, at
the head of the little cavalcade. Tall, straight, erect, graceful, she
was glad that he rode in advance with his back to her, so that she might
follow him with her eyes, her gaze unheeded by any but Senora Agapida,
and for her she did not care.

As he turned at intervals to survey his charges, to see that all were
keeping closed up and in order, by furtive glances she could mark with
exultation the pallor that had taken the place of the ruddy hue on the
fair cheek of her lover. She could even note the black circles under the
blue eyes beneath the sunny hair, so different from her own midnight
crown.

How this man loved her! She could see, and know, and feel. Great as was
her own passion, it did not outweigh his feeling. A tempest was raging
in his bosom. The girl who watched him could mark the progress of the
storm in the deeps of his soul, for his face told the tale of it.

And, indeed, his thoughts were bitter. What must she think of him? He
had been a fool. Happiness had been his for the taking, and he had
thrown it away. Why had he not brushed de Tobar out of his path,
silenced the Viceroy--no, not by death, but by binding him fast, and
then taken the woman he loved and who loved him, for she had proved it
by her utter abandonment of herself to him? Those old soldiers who had
served him for many years would have followed him wherever he led. The
Viceroy's arm was long, but they could have found a haven where they
could have been together. God had made them for each other and he had
refused. He had thrust her aside. He had pushed the cup of happiness
from his own lips with his own hand.

Honor was a name, duty an abstraction, gratitude a folly. What must she
think of him? There had been no reservation in her declaration of
affection. For him she was willing to give up all, and though he had
vowed and protested in his heart that there was nothing she could ask of
him that he would not grant her, he had been able to do nothing after
all.

He wished it was all to do over again. Now it was too late. To the
chains of duty, honor, gratitude, had been added that of his plighted
word. Knowing his love, de Tobar, his friend, had trusted him. Knowing
his daughter's love, the Viceroy had also trusted him. He was locked
with fetters, bound and sealed, helpless. And yet the temptation grew
with each hour. He had suspected, he had dreamed, he had hoped, that
Mercedes loved him, now he was sure of it. Oh, what happiness