“I won’t stand for it.  They’re making you a sacrifice, that’s all.  What kind of a father is it who would sell his daughter—­”

“No, no!  You do not understand.  He is proud, he cannot accept defeat, he would rather give his life than be humiliated.  Furthermore—­he wishes me to marry Ramon, and so that ends it.”  Her lips were trembling as she peered up at him to see if he really understood.

“Let them rave, dear.  What does it matter who is President?  What does anything matter to you and me?”

“He says I am too young to know my own mind, and—­perhaps that is true, Senor Antonio; perhaps I shall soon forget you and learn to love Ramon as he loves me, I do not know—­”

In spite of the pathetic quaver in her voice, Kirk cried with jealous bitterness: 

“You don’t seem to object very strongly; you seem to care about as much for Alfarez as you do for me.  Is that it?”

“Yes, senor,” she said, bravely.

“You are lying!” declared Stephanie, suddenly.

The girl burst into a perfect torrent of weeping that shamed him.  Then, without any invitation, she flung herself recklessly into his arms and lay there, trembling, palpitating like an imprisoned bird.  “Forgive me, dear,” he exclaimed, softly.  “I knew better all the time.  You mustn’t think of doing what they ask; I won’t allow it.”  His own heart-beats were shaking him, and he hardly knew what he was saying.  The sight of her grief maddened him.  It was as if they had taken advantage of his helpless little maid to hurt her maliciously, and his indignation blazed forth.  She looked up with eyes gleaming through her tears and said, brokenly: 

“Senor, I love you truly.  You see, I cannot lie.”

Her breath intoxicated him, and he bent his head to kiss her, but Stephanie tore her roughly from his arms.  The woman showed the strength of a man, and her vulture-like face was working fiercely as she cried: 

“No!  She is mine!  She is mine!  She is a good girl.”

“Stephanie!  She loves me, don’t you see?”

“No, no!” The black woman drew the girl into the shelter of her own arms.

“Oh, I am wicked,” Gertrudis said.  “I love you, Keerk—­yes, I love you very dearly, but my father—­he refuses—­I must obey—­he has the right, and I must do as he wishes.”

“Come with me now.  We’ll be married to-night,” he urged; but she only clung to Stephanie more closely, as if to hold herself from falling.

“You are very sweet to me,” she said, with piteous tenderness, “and I shall never forget the honor; but you see I cannot.  This is more to my father than his life; it is the same to all our family, and I must do my duty.  I will pray for strength to keep from loving you, senor, and some day, perhaps, the dear God will hear.  You must do likewise, and pray also for me to have courage, I could not let you go away thinking this was my doing, so I sent for you.  No, one must obey one’s people, for they are wise—­and good.  But one should be honest.”