The Lighted Match

"Once, dear, I was strong enough to say 'no' to you. Twice I could not

be."

The reader paused and scowled at the wall with set jaws.

"But when you read this, almost three thousand miles away, there will be

only a few days between me and (it is hard to say it) the marriage and

the coronation. He is to be crowned on the same day that we are married.

Then I suppose I can't even write what is in my heart."

Benton rose and paced the narrow confines of the cabin. Suddenly he

halted. "Even under sealed orders," he mused slowly, "one may dispose of

three thousand miles. They, at least, are behind." A countenance

somewhat drawn schooled its features into normal expressionlessness, as

a few moments afterward he rose to open the door in response to a

rapping outside.

As the door swung in a smile came to Benton's face: the first it had

worn since that night when he had taken leave of Hope.

"You, Blanco!" he exclaimed. "Why, hombre, the anchor is scarce down.

You are prompt!"

The physically superb man who stood at the threshold smiled. The gleam

of perfect teeth accentuated the swarthy olive of his face and the crisp

jet of his hair. His brown eyes twinkled good-humoredly. Jaw, neck and

broad shoulders declared strength, while the slenderness of waist and

thigh hinted of grace--a hint that every movement vindicated. It was the

grace of the bull-fighter, to whom awkwardness would mean death.

"I had your letter. It was correctly directed--Manuel Blanco, Calle

Isaac Peral." The Spaniard smiled delightedly. "When one is once more

to see an old friend, one does not delay. How am I? Ah, it is good of

the Señor to ask. I do well. I have retired from the Plaza de Toros.

I busy myself with guiding parties of touristos here and abroad--and

in the collection and sale of antiques. But this time, what is your

enterprise or pleasure, Señor? What do you in Spain?"

"My business in Spain," replied Benton slowly, "is to get out of Spain.

After that I don't know. Will you go and take chances of anything that

might befall? I sent for you to ask you whether you have leisure to

accompany me on an enterprise which may involve danger. It's only fair

to warn you."

Blanco laughed. "Who reads mañana?" he demanded, seating himself on

the edge of the table, and busying his fingers with the deft rolling of

a cigarette. "The toreador does not question the Prophets. I am at

your disposition. But the streets of Cadiz await us. Let us talk of it

all over the table d'hôte."

An hour later found the two in the Calle Duke de Tetuan, blazing with

lights like a jeweler's show-case.