ed to throw the
papers wildly.

Torres was shocked. Not at the sight of his friend displaying his
vengeance in that childish fashion; he had long considered Manuel
hopelessly undignified. His shock came from the idea of a Senorita Duero
having been spoken to on such a subject, spoken to directly! Of course
she had rejected Manuel (it would always be of course that she should
reject Manuel), but the idea of her having been forced to do so by word
of mouth--being deprived of the delicate privilege of expressing herself
through her proper guardian! As to the story that she was thinking of
some one else, "day and night," he paid no heed to it; that was plainly
Manuel's fiction. No one could for a moment believe that the senorita
thought of any one long after sunset--say half-past seven or eight;
anything else would be clearly improper.

"If you had given the subject a deeper consideration, Manuel--" he
began.

But Manuel was still engaged with the book; he was now slicing the
cover. "Spenser-r-r-r-r!"

Torres went towards him, and put out his forefinger with an impressive
gesture. "I say if you had given the subject a deeper consideration,
Manuel--"

"Scat!" said Manuel.

"What?" said the Cuban.

"Scat! scat! You're no better than an old tabby."

Torres looked at him solemnly. Then he put up his finger again. "It was
_not_ the proper course, Manuel," he began, a third time. "If you had
given--"

"Oh, _go_ to the devil!" cried Manuel, with a sort of howl, leaping
towards him with the knife.

Torres thought he had better go.

He was not in the least afraid of Manuel; Torres had never been afraid
in his life. But Manuel was a little excited (he had the bad habit of
excitement); it was, perhaps, better to leave him to himself for a
while. So he went back to the main-land; and meditated upon the Doctor's
words. They remained mysterious, and the next day he made another
progress up the Espiritu to Gracias, having decided to intrust his
secret to the good rector of St. Philip and St. James', and profit by
his knowledge of both languages.

The Rev. Mr. Moore was not only good, but he had not been troubled by
nature with too large an endowment of humor--often an inconvenient
possession. He listened to his visitor's story and the quoted sentence
with gravity; then, after a moment's meditation, he put his long hands
together, the tip of each delicately finished finger accurately meeting
its mate, and made a discreet