She wanted to get one thing out of this man--the means of liberty--and she cared nothing how she won it. Besides, he was so simple, so malleable, so credulous, it diverted her to play on him as one could play on a chitarra, making the strings leap and sigh and thrill and groan. And he was good to look at, too, with his tanned, fresh face, and his clustering curls, and his strong, straight, cleanly limbs. 'I only said you might have won me,' she repeated--'nay, you may still, if you have the heart of a man and not of a mouse. Hearken!' 'Do not fool me,' said Caris sternly, 'or as the Lord lives above us----' She laughed airily. 'Oh, big oaths cannot frighten me. It shall lie with you. I want those things of your mother's. When you bring them I will thank you--as you choose.' He grew gray under his brown, bright skin. 'Always that,' he muttered--always that!' 'Naturally, it is what I want.' 'Go, get them, since you think it holy work.' 'I will,' said Santina, 'and then good-night to you, my good Caris; you will never see me more.' She turned on her heel and began to run down the slope in the moonlight. Santina would not have ventured inside the graveyard at night to get mountains of gold. She would not have passed after nightfall within a mile of its gate without crossing herself and murmuring Aves all the way. Superstition was born and bred in every inch of her bone and every drop of her blood, and she would no more have carried out her threat than she would have carried the mountain upon her shoulders. But he did not know that. She was so bold, so careless, so self-confident, if she had told him she would split open the earth to its centre he would have believed her. He overtook her as she fled down the slope and seized her in his arms. 'No, no!' he cried, close in her ear. 'It is not work for you. If it must be done I will do it. Will you swear that you will give yourself to me if I bring you the unholy things?' 'I love you!' she said breathlessly, while her lips brushed his throat--'yes, I do love you! Go, get the things, and bring them hither at dawn. I will meet you. Oh, I will find the way to use them, never fear. That is my business. Get you gone. They are calling below. They shut the house at the twenty-four.' No one was calling, but she wished to get rid of him. He was strong, and he was on fire with her touch and her glance; he strained her in his arms until her face was bruised against the hairy sinews and bones of his chest. She thrust him away with a supreme effort, and ran down the stony side of the hill, and was swallowed up in the duskiness of the tangled scrub. A little scops owl flitted past, uttering its soft, low note, which echoes so far and long in the silence of evening in the hills. Caris shook himself like a man who has been half stunned by a heavy fall. He was on fire with the alcohol of passion, and chilled to the marrow by the promise he had made.