If to-night only _was_ every night. For
to-night you are my lady."
A shadow darkened the doorway behind them and a long arm shot out for
Henderson's neck. Surprised, he turned blindly. It was Don Carlos.
Quick as a flash Fred hit him full between the eyes, and with the
other arm tried to loosen the hold on his throat. There was no sound;
the girl stood breathless. Again he struck and the hand at his throat
tore away. There was a flash of steel in the hand of the Spaniard--but
the blow never fell. The girl stood between them, her arms spread
apart, her eyes flashing.
"Carlos," she said slowly, "if you ever strike a blow like that, be
eternally cursed by me. You fool! Know you not that I was playing with
you? How I hate you! Go!" She stamped her foot. "Go, I say."
He turned with bent head, and without a word passed into the building.
As he disappeared, the girl sank back, her face white, almost greyish,
against the red of her dress.
"Hold me, _senor_," she said weakly. "I am not well. Could--would you
take me home--to my father?"
Without a word Henderson picked her up bodily and stepped off the
little low balcony into the grass.
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