r at that instant, the sounds of
quick scuffling on the staircase, and the uplifting of an irate voice
had reached her ears and thrown her back in the arms of Polly
Jenkinson. Even the young girl herself turned an anxious gaze towards
the door. Don Jose alone was unmoved.

"Possess yourselves in peace, Senoritas," he said calmly. "We have
here only the characteristic convalescence of my friend and brother,
the excellent Roberto. He will ever recover himself from drink with
violence, even as he precipitates himself into it with fury. He has
been prematurely awakened. I will discover the cause."

With an elaborate bow to the frightened women, he left the room.
Scarcely had the door closed when the poetess turned quickly to Polly.
"The man's a stark staring lunatic, but, thank Heaven, Abner will see
it at once. And now let's get away while we can. To think," she said,
snatching up her scattered manuscripts, "that THAT was all the beast
wanted."

"I'm sure he's very gentle and kind," said Polly, recovering her
dimples with a demure pout; "but stop, he's coming back."

It was indeed Don Jose re-entering the room with the composure of a
relieved and self-satisfied mind. "It is even as I said, Senora," he
began, taking the poetess's hand,--"and MORE. You are SAVED!"

As the women only stared at each other, he gravely folded his arms and
continued: "I will explain. For the instant I have not remember that,
in imitation of your own delicacy, I have given to your husband in my
letter, not the name of myself, but, as a mere Don Fulano, the name of
my brother Roberto--'Bucking Bob.' Your husband have this moment
arrive! Penetrating the bedroom of the excellent Roberto, he has
indiscreetly seize him in his bed, without explanation, without
introduction, without fear! The excellent Roberto, ever ready for such
distractions, have respond! In a word, to use the language of the good
Jenkinson--our host, our father--who was present, he have 'wiped the
floor with your husband,' and have even carried him down the staircase
to the street. Believe me, he will not return. You are free!"

"Fool! Idiot! Crazy beast!" said the poetess, dashing past him and
out of the door. "You shall pay for this!"

Don Jose did not change his imperturbable and melancholy calm. "And
now, little one," he said, dropping on one knee before the
half-frightened Polly, "child of Jenkinson, now that thy perhaps too
excitable sponsor has, in a