the potato scheme. They had wagered that he could not put it
through. How neatly he had turned the trick, filled his pockets, and
transformed their doubts into wondering admiration! It had been rare
pleasure! Oh, yes, there had been some suffering, he had been told. He
had not given that a thought.

And the Colombian revolution! How surprised the people of these United
States would be some day to learn that this tropic struggle was in
essence an American war! The smug and unthinkingly contented in this
great country of ours regarded the frenzied combat in the far South as
but a sort of _opera bouffe_. What fools, these Americans! And he,
when that war should end, would control navigation on the great
Magdalena and Cauca rivers, and acquire a long-term lease on the
emerald mines near Bogota. The price? Untold suffering--countless
broken hearts--indescribable, maddening torture--he had not given that
a thought.

He laughed again.

But he was tired, very tired. His trip to Washington had been
exhausting. He had not been well of late. His eyes had been bloodshot,
and there had been several slight hemorrhages from the nose. His
physician had shaken his head gravely, and had admonished him to be
careful--

But why did that girl continue to fascinate him? he wondered. Why now,
in all his scheming and plotting, did he always see her before him?
Was it only because of her rare physical beauty? If he wrote or read,
her portrait lay upon the page; if he glanced up, she stood there
facing him. There was never accusation in her look, never malice, nor
trace of hate. Nor did she ever threaten. No; but always she
smiled--always she looked right into his eyes--always she seemed to
say, "You would destroy me, but yet I love you."

God! What a plucky little fighter she was! And she fought him fairly.
Aye, much more so than he did her. She would scorn the use of his
methods. He had to admit _that_, though he hated her, detested her,
would have torn her into shreds--even while he acknowledged that he
admired her, yes, beyond all others, for her wonderful bravery and her
loyal stand for what she considered the right.

He must have dozed while he sat there in the warm office alone.
Surely, that hideous object now floating before his straining gaze,
that thing resembling the poor, shattered Mrs. Hawley-Crowles, was not
real! It was but a shadow, a flimsy thing of thought! And that
woestricken thing there, with its tenuous arms extende