She struggled, broke free, and scrambled to her feet, her brain in a
turmoil, and almost instantly Don Carlos also was on his feet, laughing
exultantly.

"Myra, darling, surely you can no longer persist in pretending you do
not love me," he exclaimed breathlessly. "If you hated me, as you
professed, you would have let Standish try to fire a second time. I
have put you to the test and proved that you love me."

Myra, agitated, bewildered, torn by conflicting emotions, gazed at him
wide-eyed.

"But--but aren't you wounded?" she stammered. "Have you only been
pretending?"

"Only pretending, Myra, but I blame myself for not acting my part for a
little longer," answered Don Carlos. "If only I had waited, pretending
for a few minutes longer that I was dying, you would have confessed
your love. But your kiss so fired my heart that I forgot my part."

He laughed again exultantly and made a movement as if to sweep Myra
into his arms, but she recoiled from him hastily. Anger and resentment
at having been fooled swiftly succeeded her bewilderment, and her blue
eyes flashed her indignation.

"So you have only been making mock of me, playing a part as usual, to
flatter your own vanity!" she exclaimed. "I am sorry now that Tony's
aim was not truer, and that I prevented him from firing a second time."