before him. The
fierce black bull glaring at him with bent head and fiery eyes, uttering
low, muttering bellowings of rage as he tore at the earth, throwing up
the dust in a cloud, was a foe worthy of his mettle. He was a bull with
vicious points and treacherous ones. Already goaded to fury by the play
of the picadors and banderilleros, he must be watched, studied, excited,
baffled; not one of his movements must be lost, or even regarded
as trifling; wariness, quickness, magnificent daring, the subtlest
forethought, all were needed. What play it was! what a match between
brute cunning, power, and ferocity, and human courage, adroitness, and
calculation! The brilliant, graceful figure was scarcely a moment in
repose; it leaped and darted, the bright cloak waving, inviting, the
bright sword glittering in the sun--it toyed with death and peril,
evading both with an exultant grace and swiftness marvellous to behold,
and rousing the on-lookers to shouts of joy and triumph. Even old Jovita
wakened to a touch of fire which seemed like a renewal of her long-past
youth. Jose and Manuel joined their cries with the rest. Pepita felt
again--yes, more than once--that sudden throb and thrill.

And when at last the end was reached, with what a superb spring the
last splendid blow was given! No need of a second; the bull staggered,
shuddered, fell forward upon his knees, sank upon his side. Sebastiano
stood erect, a brilliant, careless, triumphant figure again, the air
resounding with deafening applause.

"You have seen him," cried Manuel to Pepita--"you have seen Sebastiano?"

"Yes," she answered, a little breathlessly, "I have seen him."

And even as she spoke she knew that he had seen her; she knew it even
before Manuel spoke again in great excitement.

"He looks this way--he looks at us--at you."

It was quite true. Something had attracted his attention to the tier of
seats in which they sat, some cry--who knows what?--perhaps some subtle
magnetic influence. He turned his head with a quick movement, and his
eyes fell and fastened themselves instantly upon the brilliant little
face glowing like some bright flower among those humbler and less
blooming.

"He looks at you, Pepita," said Jose.

"He looks at you and at Jovita," Pepita answered. And she laughed and
turned her face away.

But not before Sebastiano had seen it well. It was Fate. Yes, he knew
that. He had been loved often; he had had romantic adventures, but it
h