“The heifer was born and bred in our little colony over there,” he went on, “and until an hour ago her world was bounded by its fences. But she jumped our tallest barrier, and I was after her with the lariat when the bridge broke.” “I admit our debt to the heifer,” she said, laughing. “To her we owe the rope--but not the throwing. I was unaware that anyone short of the American cowboy could wield a lasso so well.” “It was in America that I got an inkling of the art,” he explained. “Once the life of a California ranchero seemed to me the one all desirable--a dream which I pursued even to the buying of a ranch.” “And the awakening?” she asked, a little preoccupied. His reference to the Social Dairy had solved for her the riddle of his identity. She knew him now for the leader of a certain radical group in the Chamber of Deputies. “The awakening came soon enough,” he said. “At the end of two years the gentleman of whom I bought the dream consented to take it back at a handsome profit to himself.” “Then you paid dearly, I am afraid, for your lessons in lariat throwing.” “I thought so until to-day,” he replied, turning to meet her eyes. They rode on at a smarter gait. She had looked into his clear face, and it seemed boyish for one of whom the world heard so much--for the leader of Italy’s most serious political cause. He was, like her, a noble type of the North’s blue-eyed race; only the blood of some dark-hued genitor told in his hair and color, while her massing tresses had the caprice of gold. They came to a hill and the horses walked again. “My deliverer, it appears, is Mario Forza, the dangerous man,” she said, with a playful accent of dismay. “Yes; the title is one with which my friends the enemy have honoured me.” She leaned forward and patted her horse, saying the while: “I have it in mind from some writer that to dangerous men the world owes its progress.” “Do you believe that?” he asked, seriously. “Yes; in the way that I understand it. Perhaps I do not get the true meaning of my author.” “One can never be certain of knowing the thought of another,” he said. “True. For example, I am far from certain that I know the thought of your New Democracy--what you are striving to do for Italy. And yet,” she added, reflectively, “I think I know.” “Do you understand that we aim to fill our country with true friends--to teach Italy that it is possible for all her children to live and prosper in their own land?” “Yes,” she answered, positively, gladly. “Then you know the thought of the New Democracy.” Evincing an interest that he felt was not feigned, she asked him how the cause fared, and he told her that among the people it gained, but in Parliament set-backs, discouragements, were almost the rule. “But you will fight on!” she exclaimed, out of the conviction he gave her of valour. “Ah, yes; we shall fight on.”