"Not at all," she answered.

"Well then, old man, be a sport. Give me the makings. I can get my hands
to my mouth."

The old man transferred his baleful eyes on me. Then without saying a
word he placed in my hands a box of tailor-made cigarettes and a dozen
matches.

"Until morning," he observed, his hand on the door knob. He inclined in
a most courteous fashion, first to the one of us, then to the other,
and went out. He did not lock the door after him, and I could hear him
addressing Cortinez outside. The girl started to speak, but I waved my
shackled hand at her for silence. By straining my ears I could just make
out what was said.

"I am going to bed," Hooper said. "It is not necessary to stand guard.
You may get your blankets and sleep on the verandah."

After the old man's footsteps had died, I turned back to the girl
opposite me and looked her over carefully. My first impression of
meekness I revised. She did not look to be one bit meek. Her lips were
compressed, her nostrils wide, her level eyes unsubdued. A person of
sense, I said to myself, well balanced, who has learned when it is
useless to kick against the pricks, but who has not necessarily on that
account forever renounced all kicking. It occurred to me that she must
have had to be pretty thoroughly convinced before she had come to this
frame of mind. When she saw that I had heard all I wanted of the
movements outside, she spoke hurriedly in her low, sweet voice: