Appleby showed a trace of disconcertion. “I do not know why he told you, but as I shall, I think, spend most of my life in America it could do me little good to vindicate myself,” he said. “Only a few people know the truth, and they will keep my confidence, while the rest would not believe it. Tony made reparation for the wrong he did me, and if he had not risked the cazador’s bayonet I do not think I should be here now.” “Still, did it never occur to you that you might marry?” Appleby stopped without intending it, and both stood still. The saffron and green of the sunset was shining low down between the bare branches of a copse close by, and there was still a little light in the sky, and the man, lifting his eyes, looked at his companion. It was evident that she had spoken without reflection and was sorry for it, for he could see a tinge of color in her face, but it was the vague apprehension in her eyes that seized his attention. For a moment he stood silent, and felt his heart beating. Then an impulse which rose from the depth of his nature swept restraint away. “Yes,” he said almost grimly. “Still, that may never happen. I have too great aspirations, you see—and if it ever came about the woman would understand my motives.” “Then you have seen her—she is not a fancy?” Violet had not meant to say this, but the words seemed forced on her, and it was almost with a sense of confusion she realized that they had escaped her. Still, she stood looking at the man quietly, and saw the little quiver that ran through him. Then it was with a strenuous effort she preserved her tranquillity, for she knew. “Yes,” he said in a strained voice, “I have seen her. Her face was with me on many a weary march in Cuba—though I tried to drive it away.” The color was a trifle more evident in the girl’s cheeks. “You found it difficult? But would not the stain of an offence you did not commit prove an insuperable barrier?” “No,” said Appleby with a quietness that cost him an effort, “I do not think it would. The story would not be known in America.” There was silence for a space, and while both stood very still the truth was plain between them. Then it was the girl who spoke. “You have great faith,” she said. Appleby made a little forceful gesture. “It is warranted,” he said. “I am going away to‐morrow. You know why it is necessary—but if I come back again will you listen to what I shall have to tell you?” Violet Wayne regarded him with eyes that shone softly. “Yes,” she said very quietly. Then with a grasp of her hand Appleby turned away, and Violet went on slowly down the dusky lane. THE END [Transcriber’s Note: Inconsistencies in application of accents and hyphenation have been preserved as in the original.] End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dust of Conflict, by Harold Bindloss