s flung up like that of a spurred horse; she was on the
point to reveal herself,--to tell him that in that act of his lay all
her glory. But she stopped in time, and resumed her drooping, and her
dejection. "I must serve him still--serve him always," was her burden.

"I was your lover truly," he continued, "after I knew what you had
risked for me, what you had brought yourself to do for me. Not before
that. Before that, I had been a thief--a brute. But after it, I loved
you--and then I had your cross set in gold--and betrayed you into Don
Luis' mad old hands. All this trouble is my fault--you are here
through me--you must be got out through me. Gil Perez is a better man
than I am ever likely to be. He loves you sincerely. He loved you
before you gave yourself up. You know that, I expect..."

She knew it, of course, perfectly well, but she said nothing.

"He wouldn't wish to bustle you into marriage, or anything of the sort.
He's a gentleman, is Gil Perez, and I shall see that he doesn't ask for
you empty-handed. I am sure he can make you happy; and I tell you
fairly that the only way I can be happy myself is to know that I have
made you amends." He got up--at the end of his resources. "Let me
leave his case before you. He'll plead it in his own way, you'll find.
I can't help thinking that you must know what the state of his feelings
is. Think of him as kindly as you can--and think of me, too, Manuela,
as a man who has done you a great wrong, and wants to put himself right
if he may." He held out his hand. "Good-bye, my dear. I'll see you
again, I hope--or send a better man."

"Good-bye, Don Osmundo," she said, and gave him her hand. He pressed
it and went away, feeling extremely satisfied with the hour's work.
Eleanor Vernon's clear grey eyes smiled approvingly upon him. "Damn it
all," he said to himself, "I've got that tangle out at last." He began
to think of England--Somersetshire--Eleanor--partridges. "I shall get
home, I hope, by the first," he said.

"He's a splendour, your _novio_, Manuelita," said Sister Chucha, and
emphasised her approval with a kiss. "Fie!" she cried, "what a cold
cheek! The cheek of a dead woman. And you with a _hidalgo_ for your
_novio_!"

CHAPTER XIX

THE WAR OPENS

Returning from his visit, climbing the Calle Mayor at that blankest
hour of the summer day when the sun is at his fiercest, raging
vertically down upon a street empty of folk, but glitteri