Myra went to bed, but it was a long time before she could compose
herself to woo sleep, so full was her mind of disturbing thoughts, so
many problems did she find herself called on to solve.
"Does he love me?" That was the question that she put to herself time
and again, and could not answer. "Do I love him?" was another. And at
heart she knew that if she were certain that the answer to the first
question was in the affirmative, she could answer the second in a like
manner.
"What will it profit me if I denounce him?" she soliloquised. "He says
he is at my mercy, but he can claim me, and boast that I offered to
marry him, even if I do revenge myself by denouncing him. Always he
seems to have the advantage of me. To save my 'honour' now, and
satisfy Aunt Clarissa, I shall either have to humble myself to ask him
to marry me publicly, or else forgive Tony. Either course is
repugnant."
She fell asleep at last, but was wrestling with her problem even in her
jumbled dreams. She woke with a start, and with the impression strong
upon her that someone or something had touched her face and her breast.
Scared, she groped for the electric switch and flashed on the light
above the bed, and as she did so she remembered having awakened months
previously at Auchinleven just in the same sort of fright, to find Don
Carlos's note on her pillow.
Some odd instinct or intuition told her that history had repeated
itself, and it came hardly as a surprise to find a half-sheet of
notepaper tucked into her nightdress close to her heart. With fingers
that trembled slightly, Myra unfolded the note and read:
"Give me your heart and love, my wife, and I will devote my life to
you. If you have no love, show no mercy."
Myra read the words again and again, sorely puzzled to decide what
exactly they meant, wondering, incidentally, why Don Carlos had not
awakened her to whisper what he had to say instead of leaving a note on
her breast.
"Is he ashamed or afraid?" she asked herself--and could not answer her
own question, nor a score of other questions which she put to herself
as she tossed about restlessly for the remainder of the night, unable
to sleep.
Her aunt, in dressing-gown and slippers, came to her room while she was
sipping her early morning cup of tea.
"I hope you slept well, Myra dear, and are feeling better," she said.
"I have hardly slept at all, and feel a wreck. Have you made up your
mind what to do?"
"Not quite," Myra answered. "I must see Don Carlos first. But I think
I have decided to show no mercy to El Diablo Cojuelo."
"I don't know what you mean," commented her aunt. "For heaven's sake
be sensible, Myra. It isn't a question of showing mercy to the
brigand, but of saving yourself and your reputation. I shall be in
agonies of anxiety until you have made a decision."
"I shall be in agonies myself until I have decided--and perhaps
afterwards," replied Myra enigmatically. "I shall get up now and get
the ordeal over as quickly as possible."
She wasted no time over her toilet, and save that she was very pale,
she looked her usual lovely self as she left her room and walked
towards the staircase. She halted for a moment in indecision as she
saw Antony Standish on the landing, evidently waiting for her, then
went on.
"I say, Myra, don't cut me," exclaimed Standish appealingly, nervously
fingering his tie. "I've been waiting for you. I--I don't want to try
to excuse myself for what happened up in that cursed brigand's den. My
nerve deserted me completely."
"And you deserted me," interjected Myra coldly.
"You see, there was Don Carlos to be thought of as well as you,
and--and I thought the only hope of being any help was to get away,"
Standish went on lamely. "Myra, I beg of you not to expose me to the
world as a coward, and to forgive me. There are officials down below
waiting to question you about what happened. They've been questioning
me, and I'm afraid I didn't tell them the truth. Now they're
questioning Don Carlos. From what I can make of it, someone has
suggested that Don Carlos is in league with the brigand Cojuelo."
"Who suggested that?" asked Myra, with a convulsive start.
"I don't know, but the officials wanted to know if I saw Don Carlos at
Cojuelo's place, and how I got away," Standish answered. "I told a lot
of lies, and said that Cojuelo let me go when I promised to pay a
ransom of fifty thousand pounds. Myra, you won't give me away and show
me up? I'll shoot myself if you do. Myra, if you say nothing about my
funking things, I'll swear never to breathe a word about your marrying
the brigand fellow."
"That is indeed kind!" commented Myra ironically. "I do not propose to
make public what happened if I can avoid it, but possibly El Diablo
Cojuelo may tell."
Standish drew a breath of relief and wiped his moist brow.
"Thank you," he said. "I'll come down with you, if I may, and perhaps
I may be able to help you through with the officials."
"I hardly think I shall need your help," responded Myra coldly.
For all her outward appearance of self-possession, she was trembling
inwardly, and her heart was beating unsteadily as she went down to the
hall, to find Don Carlos and three officers in somewhat elaborate
uniforms engaged in earnest conversation around a table, beside which
was also seated another officer whom Myra recognised as the one who had
led the Guardia Civil who had rescued her.
All rose immediately she appeared, and bowed courteously, and the
junior officer hastened to place a chair for her.
"You will pardon us for troubling you so soon after your ordeal, Miss
Rostrevor, but it is necessary that we ask you some questions in regard
to El Diablo Cojuelo," said one of the officers in excellent English.
Myra merely inclined her head and seated herself, darting a glance at
Don Carlos. His face was pale and his expression was as impassive and
inscrutable as a Sphinx.
"This officer, who led the company which found you in the mountains
yesterday, states that you were then apparently running away from Don
Carlos de Ruiz," continued the superior official. "He also states that
he understood you to assert positively that Don Carlos is El Diablo
Cojuelo. Is that so, señorita?"
"If you have no love, show no mercy." The words of the note she had
found on her breast flashed back into Myra's mind in the fraction of a
second that she hesitated before answering the question on which the
fate of Don Carlos depended. And in that fraction of a second she
found the answer to many questions she had put to herself.
"What an absurd suggestion!" she exclaimed with scarce a tremor in her
voice. "The officer is quite mistaken, but the fault is probably mine.
I was so agitated that I did not know what I was saying, and was
obsessed with the idea that El Diablo Cojuelo was close behind me."
Don Carlos sprang to his feet with an exultant laugh.
"You hear, señors!" he exclaimed. "I thought it would be more
convincing if I left it to Miss Rostrevor to assure you the fantastic
suggestion is without foundation. Now I am willing to answer any
questions and tell you everything. Are you satisfied now? The Señor
Standish has told you that I was flung into the cell in which he was
imprisoned after he had tried to kill Cojuelo, and that Cojuelo
afterwards threatened to torture him and shoot me unless we agreed to
his terms."
"Pardon, Don Carlos, but I am merely carrying out my duty," said the
Commandante, and turned to Myra again. "Did you see Don Carlos as well
as Cojuelo, señorita, while you were in the outlaw's den?" he inquired.
"Yes, I saw them both together several times," answered Myra. "I heard
Cojuelo threaten to shoot Don Carlos. It was Don Carlos who enabled me
to make my escape, but I thought in my panic that it was Cojuelo who
was trying to overtake me when I cried out to the officer of the Civil
Guards."
"Is there, then, some resemblance between Don Carlos and the brigand
Cojuelo?" asked the Commandante.
Momentarily nonplussed, Myra shook her head.
"I cannot tell," she answered. "El Diablo Cojuelo always wore a cowl
which disguised him."
"Yes, that's right, sir," broke in Tony Standish from the background.
"We never saw the blighter without his cowl. I challenged him to be a
man and meet me face to face, but he would not remove his disguise.
You can take it from me, sir, that the idea that there was any
connection between Cojuelo and Don Carlos is all moonshine."
"Thank you, Mr. Standish," said Don Carlos gravely, and glanced round
at the faces of the officers. "May I take it, señors, that you are
satisfied?"
The Commandante nodded, tugging at his grey moustache.
"Certainly, Don Carlos," he said. "You will understand that it was
necessary for us to investigate the report that the English señorita
had asserted that you were El Diablo Cojuelo, and that your refusal to
deny the fact or to supply any explanation made this examination
necessary. I understand that you may have considered the implication
an insult, and now I can only apologise for troubling you and devote my
energies to hunting down El Diablo Cojuelo. Can you offer us any
assistance in locating his lair in the mountains?"
"You need trouble yourself no longer about El Diablo Cojuelo, señor,"
replied Don Carlos. "He is dead."
"Dead?"
"Yes, he is dead. Señor Standish, as he told you, fired at him and
thought he had missed, but he had sorely wounded the brigand, and when
I tackled Cojuelo afterwards, when he was endeavouring to prevent Miss
Rostrevor from escaping, he collapsed and died at my feet. He will
trouble us no more, señors, and I intend to claim his greatest treasure
as my reward for having made an end to him."
"Don Carlos, but this is news indeed!" cried the Commandante excitedly.
"El Diablo Cojuelo dead! Ten thousand congratulations, my dear Don
Carlos! Congratulations to you, also, Señor Standish, on ridding my
country of such a dangerous pest. To shoot a brigand in his own den
was indeed conduct worthy of a gallant Englishman!"
"Oh--er--thanks," stammered Tony, avoiding looking at Myra. "Why the
deuce didn't you tell us this before, Don Carlos?"
CONCLUSION
The officers had taken their leave after much handshaking and bowing.
Left alone with Don Carlos, Standish, and with Lady Fermanagh, who had
been a silent and puzzled witness of the proceedings, Myra suddenly
felt her self-possession deserting her, and fled back to her own room.
"Why did I lie to save him?" she breathed, as she flung herself down on
her knees by the bedside and buried her face. "Why?"
She did not need to ask the question. Her heart had given her the
answer. She knew she had lied to save the man she loved.
There came a knock at the door, and she started up, hastily dabbing her
eyes and trying to control herself.
"Come in," she called faintly, after a pause, as the knock was repeated.
The door opened, and Don Carlos entered. He was pale, but his dark
eyes were shining with happiness.
"Myra, darling," he said huskily, and stopped, overcome by emotion.
He held out his arms.... Deep was calling unto deep. Love was
calling. And Myra Rostrevor answered the call. She was in the arms of
her lover, her conqueror, returning his passionate kisses with a
fervour equal to his own.
"I love you, Carlos, I love you," she whispered between kisses. "I
love you although you have been such a brute. If I had denounced you
as El Diablo Cojuelo, what would have happened?"
"I should have confessed, then killed myself," Carlos answered.
"Without you, beloved, life meant nothing to me. I staked all in the
hope that you would prove you loved me, and I won! I feared that
although I had made you mine I had failed to win your heart. Say again
that you love me, dear heart, and will love me always."
"I love you, darling, I love you with all of me," Myra murmured,
kissing him passionately. "I realise now that I have loved you for a
long time, and was only afraid to confess myself conquered because I
feared you only wanted to win me to gratify your pride.... Am I really
your wife, dear?" she added, breathless and blushing, as she disengaged
herself at last from his embrace.
"You are the wife of Cojuelo, or, rather the widow of Cojuelo,
sweetheart," Carlos answered. "But now that poor Cojuelo is dead, you
are going to marry Don Carlos de Ruiz, who has decided to give up
playing at being an outlaw and devote his life to loving the most
beautiful, delicious, adorable woman in the world. Kiss me again,
beloved...."
"I don't know how to explain things, Carlos, to Lady Fermanagh, and
don't know what she will think of us," said Myra, a little later. "And
although it was nice of you to give credit to Tony for killing El
Diablo Cojuelo, I shall feel dreadful when I have to tell him I am
going to marry you."
"Don't worry, darling," said Don Carlos. "I have already told Lady
Fermanagh and Mr. Standish that you promised to marry me if I saved you
from El Diablo Cojuelo. Mr. Standish is leaving for home immediately,
but Lady Fermanagh will remain for our wedding."
"You seem to have taken a great deal for granted, you wretch!"
exclaimed Myra, dimpling into smiles. "As I know I am the wife of
Cojuelo, I shall feel I am committing bigamy when I marry you, Carlos."
"And I shall have the satisfaction of marrying a second time the
loveliest girl in the world," laughed Don Carlos happily, as he drew
her unresisting into his arms again.
"I don't know what to make of it all, Myra, but I suppose it will be
best not to ask too many questions," said Lady Fermanagh. "Rather odd,
isn't it, that the brigand Cojuelo should have married you when he was
mortally wounded, and that you should have promised to marry Don
Carlos, yet married the brigand although you were engaged to Tony?"
"Yes, perhaps it does seem rather odd, aunt," admitted Myra, her eyes
twinkling.
"Decidedly odd!" her aunt commented, with a wry smile. "I don't think
the matter will bear very close investigation, and I suppose it
concerns only Don Carlos and you. Incidentally, I don't know how Tony
will explain matters in England, but I suppose that does not matter
much either. Have you no regrets, Myra?"
"Yes," answered Myra, after a pause. "I think I rather regret losing
my first husband. But I feel quite sure Carlos will prove a good
substitute."
THE END
BANDIT LOVE
By JUANITA SAVAGE
Juanita Savage needs no introduction to American readers; hundreds of
thousands have already thrilled to her vigorous romances of love and
adventure. In "Bandit Love" there is the same sultry throb and
barbaric drive that characterize all her work. Here is the love story
of a beautiful Irish girl who rode horses like an Arizona cowboy, whose
hair was red as flame, and whose lover was an English gentleman. But
then, there was the Spaniard, too! Hot-headed, he was, passionate and
lawless as a Tartar. Needless to say the story takes some startling
turns. The end is surprising. And the satisfying conclusion it all
comes to is this, that the eternal feminine still responds to courage
in the male.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
THE CITY OF DESIRE
DON LORENZO'S BRIDE
PASSION ISLAND
THE SPANIARD
THE BEST OF RECENT FICTION
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Drums of Aulone, The. Robert W. Chambers.
Drums of Doom. Robert Welles Ritchie.
Duke Steps Out, The. Lucian Cary.
Dust. Armine Von Tempski.
Dust of the Desert. Robert Welles Ritchie.
Dust to Dust. Isabel Ostrander.
Eames-Erskine Case. A. Fielding.
Easy. Nina Wilcox Putnam.
Eddy and Edouard. Baroness Von Hutten.
Eight Panes of Glass. Robert Simpson.
Ellerby Case, The. John Rhode.
Emerald Tiger. Edgar Jepson.
Emily Climbs. L. M. Montgomery.
Emily of New Moon. L. M. Montgomery.
Emily's Quest. L. M. Montgomery.
Emperor of America, The. Sax Rohmer.
Empty Hands. Arthur Stringer.
[Transcriber's note: This is where the book catalog ended.]