ing off to
possess herself of the required article, with which she soon returns.

"Ish!" cautions the other voice; "if he be still asleep, we must not
wake him. Don Prospero said that. Step lightly, _muchacha_!"

Hamersley is awake, with eyes wide open, and consciousness quite
restored. But at this moment something--an instinct of dissembling--
causes him to counterfeit sleep; and he lies still, with shut eyelids.
He can hear the door turning upon its hinges of raw hide, then the soft
rustle of robes, while he is sensible of that inexpressible something
that denotes the gentle presence of woman.

"Yes, he is asleep," says the first speaker, "and for the world we may
not disturb him. The doctor was particular about that, and we must do
exactly as he said. You know, Conchita, this gentleman has been in
great danger. Thanks to the good Virgin, he'll get over it. Don
Prospero assures us he will."

"What a pity if he should not! Oh, senorita, isn't he--"

"Isn't he what?"

"Handsome--beautiful! He looks like a picture I've seen in the church;
an angel--only that the angel had wings, and no mustachios."

"Pif, girl; don't speak in that silly way, or I shall be angry with you.
_Vayate_! you may take away the wine. We can come again when he
awakes. _Guardate_! Tread lightly."

Again there is the rustling of a dress; but this time as if only one of
the two were moving off. The other seems still to linger by the side of
the couch.

The invalid queries which of the two it is. There is an electricity
that tells him; and, for an instant, he thinks of opening his eyes, and
proclaiming consciousness of what has been passing.

A thought restrains him--delicacy. The lady will know that he has been
awake all the while, and overheard the conversation. It has been in
Spanish, but she is aware that he understands this, for he has no doubt
that the "senorita" is she who has saved him.

He remains without moving, without unclosing his eyelids. But his ears
are open, and he hears a speech pleasanter than any yet spoken.

It is in the shape of a soliloquy--a few words softly murmured. They
are, "_Ay de mil_ 'Tis true what Conchita says, and as Valerian told me.
_He is, indeed, handsome--beautiful_!"

More than ever Hamersley endeavours to counterfeit sleep, but he can
resist no longer. Involuntarily his eyes fly open, and, with head
upraised, he turns towards the speaker.

He sees what he has been expecting,