comfort and his exquisite courtesy had never been more marked. I often
think of him now--his big but graceful figure reclining upon the
settee, whilst he skilfully rolled his eternal cigarettes and chatted
in that peculiar, light voice. Before the memory of Colonel Don Juan
Sarmiento Menendez I sometimes stand appalled. If his Maker had but
endowed him with other qualities of mind and heart equal to his
magnificent courage, then truly he had been a great man.




CHAPTER XVII

NIGHT OF THE FULL MOON



I stood at Harley's open window--looking down in the Tudor garden. The
moon, like a silver mirror, hung in a cloudless sky. Over an hour had
elapsed since I had heard Pedro making his nightly rounds. Nothing
whatever of an unusual nature had occurred, and although Harley and I
had listened for any sound of nocturnal footsteps, our vigilance had
passed unrewarded. Harley, unrolling the Chinese ladder, had set out
upon a secret tour of the grounds, warning me that it must be a long
business, since the brilliance of the moonlight rendered it necessary
that he should make a wide detour, in order to avoid possible
observation from the windows. I had wished to join him, but:

"I count it most important that one of us should remain in the house,"
he had replied.