le. What is the meaning of
your influence upon Senor Stewart? Once he was merely an animal, brutal,
unquickened; now he is a man--I have not seen his like! So I beseech you
in my humble office as priest, as a lover of mankind, before you
send Stewart to his death, to be sure there is here no mysterious
dispensation of God. Love, that mighty and blessed and unknown thing,
might be at work. Senora, I have heard that somewhere in the rich
Eastern cities you are a very great lady. I know you are good and noble.
That is all I want to know. To me you are only a woman, the same as
Senor Stewart is only a man. So I pray you, Senora, before you let
Stewart give you freedom at such cost be sure you do not want his love,
lest you cast away something sweet and ennobling which you yourself have
created."

XXIII. The Light of Western Stars

Blinded, like a wild creature, Madeline Hammond ran to her room. She
felt as if a stroke of lightning had shattered the shadowy substance of
the dream she had made of real life. The wonder of Danny Mains's story,
the strange regret with which she had realized her injustice to Stewart,
the astounding secret as revealed by Padre Marcos--these were forgotten
in the sudden consciousness of her own love.

Madeline fled as if pursued. With trembling hands she locked the doors,
drew the blinds of the windows that opened on the porch, pushed chairs
aside so that she could pace the length of her room. She was now alone,
and she walked with soft, hurried, uneven steps. She could be herself
here; she needed no mask; the long habit of serenely hiding the truth
from the world and from herself could be broken. The seclusion of her
darkened chamber made possible that betrayal of herself to which she was
impelled.

She paused in her swift pacing to and fro. She liberated the thought
that knocked at the gates of her mind. With quivering lips she whispered
it. Then she spoke aloud:

"I will say it--hear it. I--I love him!"

"I love him!" she repeated the astounding truth, but she doubted her
identity.

"Am I still Madeline Hammond? What has happened? Who am I?" She stood
where the light from one unclosed window fell upon her image in the
mirror. "Who is this woman?"

She expected to see a familiar, dignified person, a quiet, unruffled
figure, a tranquil face with dark, proud eyes and calm, proud lips. No,
she did not see Madeline Hammond. She did not see any one she knew. Were
her eyes, like her he