omeone else."

"How could she believe that? Who is there--" I stopped. My eyes met
Pilar's, and she blushed, stammering as she hurried bravely on. "The
greatest nonsense, of course. But--but--_oh_, don't you remember how she
looked that evening at Manzanares when we saw her last? So wistful, as if
there were something on her mind she mustn't tell? I caught her looking at
me once or twice as if she were wondering--they must have begun, even then,
to upset her mind, poor, lonely child; but the worst hadn't happened; she
was only a little doubtful. If you could have spoken to her, or if I--"

"I did write," I said, "though I've always been afraid something went
wrong with that letter."

"Ah!" Pilar caught at this, and would have the whole story with every
detail. I even found myself confessing my old presentiment, the fancy that
Monica was calling for me to help her.

"I believe she was, calling and praying. Of course she never got the
letter. What was in it? If you don't mind my asking?"

"I said, a crisis seemed to be coming, and she must make up her mind to
let me take her away."

"A splendid letter to fall into her mother's hands. Did you sign your real
name?"

"No name at all. I wrote in a hurry, and--"

"That's lucky. But even if you had, Lady Vale-Avon couldn't have shown
such a letter to the Duke, he's too Spanish--too Moorish, I ought to say.
She wouldn't have dared, as she wants him for a son-in-law."

"That occurred to me."

"But there aren't many other things she wouldn't dare, to get rid of such
a danger as you. If she got the letter--and I'm sure she did--there was your
handwriting at her mercy. Supposing she--"

"I know what's in your mind. But I don't think such things are done--out of
novels."

"Oh, aren't they; when people are clever enough? I know of one case
myself. And the girl's life was spoiled. Lady Monica's shan't be though,
if I can help it."

"You're taking a great deal for granted," I said. But I felt as if the
radiance of heaven were pouring down upon me, instead of the pensive
moonlight.

"Doesn't your heart tell you I'm right?" cried Pilar.

"Yes!" I answered. "Yes, you good angel, it does."

XXIX

THE GARDEN OF FLAMING LILIES

The voice of some maid servant singing a _copla_ waked me early in the
morning, after an hour or two of sleep.

_El amor y la naranja_
_se parecen infinito;_
_Que por muy dulces que