Half distracted, Alaire roamed through the house, awaiting her captor’s coming, steeling herself for their final battle.  But the delay was trying; she longed for the crisis to come, that this intolerable suspense might be ended.  At such an hour her thoughts naturally turned to Dave Law, and she found herself yearning for him with a yearning utterly new.  His love had supported her through those miserable days at Las Palmas, but now it was a torture; she called his name wildly, passionately.  He knew her whereabouts and her peril—­why did he not come?  Then, more calmly, she asked herself what he, or what any one, could do for her.  How could she look for succor when two nations were at war?

Night had come before she finally gave up and acknowledged the hopelessness of her situation.  She had fought bravely, but with darkness her fears grew blacker.  She was on the verge of her first breakdown when, in the early dusk outside, she heard voices and the stamping of horses’ hoofs.  The sounds were muffled by the heavy wooden shutters she had taken pains to close and bar, but they told her that Longorio had returned.  Since it was futile to deny him entrance, she waited where she was.  Old Pancho’s voice sounded outside; then there came a knock upon the door of the room in which she stood.

“Come in,” she said, tensely.

The lieutenant thrust his head in and, removing his hat, announced, “There is someone here to see General Longorio on important business.  He says you will do.”

“I?”

“Yes.  He says he is one of us—­”

Pancho was pushed aside, the door was flung back, and a man strode swiftly into the lamplight.  He paused, blinking as if momentarily blinded, and Alaire clutched at the nearest chair for support.  A roaring began in her ears; she felt herself sway forward as if the strength had left her knees.  She heard Dave’s voice faintly; he was saying: 

“Take care of my horse.  Feed and water her well.  Understand?  When General Longorio comes tell him I am waiting here.”

As if in a dream, Alaire saw the Mexican go out, closing the door behind him.  Then she saw Dave come toward her, heard him speak her name, felt his arms around her.

Alaire did not swoon, but she never could remember very distinctly those first few moments.  Scarcely knowing what she did, she found herself clinging to her lover, laughing, weeping, feeling him over with shaking hands that would not be convinced of his reality.  She was aware of his kisses upon her lips, her eyes, her hair; he was saying something which she could not understand because of that roaring in her ears.

“You heard me calling,” she told him at last.  “Oh, I was—­so frightened!” She clung closer to him.  After a time she discovered that she was mechanically nodding and shaking her head at the questions he was putting to her, but had only the vaguest idea what they were.  By and by she began to tell him about Longorio, speaking in a sort of hypnotic murmur, as if her words issued at his mental suggestion.  And all the time she snuggled against his breast.