what I want,--something that belongs to me. Sometimes it is as if he
promised it, at others as if he were unconscious of its existence;
always it is evanescent. Is he going to make my mind his own?--and yet
he always seems to leave mine free. He has never snubbed me. He makes
me think: there is the danger."

An hour later there was a tap on her door. Casa Grande was asleep. She
sat upright, her heart beating rapidly. Estenega was audacious enough
for anything. But it was her brother who entered.

"Reinaldo!" she exclaimed, horrified to feel an unmistakable stab of
disappointment.

"Yes, it is I. Art thou alone?"

"Sure."

"I have something to say to thee."

He drew a chair close to her and sat down "Thou knowest, my sister,"
he began, haltingly, "how I hate the house of Estenega. My hatred
is as loyal as thine: every drop of blood in my veins is true to the
honor of the house of Iturbi y Moncada. But, my sister, is it not so
that one can sacrifice himself, his mere personal feelings, upon the
altar of his country? Is it not so, my sister?"

"What is it thou wishest me to understand, Reinaldo?"

"Do not look so stern, my Chonita. Thou hast not yet heard me; and,
although thou mayest be angry then, thou wilt reason later. Thou art