He gave up the attempt to evade her and met her fairly as one man does another.

“I can’t say that, Valencia, not even for you.  This quarrel lies between him and me.  I have suffered humiliation and disgrace.  Until those are wiped out there must be war between me and the American.”

“Since the day I first wore your ring, Manuel, I have asked nothing of you.  I ask now that you will forget the slight this man has put upon you ... because I ask it of you with all my heart.”

A slight tremor ran through his blood.  He felt himself slipping from his place with her.

“I can’t, Valencia.  You don’t know what you ask, how impossible it is for me—­a Pesquiera, son of my honored fathers—­to grant such a request.”  He stretched his hands toward her imploringly.

“Yet you say you love me?”

“Heaven knows whether it is not true, my cousin.”

“You want me to believe that, even though you refuse the first real request I ever made of you?”

“Anything else in the world that is in my power.”

“It is easy to say that, Manuel, when it isn’t something else I want.  Give me this American’s life.  I shall know, then, that you love me.”

“You know now,” he answered quietly.

“Is love all sighs and vows?” she cried impatiently.  “Will it not sacrifice pride and vanity for the object of its devotion?”

“Everything but honor,” answered the man steadfastly.

She made a gesture of despair.

“What is this honor you talk so much about?  It is neither Christian nor lawful nor right.”

“It is a part of me, Valencia.”

“Then your ideas are archaic.  The duel was for a time when every man had to seek his personal redress.  There is law in this twentieth century.”

“Not as between man and man in the case of a personal indignity—­at least, not for Manuel Pesquiera.”

“But it is so needless.  We know you are brave; he knows it, too.  Surely your vanity——­”

He smiled a little sadly.

“I think it is not vanity, but something deeper.  None of my ancestors could have tolerated this stigma, nor can their son.  My will has nothing to do with it, and my desire still less.  It is kismet.”

“Then you must know the truth—­that if you kill this man I can never——­”

“Never what?”

“Never marry you.”

“Why?”

“His blood would stand between us.”

“Do you mean that you—­love him?”

Her dark eyes met his steadily.

“I don’t think I mean that, Manuel.  How could I mean that, since I love you and am betrothed to you?  Sometimes I hate him.  He is so insolent in his daring.  Then, too, he is my enemy, and he has come here to set this happy valley to hate and evil.  Yet, if I should hurt him, it would stand between us forever.”

“I am sorry.”

“Only sorry, Manuel?”