Beyond the foot of some steps lay a most lovely garden. Great, tapering cypresses grew about it, with many orange-trees and flowering shrubs that filled the soft, southern air with odours. Also there were marble fountains into which water splashed from the mouths of carven lions, and here and there arbours with stone seats, whereon were laid soft cushions of many colours. It was a veritable place of Eastern delight and dreams, such as Peter had never known before he looked upon it on that languorous eve—he who had not seen the sky or flowers for so many weary weeks of sickness. It was secluded also, being surrounded by a high wall, but at one place the tall, windowless tower of some other building of red stone soared up between and beyond two lofty cypress-trees. “This is the harem garden,” Inez whispered, “where many a painted favourite has flitted for a few happy, summer hours, till winter came and the butterfly was broken,” and, as she spoke, she dropped her veil over her face and began to descend the stairs. CHAPTER XV. PETER PLAYS A PART. “Stop,” said Peter from the shadow of the doorway, “I fear this business, Inez, and I do not understand why it is needful. Why cannot you say what you have to say here?” “Are you mad?” she answered almost fiercely through her veil. “Do you think that it can be any pleasure for me to seem to make love to a stone shaped like a man, for whom I care nothing at all—except as a friend?” she added quickly. “I tell you, Señor Peter, that if you do not do as I tell you, you will never hear what I have to say, for I shall be held to have failed in my business, and within a few minutes shall vanish from you for ever—to my death perhaps; but what does that matter to you? Choose now, and quickly, for I cannot stand thus for long.” “I obey you, God forgive me!” said the distraught Peter from the darkness of the doorway; “but must I really——?” “Yes, you must,” she answered with energy, “and some would not think that so great a penance.” Then she lifted the corner of her veil coyly and, peeping out beneath it, called in a soft, clear voice, “Oh! forgive me, dear friend, if I have run too fast for you, forgetting that you are still so very weak. Here, lean upon me; I am frail, but it may serve.” And she passed up the steps again, to reappear in another moment with Peter’s hand resting on her shoulder.