od woman, I fear."

"Mr. Sharp, please, _don't_ tease me any more. What do you mean?"

"Antonio is under restraint of the law. He is a prisoner, for the
present. Detained until Mr. Hale can consult with his New York people
and find out their disposition toward the fellow. He has done criminal
things without, apparently, any benefit to himself. He says there is
something on his mind that he must tell you. We'll call to see him
on our way to the shopping district and get him over and done with.
I've no desire to continue his acquaintance, myself."

Jessica's face grew serious.

"Oh! poor Antonio!"

"Quit that!" commanded "Forty-niner," with more sharpness than he
often used toward his beloved lady.

"But, it is so terrible to be a--prisoner. That means that one can
never go out into the fields or climb the mountains, or ride, or hunt, or
anything one likes. He has done dreadful wrongs, and I never used to like
him as well as I ought, but now I'm sorry for him. I can't help it,
Ephraim, even if it does displease you."

"H-m-m. He brought his own misfortunes upon himself. But first he had
brought worse ones on his truest friends and innocent persons whom he
never saw."

"Maybe he didn't know any better. Maybe----"

"Child, you are incorrigible. You'd pity--anybody. Yet, perhaps, you
are right in a measure. Antonio strikes me as more fool that knave."

"Well, I'll be glad to say good-by to him, anyway."

It was a greatly altered Antonio they found. All his haughtiness was gone
and his depression, his fear, was so abject that while Lady Jess pitied
him even more than before, the reporter felt only contempt. It was he
who cut short the manager's wordy explanations and commanded:

"Now, if you've got anything special to say to Miss Trent, out with it
and have done. We must be off."

"Then leave her alone with me for five minutes, yes."

"No. What you can say to her must be said in my presence."

But Jessica petitioned for the favor, and Ninian stepped into an
adjoining room, leaving the door ajar.

As soon as he was out of sight, Senor Bernal leaned forward, clasping
his hands.

"It is the good turn I do. Well, then, it is the good turn you will
answer, no."

"Of course. I'd do you any 'good turn' which was right for me."

"Then plead for me, my liberty. It is you, senorita, who have the so
great, the strange power to move many hearts to your will. _Si._ You will
plead, then, if I tell you--something--a