There came an evening when there were mutterings up among the hills. The lightning pranked gayly about the low-hanging clouds. Occasionally a report among the far-distant peaks broke the phenomenal stillness.

Felisa lounged within the hammock which swung across the veranda corner. It was very dark, the only lights being those gratuitous ones displayed by the cucullas as they flew or walked about by twos or threes. At each succeeding flash of lightning Felisa showed increased nervousness. Her hand sought Beltran's, and he took it in his and held it close.

"See, Felisa! I will get the guitar, and we will sing. We have not sung of late."

Felisa clasped her hands across her eyes and burst into tears. Beltran was kneeling at her feet in an instant.

"What is it, my Heart? What is it? Do not sob so."

"I am afraid, afraid!" sobbed Felisa. "All is so mysterious. There are queer noises in the[Pg 290] ground! Hear those hissing, rushing sounds! Cousin! cousin! What is it?"

"You are nervous, little one. We often have such storms in the mountains. It may not come this way at all. See, here is the guitar."

He patted the small fingers lying within his own, then stretched out his hand for the guitar, hanging near. He swept his fingers across the strings.

"What shall we sing?" he asked, with a smile in his voice. Volatile as a child, believing that which she wished to believe, Felisa sat upright at the first strain of music. She laughed, though the drops still stood upon her cheeks, and hummed the first line of "La Verbena de la Paloma."

"I will be Susana," she said, "and you shall be Julian. Come now, begin! 'Y á los toros de carabanchel,'" she hummed.

The faint light from the lantern hanging in the comidor showed to Felisa the look in Beltran's eyes as he bent toward her.

"I do not like you, my little Susana," he said, bending close to her shoulder, "because you flout me, and flirt with me, and break my poor heart all to little bits. Still, we will sing together once more."

"Once more? Why do you say once more, cousin?" asked Felisa, apprehensively. A shadow had settled again over her face.

[Pg 291]

"Did I? I do not know. Come now, begin." His voice was lowered almost to a whisper, as he sang the first lines of the seductive, monotonous little Spanish air. The accompaniment thrilled softly from the well-tuned strings.
"Donde vas con mantón manila,
Donde vas con vestido chiné,"

he sang.

Her high soprano answered him:
"A lucirme y á ver la verbena,
Y á meterme en la cama después."

Beltran resumed:
"Porqué no has venido conmigo
Cuando tanto te lo supliqué."

"'Lo sup—li—que,'" he repeated, with slow emphasis.

Felisa laughed, shook her head coquettishly, and answered as the song goes.

Then,
"'Quien es ese chico tan guapo,'"

sang Julian. "Who is he, little Felisa? Is there any whom I need fear?" He dropped his hand from the strings, and seized the small one so near his own.

"I know a great many young men, cousin, but I will not own that there is a guapo among them. And this I tell you now, that I shall go to la [Pg 292]Verbena with whom I will, if ever I return to Sunny Spain."
"Y a los toros de carabanchel,"

she sang again defiantly, her thin head-notes rising high and clear. Was there no memory in Beltran's mind for the contralto voice which had sung the song so often on that very spot—a voice so incomparably sweeter that he who had heard the one must wonder how Beltran could tolerate the other.

Agueda was seated half-way down the veranda alone. She could not sit with them, nor did she wish to, nor was she accustomed to companionship with the serving class. She endeavoured to deafen her ears to the sound of their voices. She would have gone to her own room and closed the door, but it was nearer their seclusion than where she sat at present, and then—the air of the room was stifling on this sultry night. She glanced down toward the river, where the dark water rolled on through savannas to the great bay—a sea in itself. She could distinguish nothing; all was black in that blackest of nights. She dared not go forth, for she felt that the storm must soon burst. She sat, her head drooped dejectedly, her hands lying idly in her lap. Uncle Adan joined her, the lantern in his hand showing her dimly his short, dark form. The manager looked sourly at his niece, and cast an[Pg 293] angry glance in the direction of the two at the corner of the casa. He had suddenly awakened to the fact that Agueda's kingdom was slipping from her grasp, and if from hers, then from his also. Should this northern Se?orita come to be mistress here at San Isidro, what hold had he, or even Agueda herself, over its master? He spoke almost roughly to Agueda.

"Go you and join them," he said. "Go where by right you belong."

Agueda did not look at him. She shook her head, and drooped it on her breast. A sudden flash of lightning made the place as bright as day. Uncle Adan caught a glimpse of that at the further corner which made him rage inwardly.

"Did you see that?" he whispered.

"No," said Agueda. "I see nothing."

"I have no patience with you," said Uncle Adan. He could have shaken her, he was so angry. "Had you remained with them, as is your right, some things would not have happened."

He left her and went hurriedly toward the stables. Presently he returned. Agueda was aware of his presence only when he touched her.

"The storm will be here before long," he said. "Can you get him away without her? Anything to be rid of those northern interlopers."

"What do you mean?"

[Pg 294]

"Call him away, draw him off. Tell him to come to the rancho—that I wish to see him about preparations as to their safety. Get him away on any pretext. Leave the others here with no one to—"

"It is not necessarily a flood," said the girl, with a strange, new, wicked hope springing up within her heart.

"It will be a flood," said Uncle Adan. "It is breaking even now at Point Galizza."

For answer Agueda arose.

"Good girl! You are going, then, to tell him—"

"Yes, to tell him—"

"Call him away! I will saddle the horses. I will have the grey at the back steps in five minutes. Tell him that Don Silencio has need of him."

"If the Don Silencio's own letter would not—"

"The grey can carry double. You can ride with him. I will go ahead. The flood is coming. It is near. I know the signs."

Agueda drew away from the hand which Uncle Adan laid upon her wrist.

"Let me go, uncle," she said.

Uncle Adan released her.

"The flood will last but a day or two," he whispered in her ear, "but it will be a deep one. All the signs point to that. We have never had such a one; but after—Agueda, after—there will be no one to interfere with you—with me, if—"

[Pg 295]

Agueda allowed him to push her on toward the end of the veranda, where the two were still singing in a desultory way.

"I shall warn them," she said.

"Him!" said Uncle Adan, in a tone of dictation.

"I shall warn them," again said Agueda, as if she had not spoken before.

"Fool!" shouted Uncle Adan, as he dashed down the veranda steps and ran toward the stables. "And the forest answered 'fool!'"

Agueda heard hurrying footsteps from the inner side of the veranda. Men were running toward the stables. She drew near to Beltran. The faint light of the lantern in the comidor told her where the two forms still sat, though it showed her little else. She laid her hand upon his shoulder, but she laid it also upon a smaller, softer one than her own. The hand was suddenly withdrawn, as Felisa gave an apprehensive little scream.

"What do you want?" asked Beltran impatiently, who felt the warring of two souls through those antagonistic fingers.

"You must come at once," said Agueda, with decision. "The storm will soon burst."

"Nonsense! We have had many sultry nights like this. Where do you get your information?"

"My uncle Adan says that the storm will soon burst. He has gone to saddle the horses."

[Pg 296]

Felisa gave ............