."
"Sorry, but I promised to sing to the crew in the fo'c'sle—and I always keep my promises," responded Don Carlos, and flashed a smiling glance at Myra as he went out.
He became as popular with the crew as with his fellow-guests during the days that followed, and seemed to enjoy himself hugely, a fact which somehow piqued Myra, who felt he had been, and was still, making mock of her. She was forced to the conclusion that his passionate outburst had been merely a clever piece of acting, for he made no further attempt to make love to her during the cruise, and at times seemed to shun her.
* * *
"Now that we are in Spain, dear people, you must permit me to try to repay you in some small measure for the wonderful hospitality extended to me in England," he said to Tony and his guests, when at last they disembarked at Cadiz. "You are my guests from now onward."
That evening he entertained the whole party royally at the premier hotel of the city, and next morning they found a fleet of luxurious Hispano cars waiting to convey them through some of the most picturesque parts of Spain to El Castillo de Ruiz, his ancestral home, situated in a fertile valley amid the heights of the Sierra Morena.
It was a mediaeval-looking place, part of which had been built by theMoors, and used as a fortress.
"It is still, to some extent, a fortress," Don Carlos had told his guests in advance, "for always I have to be on the alert lest that rascal El Diablo Cojuelo should raid the place again, and I employ an armed guard. Let me warn you, dear people, that if El Diablo learns I am entertaining a party of wealthy English people he may attempt another raid."
The others had laughed, assuming that he was jesting. Most of them had decided that Don Carlos had "invented" El Diablo Cojuelo and his brigand gang, with the object of adding a spice of adventure to their visit.
El Castillo de Ruiz was a place of surprises. It looked massive and strong enough to resist an artillery siege, let alone the attack of a few bandits, and its outward appearance immediately gave the impression that a guest would have to expect to endure at least some of the discomforts of the Middle Ages.
Several of the party exchanged glances of dismay as they alighted from their cars in the great cobbled courtyard or patio, to find themselves stared at by a motley crew of men, women and children, and to see pigs, dogs, asses and fowls wandering about.
"Looks as if we'll have to rough it!" whispered Tony to Myra. "I didn't expect this sort of thing—what?"
Myra made a moue, but did not answer. 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.
The first surprise came when she followed Don Carlos into the great hall of the castle to find a retinue of servants in livery, headed by a gorgeously-attired major-domo carrying a silver wand of office, waiting to greet their master and his guests. The hall itself was panelled with polished Spanish mahogany, black with age, and softly illuminated by cunningly-concealed electric lights around the painted roof. There were beautiful Persian and Moorish rugs on the floor, and here and there along the walls there hung paintings by Old Masters between stands of ancient armour.
"Magnificent!" cried Myra in her impulsive way, after a gasp ofamazement. "Magnificent! This is the sort of hall one can imagineVelasquez delighting to paint, the fit setting and background for aSpanish Grandee in all his glory."
"I thank you, señorita," said Don Carlos, with a low bow. "El Castillo de Ruiz is but a poor background for the most beautiful of women, but you honour it by your presence, and all it contains is yours and at your service. I give you welcome!"
He gave quick orders to the major-domo, who in turn issued orders to the small army of servants—men in livery and comely maids in neat black dresses with perky caps and wisps of aprons—to escort the guests to their various apartments.
The magnificence of the hall might have prepared Myra for something equally luxurious in other parts of the castle, yet she gasped again in astonishment when she found herself ushered into a bedroom beautifully decorated in dove grey and rose pink, a room in which everything harmonised delightfully. The small casement window, set in a wall three or four feet thick, admitted little light, but that fault was remedied by the fact that the room, like the great hall below, was softly lighted by electricity.
"The señorita would like a bath?" inquired the trim maid in English, opening another door, to reveal a beautifully-appointed little bathroom.
"Why, this is wonderful!" exclaimed Myra, with an involuntary laugh. "I never expected such luxuries in such a grim-looking, old-world place. Tell me, are all the rooms like this?"
"This, señorita, is the most beautiful of all, but all the guests' rooms are lovely," the maid answered. "The master himself designed and planned them all. He is wonderful."
"He certainly is, and I must congratulate him," said Myra. "Is it true, by the way, that there is a daring brigand lurking about in the mountains around here?"
"You mean El Diablo Cojuelo, señorita?" the maid responded, and instinctively crossed herself. "He has not been seen for months, but his very name still terrifies. He is daring beyond belief, señorita, and no woman is safe from him. The saints forbid that El Diablo Cojuelo should come back while you are here!"
Myra had mentally discounted Don Carlos's tales about the bandit, just as she had discounted his passionate avowals of love, and she began to feel that she had been doing him an injustice—at least as far as El Diablo Cojuelo was concerned.
"Well, he promised me romance, and he certainly seems to have provided the right setting," she reflected, as she leisurely bathed and changed. "A sort of Aladdin's palace among the hills of Spain, but fitted up in a way more wonderful than any genii could have contrived. Pigs and fowls and people who look like barbarians outside; all the luxuries of civilisation inside, including an English-speaking maid. And a real live daring brigand apparently lurking about in the mountains. I feel that anything might happen at any minute. This is more like a romantic novel than real life."
Myra went down to the great hall to find the rest of the guests as enthusiastic as herself about the appointments of the castle.
"You should see my room, my dear," exclaimed Lady Fermanagh. "It is an exquisite harmony in primrose and pale green that gives one the impression of sunlight and Spring."
"Mine is decorated in Japanese style," chimed in Tony. "There are some priceless lacquers on the walls, some exquisite old Japanese prints, and some of the fittings of the dressing-table are of old jade. Actually, I believe Don Carlos must have had the place specially fitted up for me, knowing how keen I am on Japanese things."
Congratulations were showered on Don Carlos, who shrugged his shoulders and smilingly tried to make light of the whole matter.
"One must have comforts even in the wilds," he said. "I had the whole place modernised inside as far as possible, without altering its grim exterior, and it amused me to plan the furnishings and colour schemes to suit the tastes of the guests I might be likely to have the honour of entertaining."
A gong sounded, and the magnificent major-domo appeared to announce that dinner was served, and to lead the guests to the dining-table, the very sight of which evoked rapturous expressions of admiration.
The table was of highly-polished black mahogany, and instead of a fillet of lace there was a slab of pure crystal at every place set for a guest. All the appointments of the table were of crystal and silver, and in its centre there was a great crystal bowl filled with Spring flowers. The effect was strikingly artistic and wholly delightful. The overhead lights reflected the table appointments and the flowers in the surface of the table itself, much in the way that sunlight and shadow reflect the surrounding trees in a dark pool.
"Don Carlos, you are an artist!" exclaimed Myra, who loved beauty."Your castle is full of surprises."
"And who knows, dear lady, that I may not have still more surprises in store for you," responded Don Carlos, with a cryptic smile. "Remember that I always keep my promises."
After what they had seen, it came as no great surprise to the guests of Don Carlos to find themselves served with a dinner which would have done credit to the Ritz or the Savoy, and with rare wines of the choicest vintages.
"Would you care to dance after dinner, or merely to listen to a wireless programme?" their host inquired during the meal. "Concealed in the big antique cabinet in the hall there is a powerful wireless set with which I can pick up any European station, and possibly you noticed that the floor of the hall is really a spring dance-floor, stained to make it seem as ancient as the panelling."
"Our host is a magician!" cried Lady Fermanagh.
"You certainly seem to be something of a magician, Don Carlos, and your castle is something like Aladdin's cave," Myra remarked to her host as she was dancing with him later in the evening in the great hall.
"Myra, darling, have I found the magic to make your heart respond to the call of love?" asked Don Carlos in a low voice. "My castle lacks nothing save a mistress, and all my heart is craving for you, its ideal mate. I love you, love you, love you, mia cara, with all the strength and passion of my being. Confess that you love me, darling, and say you will be mine."
Myra found herself compelled to look into his glittering dark eyes, felt as if she were being hypnotised, and it was only by an effort of will that she broke the spell he seemed to be casting on her.
"It isn't fair to take advantage of your position as host to make love to me again," she protested, annoyed to find her heart throbbing tumultuously and her cheeks burning. "You are quite a wonderful person, but I do not intend to give you the opportunity to justify your boasts."
"Who knows but what I may make the opportunity, Myra, and take you in spite of yourself?" Don Carlos responded. "Here I am a king, and none dares dispute my authority, save El Diablo Cojuelo."
"If you persist in talking like that, I shall not feel safe in your house," said Myra. "That sounded like a veiled threat, Don Carlos, and you are not playing the game."
"There are no set rules to the game of love, dear lady, and I am playing to win," retorted Don Carlos, scarcely above a whisper. "Listen for your lover at midnight."
At heart Myra was a little scared, although her pride would not permit her to acknowledge the fact. She remembered how she had been awakened at dead of night at Auchinleven, with the impression strong upon her that someone had touched her, and had found Don Carlos's note on her pillow. She remembered his threats or promises to take her in spite of everything…
Most of the guests were tired after their long journey, and the party broke up about eleven o'clock. Myra went to her own grey and rose bedroom, declined the services of the waiting maid and carefully bolted the door after bidding the girl good-night.
"What did he mean by telling me to listen for my lover at midnight?" she wondered. "What am I scared about? He surely wouldn't be so dastardly as to force his way into my room… Oh, I wish I hadn't come!"
Myra was tired, yet she was reluctant to undress and go to bed, flung herself down in a chair by the fire, and lit a cigarette. Presently the room seemed to her oppressively hot and she rose and opened the casement. As she did so she saw lights moving about in the dark courtyard below, and again she felt unreasoningly apprehensive until common sense told her the lights were probably lanterns carried by outdoor servants attending to their duties.
At last she heard a clock in one of the corridors strike twelve, and as the last stroke died away a mellow voice, which she recognised as that of Don Carlos, rang out in song in the courtyard beneath her window. He sang in Spanish, accompanying himself on a guitar, and although Myra could understand but few of the words she knew he was singing a passionate love song, serenading her, and she was conscious of a heart thrill.
She rose and moved involuntarily towards the open window, where she stood listening, the prey of mingled emotions. It did not occur to her for some minutes that her figure would be silhouetted against the light, and when the thought did flash across her mind she moved back quickly and switched off the lights, but crept back again to the casement to listen again to the thrilling song until the last notes died away.
"Adios, mia cara!" said the voice below, and there was silence.
Strangely stirred, Myra undressed in the dark and crept into bed, but, tired though she was, it was a long time before she could compose herself to sleep.
"Am I falling in love with him?" she asked herself, and did not answer her own question.
She was inclined to laugh at herself next morning, and to chide herself for being sentimental, and the opportunity to administer another reproof speedily presented itself.
"Did you hear someone singing a serenade in the courtyard last night, Myra, after we went to bed?" one of the guests inquired in Don Carlos's hearing.
"Yes, I thought of throwing him a few coppers in the hope he would stop and let me get to sleep," drawled Myra, and had the satisfaction of seeing Don Carlos's lips tighten and his black brows draw together in a frown.
"If you are prepared to run the risk of being waylaid by El Diablo Cojuelo, I suggest that you go riding and allow me to show you the neighbourhood," Don Carlos said. "I have half a dozen good horses in my stables."
Myra, Tony, and several others who were keen on horse exercise welcomed the proposal with enthusiasm, and went to change into riding kit. Their ride was quite uneventful. They saw some fine mountain scenery, but no sign of any brigands. They did, however, meet a squad of mounted carabineros, who saluted them respectfully, and with the leader of whom Don Carlos paused to chat.
"You will be relieved to learn that the officer reports that everything seems quiet, and he has no news of El Diablo Cojuelo having been seen in the neighbourhood for many weeks," he reported when he rejoined his guests. "But I doubt if he has taken fright, as the Captain suggests. He isn't easily scared."
He made no attempt to make love to Myra that day, but often she caught him looking at her with an expression that baffled her and made her feel vaguely uneasy. He looked, somehow, like a schoolboy with a sphinx-like expression, planning mischief and inwardly enjoying some private joke.
"He is quite the most exasperating man I have ever met—and the most interesting," Myra reflected, as she dressed for dinner that evening. "I wonder if he really has a heart, or if he is acting all the time?"
Dinner was served in the great hall that night, and once again it was a triumph for the chef and the host. During the meal an orchestra, composed of some of the servants on the estate, clad in picturesque national costumes, discoursed sweet, haunting, heart-stirring music.
Outside, the courtyard was festooned with coloured lights and around lighted braziers groups of men, women and children, in multi-coloured garments, were gathered, feasting, singing, playing and dancing.
"To-night, if it pleases you, we will mingle with my people, who are holding festival in your honour," said Don Carlos when dinner was over. "I would advise you all to put on your warmest wraps, for the night winds here in the Sierra Morena are treacherous."
The night seemed quite mild, but Myra took her host's advice and put on her fur coat before going out into the courtyard to watch the performance. Don Carlos and his English guests were greeted with cheers when they appeared in the patio. A bearded patriarch, who looked as if he had stepped out of a picture by Velasquez, stepped forward and delivered a flowery speech of welcome, then comely maidens and dark-visaged youths performed a picturesque dance to the accompaniment of stringed instruments.
The set dance over, groups of men sang old Spanish and Basque folk songs, after which Don Carlos's own orchestra, which had played in the great hall during dinner, took up a position in the centre of the patio and dancing became general.
"Come, let's mingle with the throng and take part in the fun," cried Don Carlos gaily. "Come, Myra, let me teach you the Spanish dance the boys and girls are dancing so merrily."
He did not wait for an answer, and before Myra quite realised what was happening she found herself being whirled round in his arms in the midst of the motley crowd.
"Don't hold me so tightly, Don Carlos, and don't dance so fast," she protested breathlessly, after a few minutes. "I am nearly suffocated in this fur coat, and the cobbles are hurting my feet. One can't dance on cobble-stones in satin shoes."
"Myra, darling, the delight of holding you in my arms made me forget all else," Don Carlos responded, slackening his pace. "I'll guide you out of the crowd, and make love to you instead of dancing."
"I don't want you to make love to me," said Myra, "but I shall be glad to get out of this crush, for I hate being elbowed about."
"Make way, good people, make way for the señorita who will soon be your mistress!" cried Don Carlos in Spanish, and those around stopped dancing to cheer.
Just as the couple were free of the crowd, all the electric lights, both in the castle and the courtyard, were suddenly extinguished, and at the same moment uproar broke out at the courtyard gates and shots were fired.
"The bandits! El Diablo Cojuelo and his men!" a voice screamed.
Instantly all was confusion. Women shrieked and ran in all directions in the darkness.
"I am here! Rally to your master, Don Carlos!" shouted Don Carlos."Rally to Don Carlos!"
Almost immediately he was surrounded, not by his own servants, but by a body of masked and armed men. Myra clung to his arm, but was snatched away from him, someone enveloped her head in a cloak, she was picked up in strong arms as if she were a baby and carried quickly for some distance. She struggled fiercely, but the cloak that enveloped her, to say nothing of her own fur coat, hampered her movements, and she was almost as helpless as an infant in the arms of its nurse.
Her captor halted for a moment, growled out some orders breathlessly in Spanish, and Myra found herself dumped down on the seat of a motor car, which immediately started off at a rapid rate. Half stifled, she tore the cloak from her face, and as she did so an arm encircled her.
"El Diablo Cojuelo has captured the prize of his lifetime!" said a deep voice triumphantly.
Myra's heart seemed to miss a beat as she felt the outlaw's arm tighten around her, panic seized her, and she had to fight the inclination to scream, and scream and scream.
"You are trembling, little lady," said the muffled voice of her captor."Do not be so sore afraid. I am not the fiend people make El DiabloCojuelo out to be, and will take care of so precious a treasure. DonCarlos will ransom you, but perhaps when you have seen me and mymountain nest you will not want to be ransomed."
Myra's natural courage began to reassert itself, and she was ashamed of having displayed any signs of fear. "Displayed" is hardly the word, for the inside of the car, which was hurtling along at great speed, was so dark that she could not even see the shape of the man whose arm encircled her, and she knew he could not see her.
Somehow, the brigand's voice, muffled though it was—as if he were speaking with something over his face—struck her as vaguely familiar, and as Myra collected her scattered wits it occurred to her that El Diablo Cojuelo had spoken in English.
"A Spanish brigand who speaks English!" she exclaimed aloud, andCojuelo laughed.
"Si, señorita!" he answered. "So we shall be able to understand each other. Don Carlos de Ruiz taught me English, and I imitate his voice and accent when I am speaking your language. We are really very good friends, Don Carlos and I, and he bears me no ill-will. I provide him with amusement, and he would be sorry to see me captured."
"He will certainly bear you ill-will for having kidnapped me, and make every effort to kill you," retorted Myra, recognising that Cojuelo's muffled voice did resemble that of Don Carlos.
"Because he loves you?" queried Cojuelo, with a chuckle. "You think he will be mad because I have robbed him of his heart's desire?"
"How do you know that he loves me?" asked Myra in amazement.
She was no longer terrified, and had recovered her nerve, but she still found it difficult to believe she was not dreaming. It seemed more like a nightmare than actuality that she should be sitting in a pitch-dark car, talking of love and Don Carlos to a Spanish outlaw who had captured her, and whose arm encircled her waist. She was not conscious of fear now, but Cojuelo's reply to her question scared her more than a little.
"Sweet señorita, what man with a heart and eyesight could resist falling in love with so beautiful a woman?" he responded. "Perhaps I shall fall in love with you myself and refuse to surrender you, no matter how great a ransom is offered. For years I have been seeking my ideal, but not one of the many women I have captured in my time pleased me enough to make me wish to keep her. You may be different."
Before Myra could find words to reply, the car came to a sudden stop, the door was flung open and a gruff voice growled out a question in Spanish which Cojuelo answered in the same language.
"We will alight now, señorita, and take a little riding exercise," he said to Myra. "I know you are an expert horsewoman, for I was near you this morning when you were riding with Don Carlos, and I know you will have no difficulty in sitting a mule although you are not in riding dress. Only mules can negotiate the paths that lead to my mountain nest. Come!"