and his name is Guillermo de Bach. You are so strong, and you say you
love me; will you take my part against this man?"

The moon comes out of a cloud, and shows me a white face above my
own, drawn tense with emotion. "It ees all settle, Blanca; I go not
back."

"Oh, God! what shall I do! What kind of man are you? You complain that
my countrymen are cold and deliberate; do you know why we love them?
They know how to keep faith, but _you_ not twenty-four hours."

"Vhat mean you?" His voice is husky and sounds strange.

"You promised in the _San Miguel_ this morning, if we trusted you
enough to come with you to Guatemala, you would see that the _San
Miguel_ did not sail without us. Guillermo!"--with an inspiration I
draw the white face down to mine--"forgive me for doubting you; you
will keep your word," and I kiss him between the pain-contracted
brows.

"Oh, Blanca, Blanca, you vill kill me!"

Is it a tear that drops on my face? I put my arm in his and draw him
up the dark street, whispering some incoherent prayer.

"Blanca, I _cannot_! I am not a man dthat I gif you up!"

We have turned into the broad avenue and an occasional pedestrian
passes by. The Baron seems to see nothing.

"You are not a man when you break your word. Come, Guillermo!"

We are back at last before the great door; I lift a hand trembling
with excitement to raise the iron knocker. The Baron stops me.

"I am von fool, Blanca! Like your countrymen, I let you rule. But vhen
you forget all else off me, remembair you haf find von Peruvian who
loaf you so he let you ruin hees life--you vill nefer see anodther
such Peruvian madman. If I haf trouble you, I haf not spare myself,
keess me gude-night, Blanca ... and good-bye."

A moment later the great knocker had fallen.

Mrs. Steele and Mrs. Baldwin are waiting for us in the star-lit
_patio_. My friend is evidently displeased at my having gone out
without consulting her. I feel with sharp self-condemnation that in
agreeing to go I was not only rash, but seemed even worse; it looked
as if I had courted a _tete-a-tete_ alone at night with the Baron. Ah,
why can't we see things in the present as we shall be obliged to see
them when the time is past and the mistake beyond recall!

"Well, I suppose you've ordered an album full of views," says Mrs.
Baldwin, pleasantly trying to cover up the awkwardness of our return.

"No," I answer, taken unawares, for by this time I have quite
forgotten the ob