e something to us--to me--and especially to you?"

"No, he owes me nothing. What I did was done for you, and not for him,"
the Spaniard replied instantly.

"Then to me at least he is in debt. I shall ask him to drop the
prosecution."

"He is what his people call straight. But he is hard--hard as jade."

They were walking along a dark lane unlighted save by the stars.
Valencia turned to him impetuously.

"Manuel, you are good. You do not like this man, but you save him
because--because my heart is torn when my people do wrong. For me you
take much trouble--you risk much. How can I thank you?"

"_Nina mia_, I am thanked if you are pleased. It is your love I seek,
Heart of mine." He spoke tremulously, taking her hands in his.

For the beat of a heart she hesitated. "You have it. Have I not given my
word that--after the American was saved----?"

He kissed her. Hers was a virginal soul, but full-blooded. An
unsuspected passion beat in her veins. Not for nothing did she have the
deep, languorous eyes, the perfect scarlet lips, the sumptuous grace of
an artist's ideal. Fires lay banked within her in spite of the fine
purity of her nature. Nature had poured into her symmetrical mold a rich
abundance of what we call sex.

The kisses of Manuel stirred within her new and strange emotions, though
she accepted rather than returned them. A faint vague unease chilled her
heart. Was it because she had been immodest in letting him so far have
his way?

When they returned to the hotel Manuel's ring was on her finger. She was
definitely engaged to him.

It was long before she slept. She thought of Manuel, the man chosen it
seemed by Fate to be her mate. But she thought, too, of the lithe,
broad-shouldered young American whose eyes could be so tender and again
so hard. Why was it he persisted in filling her mind so much of the
time? Why did she both admire him and resent his conduct, trust him to
the limit one hour and distrust the next? Why was it that he--an
unassuming American without any heroics--rather than her affianced lover
seemed to radiate romance as he moved? She liked Manuel very much, she
respected him greatly, trusted him wholly, but--it was this curly-headed
youth of her mother's race that set her heart beating fast a dozen times
a day.

She resolved resolutely to put him out of her mind. Had he not proved
himself unworthy by turning the head of Juanita, whom he could not
possibly expect to marry? Was not Manu