which one was free before. What if they were to be victorious at
the last? They, or what perhaps lurks in them: fear, deception,

desire, disillusion - all silent at first before the song of
triumphant love vibrating in the light. Yes. Silent. Even desire

itself! All silent. But not for long!
This was, I think, before the third expedition. Yes, it must have

been the third, for I remember that it was boldly planned and that
it was carried out without a hitch. The tentative period was over;

all our arrangements had been perfected. There was, so to speak,
always an unfailing smoke on the hill and an unfailing lantern on

the shore. Our friends, mostly bought for hard cash and therefore
valuable, had acquired confidence in us. This, they seemed to say,

is no unfathomable roguery of penniless adventurers. This is but
the recklessenterprise of men of wealth and sense and needn't be

inquired into. The young caballero has got real gold pieces in the
belt he wears next his skin; and the man with the heavy moustaches

and unbelieving eyes is indeed very much of a man. They gave to
Dominic all their respect and to me a great show of deference; for

I had all the money, while they thought that Dominic had all the
sense. That judgment was not exactly correct. I had my share of

judgment and audacity which surprises me now that the years have
chilled the blood without dimming the memory. I remember going

about the business with light-hearted, clear-headed recklessness
which, according as its decisions were sudden or considered, made

Dominic draw his breath through his clenched teeth, or look hard at
me before he gave me either a slight nod of assent or a sarcastic

"Oh, certainly" - just as the humour of the moment prompted him.
One night as we were lying on a bit of dry sand under the lee of a

rock, side by side, watching the light of our little vessel dancing
away at sea in the windy distance, Dominic spoke suddenly to me.

"I suppose Alphonso and Carlos, Carlos and Alphonso, they are
nothing to you, together or separately?"

I said: "Dominic, if they were both to vanish from the earth
together or separately it would make no difference to my feelings."

He remarked: "Just so. A man mourns only for his friends. I
suppose they are no more friends to you than they are to me. Those

Carlists make a great consumption of cartridges. That is well.
But why should we do all those mad things that you will insist on

us doing till my hair," he pursued with grave, mocking
exaggeration, "till my hair tries to stand up on my head? and all

for that Carlos, let God and the devil each guard his own, for that
Majesty as they call him, but after all a man like another and - no

friend."
"Yes, why?" I murmured, feeling my body nestled at ease in the

sand.
It was very dark under the overhanging rock on that night of clouds

and of wind that died and rose and died again. Dominic's voice was
heard speaking low between the short gusts.

"Friend of the Senora, eh?"
"That's what the world says, Dominic."

"Half of what the world says are lies," he pronounced dogmatically.
"For all his majesty he may be a good enough man. Yet he is only a

king in the mountains and to-morrow he may be no more than you.
Still a woman like that - one, somehow, would grudge her to a

better king. She ought to be set up on a high pillar for people
that walk on the ground to raise their eyes up to. But you are

otherwise, you gentlemen. You, for instance, Monsieur, you
wouldn't want to see her set up on a pillar."

"That sort of thing, Dominic," I said, "that sort of thing, you
understand me, ought to be done early."

He was silent for a time. And then his manly voice was heard in
the shadow of the rock.

"I see well enough what you mean. I spoke of the multitude, that
only raise their eyes. But for kings and suchlike that is not

enough. Well, no heart need despair; for there is not a woman that
wouldn't at some time or other get down from her pillar for no

bigger bribe perhaps than just a flower which is fresh to-day and
withered to-morrow. And then, what's the good of asking how long

any woman has been up there? There is a true saying that lips that
have been kissed do not lose their freshness."

I don't know what answer I could have made. I imagine Dominic
thought himself unanswerable. As a matter of fact, before I could

speak, a voice came to us down the face of the rock crying
secretly, "Ole, down there! All is safe ashore."

It was the boy who used to hang about the stable of a muleteer's
inn in a little shallowvalley with a shallow little stream in it,

and where we had been hiding most of the day before coming down to
the shore. We both started to our feet and Dominic said, "A good

boy that. You didn't hear him either come or go above our heads.
Don't reward him with more than one peseta, Senor, whatever he

does. If you were to give him two he would go mad at the sight of
so much wealth and throw up his job at the Fonda, where he is so

useful to run errands, in that way he has of skimming along the
paths without displacing a stone."

Meantime he was busying himself with striking a fire to set alight
a small heap of dry sticks he had made ready beforehand on that

spot which in all the circuit of the Bay was perfectly screened
from observation from the land side.

The clear flame shooting up revealed him in the black cloak with a
hood of a Mediterranean sailor. His eyes watched the dancing dim

light to seaward. And he talked the while.
"The only fault you have, Senor, is being too generous with your

money. In this world you must give sparingly. The only things you
may deal out without counting, in this life of ours which is but a

little fight and a little love, is blows to your enemy and kisses
to a woman. . . . Ah! here they are coming in."

I noticed the dancing light in the dark west much closer to the
shore now. Its motion had altered. It swayed slowly as it ran

towards us, and, suddenly, the darker shadow as of a great pointed
wing appeared gliding in the night. Under it a human voice shouted

something confidently.
"Bueno," muttered Dominic. From some receptacle I didn't see he

poured a lot of water on the blaze, like a magician at the end of a
successful incantation that had called out a shadow and a voice

from the immense space of the sea. And his hooded figure vanished
from my sight in a great hiss and the warm feel of ascending steam.

"That's all over," he said, "and now we go back for more work, more
toil, more trouble, more exertion with hands and feet, for hours

and hours. And all the time the head turned over the shoulder,
too."

We were climbing a precipitous path sufficiently dangerous in the
dark, Dominic, more familiar with it, going first and I scrambling

close behind in order that I might grab at his cloak if I chanced
to slip or miss my footing. I remonstrated against this

arrangement as we stopped to rest. I had no doubt I would grab at
his cloak if I felt myself falling. I couldn't help doing that.

But I would probably only drag him down with me.
With one hand grasping a shadowy bush above his head he growled

that all this was possible, but that it was all in the bargain, and
urged me onwards.

When we got on to the level that man whose even breathing no
exertion, no danger, no fear or anger could disturb, remarked as we

strode side by side:
"I will say this for us, that we are carrying out all this deadly

foolishness as conscientiously as though the eyes of the Senora
were on us all the time. And as to risk, I suppose we take more