take her away--he had hesitated. With her, a
woman who had all Venezuela at her feet, held in his arms, he had
repulsed her, refused her! He had heard the open confession of her
overwhelming love for him, and he had resisted her! With the feel of her
heart beating against his own, he had strained her to his breast and
prated of honor and duty!

She was mad with anger and disappointment. She loathed him; she hated
him; she raged against him in her heart. Why had he not killed de Tobar
where he stood, seized her in his arms, braved the anger of her father,
and galloped away--anywhere out into the mysterious southland where they
could be together? Well and good, she would marry Don Felipe. She would
assume a happiness that she could not feel and kill him with the sight
of it. He had disdained her; he should suffer, suffer in proportion to
his love, such torments as he had made her suffer last night--shame,
disappointment, indignation.

She had not slept the entire night, either, thinking these things, yet
it had not all been pain. How nobly he had lied to save her! He, to whom
a lie was worse than death. He had tried to assume dishonor for her
sake. He loved her; yes, there was no doubt of it. She closed her eyes
with the thought and her whole being was filled with exquisite anguish.
He loved her, he was made for her, yet when he might have taken her he
refused. De Tobar was indeed a brave and gallant gentleman, but his
qualities were as moonlight to the sunlight compared to those of
Alvarado. In spite of herself, though the mere suggestion of it angered
her, she found herself obliged to grant that there was something noble
in that position he had assumed which so filled her with fury. It was
not, with him, a question of loving duty and honor more than herself,
but it was a question of doing duty and preserving honor, though the
heart broke and the soul was rent in the effort.

Because he had the strength to do these things, not to betray his
friend, not to return ingratitude to her father, who had been a father
to him too, not to be false to his military honor; because he had the
strength to control himself, she felt dimly how strong his passion might
be. In spite of her careful avoidance of his eyes, her cold demeanor,
that morning, she had marked the haggard, pale face of the young soldier
to whom she had given her heart, which showed that he, too, had
suffered. She watched him as he rode, superb horseman that he was