ingdom and a great deal of the Mediterranean besides.
No one uses it now except me; but I do as often as I can steal away. I
dress in old clothes and take the little Inca god with me and no one
knows us. We slip off among the bowlders and pine trees where the view
is wonderful, and as his godship presides on a moss-covered rock and I
sit on the carpet of pine needles, he gives me advice. Somewhere in
these woods crowds of children live. They are very shy, and for a long
time looked at me wonderingly from big liquid eyes, but now I have made
friends with them and they come and sit around me in a circle and make
me tell them fairy stories....

"Once, dear, I was strong enough to say 'no' to you. Twice I could not
be."

The reader paused and scowled at the wall with set jaws.

"But when you read this, almost three thousand miles away, there will be
only a few days between me and (it is hard to say it) the marriage and
the coronation. He is to be crowned on the same day that we are married.
Then I suppose I can't even write what is in my heart."

Benton rose and paced the narrow confines of the cabin. Suddenly he
halted. "Even under sealed orders," he mused slowly, "one may dispose of
three thousand miles. They, at least, are behind." A countenance
somewhat drawn schooled its features into normal expressionlessness, as
a few moments afterward he rose to open the door in response to a
rapping outside.

As the door swung in a smile came to Benton's face: the first it had
worn since that night when he had taken leave of Hope.

"You, Blanco!" he exclaimed. "Why, _hombre_, the anchor is scarce down.
You are prompt!"

The physically superb man who stood at the threshold smiled. The gleam
of perfect teeth accentuated the swarthy olive of his face and the crisp
jet of his hair. His brown eyes twinkled good-humoredly. Jaw, neck and
broad shoulders declared strength, while the slenderness of waist and
thigh hinted of grace--a hint that every movement vindicated. It was the
grace of the bull-fighter, to whom awkwardness would mean death.

"I had your letter. It was correctly directed--Manuel Blanco, _Calle
Isaac Peral_." The Spaniard smiled delightedly. "When one is once more
to see an old friend, one does not delay. How am I? Ah, it is good of
the _Senor_ to ask. I do well. I have retired from the _Plaza de Toros_.
I busy myself with guiding parties of _touristos_ here and abroad--and
in the collection and sale of antiques.