The tears were stealing down her cheeks, and she thrilled to his pleadings as to some wondrous music, yet she was like adamant, and all his lover’s desperation could not shake her.  It was strange to see this slender, timid slip of a girl so melting and yet so cruelly firm.  He appealed to Stephanie, but she was as unresponsive as a bronze image.  Seeing that his urging only made matters worse, he said, more gently: 

“You are exalted now with the spirit of self-sacrifice, but later you will see that I am right.  I am not discouraged.  A thousand things may happen.  Who knows what to-morrow may bring?  Let’s wait and see if we can’t find a way out.  Now that I know you love me, I have the courage to face anything, and I am going to win you, Chiquita.  I have never lost in all my life, and I don’t intend to begin now.  I’ll see your father in the morning, and I’ll be here again, to-morrow night—­”

But at this Gertrudis cried out:  “No, no!  I cannot meet you again in this manner.”  And Stephanie nodded her agreement.

“Then I’ll see you the next night, that is Saturday.  You are coming to the big ball at the Tivoli with him and the Cortlandts—­ I must see you then, so make sure to be there, and meanwhile don’t give up.”

“Oh, there is no hope.”

“There is always hope.  I’ll think of something.”

“We must go,” said the Barbadian woman, warningly.

“Yes, yes!  It is of no avail to resist,” came the girl’s choking voice.  She stretched out her little hand, and then, looking up at him, said, uncertainly:  “I—­may never speak with you again alone, senor, and I must pray to—­cease loving you; but will you—­kiss me once so that I may never forget?”

He breathed a tender exclamation and took her gently to his breast, while the negress stood by scowling and muttering.

The memory of that long, breathless moment lived with him for years.  Strangely enough, at the touch of her lips he felt his courage forsake him—­it ran out like water.  He became weak, fearful, despairing, as if it were his life that was ebbing away.  And the pang when she drew herself from him was like a bayonet-thrust.  Even when she and Stephanie had melted into the shadows, he stood motionless under the spell of that caress, its ecstasy still suffusing him.

He found himself following slowly in the direction they had taken in the hope of catching just one more glimpse of her, but as he emerged from the darkness of the park he paused.  There across the street, in the little open shrine set in the corner of the great cathedral, she was kneeling before the shining figure of the Madonna.  The candle-glow that illumined the holy image and shone out so hopefully against the gloom showed her crouched close before the altar, her dark head bowed in uttermost dejection.  Outside, and barely revealed, stood the tall, gaunt Bajan woman, silent, watchful, and forbidding.

With a painful grip at his throat Kirk watched until the girl rose and hurried away into the shadows.  Then he, too, turned and made his way up the street, but he went slowly, unseeingly, as if he had beheld a vision.