She understood that some one had entered the room, and she thought of Rachela; but she found a kind of comfort in the dull stupor of grief she was indulging, and she would not break its spell by lifting her head.
"Maria." She rose up quickly and stood gazing at him.
She did not shriek or exclaim; her surprise controlled her.

And also her terror; for his face was white as death, and had an expression of angry despair that terrified her.
"Roberto! Roberto! Mi Roberto! How you have tortured me! I have nearly died! Fray Ignatius said you had been sent to prison." She spoke as calmly as a frightened child; sad and hesitating.

If he had taken her in his arms she would have sobbed her grief away there.
But Robert Worth was at that hour possessed by two master passions, tyrannical and insatiable--they would take notice of nothing that did not minister to them.
"Maria, they have taken my arms from me.

Cowards! Cowards! Miserable cowards! I refused to give them up! They held my hands and robbed me--robbed me of my manhood and honor! I begged them to shoot me ere they did it, and they spoke courteously and regretted this, and hoped that, till I felt that it would be a joy to strangle them." "Roberto! Mi Roberto! You have me!" "I want my rifle and all it represents.

I want myself back again.