the hand of the person to whom it is addressed. Ah, I would give
five years of life to touch that hand with my lips.'

He sighed, gave a little laugh which was full of meaning, and yet
quite free from self-consciousness, and lighted a fresh cigarette.
Then, after a little pause, he produced the letter from an inner
pocket and laid it on the table in front of Conyngham. It was
addressed, 'To the Senorita J. B.,' and had a subtle scent of
mignonette. The envelope was of a delicate pink.

'A love letter,' said Conyngham bluntly.

The Spaniard looked at him and shrugged his shoulders.

'Ah! you do not understand,' he said, 'in that cold country of the
North. If you stay in Spain, perhaps some dark-eyed one will teach
you. But,' and his manner changed with theatrical rapidity, as he
laid his slim hand on the letter, 'if, when you see her you love
her, I will kill you.'

Conyngham laughed and held out his hand for the letter.

'It is insufficiently addressed,' he said practically. 'How shall I
find the lady?'

'Her name is Barenna, the Senorita Barenna; that is sufficient in
Ronda.'

Conyngham took up the letter and examined it. 'It is of
importance?' he said.