ersonality, and no mere swaggering
pretender. Alaire felt a certain reluctant respect for him, and at the
same time a touch of chilling fear such as she had hardly experienced
before. She faced him silently for a moment; then she said:

"Am I to understand that you forbid me to leave my own house?"

"For the time being, exactly."

"What? Then I am your prisoner!"

"No, no!" He made a gesture of denial. "How ridiculous! I merely keep
you from certain destruction. You cannot go by train, because the
railroad has suspended public service, nor can you ride or drive. I
tell you, senora, the people are aroused. For the moment you must
accept my protection, whether you wish to or not. Tomorrow"--Longorio
smiled warmly, meaningly-"perhaps you will not be in such haste to
refuse it, or to leave La Feria. Wait until you understand me better.
Then--But enough of this. You are unstrung, you wish to be alone with
your thoughts, and what I have to say can wait for a few hours. In the
mean time, may I beg the hospitality of your ranch for myself and my
men?"

Alaire acquiesced mechanically. Longorio saluted her fingers in his
customary manner, and then, with a look eloquent of things unsaid, he
went out to see to the comfort of his command.

Alaire sank into the nearest chair, her nerves quivering, her mind in a
turmoil. This Mexican was detestable, and he was far from being the
mere maker of audaciously gallant speeches, the poetically fervent
wooer of every pretty woman, she had blindly supposed him. His was no
sham ardor; the man was hotly, horribly in earnest. There had been a
glint of madness in his eyes. And he actually seemed to think that she
shared his infatuation. It was intolerable. Yet Longorio, she was sure,
had an abundance of discretion; he would not dare to offer her
violence. He had pride, too; and in his way he was something of a
gentleman. So far, she had avoided giving him offense. But if once she
made plain to him how utterly loathsome to her was his pursuit, she was
sure that he would cease to annoy her. Alaire was self-confident,
strong-willed; she took courage.

Her thoughts turned from her fears to the amazing reality of her
widowhood. Even yet she could not wholly credit the fact that Ed's
wasted life had come to an end and that she was free to make the most
of her own. Alaire remembered her husband now with more tenderness,
more charity, than she would have believed possible, and it seemed to
her pi