“Because I give you shelter?” asked Gallito, lighting another cigarette.

“Because the Devil schemes always how he can lure Saint Harry from his ice peak.  He has not succeeded with cards, nor with wine, nor even with me, for I have tried to tempt him to plan with me those little robberies which for amusement I dream of, here in these damnable solitudes.  But before he was a saint he had a wild heart, had Harry.  You have but to look at him to know that.  Have you forgotten that he has not always lived in these mountains?  Do you not recall that he was middle-weight champion of Cape Colony, that he was a scout all through the Boer war?  That he also saw service in India and has certain decorations to show for it?  Saint Harry! ha, ha, ha!

“The one thing he could not resist was any kind of a mad adventure, all the chances against him and all the hounds on top of him, and he pitting his wits against them and scheming to outwit them.  A petticoat could never hold him.  Oh, yes,” in answer to Gallito’s upraised brows, “there have been one or two, here and there, but they meant little to him, as any one might see.  But, as you know and I know, Gallito, the Devil often wins by persistence; he never gives up.  So, although Saint Harry’s case is a puzzling one, the Devil is not discouraged.  He looks about him and says, ’My friend, Gallito, my old and tried friend, has a daughter, beautiful as a flower, graceful as a fountain.  I will bring her here and then Saint Harry will scramble off his ice peak fast enough.’”

“Your foolish wits run away with you,” growled Gallito.

“My legs must run away with me now,” said Jose, rising and stretching his arms and yawning.  “But tell me first why was your daughter sad when she first came here?”

“Because she had fallen in love with a damned rascal,” said Gallito bitterly, “after the manner of women.”

“After the manner of women,” Jose nodded, and whispered behind his hand, so that the two mountain ladies might not overhear him.  “Believe it or not, many have loved me.  But women like extremes, too; if they love rascals, they also adore saints.  They see the saint standing there in his niche, so calm, so peaceful and composed, entirely forgetful of them, and this they cannot endure.  Their brains are on fire; they spend their time scheming and planning how they can claw him down from his pedestal.  They burn candles and pray to all the saints in Paradise to help them, and they offer hostages to the Devil, too.  They do not really know the difference between devil and angel or between good and bad; but they cannot bear it that the saint is indifferent to them.  That is something that drives them mad.  Ah, it is a strong saint that can stand firm in his niche against their wiles.”

“It is an experience that you will never suffer from, Jose.”

“But who can say?” exclaimed Jose, and speaking with gravity.  “Some day I shall devote myself to good works and to making my peace with the church, and who knows, I may yet be a saint.  But one thing I am sure of, I shall never leave my niche for a woman.”