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Page 11
On the evening preceding the day of that canonized lady, Ma�uel
entered the room where Inez sat, her needle work on the floor at some
distance, as though flung impatiently from her, her head resting on
one hand, while the other held a gentleman's glove. Light as was his
step, she detected it and thrusting the glove into her bosom, turned
her fine face full upon him.
"What in the name of wonder brings you here this time of day, Ma�uel?
I thought every one but myself was taking a siesta this warm evening."
"I have been trying a new horse, Inez, and came to know at what hour
you would ride to-morrow." He stood fanning himself with his broad
sombrero as he spoke.
"Excuse me, Se�or, I do not intend to ride at all."
"You never refused before, Inez; what is the meaning of this?" and his
Spanish brow darkened ominously.
"That I do not feel inclined to do so, is sufficient reason."
"And why don't you choose to ride, pray? You have done it all your
life."
"I'll be cross-questioned by no one!" replied Inez, springing to
her feet, with flashing eyes, and passionately clinching her small,
jeweled hand.
Ma�uel was of a fiery temperament, and one of the many who never pause
to weigh the effect of their words or actions. Seizing her arm in no
gentle manner, he angrily exclaimed,
"A few more weeks, and I'll see whether you indulge every whim, and
play the queen so royally!"
Inez disengaged her arm, every feature quivering with scorn.
"To whom do you speak, Se�or Nevarro? You have certainly mistaken me
for one of the miserable peons over whom you claim jurisdiction. Allow
me to undeceive you! I am Inez de Garcia, to whom you shall never
dictate, for I solemnly declare, that from this day the link which has
bound us from childhood is at an end. Mine be the hand to sever it.
From this hour we meet only as cousins! Go seek a more congenial
bride!"
"Hold, Inez! are you mad?"
"No, Ma�uel, but candid; for eight years I have known that I was
destined to be your wife, but I never loved you, Ma�uel. I do not, and
never can, otherwise than as a cousin."
In a tone of ill-suppressed range, Nevarro retorted:
"My uncle's authority shall compel you to fulfil the engagement! You
shall not thus escape me!"
"As you please, Se�or. Yet let me tell you, compulsion will not
answer. The combined efforts of San Antonio will not avail--they may
crush, but cannot conquer me." She bowed low, and left the room.
Every feature inflamed with wrath, Nevarro snatched his hat, and
hurried down the street. He had not proceeded far, when a hand was
laid upon his arm, and turning, with somewhat pugnacious intentions,
encountered Father Mazzolin's piercing black eyes.
"Bue�o tarde, Padre."
The black eyes rested on Nevarro with an expression which seemed to
demand an explanation of his choler. Ma�uel moved uneasily; the hot
blood glowed in his swarthy cheek, and swelled like cords on the
darkened brow.
"Did you wish to speak with me, Padre?"
"Even so, my son. Thou art troubled, come unto one who can give thee
comfort."
They were standing before the door of the harkell occupied by the
priest: he opened it and drew Ma�uel in.
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