"They are here," said Rafael, returning after a few minutes, "all but the few the girls wear to-night. There! They are at last in your own hands, and now--" She slipped her white arm about his throat and kissed him on the mouth. "And you will live in my way--not hers?" she said, with clinging sweetness. "You are not to be even Catholic with me? You have promised!" "Thou art my only god, O little white one!" he said, and pressed her to his breast. "All the world can go to hell, so I have you! My soul I give into these little hands; my heart is under these little feet, which I kiss thus; and thus, and thus! Though Christ himself stood in the way, I would have you for myself!" She laughed softly in her triumph. "We shall be missed," she said at last. "Go that way to the plaza, and I will go by the old garden. These I will wrap up and carry in my own hands. Go,--oh, there will be other nights for kisses,--go now, quickly!" She pushed him from her, and he obeyed, walking across the tiled floor in the moonlight, and out into the plaza, as Bryton had walked so short a time before. The woman with the casket stood an instant looking after him, and then raised the lid and lifted a handful of the gems, holding them up that the soft light of the moon might add to the glow of rubies and the white fire of diamonds. "All these, and his very soul besides!" she murmured, holding a necklace aloft to the moon's rays,--"his soul besides!" And then a low strangled cry escaped her as the woman of the rosary and dagger came silently to her from the shadows and halted a moment beside her. * * * * * A little later the Padre Libertad was stopped in the corridor by Raquel. He had been watching the dancers, and was about to start south. Like Bryton, he meant to ride at night, instead of in the hot sun. "Wait," she said, imperatively; "the chapel is open; I would confess before you go." "But to-morrow--your own padre--" "To-night," she said; "and I want no other padre." "If you have remembered a sin--" he began, hesitatingly; but she interrupted. "I think it is neither sin nor remorse," she said, quietly; "but it is you that must listen to me." He closed the door behind them. Old Polonia crouched unnoticed beside it, and in perhaps ten minutes he came out again, and started to walk the road to the sea. Rafael saw him, and laughed at the queer crack-brained padre who preferred walking to riding a good horse. Others laughed also, and the dance went on, until the partners of Dona Angela grew impatient, and a gay party with guitars started to encircle the plaza for her, singing love-songs of appeal as they went. [Illustration: "THINGS KNOWN AND NEVER TOLD."]