Tempt me not by thy scorn too
far. What holds me from thee now?"
"What holds thee from me? GOD!" replied the prisoner, in a tone of
such, thrilling, such supernatural energy, that Garcia actually
started as if some other voice than hers had spoken, and she saw
him glance fearfully round. "Thou darest not touch me! Ay,
villain--blackest and basest as thou art--thou darest not do it. The
God thine acts, yet more than thy words blaspheme, withholds thee--and
thou knowest it!"
"I defy him!" were the awful words that answered her; and Don Luis
sprang forwards.
"Back!" exclaimed the heroic girl. "Advance one step nearer, and thy
vengeance, even as thy passion, will alike be foiled--and may God
forgive the deed I do."
She shook down the beautiful tresses of her long luxuriant hair, and,
parting them with both hands around her delicate throat, stood calmly
waiting in Don Luis's movements the signal for her own destruction.
"Fool!" he muttered, as involuntarily he fell back, awed--in spite of
his every effort to the contrary--at a firmness as unexpected as it
was unwavering. "Fool! Thou knowest not the power it is thy idle
pleasure to defy; thou wilt learn it all too soon, and then in vain
regret thy scorn of my proffer now. Thou hast added tenfold to my wild
yearning for revenge on thy former scorn--tenfold! ay, twice tenfold,
to thy own tortures.
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