lips, but she slipped adroitly to one side--"No, no! Mañuel. I'll not
permit that till I am Señora Nevarro."

"And when will that be, Señorita?"

"Not till the war is over."

"But it has not begun yet; and it will be many moons before we whip
these cursed Americanos."

"How many, think you, Mañuel?"

"I can't tell, Inez; therefore we will not wait till the war is over.
The Padre is ready any time, and why not marry at once?"

"Sacra Dios! I'll do no such thing."

"And why not, Inez?"

"Because they might kill you, Mañuel, and then what would become of
me?"

"You would be as well off then as now; there would be no difference,
only you would be married. You will mourn, any how, if I am killed."

"How do you know I would?" Her Spanish eyes twinkled as she spoke; but
for fear of going too far, she laid her hand on his shoulder. Mañuel
turned sharply round.

"You deserve to be shot, Mañuel, for joining in a miff. Why didn't you