Stephen leaned his rifle against the chimney, then felt in his pockets for a little sack of coarse “Ricorte” which some one in the town had given to him. He filled his pipe carefully, packing the tobacco down with his forefinger, till all was even; then striking a match, he held it far from him, until the blue flame of the sulphur burned to a clear yellow. He held the match to his pipe until the bowl glowed in an even circle of fire, and the smoke drew through the stem in rich, full clouds. Then, picking up his rifle again, he began a careful lookout over the plain towards the pass. A fact which greatly facilitates the building of air castles, is that, unlike most buildings, they need no foundations. The castles which Stephen built that night, as he paced up and down the roof, biting hard on his pipe-stem, would have done credit to a very good school of architecture. The general design may be imagined from the fact that time and time again he drew from his pocket a little crumpled envelope, and holding it close to the glow of his pipe, read and reread it. Once he carried it to his lips, and with a feeling almost as of sacrilege, kissed it. Then he turned sharply, for on the roof behind him he heard light footsteps and the tinkle of a woman’s laughter. “Oh, but Señor Loring is a faithful lover,” exclaimed Pepita, stepping toward him. Even in the darkness, Stephen felt himself blushing up to his hair. He stammered, then laughed: “I plead guilty, but I am not generally like that.” “It does no harm,” she murmured softly. “And the Señorita, does she also care so much?” “Not in the least,” answered Stephen. “The Señorita does not even know that I care.” “Oh, you think so? Women are not so—how do you say—? so blind,” laughed the Señora. “But you have not asked me why I am here, Señor.” “No,” answered Stephen rather bluntly. In the light of his reveries of the past hour he felt rather ashamed of the little flirtation that he had carried on after dinner with the Señora. “You need not be embarrassed,” she went on, laughing at his stiffness. “It was not to see the gallant Señor that I came, though no doubt there are many who—” Loring silenced her with an imploring gesture. “No, I came to see if all were well. I was afraid that I heard noises,” she confessed. “All right, so far,” said Stephen. “I do not think that we shall have any trouble.” “Then I will again go down,” she said. Stephen walked with her over to the ladder, and bowing low over her hand, whispered a low “_Buenas noches!_” As he helped her to the ladder, he looked into her eyes rather curiously. He could not understand their expression. When she had her foot upon the uppermost rung, she said good night to him. Then, as he turned, she said, half shyly: “The letter, Señor; you will watch the _carta_ of the Señorita well?” Laughing softly, yet not altogether gaily, she ran down the ladder.