ive it soothed
and at the same time set a delicious unrest in the blood, like that
vaguely stirring unrest of youth in springtime.

Barlow, the sullen, alone had drunk deeply. And in a flash Barlow was
another man. A warm color crept into his weathered cheeks, he drew
himself up in his chair, his eyes shone. Zoraida, looking from face to
face, laughed softly.

"What say you, my guests, to Zoraida's wine?" she said happily. "Made
for Zoraida a full four hundred years ago, treasured for her in the
vaults of the ancient Montezumas, distilled from the olden moonberry
which no longer do men know where to find or how to grow! None but the
Montezumas themselves and the priests of the great god Quetzel ever
drank of it, and they only on great feast days of rejoicing. A taste,
Miss Pansy Blossom, would bring back the roses to your pale cheeks.
And see my friend Barlow!" Lightly, laughing, she laid her hand for a
fleeting instant on his arm. "Already has the moonberry made his heart
swell and blossom and filled it with dream stuff like honey!"

Something--the golden liquor in his veins or Zoraida's touch or the
look in her eyes--emboldened the sea-faring man. He clamped his big
hairy hand down over her slim fingers and cried out, half starting from
his chair:

"It's in my mind, Zoraida, that the old Montezumas left more than
bottled moonshine after them. To be taken by them that have the hearts
for the job. Maybe for you--Yes, and for me!"

Zoraida drew her hand away but the laughter did not die in her eyes or
pass away from her scarlet lips. Barlow, holding himself stiff, shot a
look that was open challenge at Kendric who returned it wonderingly.
Rios touched up the ends of his black mustachios and appeared highly
good humored.

"Who knows?" said Zoraida softly, with a sidelong look at Kendric. "At
least, spoken like a man, friend Barlow!"

Her mood was one of intense exhilaration. The movements of her supple
body in her ample chair were quick and graceful and sinuous, like a
slender snake's; she seemed a-thrill and glowing; it was as though for
the moment life was for her as a great dynamo to which she had drawn
close so that it sent its mighty pristine and vigorous current dancing
through her. She lifted her glass and sipped while she still smiled;
she saw Barlow's empty goblet and impulsively emptied into it half of
her own. Though her back for the time was upon Bruce she seemed to
feel his quick jeal