h
other better and become friends."

"That is hardly possible at present. When the war is over--"

"Bah! This war is nothing. I go where I please. You would be surprised
to greet me at Las Palmas some day soon, eh? When you tell your husband
what a friend I am he would be glad to see me, would he not?"

"Why--of course. But surely you wouldn't dare--"

"And why not? Las Palmas is close to the river, and my troops are in
Romero, directly opposite. Mexico is not at war with your country, and
when I am in citizen's clothes I am merely an ordinary person. I have
made inquiries, and they tell me Las Palmas is beautiful, heavenly, and
that you are the one who transformed it. I believe them. You have the
power to transform all things, even a man's heart and soul. No wonder
you are called 'The Lone Star.' But wait. You will see how constantly I
think of you." Longorio drew from his pocket several photographs of the
Austin ranch-house.

"Where did you get those?" Alaire asked in astonishment.

"Ah! My secret. See! They are badly worn already, for I keep them next
my bosom."

"We entertain very few guests at Las Palmas," she murmured,
uncomfortably.

"I know. I know a great deal."

"It would scarcely be safe for you to call; the country is full of
Candeleristas--"

"Cattle!" said the officer, with a careless shrug. "Did not that great
poet Byron swim an ocean to see a lovely lady? Well, I, too, am a poet.
I have beautiful fancies; songs of love run through my mind. Those
Englishmen know nothing of passion. Your American men are cold. Only a
Mexican can love. We have fire in our veins, senora."

To these perfervid protestations Dolores listened with growing fright;
her eyes were wide and they were fixed hypnotically upon the speaker;
she presented much the appearance of a rabbit charmed by a serpent. But
to Longorio she did not exist; she was a chattel, a servant, and
therefore devoid of soul or intelligence, or use beyond that of serving
her mistress.

Thinking to put an end to these blandishments, Alaire undertook to
return the general's ring, with the pretense that she considered it no
more than a talisman loaned her for the time being. But it was a task
to make Longorio accept it. He was shocked, offended, hurt; he declared
the ring to be of no value; it was no more than a trifling evidence of
his esteem. But Alaire was firm.

"Your customs are different to ours," she told him. "An American woman
is not permi