Thus they stood, these two who had parted some years before--stood and stared and said not a single word for more than a full minute. What they lived over in those sixty seconds of time God only knows. Perhaps there came up before them a vision of Paradise Lost--of sweet scented flowers, flashing fountains, caroling birds--of a West Indian garden where the God of Love reigned, where the soft tinkle of magic mandolin accompanied songs of hottest devotion, where eyes looked into eyes and drank to the fill of heaven's nectar, where vows of constancy were fervently breathed and returned. Alas! how many times these same maddening memories arise to haunt broken hearts, for human nature is weak, and prone to wander afar after strange idols. Roderic recovered his voice, and while he still kept his eyes on her glowing face he said, quietly: "You expected me--you knew I would come?" "I believed you would when I saw you look this way," she admitted; and then added: "but I do not know why you are here, Senor Roderic." "Perhaps to thank you." "For what?" confused. "Your garb deceived me last night, but I knew the voice which you could not wholly disguise. I wish to tell you how--" "Stop. I do not desire to hear your gratitude. It was a duty with me. By chance I learned of the miserable plot. I could not bear to even see an enemy so badly used, much less one whom I once delighted to call--my friend." "Once--are we then no longer such?" "Senor, your welfare will always be regarded with interest by me," coldly. "You have condemned me unheard," with a gesture of despair. "Not I, senor, but yourself. The choice lay before you, and you decided to flee from San Juan--from Elysium. You were unjust--for once in your life. You alone, senor, condemned, not I." "But--was there no reason--I beg of you, I implore, an answer?" "Senor, this is a house where danger lurks for you--a house where plots are nightly considered against your people. It would be better for you to go away lest some of these hot headed Spanish sympathizers set eyes on you." "Let them go to the devil--what care I for all the Spaniards in Christendom. I shall stay here just as long as I like--as long as you allow me." "Ah! senor, but you did not always exhibit that same spirit--there was _one_ Spaniard you feared worse than Satan does holy water." The spirit of coquetry ever lives in woman, and this girl could not resist giving poor Owen a little thrust even while her heart was wonderfully stirred by his presence. "Yes, Julio, the handsome bolero dancer, who had once been a famous toreador in Spain. As I hope for salvation I believe you favored his advances--you laughed at me when a denial was what I asked. Words followed, for my part in which may Heaven forgive me, and we parted in hot anger, we two who had been all in all to each other. Georgia, will you answer that question _now_?" he asked, holding her eyes enthralled by his eager gaze.