“Don Carlos!” she gasped. “You! But I don’t understand.”

“I am El Diablo Cojuelo, dear Myra,” explained Don Carlos, obviously enjoying the sensation he had created. “I feared you had guessed my secret.”

“So the whole affair, I take it, is an elaborate practical joke?” Myra queried after a pause, dropping back into her seat and forcing a laugh. “El Diablo Cojuelo, the outlaw, is merely a creature of your own imagination?”

“I am El Diablo Cojuelo,” repeated Don Carlos. “I am a dual personality. At my castle and at Court I am Don Carlos de Ruiz, Governor of a Province and an administrator of the laws. Here in my mountain eyrie I am Cojuelo, the outlaw, acknowledging no laws save those I make myself.”

“I still do not understand,” remarked Myra, with perplexity in her blue eyes. “Do you mean to say you lead a double life and occasionally masquerade as a brigand, without anyone knowing that Don Carlos and Cojuelo are one and the same? Is there no one aware of your identity?”

“Many of my people are aware of my identity, but none would betray me, even if put to the torture,” replied Don Carlos. “Those who are in the secret vastly enjoy the way in which I hoodwink the authorities. They enjoy the joke of my offer of a reward for the capture of El Diablo Cojuelo, dead or alive, and my periodical ‘searches’ for the outlaw.”

“But what is the idea of it all?” inquired Myra. “It seems foolishness to me, but perhaps it flatters your vanity to be able to go about scaring women and kidnapping girls.”

There was scorn instead of bewilderment in her voice and eyes now, and Don Carlos’s pale face flushed slightly.

“Before the coming of El Diablo Cojuelo there were men in this province who had enriched themselves at the cost of the peasants, cheated farmers out of their land, and made them little better than serfs,” he explained quietly and deliberately. “The law could not touch these vampires, parasites, money-lenders and profiteers. Cojuelo came upon the scene, bled these rogues as they had bled the peasants, plundered their houses, spirited them away, and held them to ransom.”

“Really! Quite a profitable hobby, I suppose!” Myra remarked.

“Quite and useful, to boot,” responded Don Carlos, his face now expressionless. “With the money which I have wrung from the spoilers I have been able to restore their lands to many of the people without much cost to myself, to pay their debts and aid them to escape from the thraldom of blood-sucking money-lenders and tyrannical masters. I have also made it possible for men to marry the girls of their choice, in cases where the parents objected. A threat from El Diablo Cojuelo to carry off a girl if she is not allowed to marry the man she loves, is usually enough to bring her parents to their senses.”

“So, if I understand you aright, you are a sort of benevolent brigand, doing good without much risk or expense to yourself?” remarked Myra. “A sort of modern Claude Duval although he was a highway-man and not a kidnapper.”

“It pleases you to be ironic, Myra,” responded Don Carlos. “Expense does not concern me, for I am very wealthy, but it pleases me to deprive the blood-suckers of their ill-gotten gains. As for the risk, I suggest you underestimate it. There is a price on the head of El Diablo Cojuelo, as I have mentioned, and the military have orders to shoot at sight. Apart from that, however, if my identity were betrayed, my wealth and position would not save me from being cast into prison. I might even be condemned to death.”

“How amusing!” commented Myra, still inclined to be scornful. “What you say may be true, but it does not explain or excuse your conduct in bringing me here as your captive. I was your guest, and therefore you were responsible for my safety.”

“I warned you that El Diablo Cojuelo might carry you off and teach you how to love,” answered Don Carlos, his grave face illuminated by a boyish, impish smile.

“Oh, don’t talk nonsense!” exclaimed Myra impatiently. “You cannot excuse your conduct. I haven’t been robbing the poor or anything of the sort, and if you attempt to keep me here there will be trouble. Tony will move heaven and earth to find me.”

“I could excuse myself, if excuses were necessary, by explaining that I have captured girls before to save them from marrying men they did not love,” said Don Carlos. “El Diablo Cojuelo fell in love with you at first sight, and will prevent you from marrying the man to whom you are betrothed but do not love.”

“Don Carlos, please be sensible,” pleaded Myra, at heart a little fearful now. “Don’t you realise that this escapade may have serious consequences for you? Tony is sure to communicate with the British Ambassador, and the affair may become one of international importance. The best thing you can do is to take me back to-morrow morning, and explain that the whole affair was an elaborately-planned practical joke.”

“I am quite agreeable to do that, Myra, provided you promise to marry me and confess that you love me,” said Don Carlos. “We can explain that we succeeded in escaping from the clutches of El Diablo Cojuelo, or, if you prefer it, you can tell Mr. Antony Standish that I rescued you, and you have fallen in love with your rescuer.”

“I shall do nothing of the sort,” exclaimed Myra with spirit.

“In that case, Myra, you will remain here as the captive of El Diablo Cojuelo, and the outlaw will try to teach you the meaning of love and passion, teach you to respond to the call of your heart if you have a heart. You shall have your first lesson now, my sweet captive.”

He sat down beside Myra on the couch as he spoke, flung his arms around her and drew her into a close embrace in spite of her frantic struggles, crushing her close to his breast and kissing her lips, her cheeks, and her breast. Myra screamed breathlessly, but he only laughed at her.

“Why waste your breath, sweet lady?” he laughed. “No one can hear your cries, except, perhaps, Mother Dolores; but if all my band were within hearing not one man would even think of daring to attempt to intervene, no, not even if you were his own daughter. You are completely at my mercy.”

“Let me go. Oh, please, please, let me go!” gasped Myra, still vainly striving to break from his embrace. “Surely you won’t be coward enough to take advantage of my helplessness!”

“Only confess that you love me, Myra darling, and I will do anything you ask,” Don Carlos replied, his deep voice vibrant with passion, his dark eyes aglow with ardour. “Only confess yourself conquered.”

“I won’t! I won’t! I’d rather die! I hate you, hate you!” stormed Myra gaspingly, still struggling. “Let me go, you brute. You are hurting me.”

Don Carlos relaxed his hold, but restrained Myra when she would have risen from the couch.

“Myra, darling, why do you persist in resisting me and refusing to listen to the call of love?” he asked gently. “Do you realise that your resistance is but adding fuel to the fires of my passion? You drove me almost mad when you coquetted with me aboard the yacht, made me crazy with desire, then laughed at me. I am but human, and my longing for you is not to be denied. I vowed I would make you mine if I had to break every law of God and man. You are mine now, my lovely, adorable Myra, my heart’s delight, mine to do with as I will, to take or break.”

The quietly spoken words struck dread into Myra’s heart. It seemed to her that a remorseless gleam had crept into the bright eyes of Don Carlos. Intuitively she knew that he was determined to impose his will upon her, and mingled with her dread there was resentment.

“Is it useless to appeal to your better nature, to your chivalry?” she asked quickly, her voice tremulous.

“Is it useless to appeal to you again to surrender to the call of love?” countered Don Carlos. “Myra, mia cara, every fibre of my being is pulsing with love for you, and my heart is craving for the joy and rapture that you alone can give. Look into my eyes, mia cara, and whisper that you love me.”

He laid his hands on Myra’s shoulders as he spoke, compelling her to meet his burning glance, and Myra felt as if she were being hypnotised.

“You love me, Myra darling, and it is only pride that prevents you from confessing yourself conquered,” went on the caressing voice. “When you are mine, you will whisper you are glad that I conquered you. You are lovely, my dear, seductive, adorable prisoner, and the beauty of you sets me aching with longing.”

His hands slid caressingly from Myra’s shoulders down her arms to her hands, which he raised to his lips and then drew round his neck. Myra was trembling, and her breath was coming and going unsteadily, and she felt as if she had lost all powers of resistance, felt as if she had been drugged. She closed her eyes, and a gasping sigh broke from her lips as Don Carlos strained her close to his breast again, murmuring endearments.

“Let me set your heart afire with burning kisses,” he murmured. “I will kiss the heart out of you, sweet one, and kiss it back again white hot with my own love and ardour. Give me back kiss for kiss, beloved.”

Again he was kissing her, hungrily, passionately, yet tenderly withal. Myra’s senses were reeling. He did seem to be drawing the very heart out of her with his lips, and drugging her senses. She felt as if she were suffocating, and again she began to struggle involuntarily after a few minutes as he drew her down with him on to the couch.

“You are stifling me,” she panted. “Let me go.”

Don Carlos released her at once, and she rose to her feet, pressing her hands instinctively to her heaving bosom, as if to try to still the wild throbbing of her heart. Her lovely face was flushed, her breath was coming and going in sobbing gasps, her eyes, dark with emotion, were feverishly bright, and her whole body seemed afire.

“Let me go now, please,” she added gaspingly. “I can bear no more. I I think I am going to faint.”

She swayed as she spoke, and Don Carlos was on his feet in an instant, and had thrown his arm around her lest she should collapse.

“Lie down again for a few minutes, beloved, until you recover,” he said quickly.

He settled Myra back again among the cushions on the couch, and insisted upon her drinking a glass of aguardiente, which made her feel more feverish than ever but revived her and dispelled the faintness.

“Did I kiss you too hungrily, darling, and feast myself too long on your sweet lips without pausing for breath?” asked Don Carlos, after a pause, when he saw that Myra was recovering. He, too, was flushed and rather breathless, and his long, sinewy hands were trembling slightly. “Myra, beloved, have my kisses fired your heart?”

“You have hurt me,” equivocated Myra, avoiding his glowing eyes. “I feel faint and exhausted. Oh, surely I have suffered enough to-night! My strength is spent. Oh, surely you won’t be so cruel as to take further advantage of my helplessness?”

Don Carlos sighed heavily, and ran his fingers through his hair.

“I did not mean to hurt you, and had forgotten that you must be weary,” he said, after a moment of hesitation. “I will put you to bed, beloved, and to-morrow you will tell me that you love me.”

He bent down and picked Myra up as if she were a baby, cradling her in his arms and smiling down into her startled blue eyes.

“Always, since our first meeting, I have longed to hold you in my arms like this and to feel that you were wholly and completely mine,” he murmured, as he caressed Myra’s cheek with his lips. “You are very beautiful, my sweet love. The sweetness and loveliness of you entrances and enraptures my heart. I shall spend my life admiring and adoring and worshipping, exploring and delighting in the loveliness of you, my heart’s delight. Do you not feel, Myra mia, that here in your lover’s arms and on my breast you have found the home of your heart?”

Yet again Myra felt he was sapping her powers of resistance, casting a spell over her, and she lay passive in his strong arms, breathing gaspingly.

“Let me go,” she pleaded brokenly. “Please let me go!”

“As you wish,” said Don Carlos. “I shall put my sweet baby to bed.”

He carried Myra through the winding, rocky passages to her room, at the door of which Madre Dolores was waiting. The old woman cackled with laughter at sight of them, and rubbed her skinny hands together delightedly.

“Io! I see I shall not be wanted, master!” she chuckled, and scuffled away, her skinny shoulders shaking a half-suppressed merriment which betrayed her thoughts more than words could have done.

Dread gripped Myra’s heart as Don Carlos carried her into the bedroom and set her down gently on the side of the bed. Every vestige of colour had drained out of her lovely face and she was trembling violently.

“Do not be afraid, Myra darling,” Don Carlos murmured caressingly. “I can be gentle as any woman, and would not harm my precious treasure. Are you afraid that the sight of you will be so enticing to your lover when he takes off your dressing-gown that he will not be able to tear himself away from you?”

“Don Carlos, it isn’t fair!” burst out Myra tremulously. “Please go!”

“Not until I have put my sweet baby to bed, tucked her in, and kissed her good-night,” said Don Carlos, and Myra knew that further protest would be useless.

So she had, perforce, to submit to his taking off her dressing-gown, and the glowing ardour and admiration in his dark eyes when she stood before him clad only in her filmy, sleeveless “nightie” brought the hot colour flooding back to her fair face again.

“Once before, Myra mia, I have seen you like this on that night in Scotland when I put my letter on your pillow,” breathed Don Carlos. “Surely you are the loveliest and most seductive woman in the world!”

He swept Myra into his arms again and kissed her repeatedly before at last laying her down on the bed. In a sort of panic Myra slid herself under the bedclothes and begged him breathlessly to leave her, but he paid no heed. He bent over her, his dark eyes glowing like twin flames, and laid his cheek against her own.

“Bid me stay, beloved,” he whispered. “Give me the love for which my whole being is craving. Bid me stay.”