Father O’Malley, who had been trying to make himself heard, stepped in front of the general and said, solemnly:  “Take care what you do, Longorio.  I have married these people, and you can’t undo what I have done.  We are American citizens.  The laws of civilization protect us.”

The Mexican fought for his voice, then stammered:  “You are my priest; I brought you here.  I offered to marry her.  Now—­you force me to damn my soul.”  Turning his eyes wildly upon Alaire, he shouted:  “Too late, eh?  You say I am too late!  It seems that I am barely in time.”

Dave added his words to the others:  “You are ten to one, but you can’t have her,” he cried, defiantly.  “Jose Sanchez confessed to the murder of Mr. Austin, and told how you had got Mrs. Austin to come here.  The whole thing is known in Washington and Mexico City by this time.  The newspapers have it; everybody knows you are keeping her as your prisoner, and that I have come for her.  If she is harmed, all Mexico, all the world, will know that you are worse than a murderer.”

Longorio reached behind his back and slammed the door in the faces of his listening men.

“What is this?  What did Jose confess?” he inquired, sharply.

“He swears you hired him.”

“Bah!  The word of a pelador.”

In spite of the man’s contemptuous tone Dave saw the expression in his face and made a quick decision.  “There’s a limit to what you dare to do, Longorio.  I’m unarmed; I make no resistance, so there is no excuse for violence.  I surrender to you, and claim protection for myself and my wife.”

But Longorio was not to be tricked.  “Good!” he cried, triumphantly.  “I have been looking forward to something like this, and I shall give myself a great pleasure.”  He laid a hand upon the doorknob, but before he could turn it the Catholic priest had him by the arm, and with a strength surprising in one of his stature wrenched him away.  Father O’Malley’s face was white and terrible; his voice was deep, menacing; the hand he raised above Longorio seemed to brandish a weapon.

“Stop!” he thundered.  “Are you a madman?  Destruction hangs over you; destruction of body and soul.  You dare not separate those whom God hath joined.”

“God!  God!” the other shrilled.  “I don’t believe in Him.  I am a god; I know of no other.”

“Blasphemer!” roared the little man.  “Listen, then.  So surely as you harm these people, so surely do you kill your earthly prospects.  You, the first man of Mexico, the Dictator indeed!  Think what you are doing before it is too late.  Is your dream of greatness only a dream?  Will you sacrifice yourself and all your aspirations in the heat of this unholy and impossible passion?  Tonight, now, you must choose whether you will be famous or infamous, glorious or shameful, honored or dishonored!  Restrain your hatred and conquer your lust, or forego for ever your dreams of empire and pass into oblivion.”