twin hole.

He heard voices, and put his hands up to something round his head. He
was now lying out in the light, with a cold bandage round his forehead,
and a moist rag on his lips.

"Water!" He could just make the whisper.

But Lolita made a sign of silence.

"Water!" he gasped.

She shook her head, smiling, and moistened the rag. That must be all
just now.

His eye sought and travelled, and stopped short, dilating; and Lolita
screamed at his leap for the living well.

"Not yet! Not yet!" she said in terror, grappling with him. "Help!
Luis!"

So this was their plot, the demon told him--to keep him from water! In a
frenzy of strength he seized Lolita. "Proved! Proved!" he shouted, and
struck his knife into her. She fell at once to the earth and lay calm,
eyes wide open, breathing in the bright sun. He rushed to the water and
plunged, swallowing and rolling.

Luis ran up from the cows he was gathering, and when he saw what was
done, sank by Lolita to support her. She pointed to the pool.

"He is killing himself!" she managed to say, and her head went lower.

"And I'll help you die, caberon! I'll tear your tongue. I'll--"

But Lolita, hearing Luis's terrible words, had raised a forbidding hand.
She signed to leave her and bring Genesmere to her.

The distracted Luis went down the stone stairs to kill the American in
spite of her, but the man's appearance stopped him. You could not raise
a hand against one come to this. The water-drinking was done, and
Genesmere lay fainting, head and helpless arms on the lowest stone, body
in the water. The Black Cross stood dry above. Luis heard Lolita's
voice, and dragged Genesmere to the top as quickly as he could. She,
seeing her lover, cried his name once and died; and Luis cast himself on
the earth.

"Fool! fool!" he repeated, catching at the ground, where he lay for some
while until a hand touched him. It was Genesmere.

"I'm seeing things pretty near straight now," the man said. "Come close.
I can't talk well. Was--was that talk of yours, and singing--was that
bluff?"

"God forgive me!" said poor Luis.

"You mean forgive me," said Genesmere. He lay looking at Lolita. "Close
her eyes," he said. And Luis did so. Genesmere was plucking at his
clothes, and the Mexican helped him draw out a handkerchief, which the
lover unfolded like a treasure. "She used to look like this," he began.
He felt and stopped. "Why, it's gone!" he said. He lay evidently seeking
to re