"It is for thee, Pedro," she said with resolution, but Pedro noted with relief that she spoke slowly. He had expected a storm of tender protestations without prelude, as vehement as her upbraidings of the men. "It is for thee," she said again, and Pedro quailed. "Nay, Señora Bolio," he pleaded. "Be discreet, I pray thee! Talk of it first to—to Father Gregorio, now. Thou’rt young, and—" The señora blushed, and Pedro cursed the slip. Said she: "I will talk to Father Gregorio later, Pedro; but first to thee." Pedro groaned, and swore under his breath. "Hold, señora!" he cried. "Thou ’rt making a mistake. Say it not to me—to some other man. To Peralta—to De Soto! They are good men both; but I—" "And so art thou!" she said hastily, "though once I did think thee a knave, like the rest." "Ah! So I am! So I am!" cried Pedro with impetuosity. "That and worse, my word for it! I am a very Turk—a basilisk! Señora, thou knowest not the depth of mine iniquities—and moreover, I have but one leg. Consider that! Peralta hath two good ones. I am incomplete—a cripple—a—" "Oh, Pedro, thou ’rt the only man I ever knew!" interrupted the lady, with fervor; then, rapidly: "Thou ’rt a good man, Pedro, and hast a kindly heart. Not once beneath this roof hast thou used an unbecoming word to me. Whilst these scapins of soldiers have tried my patience with their insolence, thou hast spoken only with gentleness—and ’tis rare enough to me—rare enough, God knoweth!" She brushed away a coming tear. "But I have come to tell thee, Pedro—" "Do not say it! Do not say it!" shouted Pedro in desperation. "I tell thee, señora—" "But I will say it," she said with a sudden return of firmness. "And why not? I’ve come to tell thee—I am going to Peru. Why should I not say it?" Pedro staggered. "Is that all?" he exploded. "Is that all? Naught else?" "Numskull!" retorted the lady. "Is it not enough? What more wouldst have me say?" "Nothing more, by the Sacrament! ’Tis enough! Why didst not say it in the beginning?" and Pedro’s good knee grew suddenly weak, as if he had been snatched from death. The señora regarded him kindly for a moment, and went on: "I am going to Peru—not now, for De Soto hath denied me passage—but later. I’ll find thee, good Pedro. We shall meet again." Pedro’s jaw set, but he said nothing. She took a step forward and said gently, "Pedro—" Pedrillo entered, almost embraced by his master, who at once became feverishly occupied in a variety of duties. The señora tarried a moment and withdrew, with a smile to Pedro, who sank into a chair and used his apron on his forehead with industry, pausing at intervals with his hands on his knee to glower at the floor. The señora was going to Peru!