A SPANISH CHAPTER

His removal snapped a chain. These two persons became themselves.

Manuela with eyes ablaze strode over to Esteban. “Well,” she said. “You have found me. What is your pleasure?”

He sat very still on his donkey, watching her. He rolled himself a cigarette, still watching, and as he lighted it, looked at her over the flame.

“Speak, Esteban,” she said, quivering; but he took two luxurious inhalations first, discharged in dense columns through his nose. Then he said, breathing smoke, “I have come to kill you, Manuelita from Pobledo in a day and a half.”

She had folded her arms, and now nodded. “I know it. I have expected you.”

“Of course,” said Esteban, inhaling enormously. He shot the smoke upwards towards the light, where it floated and spread out in radiant bars of blue. Manuela was tapping her foot.

“Well, I am here,” she said. “I might have left you, but I have not. Why don’t you do what you intend?”

“There is plenty of time,” said Esteban, and continued to smoke. He began to make another cigarette.

“Do you know why I chose to stay with you?” she asked him softly. “Do you know, Esteban?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Not at all.”

“It was because I had a bargain to make with you.”

He looked at her inquiringly; but he shrugged. “It will be a hard bargain for you, my girl,” he told her.

“I believe you will agree to it,” she said quickly, “seeing that of my own will I have remained here. I will let you kill me as you please on a condition.”

“Name your condition,” said Esteban. “I will only say now that it is my wish to strangle you with my hands.”

She put both hers to her throat. “Good,” she said. “That shall be your affair. But let the caballero go free. He has done you no harm.”

“On the contrary,” said Esteban, “I shall certainly kill him when he returns. Have no doubt of that. Then I shall have his horse.”

Immediately, without fear, she went up to him where he sat his donkey. She saw the knife in his faja, but had no fear at all. She came quite close to him, with an ardent face, with eyes alight. She stretched out her arms like a man on a cross.

“Kill, kill, Esteban! But listen first. You shall spare that gentleman’s life, for he has done you no wrong.”

He laughed her down. “Wrong! And you come to me to swear that on the Cross of Christ? Daughter of swine, you lie.”

Tears were in her eyes, which made her blink and shake her head but she came closer yet in a passion of entreaty. She was so close that her bosom touched him. “Kill, Esteban, kill but love me first!” Her arms were about him now, as if she must have love of him or die. “Esteban, Esteban!” she was whispering as if she hungered and thirsted for him. He shivered at a memory. “Love me once, love me once, Esteban!” Closer and closer she clung to him; her eyes implored a kiss.

“Loose me, you jade,” he said, less sharply, but she clove the closer to him, and one hand crept downwards from his shoulder, as if she would embrace him by the middle. “Too late, Manuelita, too late,” he said again, but he was plainly softening. She drew his face towards hers as if to kiss him, then whipped the long knife out of his girdle and drove it with all her sobbing force into his neck. Esteban uttered a thick groan, threw his head up and rocked twice. Then his head dropped, and he fell sideways off his donkey.

She stood staring at what she had done.