th their refinement, their
civilisation, and the lake dried gradually through the years, and
causeways were built across the swamp, and one by one dwellings
appeared on the hardest, driest places, and step by step there grew to
be a city. Then came the Spaniards in later days, with the flaming
pomp of religion and the loathsome spirit of cruelty. They killed the
people by thousands with torture, and set up their churches to peace
and good-will. They overthrew the temples with murder and slaughter,
and reared altars to the Most High on the blood-soaked earth.

And this city, as we see it to-day, with its countless beautiful
churches, its exquisite tiled domes flashing in the sun, is the work
of the Spaniards. And each church stands there to commemorate their
awful crimes.

I sat on, as the hours passed, and watched the moon rise till it
poured its flood of silver light all over the city, sat thinking on
the horror of man and wondering what strange law has fashioned him to
be the devil he is.

Towards sunrise, the wind blew cold off the marshes round the city,
and I went in and down to the lower floor of the hotel.

Its world was fast asleep. In the hall I saw two Mexican porters in
their thin white clothes, curled up on the door mat, without covering
or pillow, fast asleep.

I made my way to the little-used reception-room, found my way across
it to a wide old couch, threw myself upon it, and closed my eyes. The
couch smelt musty and the room seemed cold, but I was accustomed to
sleep anyhow and anywhere, and in a few moments, with my thoughts on
Viola, I drifted into oblivion.

At breakfast time the next day I went to the administrador and told
him to send up ours by another waiter, and never to allow the former
one to come into our room again. Then I went upstairs to Suzee. As I
unlocked the door and entered I saw she was up and dressed. She came
to me, looking white and frightened.

"Oh, Treevor, do forgive me, I never will again. Only say you forgive
me. I was so frightened all last night, I thought you had locked me up
here to starve."

Again the absence of deep feeling, of any ethical consideration
prompting her contrition, jarred upon me. She would be good because
she did not want to starve or be otherwise punished. That was her view
of it, and that alone.

I bent over her, took her hand, and kissed her.

"We needn't think of it any more," I said gently. "Only you must
remember if such a thing occurs