Esteban's cry was eloquent; he clasped his arms about her and she held him fiercely to her breast. "Well, then, why don't you tell me so? I--I can't keep on proposing. It isn't ladylike." "We're quite mad, quite insane," he told her after a while. "This only makes it harder to give you up." "You're not going to give me up and you're not going to die. I sha'n't let you. Think what you have to live for." "I--did wrong to surrender." "It was I who surrendered. Come! Must I say it all? Aren't you going to ask me--" "What?" "Why, to marry you, of course." Esteban gasped; he looked deeply into Norine's eyes, then he closed his own. He shook his head. "Not that," he whispered. "Oh, not that!" "We're going to be married, and I'm going to take you out of this miserable place." "What happiness!" he murmured. "If I were well--But I won't let you marry a dying man." Norine rose, her face aglow with new strength, new determination. She dried her eyes and readjusted her hair with deft, unconscious touch, smiling down, meanwhile, at the man. "I brought you back when you were all but gone. I saved you after the others had given you up, and now you are mine to do with as I please. You belong to me and I sha'n't consult you--" She turned, for a figure had darkened the door; it was one of her English-speaking convalescents who was acting as a sort of orderly. "Senorita," the man said, with a flash of white teeth, "we have another sick man, and you'd never guess who. It is that American, El Demonio--" "Mr. Branch?" "Si! The very same. He has just come from the front." "Is he sick or wounded?" Esteban inquired. "Shot, by a Spanish bullet. He asked at once for our senorita." "Of course. I'll come in an instant." When the messenger had gone Norine bent and pressed her lips to Esteban's. "Remember, you're mine to do with as I please," she said; then she fled down the grassy street. Branch was waiting at Norine's quarters, a soiled figure of dejection. His left arm lay in a sling across his breast. He looked up at her approach, but she scarcely recognized him, so greatly changed was he. Leslie had filled out. There was a healthy color beneath his deep tan, his flesh was firm, his eyes clear and bright. "Hello, Norine!" he cried. "Well, they got me." Norine paused in astonishment. "'Way, LESLIE! I was so frightened! But--you can't be badly hurt." "Bad enough so that Lopez sent me in. A fellow gets flyblown if he stays in the field, so I beat it." "Has your arm been dressed?" "No. I wouldn't let these rough-and-tumble doctors touch it. They'd amputate at the shoulder for a hang-nail. I don't trust 'em." "Then I'll look at it." But Leslie shrugged. "Oh, it's feeling fine, right now! I'd rather leave it alone. I just wanted to see you--" "You mustn't neglect it; there's danger of--" "Gee! You're looking great," he interrupted. "It's better than a banquet just to look at you."