Castro muttered, "_Vamos_," and began clumsily to climb the ladder, like
a bale of rags being hauled from above. Carlos placed his foot on the
steps, preparing to follow him. He turned his head round towards me, his
hand extended, a smile upon his lips.

"Juan," he said, "let us not quarrel. You are very young; you cannot
understand these things; you cannot weigh them; you have a foolish idea
in your head. I wished you to come with us because I love you, Juan. Do
you think I wish you evil? You are true and brave, and our families are
united." He sighed suddenly.

"I do not want to quarrel!" I said. "I don't."

I did not want to quarrel; I wanted more to cry. I was very lonely, and
he was going away. Romance was going out of my life.

He added musically, "You even do not understand. There is someone else
who speaks for you to me, always--someone else. But one day you will. I
shall come back for you--one day." He looked at me and smiled. It
stirred unknown depths of emotion in me. I would have gone with him,
then, had he asked me. "One day," he repeated, with an extraordinary
cadence of tone.

His hand was grasping mine; it thrilled me like a woman's; he stood
shaking it very gently.

"One day," he said, "I shall repay what I owe you. I wished you with me,
because I go into some danger. I wanted you. Good-by. _Hasta mas ver_."

He leaned over and kissed me lightly on the cheek, then climbed away. I