“Look at that, Senor Federico mio, look at that.”  She still spoke in the Old World tongue.

Now they had reached the little brook that tumbled down through the rolling valley.  The girl spoke again.

“Here the path is wider.  You may walk beside me—­if you like.”  She glanced up from under her black lashes.  “The hall is but a short half mile down the stream here to the left.”  They proceeded, walking slowly, the brook purling and murmuring at their side.  The girl drew in her breath again, deliberately and deep.

“Smell the roses.  It is the long arbor of Don Benito, through which we must pass.  Ah, it is wonderful.”

The heavy musk of roses seemed literally to fill the bottom of the vale.  With it was mingled the scent of the grass and of the field flowers.  Over all hung the moon, yellow and near.

“It is wonderful,” mused Henderson.  She came close to him.

“Remember,” she said, “to-night I am your lady, and you—­you are my cavalier.  Take care of the feather in your cavalier’s hat, for here is the arbor.”  He bowed his head, and they passed beneath the sweet-scented array of blossoms and buds.  Then, as they rounded a corner of the slope, there came to them from far down the valley the sound of music and the glint of lights through the uneasy leaves of the maples.

“Hear it,” the girl cried, “hear it!  They may be dancing.  Let us hurry.  ’Sh!  Now we are getting too near.  We must mask.  Here, senor, help me with my mask and I will do the same for you.  Thank you.  Stoop lower, please.  There, now it is right!” They proceeded.  “I wonder what Carlos will say to this.  He will be surprised when we unmask.  Until then he will not know me—­nor you either.”  She lowered her voice.  “I told him that my costume was to be that of a shepherdess.”

They were close to the hall now.  A turn brought them to a wider path which led directly to the building.  Up the steps and into the throng of masks they passed, the girl now holding tight to the man’s arm.  The orchestra was playing a waltz and the pair swung into the whirl, dancing fast and gracefully.  The music stopped; a man in the costume of a Spanish sailor came up and asked for the next.  The girl looked down, then glanced quickly up and pointed silently to the tall cavalier at her side.  The sailor bowed and passed on.  Then the music started again.

“I cannot speak, you see,” the girl panted as they swept around a corner, “or they would know my voice.  Of course—­oh look, there is Carlos.  He must be looking everywhere for me.”

A tall man, clad in the helmet and boots of a Spanish military officer, stood in the center of the floor, intently watching each couple as it passed.  Adelita he followed closely with his eyes, as if perplexed.  Then he shook his head.

“He does not know me,” she laughed.

But at the end of that dance he strode up to her and bowed.