"One finger of your hand, Roderic Owen, yes, even its tip was of more value to me in those days than a dozen bolero dancers with their graceful movements and threadbare love phrases. Julio sued in vain—I laughed him to scorn—I have not seen him from the hour you fled."
Then a glad cry burst from his lips—he opened his arms and would have seized upon her, believing that she had forgiven—that the old conditions could be thus easily revived, since the barrier that had separated them was swept aside.
He had lowered his pride—he had humbly cried "peccavi—I have sinned," and it was reasonable to believe that if she still cherished the love she once bore him, this girl of the Antilles would fall into his embrace to forgive and be forgiven.
But instead she stepped back, eluding his grasp, and while panting with emotion, said resolutely:
"Stand back, Senor Roderic—touch me not I command you!"
CHAPTER VI.
ON THE BORDERS OF PARADISE.
While Owen had doubtless encountered many rude shocks during his adventurous life he never had such a staggering blow dealt him as when this beauty from the Antilles so peremptorily ordered him to approach no nearer.