"And he wouldn't agree not to prosecute?" she asked.
"No. It is his right to do so if he likes, Valencia."
She brushed this aside with an impatient wave of her hand. "Oh, his right! Doesn't he owe something to us—to me—and especially to you?"
"No, he owes me nothing. What I did was done for you, and not for him," the Spaniard replied instantly.
"Then to me at least he is in debt. I shall ask him to drop the prosecution."
"He is what his people call straight. But he is hard—hard as jade."
They were walking along a dark lane unlighted save by the stars. Valencia turned to him impetuously.
"Manuel, you are good. You do not like this man, but you save him because—because my heart is torn when my people do wrong. For me you take much trouble—you risk much. How can I thank you?"
"Niña mia, I am thanked if you are pleased. It is your love I seek, Heart of mine." He spoke tremulously, taking her hands in his.
For the beat of a heart she hesitated. "You have it. Have I not given my word that—after the American was saved——?"