"Whither my Christian duty bids me."

It was enough for her. Before he could prevent or suspect her
purpose, she had snatched the heavy Toledo blade from his girdle,
and armed with it stood between the door and him.

"A moment, Don Rodrigo. Do not attempt to advance, or, as Heaven
watches us, I strike, and it maybe that I shall kill you. We must
talk awhile before you go."

Amazed, chapfallen, half-palsied, he stood before her, his fine
religious zeal wiped out by fear of that knife in her weak
woman's hand. Rapidly to-night was she coming into real knowledge
of this Castilian gentleman, whom with pride she had taken for
her lover. It was a knowledge that was to sear her presently with
self-loathing and self-contempt. But for the moment her only
consideration was that, as a direct result of her own wantonness,
her father stood in mortal peril. If he should perish through the
deletion of this creature, she would account herself his slayer.

"You have not considered that the deletion you intend will
destroy my father," she said quietly.

"There is my Christian duty to consider," answered he, but
without boldness now.

"Perhaps. But there is something you must set against it. Have
you no duty as a lover--no duty to me?"

"No earthly duty can weigh against a spiritual obligation. . . ."