"I have to-day found out that herein our own house there has been a spy; spies here are as plentiful as fools," she cried, contemptuously. "This was a woman whom I trusted somewhat, and she carried news of my concerns to Juan Livenza. She may have told him of my meetings with Ramon; it is likely, for she did not know Ramon was my brother. She has very possibly jumbled up some connection between him and Ferdinand Carbonnell; for Ramon has written to me often in that name, and I to him, sometimes. Then she probably saw here a reference to your arrival here last night, or she may have heard Aunt Mercedes and myself discussing it; and she has carried the news to her employer. It is easy for men in some moods to see facts in either fears or hopes." "And his mood was?" At my question and glance her colour began to mount again. "He loves me." She met my look half-defiantly, her eyes fixed on mine as if daring me to utter a word of protest. But the next instant the light died out, her glance fell to the ground, and she added: "I could win him to the cause in no other way." I had to put a curb of steel strength on myself to prevent my feelings speaking from my eyes, or in my gestures; and in a tone as cold and formal as I could make it, I replied— "You are not afraid to use sharp weapons. And yourself? Do you care? I had better know everything." She raised her head, flashed her eyes upon me, drew herself up, and said with great earnestness— "I have no heart for anything but the cause." A very stalwart champion she looked for any cause, and very lovely. "I begin already to take your aunt’s side in the matter, and to think you will get into too deep waters, cousin Sarita." She laughed, easily. "The deeper the water the greater the buoyancy for those who know how to swim. I am not yet enough of a man to count dangers in advance." "It is not difficult to despise dangers one doesn’t see or credit." "Nor to take a map and write ’pitfall,’ ’abyss,’ ’precipice,’ ’dangerous,’ in blood colour at every inch of a road you mean to travel. Nor with us Spaniards does that kind of timorous dread pass for high and prudent valour." She uttered the retort quickly, almost angrily. "I am not a map-maker nor colourer by profession," I answered, slowly, with a smile. "But if I were, I confess I should like to have something more about a particular route than the bald statement that, ’This road leads to—blank’ or ’That to blazes.’ A knowledge of the country is never amiss, and a tip at the crossroads—and there are plenty of them—can come in mighty handy." I spoke coolly and almost lazily, in deliberate contrast to her fire and vehemence, and when I finished she looked at me as if in surprise. "And you are the same man as last night?" she cried, wrinkling her forehead.