room, set a watch on all my movements; another came in by the window
to murder me in my bed; no party to that, the first one nevertheless
turned the outrage to account, wormed himself into my friendship
on the strength of it, and lured me hither, an easy prey. And here
was the gang of them, to meet me! No wonder Rattray had not let me
see him off at the station; no wonder I had not been followed that
night. Every link I saw in its right light instantly. Only the
motive remained obscure. Suspicious circumstances swarmed upon my
slow perception: how innocent I had been! Less innocent, however,
than wilfully and wholly reckless: what had it mattered with whom
I made friends? What had anything mattered to me? What did
anything matter -

I thought my heart had snapped!

Why were they watching that door, Joaquin Santos and the young
squire? Whom did they await? I knew! Oh, I knew! My heart leaped,
my blood danced, my eyes lay in wait with theirs. Everything began
to matter once more. It was as though the machinery of my soul,
long stopped, had suddenly been set in motion; it was as though
I was born again.

How long we seemed to wait I need not say. It cannot have been
many moments in reality, for Santos was blowing his rings of smoke
in the direction of the door, and the first that I noticed were but
dissolving when it opened - and the best was true! One instant I
saw her very clearly, in the light of a candle which she carried
in its silver stick; then a mist blinded me, and I fell on my knees
in the rank bed into which I had stepped, to give such thanks to
the Almighty as this heart has never felt before or since. And I