elf. He talked and
laughed aloud repeatedly when alone, scarcely able to retain himself, so
rapturously sweet was the thought of her humiliation. Suddenly a new
thought flashed through his mind. He had sworn that he would kill
Captain Forest--lay him dead at her feet; but that, thanks to
circumstances, would not now be necessary. The thought of killing a man
in cold blood was not pleasant even to one of Don Felipe's temperament
in his present state of mind. But should circumstances compel him to do
so to complete his revenge, he would stop at nothing, let the
consequences be what they might.

That he had received his just deserts for his betrayal of a woman, did
not enter his thoughts. Had he not atoned for that misdeed through years
of suffering? Had ever mortal been humiliated as he had been? That fact
alone decided him. The memory of his transgression had been effaced long
since by his intense longing for revenge. Nothing short of revenge could
satisfy him now.

A grim smile lit up his countenance as he pondered upon what he knew.
And yet, he reflected, who could tell? Infatuation might blind the
Captain to the truth. It was best to be prepared for all emergencies.
Stepping to his dresser, he opened the top drawer from which he took a
knife which lay concealed beneath the numerous articles it contained.
Drawing the blade from its leathern sheath, he ran his thumb lightly
over its double edge to assure himself that it had lost none of its
keenness. He always carried a pistol, but considering the circumstances
a knife would be better. It would make no noise, create less
disturbance. It would be so easy, in some secluded part of the garden,
to thrust it home and get away quietly before the deed was discovered.
One quick thrust, a stifled cry, that would be all. As a youth he could
have placed that blade at ten paces in the center of a mark no larger
than a silver dollar at every cast. But he had no thought of employing
such a method now even if he were able to. Striking the Captain would be
like sinking the blade in Chiquita's heart; for did he not hate the
Captain, because she loved him, almost as much as he hated her? No, he
would not forego that exquisite sense of pleasure and satisfaction, born
of jealousy and his insatiable thirst for revenge.

For some time he toyed absently with the knife. Then, from sheer
exuberance of spirits, he began tossing it aloft; watching with
sparkling eyes the glittering blade as it