"At least my sympathies with you should guide me right." "That is pretty and not unpromising; but what was my trouble as described to you? Did it stir your sympathies?" "I have not yet a clear knowledge of all your trouble. I wish to know." "That you may help me?" "That I may help you, if you will let me." "I believe you would," she exclaimed. "I almost believe it, that is. Why is it that while we Spaniards hate you English, we can’t help believing your word?" "Hate is a strong word," said I, with a glance. "It is a strong feeling, cousin." "Fortunately our relation is not international." She laughed, softly, musically, and ravishingly. "No, not international in that respect." "So that we are able to make a treaty of alliance," I said. "Offensive and defensive?" she cried, quickly, and seemed to wait somewhat anxiously for my answer. "Defensive certainly," I replied. She gave an impatient shrug of her shoulders and half turned away. "And offensive—with limitations," I added. "There are limitation clauses in every treaty of alliance." She turned to me again, and looked at me long and steadfastly; then sighed and rose. "I have never been so tempted in my life, cousin Ferdinand. But I will not. No—no;" another deep sigh. "I dare not. But while I am in the mood—for I am a creature of moods and a slave of them—let me tell you what you ought to know. I have lately been desperate, and in my desperation I planned to draw you into the snare. I needed you. I wished to make use of you. No, no, don’t smile as if the thing were nothing, or as if you were too strong, too cautious, too level-headed, too English, to be caught even in a Spanish snare. Let me finish. We need someone in the British Embassy here; some friend to our cause, who will help us with information, will form a link between us here and our friends in London; and when I heard you were coming, I intended you to fill that role. It was wicked, horribly wicked, and cowardly, too; but for the cause I would do any crime and call it virtue," she exclaimed vehemently. "And now that you have seen me, you don’t think I’m worth the trouble?" I asked, looking at her. "I should prize your help more than ever," she cried, with equal vehemence; adding slowly, "but I will not take it." "You would never have had it in the way you planned, cousin. But for anything short of that it is yours at any moment for the mere asking—aye, without the seeking, if the chance comes. It is, however, Sarita my cousin, not Sarita Castelar the Carlist, that I wish to help."