_Buenas noches_. Good-night,
_senor_." This to me.
"_Buenas noches_, Adela," murmured the old man. "Good-night, _senor_.
Take good care of the daughter." The father and I passed into the
parlor.
She took Henderson's hand and led him out of the door. They did not go
out of the gate, but turned through the little garden, past the house,
and followed a narrow path that ran down the hill. As the grass was
high on either side he followed where she led, holding fast to the
hand she stretched out to him. Suddenly as the path dipped down the
hill she commenced to run. Henderson held back. She looked over her
shoulder, laughing.
"Are you afraid to follow?" she asked in Spanish.
"No, little one, I am not," he answered in the same tongue, "but I am
afraid that with those high heels you will wrench your ankle."
"Oho," she laughed, "I was born for this." But she stopped and walked
slowly.
The moon was just rising, big and red, as if it were autumn instead of
late spring. The girl drew in a deep breath.
"Look at that, _Senor Federico mio_, look at that.
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