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ITHIN ONE room of the square adobe house was light. It came from a candle on a low table against the wall, before which sat a lithe-figured Mexican tilted in a chair, drawing hard upon a black, round cigarette, and moodily blowing forth great clouds of smoke. Upon the table were a large iron inkstand, a quill pen, and some sheets of paper, upon which some verses were scrawled. For Paco was a poet-of a kind. Paco glanced at the verses and sighed.

"She is fickle like the moth of the night breezes," he reflected, "a shame in the darkness that now glimmers here, now there; it is at your hand, you almost have it; the next instant, Caramba! the darkness has devoured it."

Paco smoked hard on the cigarette, and blew forth the wreathing tobacco smoke, wearing the impassive expression of one who controls strong passions. Paco looked calm, but Paco was desperate. It was because of a woman. It was because of his Princess, as he called her, because of Carlita. She was not really a princess -she was only the princess of a tavern circle, but she was princess of all the world to Paco. It was little that Carlita cared for the young gallant, or for anything except pleasure. To be courted, to surpass all the other women in beauty and bright dress, and to sip the red wine at the posado of an evening, with the handsomest of men about her with their attentions and compliments, this was the whole happiness and ambition of Carlita.

Paco liked it not at all that the others should come near her. The land of his birth had given him a fiery, passionate heart, and it burned with one strong flame -the love for Carlita, who now encouraged, now scorned him, according to her whim and temper. It was six months since he had first met her, and he was not

any nearer to his goal than on the first day when she had smiled at him, and he had accepted the challenge. She had been willing to jest; but to be serious is different. And Paco had grown to think seriously of the friendly, fearless, dashing woman whom none could dislike, and whom none dared to insult.

He had given her gifts, and she had taken them, as she did those of the others, laughingly. He had written for her

verses, and she had smiled at him for their graceful compliment, but kept him mockingly at a distance. He had worn for her sake fine clothes that were the envy of all Piamonta; boots with gilded. spurs, a red silken sash, a coat of blue velvet, and a sombrero with embroidered band, worth its weight in silver. But in spite of all his effort, Carlita smiled equally upon the others.

To-night Paco had not gone to the posado, though his expectant horse, tied to a tree in front of the house, whinnied from time to time impatiently, as if to remind him of it. To-night Paco sat instead at home in his room, brooding over the situation. What could he do to win this light-hearted creature, whom he had resolved to possess? He lighted another black cigarette to aid him in his reflections.

"She must like me," he meditated, "or else why did she look at me the way she did last night, and let me fill her glass with wine, instead of Malgaro, who wished the privilege? But if she likes me, why does she go so much with that bandit Guillermo? He is the only rival I fear, and I hate him, since the day he ridiculed me. before Carlita. If he were only out of the way

He puffed more clouds of blue smoke into the air. Through the wreathing haze of the room his glance rested upon the wall opposite, where the unsteady light of

the candle fell upon some objects hanging there his splendid sombrero; a colored picture of the crucifixion; and beside the latter, a bone-handled dagger with a long blade. His eye rested upon the gleaming steel. It seemed to move as with impatience under the flicker of the candlelight.

"If he were only out of the way!" repeated Paco, with even tones; then, with a sudden impulse, he tilted his chair forward and jumped to his feet. "By Holy Saint Mary, I shall do it!" he cried, and threw his lighted cigarette upon the floor, fiercely, so that it perished in a shower of sparks.

He now took in hand the quill pen, dipped it into the ink-well, wrote upon a sheet of paper a note, and folded it with care. This done, he walked over to the wall, took down the bare dagger, tested its point lovingly, then slipped it in his sash. Over it he buttoned his velvet coat; on his head he placed the sombrero. Then he snuffed out the candle, and went out into the starlight. By the door was a bush. of white roses. Paco gathered six of them, bound them together with a strand of coarse grass, and placed among them the folded note, its corner showing. Then he strode out to his horse, loosened its rope, and swung off down the street, his spurs jingling.

From the posado the lights shone out invitingly, and from the open windows came the sound of laughter and of clinking glasses. Paco dismounted and led his horse to the hitching rail, where a dozen others were already fastened. The big horse with the white forefoot he recognized as Guillermo's; next to it he tied his own, then walked toward the posado. At the door he paused, hesitating with a momentary tremor of fear, as he considered what he was about to do. His rival Guillermo was a stronger man than he, quick with a weapon, fierce of temper, and redoubtable in combat. But hate banished fear. He pushed open the door and sauntered carelessly in, with no betrayal of his thoughts in his expression.

The posado was crowded to-night, and the senorita was kept busy bringing in the bottles of wine for the company. Paco quickly made an observation of those at the different tables. At those to one side

men were playing at cards. At others, young men and their sweethearts exchanged looks and jollity over filled glasses. At the back of the room sat the master of the posado, bald and red-faced, watching the scene with good-natured interest, and turning now and then to address his wife, a portly matron who sipped leisurely and gossiped regarding those who came and went.

As he had expected, Carlita was at one of the tables, laughing and jesting. And among those at the same table, opposite her, sat Guillermo, drinking. As Paco looked at the huge figure, the great head with its bushy, black hair, the cruel acquiline nose and the tremendous neck, Paco again felt fear. Guillermo, the bandit, did not every one fear him? had he not killed eight men? Paco decided to postpone his intention until his rival left. He would follow, and the starlight would flash upon a dagger blade.

At one of the tables he espied an acquaintance seated. He went over and sat down with him, to pass the time with drink and story. Wine always tastes best in company, and besides, his friend would pay for the bottle. Paco had but a small store of money; he spent too many evenings at the posado. So the two sat together and drank and talked, and soon had occasion to order a second bottle of wine. When the senorita brought it, Paco took the bouquet which he had brought with him, and, giving her one of his few remaining coins, bade her take the roses to Carlita. She had seen the action, and received the roses with a bow and smile which made Paco's head whirl, and which drew upon him a black look from Guillermo.

Now she saw the projecting note. She took it out from among the flowers, read it-and laughed. Paco was furious as he watched her. His declaration of love was despised. But now Guillermo wanted to see the note, and Carlita refused, concealing it. Paco was elated. But soon again Carlita and her escort were talking and laughing, forgetting him, and Paco became once more depressed. His friend noticed his gloom, and urged him to banish it with more red wine. Paco complied with willingness. Another bottle was ordered; and another; and soon Paco

was in a daze, where everything was a sort of unreal world; where the merry groups at the tables danced before his eyes in confusion; where he had no enemies, and where the only thing that he wanted to do was to go to sleep.

He was, however, dimly aware of it when Carlita, the hour growing late, arose to go, along with Guillermo. And yet he lay back in his chair, and watched them in stupid apathy. Now they were passing Paco, and the outlaw smiled sneeringly; but Carlita-was it daring or pity? disengaged herself from her escort, and bending over Paco, kissed him upon the lips. For Paco the wine-glow vanished, and a stronger fire lit his veins. He staggered to his feet, then he stood erect and confronted them.

"I am going, too," he said, somewhat unsteadily; "Carlita, do you wish to go with Guillermo, or with me?"

The woman smiled, but did not leave her companion.

"Ah, drunken writer of verses," said Guillermo, "dare you intrude upon my notice? It is I, Guillermo, who order you to go. Be off! or I will teach you

Paco leaped toward him like a maddened tiger. Several times his long dagger flashed in the lamplight, and Guillermo coughed a terrible cough, as the foam of blood came upon his lips. The beholders stood back, fascinated with horror. Carlita, with eyes that seemed to pray, caught Paco's glance, and he felt a great strength and determination. Now Guillermo, clenching, struggled with his assailant. A table was overturned, and the two fell together with a heavy thud. Paco wrestled himself violently from the grasp of his antagonist, and sprang to his feet.

Guillermo arose more slowly, his heavybladed knife now drawn in his hand, clutched with the desperate grasp of failing strength. The two men walked about one another, each seeking an opening. Paco, with a light, ready step, every sinew of steel tensing for a lunge; Guillermo, with his immense bulk and strength in poise, ready to drive the great knife through his opponent's body. All at once Guillermo leaped for his rival, quickly, unexpectedly. Paco felt the flesh burn with a cut in his left shoulder, as he dodged the thrust meant for his heart. Before Guillermo could recover, Paco had driven his dagger deep into the vitals of his enemy, whose strength left him, whose knife fell from the useless hand with a ringing clatter to the floor. Its owner fell half on his face upon a darkening area beneath him. He struggled slightly, quivering with brute tenacity of life, unwilling to part with it. He breathed once, painfully, and then lay quiet on his side, the red blood upon his lips.

Paco stood erect, in the strained quiet of great excitement. He bent down and wiped his dagger blade upon the dead man's coat, then leaned forward toward the woman.

"Carlita, do you wish to go with me or with Guillermo ?" he repeated significantly, pointing to the corpse with his dagger. The woman hesitated. Paco, knife in hard, would not have hesitated, and the woman knew it. She stepped forward, arcund the body.

"Guillermo's horse is outside," she said in a low voice. A minute later those inside the posado heard the hoof-beats of two horses crossing the bridge down the road. The two would stop at the padre's, then on to the mountains-and safety!

IN

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In neat pamphlet form, under the title "Hawaiian Memories," Blanche Howard Wenner has collected a number of pretty verses breathing the dreamy spirit of the tropical islands named. She is a poetess of much merit, and expresses in her verses the sentiments that Waikiki, Diamond Head, Kilauea and the many other features of the islands suggest.

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