“You have called me gambler, swindler, wronger of women. I swear I am not the last, _señorita_, nor have I ever swindled a man. Yet I am the notorious Captain Fly-by-Night, you say. I made a foolish boast that was an insult to you and was ostracized by all at San Diego de Alcalá--that is what I was told when I first came. I suffered--and you were kind. I saw you--and I knew what love was. Can you conceive that love would purify a man, _señorita_, make him over, make him regret every mean and petty thing he had done in his life?” “I--do not know.” “We are in darkness here and you cannot see my face, but, if you could, I’d not be afraid you could read deceit there now. I’d gladly die a thousand deaths to save you a moment’s pain. I’d die ten thousand if I could feel your lips on mine an instant, know that your heart was mine! I often have laughed at love, but now I know its depth and sacredness. _Dios!_ If there was but the slightest hope----” Her hand tightened on his arm; her voice was the ghost of a whisper when she answered: “How do you know there is not?” “You play with me!” he said. “And why should I, caballero? Since you met me you have given me no affront. Twice you have saved me----” “It is gratitude makes you speak!” “It is not gratitude, caballero. And, whatever it is, I have fought against it in vain.” “It is pity!” “It is--is love,” she said. “For me?” “For you, caballero. I hated your name before you came to San Diego de Alcalá. I hated you when you arrived. I tried to keep on hating you, and could not. Ah, have pity and be kind to me! Father, mother, friends--all are gone. There remains but you. Have pity--and be kind.” “You need not offer me love to gain my protection, _señorita_. You have that always.” “Can you not understand? I loved you even before you rescued me this day. When we were coming from the rancho I would have been glad had you covered my face with kisses. That is immodest, perhaps, but I care not. It seems that love only counts now.” “But if I am Captain Fly-by-Night, a rogue and outcast----” “I love you!” “Spurned by loyal men and traitors alike----?” “I love you!” “The man who boasted he would win you, _señorita_----?” “You have made good your boast--you have won--still I love you!” she cried. “_Dios!_ The saints are good at last! Ah, loved one, could I but see your face now!” “There would be no deceit in it, caballero. I love you! Have pity, and be kind!” “Kind! May the saints teach me new ways of kindness! We must live--we must live now!” He clasped her close, rained kisses on her face, felt her own lips respond to his, knew that tears were streaming down her cheeks. In the darkness that put night to shame they plighted troth, while the shrieks of hostiles came to their ears, and the cracking of flames, and the knowledge of violence and pain and death was in their minds. Yet in their hearts was a song such as love always causes, and a new courage to face whatever was to come....