g of such pain and anger as I had never known--anger not
against the girl, but against Carmona; and the knife which pierced me was
dipped in the poison of jealously. My impulse was to leap out from the
shadow and strangle him. My hands tingled for his neck, and through the
drumming of the blood in my ears I could hear the crack his spine would
make as I twisted it. For that instant I was a madman. Then, something
that was myself conquered.

Horror of the savage thing just born in me overflowed in an icy flood that
swept it, drowning, out of my soul. But never again, so long as I may
live, shall I condemn a man who kills another in one blind moment of rage.

Even when the red glaze was gone from before my eyes, I could not trust
myself to stand there, looking at Carmona as he smiled and patronized the
dancers by clapping his hands. I turned away, not stopping until I had
regained the kiosk.

There I sat down, elbows on knees, head in my hands, trying to analyse
that look on Monica's face, trying to tell myself that I must have
mis-read it--that such an expression as I imagined could not have been
there for me.

Perhaps, as I suddenly appeared behind a veil of flickering moonlight and
shadow she had not known who I was. She had mistaken me for some
impertinent stranger, and rather than give an alarm, she had hoped that a
frown might rid her of the intruder. Then, I had gone without giving her a
second chance to recognize me.

After a few minutes of such reflections, I almost persuaded myself that I
had been a fool and was wholly to blame for what I suffered. At least, I
said, I owed it to her to make sure that the look had been for me, and the
suspense must end to-night. I would know, even if I made her answer me
under the eyes of Carmona and the others.

But a moment later I saw that I need not be driven to such extremes.

The first part of the dance was over; the Duke and his guests were walking
through the gardens in the interval. They were coming my way--coming to the
kiosk. As they advanced, I retreated into shadow. I let the group linger
at the kiosk, admiring the beautiful _azulejos_; I let them move on; then,
as Monica loitered purposely behind the others, drooping and evidently
sad, I put myself in front of her.

"Monica," I said, "what has happened? You--"

The girl flung up her head, and though there was a glitter of tears in her
eyes and her face was white under the moon, she stared defiance. "Don't