“Oh, God!” he sobbed, “it was you!”

“Si, senor,” the words faltering forth, almost as if in mockery of his own hesitating speech.  “Once I said maybe I show you.  I not know how den—­now I know.”

“Sh-show me, little girl—­in God’s n-name, show me wh-what?”

“Eef eet vas true dat I lofe you, senor.  Now you tink eet vas so; now you all’ays know vat vas in de heart of Mercedes.  Dis bettah vay as talk, senor—­nevah you doubt no more.”

He could only continue to look at her, the intense agony within his eyes beyond all expression of speech, his words caught helpless in the swelling throat.  She lifted one hand in weak caress, gently touching his cheek with her white fingers.

“Oh, please don’t, senor.  Eet hurt me mooch to see you feel dat bad.  Sure eet does.  Eet vas not de balls vat hurt—­no, no!  I know dey not reach to you eef dey hit me de first.  Eet joys me to do dat—­sure eet does.”

“Little g-girl, little g-girl,” he faltered, helplessly, his great hands trembling as he touched her.  “It w-was you I t-tried ter save.  I-I ran th-th-this way so th-they wouldn’t sh-shoot toward yer.”

She smiled happily up at him, softly stroking his hair, even while the lines of her face twitched from pain.

“Sure I know, senor.  You von brav’, good man—­maybe now you all’ays tink I brav’, good also.  Dat be ’nough for Mercedes.  Oh, dis be de bettar vay—­de great God knows; sure He knows.  Now, senor, I be yours all’ays, forever.  I so happy to be lofed by good man.  I just look in your face, senor, and tink, He lofe me, he ask me marry him.  Maybe I not nevah do dat, for fear he tire, for fear he hear tings not nice about Mercedes.  Dat make me sorrow, make me shame before him.  Si, I know how it vould be.  I know de Americanos; dey ver’ proud of dare vives, dey fight for de honor.  So eet make me mooch ‘fraid, I no vort’ eet—­no, no!  I know not den de bettar vay.  But de good Mother of God she show me, she tell me vat do—­I run quick; I die for de man I lofe, an’ den he all’ays know dat I lofe him; he know den bettar as eef I marry him.  Si, si, eet vas all joy for Mercedes, now, my senor.  Eet not hurt, eet make me glad to know.”

Brown bent ever lower as he listened, his great body shaking in the effort to repress his sobs, his lips pressing against her white cheek.

“I kiss you now, senor,” she whispered, faintly.  “Just de once, like I vas your vife.”

Their lips met, the very soul of each seemingly in the soft, clinging contact.  Suddenly the poor girl sank backward, her head falling heavily upon his supporting arm, a peculiar shudder twitching her slender form.

“Mercedes!” he cried in alarm.

“Si, senor,” the black eyes still wide open, but her words scarcely audible.  “Eet is so hard to see you; maybe de stars hide behin’ de cloud, but, but I lofe—­”

“Yes, y-yes, I kn-know.”