I awoke this morning with a sense of horror haunting me,—and then I recalled the scene of yesterday and the dumb appeal in the eyes of the dying hound. The story the Spanish woman had told me of her own past pleaded nothing in excuse. Hatred and cruelty seemed strange fruit for love to bear.

I thought of my own ill fortunes, and I said within me: True Love sits at the door of the heart to guard it from all evil passions. Loss and Pain may enter in, and Sorrow bear them company; but Revenge and Cruelty, Untruth, and all their evil kin, must hide their shamed faces and pass by!

Secure in the thought of the pure affection that reigned in my own bosom, I went forth and met Temptation, and straightway fell from the high path in which I believed my feet to be so surely fixed!

DoÑa Orosia seemed to be in a strangely gentle mood.

"Child, how pale thy face is! Didst thou not lie awake all night? Deny it not, 'tis writ most plainly in the dark shadows round those great blue eyes. Come, rest here beside me"—and she drew me down upon the couch and slipped a soft pillow under my head.

I was fairly dumfounded at this unwonted courtesy, and could find no words to meet it with. But she appeared unconscious of my silence and continued speaking.

"'Tis the thought of the English lover that robs thee of sleep, Margarita mia! Thou wouldst give thy very life to procure his freedom; is it not so? Would any task be too hard for thee with this end in view?"

I could not answer; I clasped my hands and looked at her in silence.

"I thought as much," she said, smiling, and laid a gentle finger on my cheek.

"Oh, seÑora, you will aid me to save him! You will plead with the Governor—you will set him free?"

She drew back coldly. "You ask too much. I have told you that there are two Governors in San Augustin—I divide the honours with Melinza; but I plead with him for naught."

I turned away to hide the quivering of my lip.

"Listen to me," she added more kindly. "Between Pedro Melinza and Orosia de Colis there is at present an armed peace; since each holds a hostage. Not that I care anything for the Englishman, but my husband is undesirous of defying the commands of the Council. Although he bears no love to your nation, he maintains that it is not the policy of our government, at present, to ignore openly the friendly relations that are supposed to exist between the Crowns of England and of Spain. It seems that the duplicate of the Council's orders has been sent to the Governor of your new settlement on this coast; and if he sends hither to demand the delivery of the prisoners, SeÑor de Colis would rather choose to yield up all, than to risk a reprimand from the authorities at home.

"Dost thou understand all this? Well, let us now see the reverse of the picture.

"Melinza sets his own desires in the scale, and they outweigh all politic scruples. He has sworn that so long as I stand between him and you, so long will SeÑor Rivers remain in the castle dungeon,—unless Death steps kindly in to set your lover free."

A little sob broke in my throat at these cruel words. DoÑa Orosia laid her hand on mine.

"Poor little one!" she said.

"You pity me, seÑora! What is your pity worth?" I demanded, forcing back the tears.

"I have a way of escape to offer," she answered softly.

"Escape for him? Or for me?"

"For both. Now listen! There is but one way to relax Melinza's hold on SeÑor Rivers. He would exchange him willingly for you."

"Better for us both to die!" I exclaimed indignantly.

"I would sooner kill you with my own hands than give you up to him," said DoÑa Orosia, with a cold smile.

"Then what do you mean, seÑora?"

"I mean, Margarita mia, that you should feign a tenderness for him and let him think that it is I who would keep two loving souls apart."

"What! when I have shown him naught but dislike in all these months? He could never be so witless as to believe in such a sudden transformation."

"Such is the vanity of man," said DoÑa Orosia, "that he would find it easier to believe that you had feigned hatred all this while from fear of me, than to doubt that you had eventually fallen a victim to his fascinations."

"What would it advantage me if I did deceive him?"

"He would then cease to oppose the liberation of all the other prisoners."

"But what of my fate, seÑora?"

"Leave that in my hands, little one,—I am not powerless. I give thee my word he shall never have thee. At the last moment we shall undeceive him"—and she laughed a low laugh of triumph.

I glanced up quickly.

"So!" I exclaimed. "This will be your revenge! And you would bribe me, with my dear love's freedom, to act a part in it! To lie for you; to play at love where I feel only loathing; to sully my lips with feigned caresses; and to make a mockery of the holiest thing in life!"

"Is your Englishman not worth some sacrifice?" she asked, with lifted brows.

What could I say? I left her. I hastened to my little room, shut fast the door, and bolted it on the inner side. Then I knelt at the barred window and looked out at the sunlight and the sea.

The blue waves danced happily, and the fresh wind kissed the sparkling ripples till the foam curled over them—as white lids droop coyly over laughing eyes. Two snowy gulls dipped and soared, flashing now against the blue sky—now into the blue sea. I gazed at their white wings—and thought of all the vain prayers I had sent up to Heaven.

And then the dark hour of my life closed down on me.

I bethought me of my father, that loyal gentleman whose only fault was that he served his Prince too well,—a Prince whose gratitude had never prompted him to inquire concerning that servant's fate, or to offer a word of consolation to the wife who had lost her all. I bethought me of my young mother, of her white, tear-stained face, of the long hours she had spent upon her knees, and how at last she prayed: "Lord! only to know that he is dead!"—yet she died ignorant.

Then did the devil come to me and whisper: "Of what use is it to have patience and faith? Does thy God bear thee in mind—or is his memory like that of the Prince thy father served? Dost thou still believe that He doeth all things well, and is there still trust in thy heart? Come, make friends of those who would aid thee—never mind a little lie! Wouldst be happy? Wouldst save thy dear love? Then cease thy vain prayers and take thy fate in thine own hands."

I rose up from my knees and looked out again upon the laughing waters,—I would do this evil thing that good might come. I would act a lying part, and soil my soul, so that I and my dear love might win freedom and happiness. But I would pray no more—for I could not ask God's blessing on a lie.

Then I went slowly back to where my temptress waited.

"DoÑa Orosia," I said, "I take your offer. I am young—I would be happy; and you—you would be revenged! I am not the little fool you think me: I know you too well to believe that you would aid me out of love; I laugh at your pity; but I trust your hate!"

"Bueno," she said. "It is enough. We understand one another,—but I must teach thee the part, or thou wilt fail."

"I am not so simple, seÑora, I can feign love—for love's sake."

"Yet I would have thee set round with thorns, my sweet. The rose that is too easy plucked is not worth wearing. And do thou give only promises and never fulfil them,—I'd baulk him of every kiss he thinks to win!"