e that she
bent down to peer into the darkened square below her. Was she then
expecting somebody who would come into the square from the side street?
It seemed so, and presently steps were heard approaching from that
direction. The newcomer was a man who kept close under the shadow of
the houses, as he made his way to the foot of Amanda's balcony. As he
passed under a street lamp, the light just enabled Mansana to catch a
hurried glimpse of an officer's kepi, and a young, clean-shaven face,
and he also noticed that Amanda bent still lower over the trellis of
the verandah. A young girl in love--especially when her love is clouded
by danger--is apt to imagine that she sees her lover's figure
everywhere. The officer slackened his pace as his eyes fell upon her,
and under the balcony itself he halted and looked up. Amanda retired
hastily from the verandah, closing the windows behind her as she
entered the room, and the officer passed on. Was this their mode of
arranging a rendezvous? With rapid strides Mansana crossed the square,
but the stranger had already reached the street that led out of it, and
when Mansana turned the corner in pursuit, he was no longer in sight.
In which house had he taken refuge? Mansana could hardly knock up the
whole street to inquire, and was perforce obliged to abandon the
pursuit.

It was, in fact, a mere accident. A young officer who happened to be
lodging in the neighbouring street, paused for a moment under a
balcony, on which he saw a young lady standing alone. Yet it was this
trivial accident which virtually determined Mansana's destiny.

He went to bed, not to sleep, but to pass the night tossing restlessly
in wakeful anguish, and registering an oath, again and again, that
before the next day had passed she should be his or he would cease to
live. But the next morning she did not appear at the trysting-place on
the hillside. An hour he waited, but there was no sign of his friends,
and he made his way to the house in which they lived. Before the door
of their apartment he found an old woman carrying a tray with their
breakfast, and to the door itself was fixed a sheet of paper. As
Mansana lifted the knocker, the old woman said to him, "There seems to
be no one within. Will you read the paper which hangs there?" Mansana
did so:

"Gone away; will write. B."

That was all. Heedless of the old woman, who called after him to ask
what the paper said, he flung it from him and strode hast