"Can it be true?-oh, can it be true?" he asked himself, as he hurried from the town. Reaching the outer gate he ran from it to the woods, and, sinking down upon a stone, covered his face with his hands. "What are all the honors and all the wealth won in Peru to me, now?" he groaned. "She for whom this treasure was earned and these laurels won is false. Inez, the only being whose love and esteem I crave, has changed with time. But, no, I will not upbraid her. There was, perhaps, a father's influence against me; and, doubtless, she did not know that I lived. Saint Anthony forgive me if I have wronged her!”

He turned his eyes upon the great, gloomy castle which stood near the summit of a cliff overlooking the sea, forming one of the impregnable strongholds of Panama. Perhaps Velasquez, his bitterest enemy, was even then at her side. The distracted lover wandered up the hill nearer to the castle, then returned to the town and sought, by mingling with the people, to forget. Why had fate played such cruel pranks with him? Why was he destined to meet her only to be plunged in misery forever after? Why was he not slain in the many hardfought battles in Peru, or why had he not returned broken in health or impoverished in purse, as so many others had done? His vast riches and robust health seemed only to add to his misery. It was

many days before he dared venture again up to the hill, or even beyond the walls of Panama.

A caravan was coming from Darien, and from the top of an eminence he made out the man riding farthest in the rear to be his enemy, Antonio Velasquez. He was coming, no doubt, to claim his bride. Estevan, hardly knowing what he did, ran down the hill to intercept his rival, who rode some distance in the rear of his companions. The cavalcade had disappeared over the brow of the hill when they met, and there was no eye but God's to witness the fierce encounter. A few wild words, and then the ready blades leaped from their scabbards; but Antonio was no match for one of Pizarro's battle-trained conquerors. His sword whirled from his hand, and his rival felled him by a blow. Estevan raised his sword to plunge it into Antonio's body; but, too proud to stab a fallen foe, he turned away, not knowing whether his rival was slain or only stunned.

An hour later a man, pale and covered with blood, made his way to a road-side cottage. He was too weak to explain how he had received the gash on his head. It was the wretched Antonio. The peasant who took him in knew him not; but, finding him weak and delirious, sent for a doctor of medicine to come and heal his wounds. Velasquez was near to death's door, and it was

weeks before he could speak the name of his assailant.

When the first burst of passion was over, Estevan felt guilty of murder, for he had provoked the quarrel. Like a lost spirit, he wandered through the hills and forests seeking to excuse himself by the loose code of morals of that day for the assault, and, perhaps, the death of Antonio.

One day as he wandered through the forest, he came face to face with a Spaniard whom he recognized at a glance as his guide from Salamanca to Seville. The recognition was mutual, and the men advanced to greet each other.

"Many years have elapsed, and many great events transpired, friend, since we met; but I have not forgotten you, and once more allow me to thank you, good fellow!" cried Estevan, seizing the man's hand.

"Nay, nay, señor!-thank not me, for I but did the bidding of my mistress, the Doña Inez Oviedo."

Estevan started at the name as if he felt a sudden throb of pain; then, hardly knowing why, he asked, eagerly:

"Is she in yonder castle?"

"She is, señor."

"I would that I could see her! Does she know I am at Panama ?”

"She heard of your arrival."

"Then she cares naught for me, or she would have sent me some word of welcome. What can she care for me? She is to wed my rival and bitterest enemy." He turned away to put an end to it all by returning to Peru, or sailing for Mexico. But, seized by some strange impulse, he wheeled

about.

"Can I see her?” he asked.

"Does the señor wish it?"

"Yes."

"Then he can."

"When?"

"What time would suit the señor best?" "Let it be at the earliest possible moment." Despite all that had passed, he felt within his breast a strange hope arising.

"If the señor will be at the large stone called the Shadow Rock, at moonrise to-night, Doña Inez will join him there," said the servant.

Of course he would. There was something so friendly in the attendant's manner that Estevan grasped his hand, called him a good fellow, and went away, buoyant with unreasoning hope. As the moon was climbing the eastern mountains Estevan hastened to the Shadow Rock. He had not long to wait. Footsteps were heard approaching, and, with palpitating heart and trembling form, he stood

in the deeper shadows until he saw a slender figure, enveloped in a dark cloak, coming, followed at a respectful distance by a male and female servant. He started along the path with outstretched hand, murmuring the single word—

"Inez!"

"Christopher!"

He started, and stopped.

She did the same.

Both hesitated for a moment, and gazed at each other in the full gleam of the moonlight, and then, casting aside reserve, jealousy, and everything which had made life miserable, he sprang toward her, and clasped her in his arms. Before they were aware of it themselves, they were in the dense shadow of the rock, where, free from the gaze of others, they plighted anew their vows. She told how she had all these years pined for him; she had learned of his arrival; but, as he seemed cold and indifferent, her pride would not permit her to say that she was dying to see him. Why had she not answered the letter left for her on his departure for Panama? She knew nothing of his ever having written such a letter. Some one had intercepted it. Was it her father? No, he was not a cruel parent. He had forbidden their marriage until Estevan's trouble with the governor of Cuba was settled to the young Spaniard's credit; but he was not a personal enemy of her lover, and he would not