Arnedo kept her locked up in first one house and then another, and Nacha's hatred of him grew until the intensity of her feeling frightened her. Such hate as this threatened to swallow up all other feelings, to absorb her utterly in itself, poisoning and destroying her. If she had been attracted to him before he carried her off, it was because she believed that he desired her. When she discovered, however, that his abduction of her was not for love, but for vengeance, to get even with Monsalvat; when she saw that he was actuated by something evil in him, which he could not have changed even though he had wanted to, she began to think of him as something monstrous and diabolical. He was the savage with no rÔle to play in civilization, powerless—save for evil!

In the first prison he put her in she saw him only once, on the occasion when, pointing a revolver at her, he forced her to write the letter which was to be a final blow at Monsalvat. The effect of this incident on Nacha had been to rouse in her profound pity for the man she was so wounding. Again she was causing him suffering! She imagined him searching for her through all the dreary reaches of the city; and her constant thinking of him always brought her to one conclusion; for her, happiness could consist only in offering up her whole being in sacrifice for this man!

The owners of both houses had presented her to their best patrons. Nacha, frantic with rage, had driven them out of her presence. She was determined to escape and threatened to get the police. But so close was the watch kept over her that she could not even get a letter into the mail-box. In the second house she was sent to she made friends with one of the girls, the unfortunate daughter of an English drunkard whose stepmother had driven her away from home. Nacha, through Laura's help, succeeded in having her case brought to the attention of two men who frequented the house on Laura's account. One of them, an influential lawyer, informed the police of the situation and Nacha was given her freedom. Pampa would have gone to prison if Nacha had not refused to admit that she knew who was responsible for her abduction.

Nacha was taken from this house to the police station, to state her case. The lawyer talked to her awhile; and, when he understood her situation, offered her money, and asked her what she was going to do.

"What can I do, sir? Follow my destiny...."

"Your destiny? That word doesn't mean anything. Every one makes his own destiny. You ought to go back to your mother's."

"They won't take me back!"

"Very well then. I'll go see them and settle the matter."

Nacha meanwhile lived in the house where Julieta was lodged. Together the two girls went to the tenement where Nacha had been living, to get her furniture and clothes. Although the room had been rented to someone else the caretaker very humbly and sanctimoniously collected half a month's rent from them, saying that Nacha would have to pay storage on her things before she could have them. She inquired for Monsalvat and learned that he had gone away. A few days later the lawyer told Nacha that she could return to her home. Her mother had died, and her sister, Catalina, was running the house.

Her sister received her with the indifference she might have shown to a stranger. When she found herself in her childhood home, Nacha could have wept, so many were the scenes that passed again through her memory. She thought of her absent mother, and of her meeting in that very house with Riga! But her sister's abrupt manner, assumed to conceal her feelings, Nacha believed—restrained her.

"When did—it happen?" asked Nacha.

"A month ago."

"Did she speak of me? Did she forgive me before she died?"

"Yes. And she asked me to look for you. But I scarcely knew where to find you."

This implied an effort which Catalina, as a matter of fact, had never made; nor had she any intention of looking for her sister. Her hope was that Nacha would never turn up, that she would thus be left in undisturbed possession of her mother's house. Soon after Nacha's disappearance, Cata had married a fellow quite inferior to her own station. Her mother had been much offended at the match and refused to see Cata, choosing to consider her as completely lost as Nacha. But when the husband died, her mother consented to have her return to live with her. The property left the two daughters consisted of a small house in Liniers and the furnishings of the pensiÓn—some thirty thousand pesos all told.

Nacha found her sister much changed. Ten years earlier Cata had been a lively and not unattractive young person. Now she was slow in movement and heavy, and as she was very short, there was nothing graceful about her figure. In the old days, although they squabbled a great deal, the sisters had managed to get along together. But Cata's disposition had soured, though her ill-temper could not have been guessed from her fair-skinned and pretty face. Nacha noticed this change with alarm. How could she have become so bitter, and sharp-tongued, when she had once been so cheerful? What made her sister so envious and jealous, and full of petty meanness?

Nacha settled down in the house. She rarely went out, because she did not want to arouse suspicions in her sister. She helped with the multitudinous tasks of the household, and little by little took on all the work, as Cata skillfully disengaged herself from it. With the students and other men boarders Nacha's dealings were of the briefest. She barely spoke to them, so fearful was she of having Cata doubt her intentions of being an honest woman.

But it was written that Nacha must suffer in every relationship. Cata was constantly spying upon her. If Nacha stopped a moment in the patio to exchange a few words with a boarder, her sister would eye her suspiciously and take up a position somewhere near at hand, so as to observe her. Nacha could not discuss the most trifling matter with her sister without hearing allusions to her past life. If they happened to be commenting on some one of the boarders, such as, for instance, the desirability of giving the preference to one student instead of another, in the question of terms, Cata would grow impatient.

"Of course, you must be right. You have known so many men...."

Nacha might have borne such jibes in private. But her sister often got them off at table in front of everyone. Some of the boarders would laugh. Others felt secretly sorry for Nacha. Once, when Nacha did not eat what was on the plate before her, Cata asked:

"Doesn't this fare suit you? I suppose at the famous houses that you are used to living in, they had better cooks."

She was no more successful in finding happiness in other quarters. At first she had searched persistently for Monsalvat but had not obtained the slightest news of him. Torres or Ruiz de Castro could, she believed, have told her where he was, but she did not care to see either of these men. She remembered how Torres had lied to her, telling her that Monsalvat was in love with another woman. She had no reason to believe that he would not lie to her again. In Torres' opinion, as doubtless in Ruiz de Castro's, she was to blame for Monsalvat's situation; she was an enemy, to be kept at a distance! Nevertheless, as the months went by and her anxiety concerning him increased, she went one day to Torres' office, and with tears in her eyes asked for news of her friend. Torres told her the truth. Monsalvat had been very ill, had fled from the sanatorium, and no one had the slightest idea where he was. Nacha, however, believed that Torres was trying to put her off, and left after reproaching him for his past cruelty towards her.

One morning there arrived at the pensiÓn a boarder who seemed startlingly out of place in that student boarding house. He was a corpulent fellow, heavy-shouldered, slow-moving, with enormous hands, and short fat fingers. His face was not altogether ugly: the features were large and firmly cut, and as immobile as though carved in oakwood. On the day of his arrival he wore riding breeches and boots. He spoke rarely, as though he feared his voice might sound too loud; but he burst into great shouts of laughter at the nonsensical stories with which the students regaled the dinner-table. Cata found out all there was to learn about his life. He was rich—owned a ranch in Pergamino—and had come to the pensiÓn because it had been recommended to him by one of the students who worked as one of his hands during the holidays. Little did he suspect that the young man in question had congratulated himself on thus providing his fellow students with excellent first-hand material for their amusement! Cata, however, would not allow the slightest disrespect to this "native" of whom she made a protÉgÉ. By good-natured jokes at the beginning of their acquaintance, followed by maternal advice, Cata succeeded in bringing about certain changes in his attire, and modifying some of his rustic habits. The fellow was a good sort at bottom, and lent himself willingly to Cata's polishing, much to the amazement both of Nacha and the students who wondered what all this might portend.

One fine day Nacha discovered the explanation of her sister's conduct. The rancher began making love to her, and Nacha sensed that he did so at Cata's skillfully disguised instigation. Still Nacha could not understand Cata's sudden affection for her since the new boarder's arrival. Then she perceived that Cata was planning to get rid of her and was counting on the rancher's pliability in her determined hands, and also on Nacha's attractions.

His gallantries were far from being agreeable to Nacha, who did not find them improved by the fact that he was well provided with money. She was quite determined to refuse him when he finally declared his intentions. She had not foreseen that Cata would speak for him.

"You have no reason to refuse. Why should you be so hard to suit?"

Nacha lowered her head and remained silent a long time.

"Your presence here is compromising to me. Everyone knows about you, even though you appear to be respectable now. But some day you are sure to go back to your old ways. I'm still young enough to marry again—in fact I'm thinking quite seriously of it. Your being here is really inconvenient. It may interfere with my plans. Don't be angry! I'm only telling you the truth!"

Cata went on at some length advising her sister to make this sacrifice in atonement for her past sins—though really there was no great sacrifice in becoming a married woman at last and in going to live on a fine ranch with a man who was so good and so much in love! When Cata stopped talking Nacha raised her tear-filled eyes and said simply:

"Very well. I accept him."

Her suitor then discussed the matter with her. Nacha thought it only honest to tell him all about herself.

"So they told me!" the rancher replied with a coarse laugh.

Nacha was blank with amazement. Never had she believed her sister's perfidy could go so far!

"But look here, girlie, I rounded you up with the idea of getting married. It's fierce for a man to live alone all his life; and I thought it would be fine to have some one like you around!"

And he licked his lips at the prospect of the life awaiting him with Nacha as a companion.

Then she learned another detail concerning her sister's manoeuvres. A doctor in one of the distant provinces was paying court to Cata. Although he was poor, her scheming young sister had resolved not to let him escape. That had been her reason for speeding Nacha's departure. The rancher had said something about marriage to Nacha; but Cata, fearing that such formalities might involve too great delay, told him her sister's story and insinuated that he might take her away with him as his mistress.

"There are plenty of cow-punchers who carry off a girl and put her in the ranch house with no question of marriage! It's better for them not to marry, of course. I don't say I approve of that sort of thing; but I can see that it's more convenient, and practical—and it's cheaper! Then, after a while, if they still like the girl, they can marry. If she doesn't suit, or they find another one they like better, they can let the first one go.... They all do that, all of them!"

Then, as if to put the finishing touch on her speech of persuasion, she added:

"That's what you men are like. You know how to live!"

At first her protÉgÉ listened to these words with stupefaction; then he assumed a greedy smile. Just to think that he might have been fool enough to get married! Country folk had reason to distrust these city people!

But Nacha resigned herself to the conditions devised, unknown to her, by her sister. She would suffer and serve; and after a few years of fidelity and submission on her part, the man might marry her. So the honest woman she was going to be would atone for the ten misspent years of her life. It was a tragic solution of her problem, for it took her away from Monsalvat forever—for all the rest of the time she might live on earth....

Since resigning herself to this sacrifice she viewed the rancher with changed eyes. She discovered now that he had a few really admirable qualities. He was loyal, sincere, manageable and plucky, like the good son of the pampas that he was; and he showed no small amount of genuine feeling. Nacha began to think that a woman of intelligence and skill might civilize this rough fellow without encountering very much discouragement. On the morning when she met Monsalvat, the rancher, really in love with her, and delighted with Nacha's sweetness of disposition, had promised to marry her there in Buenos Aires, before going to the ranch, sparing her the humiliation of the trying-out process to which he had intended to subject her.

Nacha went occasionally with him to the shops, to buy furnishings for the ranch house. It was on one of these shopping tours that she met Monsalvat.

Monsalvat was reading in bed next morning when there came a knock at the door. "Come in!" he called.

In the opening doorway Nacha appeared. She was dressed in black as on the preceding afternoon, and this sombre mourning emphasized the fairness of her skin, enhancing its charm. She seemed happy, light-hearted, as though her problem in life had been well disposed of.

Monsalvat lay back among his pillows at her request. His sight had grown very poor and persistent efforts to read had done him a great deal of harm. That morning his eyes were paining him severely. All the objects he looked at had the vague uncertain outline one sees in certain impressionist paintings. Without saying a word, Nacha noticed all the details of the room. Then she took off her hat, and, looking attentively at her friend, said, simply:

"I have come to stay."

"I knew you would come!" he replied, holding out a hand to her. "But I never dared hope that you would stay—"

"Always!" she said, taking his hand, and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"Always?" he wondered. "How is that possible? Aren't you going to get married?"

"No—You need someone to take care of you. I can't marry now!"

"Why, Nacha?"

"Because such a marriage would be a lie...."

Was he dreaming? There was no happiness such as this in the waking world! Nacha went on to say that she did not love the man she had intended marrying, nor could she ever love him. Why should she sacrifice herself?"

"You are right," Monsalvat exclaimed. "A sacrifice without a purpose, of no real utility, is absurd—more than that, is immoral! We ought only to sacrifice ourselves when we love our sacrifice. I believe, Nacha, that sacrifice ought to give us our highest spiritual enjoyment!"

Nacha was silent; but she was thinking that the sacrifice she was then entering upon was of such a kind. Had she married her rancher she would have had among other advantages, that security in life which only a vagabond or a woman such as she had once been, could appreciate fully. Money, a home, comforts, all these would have come to her with this marriage. And then if this man, fifteen years older than she, should die before she did, she would be free, and in possession of a fortune. On the other hand, with Monsalvat, nothing but anxiety and trouble awaited her. Instead of a ranch, she would have a room in a tenement house; instead of a home, a poor friend in need of her care; instead of comfort, poverty; and instead of the day of liberation and inherited riches, long years of suffering at the bedside of a sick man. Two ways of sacrifice lay before her. But she did not hesitate now. Her lot was with Monsalvat. What though it should prove unhappy? In it she could find in the midst of suffering and pain, love and joy, without which, now that she had glimpsed them once again in Monsalvat's face, she could not live....