to
her side. He led her to the middle of the room, and the musicians played
the stately jig.

Benicia swept one glance of defiant coquetry at Russell from beneath
her curling lashes, then fixed her eyes upon the floor, nor raised them
again. She held her reed-like body very erect and took either side of
her spangled skirt in the tips of her fingers, lifting it just enough
to show the arched little feet in their embroidered stockings and satin
slippers. Don Fernando crossed his hands behind him, and together they
rattled their feet on the floor with dexterity and precision, whilst the
girls sang the words of the dance. The officers gave genuine applause,
delighted with this picturesque fragment of life on the edge of the
Pacific. Don Fernando listened to their demonstrations with sombre
contempt on his dark handsome face; Benicia indicated her pleasure by
sundry archings of her narrow brows, or coquettish curves of her red
lips. Suddenly she made a deep courtesy and ran to her mother, with a
long sweeping movement, like the bending and lifting of grain in the
wind. As she approached Russell he took a rose from his coat and threw
it at her. She caught it, thrust it carelessly in one of her thick
braids, and the next moment he was at her side again.

IV

Dona Eustaquia slipped from the crowd and out of the house. Drawing a
reboso about her head she walked swiftly down the street and across the
plaza. Sounds of ribaldry came from the lower end of the town, but the
aristocratic quarter was very quiet, and she walked unmolested to the
house of General Castro. The door was open, and she went down the long
hall to the sleeping room of Dona Modeste. There was no response to her
knock, and she pushed open the door and entered. The room was dimly lit
by the candles on the altar. Dona Modeste was not in the big mahogany
bed, for the heavy satin coverlet was still over it. Dona Eustaquia
crossed the room to the altar and lifted in her arms the small figure
kneeling there.

"Pray no more, my friend," she said. "Our prayers have been unheard, and
thou art better in bed or with thy friends."

Dona Modeste threw herself wearily into a chair, but took Dona
Eustaquia's hand in a tight clasp. Her white skin shone in the dim
light, and with her black hair and green tragic eyes made her look like
a little witch queen, for neither suffering nor humiliation could bend
that stately head.

"Religion is my solace," she said, "my only o