Things began to assume a more favorable aspect. Even Mrs. Forest had plucked up enough courage to venture beyond the confines of the Posada's garden.

Late one afternoon as she with Blanch and Bessie descended the veranda steps, preparatory to a stroll through the town, a horseman, dressed in the height of Mexican fashion, shot suddenly round the curve in the road at full gallop and drew rein before them, tossing the dust raised by his animal's hoofs into their faces.

Dust and a horse's nose thrust suddenly into Mrs. Forest's face could hardly improve a temper already strained to the breaking point.

"Are people beasts—mere cattle of the fields to be trampled upon by a horse?" she gasped, as soon as she had recovered sufficiently from her surprise.

"A thousand pardons—I did not see you!" replied the horseman, his English colored with a slight accent.

"What are people's eyes for?" returned Mrs. Forest, making no attempt to conceal her irritation.

"Mrs. Forest, I see you do not recognize me," answered the horseman, smiling and raising his broad-brimmed sombrero which partially concealed his features.

"Don Felipe Ramirez!" cried Blanch and Bessie in the same breath. "How," exclaimed Blanch, "could you expect us to recognize you in that costume? Why are you masquerading in such a disguise?" Don Felipe laughed as he swung himself lightly from the saddle.

"It's the costume of our people," he answered, shaking them cordially by the hand. "It's the one they prefer, without which one cannot always command their respect. They detest modern innovations and cling to the customs of their ancestors. It's a bit of old Mexico, that's all. But what brings you here?" he asked, changing the topic of conversation. "Did you drop from the clouds? I would as soon have thought of finding oranges growing on the cactus as seeing you here."

"Only a pleasure trip combined with a little exploration on our own account," answered Blanch indifferently. "We hope," she continued, "to emulate the example of the old Spanish Conquistadores—some of your ancestors perhaps?"

"Then may your wanderings lead you southward. My hacienda lies but twenty miles from here, and from this moment, it is placed at your disposition. Not in the polite terms of the proverbial Spanish etiquette which presents the visitor with everything and yet nothing at all, but actually. Indeed, I shall expect to see you there soon. The life will interest you, I know."

"We certainly shall avail ourselves of the rare privilege, Don Felipe," said Bessie. "Do you intend stopping here?" she asked.

"For a few days, yes. A room is always waiting for me here."

"How delightful!" exclaimed Blanch. "We shall expect to see a great deal of you. In the meantime, we shall visit the town and shall see you this evening. Until then, Á Dios, as you Spaniards say. You observe, we are making rapid progress in the language," she added, smiling and glancing back at him over her shoulder as they moved away in the direction of the highroad.

"What a strange costume for a man like Don Felipe to wear! It's as gay and extravagant as a woman's!" said Bessie as soon as they were out of hearing.

"It's becoming though," answered Blanch. "This is truly the land of surprises. I wonder what will happen next?"

"What can have brought them here, to this out-of-the-way place?" mused Don Felipe, throwing one arm lightly over the neck of his horse as he leaned gently against the animal.

Don Felipe Ramirez was young and handsome—the handsomest and wealthiest man in all Chihuahua. One who measured his lands not by acres, but by hundreds of square miles, over which roamed vast herds of horses, cattle and sheep, and of which Chiquita might have been mistress had she so chosen. Within this vast domain were situated numerous villages of Mexican and Indian populations, subject in a measure to his command. His word, where it did not conflict with the central Government, was law; but Don Felipe, selfish and unprincipled though he was by nature, was too easy going ever to think of making unscrupulous use of such power. So long as things went smoothly, he was the last man to exercise his almost unlimited authority for the mere pleasure of dominating others as many men might were they placed in his position.

His leniency in governing, his lavish manner of living, and a way he had of fraternizing with his people on occasions—the latter prompted not from motives of generosity, but purely from those of vanity and a love of popularity—made him fairly popular among his subjects. It was when Don Felipe wanted something in particular that he became dangerous, especially if that something lay within his jurisdiction. Then indeed, was he one to be feared.

His appearance was striking; a swarthy complexion, thick, shiny, black curly hair and mustache, lustrous black eyes and delicate features, and a lithe sinewy body, every movement of which was cat-like and expressive of treachery.

His high-crowned, broad-brimmed sombrero of gray felt was richly embroidered with gold and silver. A slender, pale yellow satin tie adorned his soft white, heavily frilled shirt front. His soft gray jacket and leggins of goat skin, also ornamented with gold and silver buttons and embroidery, were slashed at the sleeves below the elbow and knee and interlaced with filmy gold cords from beneath which shone a pale yellow satin facing embroidered with tiny red flowers. A gay scarlet silken banda from beneath which peeped the silver hilt of a knife, encircled his slender waist, while his feet were encased in russet tanned boots adorned with spurs inlaid with gold and silver and which tinkled like fairy bells with every step he took. The trappings of his horse were also heavily inlaid with silver. Theatrical though his costume was, it became him well and harmonized perfectly with his surroundings, completing the picture of a Spanish Don, the representative of a past era. A costume that was only to be seen in the remoter parts of the country—one which was becoming rarer each day.

Four years had elapsed since he had last looked upon the familiar scenes about him. Nothing appeared to have changed during that time as his gaze wandered from the old Posada to the garden beyond. He sighed, and a momentary expression of pain and weariness passed across his countenance as he silently surveyed the scene which recalled memories whose bitterness was enough to overwhelm a man of maturer character and years.

In the Indian pueblo, La Jara, had lived the beautiful mestiza girl, Pepita Delaguerra, with whom he had fallen in love in early youth.

The gentle, confiding nature of Pepita was ill suited to that of the passionate, impulsive Felipe, and proved her undoing. For, when old Don Juan, Felipe's father, heard of his son's infatuation, he immediately packed him off to the City of Mexico with the injunction not to return under a year. An obscure half-caste for a daughter-in-law! Holy Maria! the thought was enough to cause his hair to stand on end. No, the old Don had other plans for his son. Maria Dolores, Felipe's cousin, was the woman he had picked out for his wife, and marry her he should if he wished to inherit his father's vast estates. In case he disregarded the latter's wish and married Pepita, the estates were to go to the Church, so it was stipulated in Don Juan's will. But neither the Church nor old Don Juan, as it afterwards proved, were a match for the clever Felipe. The handsome scapegrace had already secretly married Pepita.

The strangest of all things is perhaps the irony of fate. Before the year was up during which Felipe was charged to remain in the City of Mexico, both his father, Don Juan, and the priest who had performed the marriage ceremony for Felipe and Pepita, died. During his absence from home, the observant and quick-witted Felipe had learned not only many new things, but had made the acquaintance of other women as well. At its best, the love of the passionate, hot-blooded Felipe and the gentle Pepita could have endured only for a time. The attractions and fascinations of the Capitol opened his eyes to many things which he had hitherto overlooked, especially, that there are many beautiful women in the world, and always one who is just a little more beautiful than the others if one took the trouble to look for her. And so it happened that he forgot not only his honor, but his obligations to Pepita, and destroying the record of their marriage which he managed to secure with the assistance of a confederate, he turned a deaf ear to her pleadings and went his way.

What had he, Don Felipe Ramirez, who lived and ruled like a prince on his vast estates, to fear from a pretty little half-caste Indian girl?

But Don Felipe was young and still had much to learn in the world. The avenging angel that inevitably awaits us all at some turn or other in the lane, stood nearer to him than he realized, and the vengeance which followed was swift and complete.

Pepita took poison and died, but she died not alone—she died in the arms of Chiquita who had but recently returned from the convent.

The latter frequently accompanied Padre Antonio on his charitable missions and thus it chanced that she made Pepita's acquaintance and learned her story. Time passed and all went well with Felipe until the day he chanced to meet Chiquita.

We may deaden our souls to the voice of conscience, disavow a belief in destiny and shut our eyes to those forces of the Invisible which, in spite of ourselves, we know to exist, but how is it, that no man ever succeeds in escaping his fate?

When Don Felipe Ramirez looked for the first time into the two dark lustrous worlds of Chiquita's eyes, he beheld the height and depth of his existence. From that moment he fell at her feet and worshiped her with a passion that consumed and mastered him. Waking and dreaming she was ever in his thoughts—he could not live without her. But not until he was mad, ravished with desire, did she consent to become his wife. A smile, or a gentle pressure of the hand were the only caresses she deigned to bestow upon him; not until they were married would he be permitted to embrace and kiss her, give rein to his passion. A strange attitude for one of her nature to assume, and, as he looked back upon it, he wondered how he had endured it—that he had not suspected something.

At length the day set for the wedding arrived, and Chiquita with SeÑora Fernandez drove in state to the old Mission church where Padre Antonio awaited them to perform the marriage ceremony.

Don Felipe, in a state of exultation that lifted his soul to the clouds, stood waiting for her on the steps of the church as had been agreed between them; but as the two advanced, Chiquita suddenly paused before the door, and turning, tore the bridal-veil and wreath of orange blossoms from her brow and flung them into his face, crying: "Pepita Delaguerra is avenged!" Then turning, she deliberately descended the church steps and reËntering her carriage, drove home, leaving Don Felipe dazed and speechless before the crowd of spectators that had gathered to witness the passing of the bride and groom.

Later she confessed the reason for her motives to Padre Antonio, but one circumstance she withheld even from him, the nature of which Don Felipe did not suspect, but which he would have given worlds to know.

Chiquita's conduct became the scandal of the country for miles around, and as is invariably the case, the majority of the women sided with Felipe. In more refined circles of society, her act would have been considered highly reprehensible and Felipe overwhelmed with sympathy. His base ingratitude would have been lightly censured in the familiar, sugared terms of the most approved fashion. He would have been forgiven, and petted, and even lauded as a martyr—and then, the world would have forgotten. With the Indian woman, however, it was different.

On the altars of her people was still written, "blood for blood," the same as in the ancient days.

Crushed, humiliated, his pride humbled to the dust, Don Felipe left the country and for four years sought to forget his shame and the taunts of his enemies in the distractions of the world. He traveled everywhere, was presented at the different Courts of Europe, and it was in Washington where his uncle was the Mexican Minister to the United States, that he met Blanch and Mrs. Forest and her niece. In vain did he try to forget. In vain did he search for another woman to supplant his love for Chiquita. He plunged into the wildest dissipation, but to no effect. The beautiful face of the dark woman followed him everywhere, stood between him and the world, lured him, fascinated him still as nothing else could, tortured him day and night and he knew no rest.

A thousand times he resolved to return and kill her, and a thousand times he relented, for he loved her as madly as ever and could not carry out his resolve. A prey to alternate fits of remorse and hatred, and tortured constantly by the knowledge of an unrequited love, the soul of Don Felipe Ramirez suffered the torments of the damned. His unconquerable love for Chiquita devoured him, gnawed constantly at his heart, and he cursed her—cursed her as only one of his temperament who had suffered as he suffered, could curse.

What could he do? Anguish succeeded anguish until he was at length drawn back again as irresistibly as the magnet is drawn to the north, to the woman he both loved and hated. He would throw himself at her feet. He, the proud, arrogant Don Felipe of former years, and bowed in the dust, implore forgiveness. Nothing was too hard. Any sacrifice she might demand of him, he would make. Surely, when she saw his remorse, his contrite humbled spirit, understood his suffering and realized that he could not forget her, could not live without her, that he loved her still through all the years of suffering, that his life was irrevocably linked to hers, she would relent, forgive him—become his wife.

His wife! The thought electrified, elated his being to an extent that it was lifted for the moment from out the black depths of his despondency. If not, well then, there would be time for the fulfillment of that which must inevitably follow—either his death or hers.