Many days have passed since I began to write these pages.

All the morning after that terrible night, with Barbara I waited fearfully for some manifestation of DoÑa Orosia's anger. But there was none, nor were we summoned out that day. Food was brought to us, and we remained like prisoners in our chamber. Don Pedro was very low, the servant told us, and the Governor's lady was nursing him.

A week went by,—the longest week I had ever known,—and then we heard that Melinza would recover. However, it was not until he had lain ill a fortnight that DoÑa Orosia came to visit me.

I was sitting by the window with my head upon my hand, and Barbara was putting some stitches in the worn places in her gown, when the door opened to admit my hostess.

She came straight toward me with a glint of anger in her dark eyes. The long nights of anxious watching had driven back the blood from her smooth olive cheek, and the red lips showed the redder for her unaccustomed pallor. She laid one hand on my head, tilting it backward.

"You little white-faced fool! I would you had never set foot in this town," she cried bitterly.

"Ah! madame, I came not of my own free will," I answered her. "I and my dear love would willingly go hence, an you gave us the means to do so!"

"'Tis likely that we shall, truly," she replied. "'Tis likely that the Governor of San Augustin will keep a galley to ply up and down the coast for the convenience of you English intruders! There came two more of you this morning, from the friar at Santa Catalina."

"Two more English prisoners!" I exclaimed. "Who are they, madame?"

"I know not, and I care not," she said. "I meddle not with things that do not concern me. I come here now but to hear how you came to be on the streets at midnight. Had I been in the Governor's place then, I would have shut the door in your face."

I told her the truth, as it had happened to me; and when she had heard it her brow lightened somewhat.

"Are you deceiving me? You did not leave here till after the duel had taken place?"

"Madame," I said, "I have never yet told a lie, and I would not now were it to save my life."

Her lip curled slightly as she turned to go. "Stir not from this room, then, until Don Pedro is well enough to leave the house," she said. "If I could prevent it he should never look upon your face again." She paused an instant, then added: "I will prevent it!"

"Amen to that!" I said, and I felt the blood burn warmly in my cheek.

She turned and looked at me, and I met her gaze with defiant eyes.

"Amen to that, madame!—for truly I hate him with all my heart!"

She stood still, a slow crimson rising in her pale face, and I trembled a little at my own daring. Then, to my surprise, she laughed at me.

"You think that you hate him desperately?" she exclaimed. "Silly child, it is not in thy power to hate that man as I do, as I have done for years!" and with that she went away and left me wondering.