ew last roses.

The fresh air and the beauty and quiet of the night soothed her. She
felt her strength return, and a great calm took possession of her as she
moved to and fro in the moonlight, now casting her eyes toward the
stars, now downward at the wan, drooping heads of the flowers which
swayed gently in the faint night breeze. Her face radiantly beautiful,
her jewels flashing against the pale white setting of her dress and her
tawny skin, she resembled more the lovely ghost of some long-departed
Spanish woman that had returned to earth to revisit familiar haunts,
than one still among the living.

What was he doing now? she asked herself. It was impossible that he
should continue to believe in her. It was more than could be expected;
no one but Padre Antonio was capable of that. Just then she heard the
sound of footsteps on the walk outside the wall and a moment later, the
click of the latch on the gate as it swung open. She thought it must be
Padre Antonio come back again, and she turned to meet him. A faint,
suppressed cry escaped her, for there, just inside the gate, stood
Captain Forest.

He had evidently not yet seen her and paused as if uncertain whether to
advance. She stood in the open space beside the bench, just off the
pathway leading from the gate to the house, along which he must advance
should he decide to proceed farther. A pale, plumy spray of tamarisk
intervened between them, otherwise he must have seen her. For some time
he stood silent and motionless as if uncertain what to do, then he began
to advance slowly in her direction.

What did he want? Why had he come at this hour? Her heart beat high and
she began to tremble with excitement as she watched him coming toward
her.

Her wan, pale dress so closely resembled the moonlight in the shadow of
the tamarisk that he might have passed her unnoticed had she not
unconsciously closed her half-open fan which she was nervously clasping
in both hands. It shut with a soft, faint snap, causing him to stop and
turn in her direction.

"Chiquita!" he cried, and springing forward, had her in his arms before
she could prevent it.

"No, no; you must not!" she cried, overcome by his suddenness and vainly
struggling to free herself.

"Chiquita," he went on without heeding her, "I could not wait until
morning, and came to tell you again that I believe in you--that I love
you--that nothing but death can separate us in this life!"

She saw and felt the usel