ast? They,
or what perhaps lurks in them: fear, deception, desire, disillusion--all
silent at first before the song of triumphant love vibrating in the
light. Yes. Silent. Even desire itself! All silent. But not for
long!

This was, I think, before the third expedition. Yes, it must have been
the third, for I remember that it was boldly planned and that it was
carried out without a hitch. The tentative period was over; all our
arrangements had been perfected. There was, so to speak, always an
unfailing smoke on the hill and an unfailing lantern on the shore. Our
friends, mostly bought for hard cash and therefore valuable, had acquired
confidence in us. This, they seemed to say, is no unfathomable roguery
of penniless adventurers. This is but the reckless enterprise of men of
wealth and sense and needn't be inquired into. The young _caballero_ has
got real gold pieces in the belt he wears next his skin; and the man with
the heavy moustaches and unbelieving eyes is indeed very much of a man.
They gave to Dominic all their respect and to me a great show of
deference; for I had all the money, while they thought that Dominic had
all the sense. That judgment was not exactly correct. I had my share of
judgment and audacity which surprises me now that the years have chilled
the blood without dimming the memory. I remember going about the
business with light-hearted, clear-headed recklessness which, according
as its decisions were sudden or considered, made Dominic draw his breath
through his clenched teeth, or look hard at me before he gave me either a
slight nod of assent or a sarcastic "Oh, certainly"--just as the humour
of the moment prompted him.

One night as we were lying on a bit of dry sand under the lee of a rock,
side by side, watching the light of our little vessel dancing away at sea
in the windy distance, Dominic spoke suddenly to me.

"I suppose Alphonso and Carlos, Carlos and Alphonso, they are nothing to
you, together or separately?"

I said: "Dominic, if they were both to vanish from the earth together or
separately it would make no difference to my feelings."

He remarked: "Just so. A man mourns only for his friends. I suppose
they are no more friends to you than they are to me. Those Carlists make
a great consumption of cartridges. That is well. But why should we do
all those mad things that you will insist on us doing till my hair," he
pursued with grave, mocking exaggeration, "till