The garden and patio of the Posada were hung with many lanterns whose light, in addition to that of the stars and the full moon, made them appear as bright as day.

Mrs. Forest maintained a frigid attitude toward the world throughout the evening. Inwardly she longed to be gay like the others, but prudery and short-sightedness, the fruits of her training, prevailed, effectually debarring her from all enjoyment and leaving her cold and isolated like one afflicted with the plague. Could she have followed the dictates of her wishes, she would have remained within the seclusion of her room during the entire evening, but not being able to reconcile such a course with the duties of a chaperon, she was obliged to appear. If noblesse oblige demanded that she should sacrifice herself, suffer the martyred isolation of patience on a monument, then be it so!

As for Colonel Van Ashton, he had suffered long enough. He secretly despised his sister's prudery though he dared not acknowledge it. Anything to break the infernal monotony! He welcomed this occasion of mild revelry with sensations akin to those of a boy's during the advent of a circus in his town. Of all the State and grand social functions in which he had participated, not one, so far as he could remember, had ever inspired him with such anticipations. An indescribable joy and spirit of recklessness, born of desperation, filled him, and he silently vowed that he would drink to the moon that night even though there might perchance be blood upon it.

Owing to the attack of dizziness which had occasioned a slight delay, Padre Antonio and his ward were the last of the guests to arrive. Low murmurs and suppressed exclamations escaped the Spanish element of the assembly as Chiquita entered the patio on the padre's arm. If they had been enraptured by the beauty of Blanch and Bessie and loud in their praises of their jewels and exquisite gowns, they were crushed by Chiquita's appearance, clad as she was in white and gold, a dress they had never seen before, and adorned with jewels, the magnificence of which they had not dreamed.

At last the mystery of the golden pesos was solved—the jewels of course! A great weight slipped from the souls of the Spanish women as they gazed in envy and amazement upon the person they hated most in all the world.

Happy, blissful ignorance—thrice blessed by the gods were they! Those golden pesos would not have purchased a single strand in her bracelet, while as to the necklace, its value would have purchased the entire Posada and many broad acres besides. Don Felipe and the Americans had seen such jewels before in the world of fashion, but how came Chiquita by them? Who was she? Blanch and Bessie began asking themselves. That she had timed her entrance well, all admitted; though in reality she had thought nothing about it—chance had favored her, that was all. Interesting though the subject under discussion had become, there was little time left the company for further speculation before Juan Ramon, the major-domo, announced supper.

The musicians struck up a lively Spanish air. The night was mild and soft, the stars and moon glittered overhead, the wine flowed and the sounds of laughter and gay, merry voices echoed throughout the patio. The company sat long at the tables, tempted by innumerable dainties, and encouraged and soothed by the wine, the night and soft strains of music. Not even in the old days had the Posada witnessed a gayer scene. Indeed, for the time being, they had returned like a far-off echo of those times when DoÑa Fernandez reigned supreme in her beauty and men admired and flattered and paid homage to her. Little wonder she sighed in the midst of the gayety and alternately flushed and paled as her thoughts traveled back over the years.

Don Felipe was in an exultant mood. That morning his horse had stumbled and later, while dressing for the evening, a bat flitted in and out of his room through the open window. The fact that these two signs of ill omen did not affect a mind ordinarily subject to the influence of superstition, showed the state of his confidence. He drank freely of the wine and laughed and talked incessantly. What an opportunity to spring the trap he had laid for Chiquita!

"If Captain Forest proposes to her to-night, she'll never lift her eyes to the world again," he whispered to Blanch beside whom he sat.

"What do you propose doing?" she asked.

"Have patience," he answered, his face lighting up with an expression of malicious joy. "Of course, it all depends whether you give the signal or not."

"I came here with the intention of doing so," she confessed. "But everybody seems so happy. Why not let the evening pass pleasantly? It would be a pity to mar its harmony."

"Mere sentiment!" he replied. "Do you think she would show you such consideration? I assure you, to-night is the time of all times!" There was something so malicious, so weird in his tone and manner that she shuddered as she listened to his words. In spite of her humiliation, her bitterness and suffering, and her desire for retribution, she never realized that one could find such sweet satisfaction in revenge as did Don Felipe. The prospect of it filled him with a joy that seemed almost devilish at times.

At length the tables were cleared, and coffee, liqueurs, cigars and cigarettes served, Blanch and Bessie, like the Spanish women, indulging in the latter. In fact, everybody, with the exception of Mrs. Forest, smoked. The musicians were ranged in a semicircle across the upper end of the patio opposite the garden and continued to render national and Spanish airs upon their instruments while the company smoked and sipped coffee and liqueurs. And by the time the men had finished their first cigars, the different artists, dancers and singers, who had been engaged for the occasion, came forward and began to display their talent, adding to the novelty and gayety of the evening. Considering the time and the place, they did well enough in their way and were quite picturesque and pleasing as a whole, but at no time did their performance rise above the level of mediocrity, such as one was accustomed to see anywhere in the world on the vaudeville stage. At the end of an hour, Blanch felt that the moment had arrived to ask Chiquita to dance. So, without imparting her intention to any one, she rose from her chair and walked over to where Chiquita sat conversing with the Captain and Don Agusto Revera, Alcalde of Santa FÉ.

"We have heard so much about your dancing, SeÑorita," she began, interrupting the conversation. "Won't you favor us with a dance to-night?"

"A dance?" repeated Chiquita with a little start of surprise, the request coming from Blanch was so unexpected. She seemed confused, and her face wore a troubled look. "I would rather not," she said at length, glancing nervously about her at the company. She had heard the cruel things that had been said of her of late and knew how ready those present would be to criticize her anew.

"Do dance, SeÑorita; just to please me, if for nothing else," persisted Blanch.

"To please you?" repeated Chiquita. A peculiar light came into her eyes and she smiled as though pleased by the request.

"I hope I'm not asking too much?" continued Blanch. Again Chiquita smiled.

"Do you know," she answered with warmth, "there's only one thing in this world I wouldn't do for you?" and she laughed lightly, nervously opening and closing her fan the while. Again she glanced around at the company, wavering between assent and refusal. In the faces of the women she read the jealousy and envy which filled their hearts toward her, and it was perhaps that, not Blanch's request, which decided her to dance.

"Yes, SeÑorita," she said at length. "I'll dance for you this night—for you only!" she repeated with emphasis. Yes, she would dance as she had never danced before; for would not the most critical eye in the world be watching her? It was worth while. Blanch gave a little laugh as she returned to her seat by the side of Don Felipe.

Ah! the wiles of woman—subtle and illusive as a breath or a shadow—the one thing her own sex fears most! Blanch knew that if there was a common streak in her rival, it would be brought out in the glaring reality of the dance, and the Captain should see it. She knew he could never marry any one but a lady, and this was her reason for asking Chiquita to dance. She had in mind, of course, the performances she had just witnessed, or, to be more exact, the contortions of the ballet and the modern music-hall artist with which we are all so familiar; the inane balancing and pirouetting on the toes, the heavy hip and protruding stomach, quivering breasts and bellowing and frothing at the mouth, and colored light effects and risque posing in scant attire, coupled with a display of attractive lingerie. But Blanch forgot, or rather did not know, that she had to do with genius over whose individuality most men are prone to trip.

Chiquita's conception of plastic art was something different from vulgar Salome creations and the cheap spring-song and lolling and capering of the fatted calf just alluded to. Had Don Felipe cherished a ray of hope of reinstating himself in Chiquita's eyes, he would have done all in his power to prevent her dancing, but, as matters stood, he welcomed it with enthusiasm, for he knew that she would be irresistible—that Captain Forest would be ravished by her enchanting creation and alluring beauty as she glided through the intricate mazes of the dance in the moonlight. He had felt that spell, and knew its irresistible charm.

The announcement that Chiquita was going to dance caused a stir among the company. A large dark blue Indian rug which shone black in the moonlight, was brought from the living-room of the house by the servants and spread out upon the patio's pavement. A murmur of approbation arose from the Mexicans when the first bars of music announced the dance she had chosen. It was the famous "Andalusia"—the most difficult and intricate of all Spanish-Moorish dances; the one in which few dancers have ever excelled for the reason that its beauty lies not so much in its intricacy of form as in the poetic conception and free interpretation of the artist. Besides, the dance called for two parts, obliging her to execute the part of her supposed partner as well. The dance opened with the song of a Torero who had repaired in the dusk to the hills overlooking Granada where dwelt his sweetheart.

With a coquettish little laugh and toss of the head, she tossed her fan to Captain Forest who caught it and held it in his hand as he would a flower. Then, after some words of direction to the musicians, she stepped upon the end of the rug nearest them, and to the amazement of the Americans, lightly kicked off her slippers, displaying a pair of small, slender, exquisitely formed feet and ankles. Only amateurs have the courage to dance in shoes. Even that strict and stilted institution, the ballet, was forced generations ago to break through its time-honored traditions by abandoning heels as useless appendages. Had she been on the stage, she would have danced in her bare feet as she had done on the night of the fiesta when Captain Forest had seen her.

A smile rested on her face and she nodded her head lightly to the time of the music as she stood erect in the full flood of moonlight, tall and slender as a lily.

"Thy face, Sweetheart, haunts me amid the dust and glare of the arena!" she began in her deep rich contralto voice, at the first notes of which everybody sat up straight and listened to the volume of swelling sounds which filled the court and garden and floated away on the night. There was no mistaking the fact, they were in the presence of an artist.

"I await thee, Beloved, in the hills, in the hour of our tryst!" came the far-away answer of the woman's voice, faint and plaintive as an echo, soft and sweet and clear as the notes of the skylark, falling in silvery, rippling cadences of melody from out the gold, blue vault of heaven above.

"'Neath the silvery stars, and the mellow gold horn of the soft shining moon," echoed the musical refrain and chorus of musicians. Nearer and nearer drew the answering echoes of the lovers' voices until they met in the hills and the dancing began.

So realistic and dramatic was her rendering of the song, that the listeners saw the progress of the lovers and felt the thrill and rapture of their meeting. Up to this point she had held herself in abeyance, but with the opening bars of the dance, she suddenly became transformed, electrified. Her whole being became suffused with the vibrant, passionate intensity of the South, and then they witnessed an exhibition that was beautiful and wonderful in its poetic conception.

A thrill of rapturous, exquisite emotion swept over them, as suddenly and without warning, she threw back her head and sprang to the center of the rug with a swift, whirling motion, the effect of which was like a shower of sparks or a jet of glittering spray tossed unexpectedly into the air from a fountain, expressive of the abandon and exuberance felt by the lovers as they met in the dance.

Again, without warning, she paused as abruptly as she began, and with short, interluding snatches of song, slowly began to sway to the soft rhythm of the music and sharp click of her castanets. First slowly, then swifter and swifter she glided and whirled noiselessly in the moonlight, graceful as a wind-blown rose, or suddenly paused, languid and sensuous, according to the rhapsodic character of the dance when the music ceased altogether and naught was heard save the plashing of the fountain in the patio, the click of her castanets and the soft swish of her silken saya which seemed to whisper and sigh like a living thing, like the mythical voices of Lilith's hair. Like a musician transposing upon a theme, she introduced new and elaborate motives of her own until, at a sign from her, the music took up the principal theme of the dance once more.

Captain Forest had seen practically all the great dancers of our time, the Geisha and Nautch girls of the East, the Gypsies from Granada to St. Petersburg, and the Bedouin women dance naked on the sands of the Sahara beneath the stars while celebrating the sacred rites of their festivals, but it soon became apparent that, all with few exceptions, were mere novices in comparison, and stood in about the same relation to her as a dilettante does to an artist.

She lifted the dance above the portrayal of sensuous emotion into the realms of poetry. The wild spirit of the Gypsy, captivating, fresh and invigorating and compelling as the winds of the mighty Sierras and plains of the land she inhabited, enveloped and animated her. The rushing, whirling climaxes up to which she worked were startling—tremendous. The subtle, hypnotic influence and witchery of her presence filled her entire surroundings and so held and dominated the spectators that they were swept irresistibly along with her as the rhythm of the dance increased. She swayed and enthralled the imagination and emotions with a supremacy akin to that of music or the noblest landscape. The mastery of every motion, every fleeting expression but increased the impression she endeavored to convey—the intensity of life, vibrant, joyous life.

The soft, rhythmic undulations of her graceful, sinuous body, vibrating and pulsating with the ecstatic, rapturous emotion inspired by the music and the dance, were a revelation of beauty. She became the living expression of rhythm and grace as she paused for an instant before them, scintillating and quivering like an aspen leaf, or glided and whirled wraith-like, fragile and delicate and ethereal, wondrously lithe and airy like films of gossamer or foam tossed up by the sea. The dance itself seemed to fade into the background as their attention became riveted upon her, and visions and vistas of life rose before the imagination instead.

She danced with her soul, not with her feet; became the living incarnation of the ancients' conception of plastic creation, enchanting, intoxicating. They heard the myriad voices of spring, the voices of birds and insects and the sound of falling waters; beheld the Elysian, flower-strewn fields of youth, recalling the immortal, fairy days of childhood and with them their golden dreams, and experienced the sweetness and bitterness of unfulfilled longings and aspirations of later years. All felt that it was an event of a lifetime—one of those hours that would never again return.

The company gave vent to its emotion in alternate exclamations of enthusiasm or sighs as it was swept irresistibly along by the buoyancy and captivating creation of the dancer. Two bright tears stood in Padre Antonio's eyes as he gazed upon the object of his love and pride. Don Felipe forgot his hatred for the moment and gazed enraptured, drinking in with eyes and soul the enchanting vision before him. The heart of Blanch grew cold as ice as she, like the rest, looked on entranced in spite of herself by the witchery of her rival, for she knew she had blundered again, that she had lost, that Chiquita was transformed—irresistible. The blood seemed to freeze in her veins as the truth was borne in upon her. She longed to scream, to rush forward and stop her—anything to break the spell, but in vain. Helpless and immovable she was forced to look on; see the prize of life slip slowly from her grasp.

Again Captain Forest beheld the mighty expanse of mountain and plain, heard the lashing of the sea and the myriad voices of the singing stars as they whirled in their courses through space—listened to the chant of life. Yes, she was the ideal, the living incarnation of nature, the Golden Girl with the white starry flower on her breast who was awaiting his coming, the woman of JosÉ's dream to whom he had been guided unconsciously by the hand of the Unseen. No wonder he had failed to find the place of his dreams; without knowing it, he had been waiting for her. But now all was changed. The earth had become their footstool; the old life had come to an end.