d to
the right and left of them. Far off somewhere in the dark, an unseen
musician was gently thrumming a fandango on his Spanish guitar. She had
been on her way home from Careni-Amori's cabin, where she had gained the
prima-donna's promise to sing, when she saw him, walking slowly across
the "Green." His hands were clasped behind his back, his head was bent.
She experienced a sudden rush of pity for him,--she knew not why, except
that he looked lonely and forgotten. It was she who turned aside from
her course and went out across the Green to join him.

"You are most reassuring," she had said. The dusky light of the moon
fell full upon her upturned face; her shadowy, limpid eyes were looking
straight into his; enchantment charged the air with its soft and
languorous breath,--and yet he looked away!

After a moment he spoke. His voice was steady and,--to her,--almost
sardonic.

"The day of the cave-man is past. Likewise the cannibal. I think I can
promise that you will neither be beaten nor eaten,--but you do run a
little risk in being abroad on such a night as this,--and alone."

She stiffened. "I don't think there is the slightest danger, Mr.
Percival."

"I wasn't thinking of danger," he said. "There is a lot of difference
between danger and consequences. You see, you might have been mistaken
in your man. I might have turned out to be Manuel Crust."

"I--I--I was sure it was you," she stammered, and wished she had not
said it. It was a confession that she knew his figure so well that she
could recognize it in the gloom of the night and at a distance that
should have rendered him almost invisible.

"Even so, I am Manuel's brother under the skin," he said. "Like Judy
O'Grady and the Colonel's lady, you know. However, all's well that ends
well, so what's the use of magnifying the peril that stalks through the
land."

"You were brought up on the good, old-fashioned novels, I see. That's
the language of heroes,--and heroes live only in novels, where they are
perfectly safe from harm, thanks to the benevolent author."

"You're right. I was brought up among the old-fashioned heroes. I lived
through every adventure they had, I longed for every girl they loved,
I envied everything they did, and I dreamed the most beautiful dreams
about prowess and virtue and love. I rather fancy I'm a better man
for having been a swashbuckling boy. I acquired the generous habit of
falling in love with every heroine I read about, and