That evening at sunset Manella made her way towards the hill and the "House of the Dying," moved by she knew not what strange impulse. She had no excuse whatever for going; she knew that the man living up there in whom she was so much interested had as much food for three days as he asked for or desired, and that he was likely to be vexed at the very sight of her. Yet she had an eager wish to tell him something about the wonderful little creature with lightning eyes who had left the Plaza that morning and had told her, Manella, that she was "quite beautiful."
Pride, and an innocent feminine vanity thrilled her; "if another woman thinks so, it must be so,"--she argued, being aware that women seldom admire each other. She walked swiftly, with head bent,--and was brought to a startled halt by meeting and almost running against the very individual she sought, who in his noiseless canvas shoes and with his panther-like tread had come upon her unawares. Checked in her progress she stood still, her eyes quickly lifted, her lips apart. In her adoration of the strength and magnificent physique of the stranger whom she knew only as a stranger, she thought he looked splendid as a god descending from the hill. Far from feeling god-like, he frowned as he saw her.
"Where are you going?" he demanded, brusquely.
The rich colour warmed her cheeks to a rose-red that matched the sunset.
"I was going--to see if you--if you wanted anything"--she stammered, almost humbly.
"You know I do not"--he said--"You can spare yourself the trouble."
She drew herself up with a slight air of offence.
"If you want nothing why do you come down into the valley?" she asked. "You say you hate the Plaza!"
"I do!" and he spoke almost vindictively--"But, at the moment, there's some one there I want to see."
Her black eyes opened inquisitively.
"A man?"
"No. Strange to say, a woman."
A sudden light flashed on her mind.
"I know!" she exclaimed--"But you will not see her! She has gone!"
"What do you mean?" he asked, impatiently--"What do you know?"
"Oh, I know nothing!" and there was a sobbing note of pathos in her voice--"But I feel HERE!"--and she pressed her hands against her bosom--"something tells me that you have seen HER--the little wonderful white woman, sweetly perfumed like a rose,--with her silks and jewels and her fairy car!--and her golden hair... ah!--you said you hated a woman with golden hair! Is that the woman you hate?"