His mind glanced at the past while it peered into the future.  What a sinuous underground plot the superficial incidents of this journey covered!  To his fellow-travellers it was a straight line; to him it was a complicated and endless labyrinth.  How much more he had to think of than they!  Only he knew that Pedro Munoz was dead, that Clara Van Diemen was an heiress, that she was in danger of being abandoned to the desert, that Thurstane was in danger of assassination.  Nothing that he had set out to do was yet done, and some of it he must absolutely accomplish, and that shortly.  How much?  That depended upon this girl.  If she accepted him, his course would be simple, and he would be spared the perils of crime.

Meantime, he looked at Clara even more frankly and calmly than she looked at him.  He showed no guilt or remorse in his face, because he felt none in his heart.  It must be understood distinctly that the man was almost as destitute of a conscience as it is possible for a member of civilized society to be.  He knew what the world called right and wrong; but the mere opinion of the world had no weight with him; that is, none as against his own opinion.  His rule of life was to do what he wanted to do, providing he could accomplish it without receiving a damage.  You can hardly imagine a being whose interior existence was more devoid of complexity and of mixed motives than was Coronado’s.  Thus he was quite able to contemplate the possible death of Clara, and still look her calmly in the face and tell her that he loved her.

The girl returned his gaze tranquilly, because she had no suspicions of his profound wickedness.  By nature confiding and reverential, she trusted those who professed friendship, and respected those who were her elders, especially if they belonged in any manner to her own family.  Considering herself under obligations to Coronado, and not guessing that he was capable of doing her a harm, she was truly grateful to him and wished him well with all her heart.  If her eye now and then dropped under his, it was because she feared a repetition of his offer of marriage, and hated to pain him with a refusal.

The commonplaces lasted longer than the man had meant, for he could not bring himself promptly to take the leap of fate.  But at last came the dance; the chief and his comrades led Thurstane away to look at it; now was the time to talk of this fateful betrothal.

“Something is passing outside,” observed Clara.  “Shall we go to see?”

“I am entirely at your command,” replied Coronado, with his charming air of gentle respect.  “But if you can give me a few minutes of your time, I shall be very grateful.”

Clara’s heart beat violently, and her cheeks and neck flushed with spots of red, as she sank back upon her seat.  She guessed what was coming; she had been a good deal afraid of it all the time; it was her only cause of dreading Coronado.

“I venture to hope that you have been good enough to think of what I said to you a week ago,” he went on.  “Yes, it was a week ago.  It seems to me a year.”