ld pray no more--for I could not ask
God's blessing on a lie.

Then I went slowly back to where my temptress waited.

"Dona Orosia," I said, "I take your offer. I am young--I would be happy;
and you--you would be revenged! I am not the little fool you think me: I
know you too well to believe that you would aid me out of love; I laugh
at your pity; but I trust your hate!"

"_Bueno_," she said. "It is enough. We understand one another,--but I
must teach thee the part, or thou wilt fail."

"I am not so simple, senora, I can feign love--for love's sake."

"Yet I would have thee set round with thorns, my sweet. The rose that is
too easy plucked is not worth wearing. And do thou give only promises
and never fulfil them,--I'd baulk him of every kiss he thinks to win!"

CHAPTER XVI.

A day went by, and though I had become even letter-perfect in my new
role I had not the chance to play it to my audience; but it came at
last.

It was in the long, dreamy hour of the early afternoon, when sleep comes
easiest. Dona Orosia had ordered her couch to be placed in the shadiest
part of the breezy garden, close against the gray stone wall. Designedly
she chose the corner nearest the iron gate, through which we could
command a portion of the sunny street; and here she lay and made me sing
to her all the songs I knew, the while she dozed and waked again, and
whiles teased her parrot into uttering discordant cries until for very
anger I would sing no more.

Suddenly she laid aside her petulance, and with a quick, imperious
gesture bade me take up the lute again; then, falling back among her
pillows, she closed her eyes and let her bosom rise and fall with the
gentle breathings of a sleeping child.

I hesitated in some astonishment; but again the sharp command hissed
from her softly parted lips,--

"Sing, little fool!--Melinza passes!"

I touched the lute with shaking fingers and lifted my trembling voice.
The notes stuck in my throat and came forth huskily at first; but then I
thought on my dear love in his hateful prison, and I sung as I had never
sung before.

Above the gray wall I saw Don Pedro's plumed hat passing by. He reached
the gate and halted, gazing in with eager eyes. His quick glance
compassed the green nook, passed over the sleeping figure, and fixed
itself upon my face.

The song died away; I leaned forward, smiling, and laid a warning finger
on my lip.

He made me a bow so courtly that the feather i