ired for that. From his point of view, Sebastian said, with
the light of enthusiasm irradiating his face, that that was the cream
of the job.

Manvers, wishing to get out of the shop, begged him to do the best he
could, and turned to go. At the door he stopped short and came back.
There was one thing more. Inside the lid of the case, in the centre of
the cross, he wished to have engraved the capital letter M, and below
that a date--12 May, 1861. That was really all, except that he was
staying at the Parador de las Diligencias, and would call in a week's
time. He left his card--Mr. Osmund Manvers, Filcote Hall, Taunton;
Oxford and Cambridge Club--elegantly engraved. And then he departed,
with a jerky salute to Don Luis, grave in his corner.

That card, after many turns back and face, was handed to Don Luis for
inspection, while Sebastian looked to him for light over the rim of his
spectacles.

"M for Manvers," he said presently, since Don Luis returned the card
without comment. "That is probable, I imagine."

"It is possible," said Don Luis with his grand air of indifference.
"With an Englishman anything is possible."

Sebastian did not pretend to be indifferent. He hummed an air, and
played it out with his fingers on the counter as he thought. Then he
flashed into life. "The twelfth of May! That is just a week ago. I
have it, Senor Don Luis! Hear my explanation. This thing of nought
was presented to the gentleman upon his birthday--the twelfth of May.
The giver was poor, or he would have made a more considerable present;
and he was very dear to the gentleman, or he would not have dared to
present such a thing. Nor would the gentleman, I think, have treated
it so handsomely. Handsomely!" He made a rapid calculation. "_Ah,
que_! He is paying its weight in gold." Now--this was in his air of
triumph--_now_ what had Don Luis to say?

That weary but unbowed antagonist of hunger and despair, after
shrugging his shoulders, considered the matter, while Sebastian waited.
"Why do you suppose," he asked at length, "that the giver of this thing
was a man?"

"I do not suppose it," cried Sebastian. "I never did suppose it. The
cross has been worn"--he passed his finger over its smooth back--"and
recently worn. Men do not carry such things about them, unless they
are----"

"What this gentleman is," said Don Luis. "A woman gave him this. A
wench."

Sebastian bowed, and with sparkling eyes re-adjusted