The day passed slowly, quietly. Night fell, and Cristoval prayed for fortitude to endure the wait for the morrow and Rava’s visit; his patience inversely proportioned to his gaining strength. He slept to awake toward midnight stronger and more refreshed. The attendant dozed with his back against the tent-pole. Cristoval was staring at the feeble light, musing on the fatuity of a number of demented moths there courting a painful death, while he wondered whether their singed wings would smart as he had smarted after his own encounter with fire; and whether, furthermore, they too fancied themselves impelled by love. He forgot the moths in counting the hours before seeing her again. His eyes were closed. They opened at a faint rustle, and he beheld an apparition. Within the tent door stood Rava, her eyes dark with excitement, but smiling as she touched her lips for silence. The attendant glided from his seat to his knees in an ecstasy of amazement. She whispered, and he vanished as if he himself had been an apparition. Cristoval saw a flush of color mount to her cheeks. The next instant she had extinguished the light, and was kneeling beside his couch in the darkness. No phantom, this, but living, palpitating flesh and blood, warm arms that crept about his neck, and a heaving bosom to which his head was pressed. Rava drew away and whispered breathlessly, passing her hand over his face: "Oh, Cristoval, what canst think of me? But I could endure no longer, and now I will tell thee why I have come—" The pressure of Cristoval’s arm told his thought. "What can I think, my own! Only of thy love and mine, and my gratitude. God make me always worthy of the joy thou givest, dear heart!" "Worthy of it, Cristoval! Of what hast thou not shown thyself worthy, over and again?—and thy gratitude, my love! Ah, then what must mine be to thee? But I must tell thee why I have come to-night: It is to say farewell—Nay! but hear me—not a long farewell—to-morrow I go to Yucay." The darkness deepened for Cristoval. "To-morrow!" he groaned. "No, no! It cannot be, Rava. How can I live? The hope of seeing thee hath kept me alive. Thou’lt not leave me!" She touched his lips again. "Be patient, Cristoval. Yucay is not distant, and it is the Inca’s wish that I go. Bethink thee! This is a camp." "Ah, true!" he said, sorrowfully. "No place for thee, and there might be danger. Thou must go, though it is despair for me, Rava. But say we shall meet soon again." "Could I leave thee else, Cristoval?" They were silent until Cristoval asked: "Is there other reason for thy going, Rava? The Inca knoweth my love for thee. Is not that in part the cause?" "I know not. He knoweth mine for thee." "Hath he said?"