Part 13 (1/2)

V

”I can be quite as foolish as you,” Inez repeated as Roddy continued to regard her. ”Some day, when this is over, when you have made it all come right, we will sit out here and pretend that we have escaped from Venezuela, that we are up North in my mother's country--in your country. We will play these are the rocks at York Harbor, and we'll be quite young and quite happy. Have you ever sat on the rocks at York Harbor,” she demanded eagerly, ”when the spray splashed you, and the waves tried to catch your feet?”

Roddy was regarding her in open suspicion. He retreated warily.

”York Harbor!” he murmured. ”I discovered it! It is named after me.

But you! I never imagined you'd been there, and I never imagined you could be anything but serious, either. It makes you quite dangerous.”

”Dangerous?” murmured the girl.

”One is dangerous,” said Roddy, ”when one is completely charming.”

The girl frowned, and her shoulders moved slightly. ”You speak,” she said, ”like a Venezuelan.”

But Roddy was in no mood to accept reproof.

”I told you,” he said, ”I admire the fools who rush in where angels fear to tread. There is another man I admire equally, 'the man who runs away.' It takes great courage to run away. I must do it now.”

He retreated from her. His eyes were filled with a sudden, deep delight in her, and a growing wonder. The girl regarded him steadily.

”Come here,” she commanded, ”and say 'Good-by' to me.”

Roddy took the slim, gauntleted hand stretched out to him, and for an instant the girl held his hand firmly, and then nodded. The smile this time was very near to tears.

”What you are going to do,” she said, ”is the dangerous thing. You don't know how dangerous. If I should not see you again----”

Roddy looked down into her eyes, and laughed from utter happiness.

”You will see _me_ again,” he said.

His tone gave to the words a meaning which the girl entirely disregarded.

”You will remember,” she went on, as though he had not spoken, ”that we--that I am grateful.”

Roddy turned and smiled out at the sunlit sea.

”You have given me,” he answered, ”other things to remember.”

He pulled off his sombrero and took the gauntleted hand in both of his. He bowed over it and brushed it with his lips. The girl still regarded him steadily, questioningly.

”Good-by,” faltered Roddy.

His eyes sought hers wistfully, appealingly, with all that he felt showing in them. But her own told him nothing. Roddy released her hand with an effort, as though it were bound to his with manacles.

”Now I know,” he said gently, ”why I came to Venezuela.”

The girl made no answer, and silently Roddy mounted and rode away.

When he had reached the place where the rocks would hide her from sight he glanced back. He saw Inez standing beside her pony, leaning with her arms across the saddle, looking after him. Then, as he waved his hand, she raised hers with a gesture that seemed to Roddy partly a farewell, partly a benediction.