"
"I have far sight and near sight and the sight which comes to the
seventh child," returned Jose with pride. "Therefore, seeing what I see,
I say my prayers each day, now."
A bleak smile wrinkled Gallito's parchment-like cheeks. "And to whom do
you pray, Jose, your patron saint, or rather sinner, the Devil?"
Jose looked shocked. "You are a blasphemer, Gallito," he reproved, and
then added piously, "I say my prayers each day that I may, by example,
help Saint Harry."
"And why is Harry in need of your example?" said Gallito, holding up his
glass between himself and the fire and watching the deep reflections of
ruby light in the amber liquid.
"It goes against me to see an unequal struggle," sighed Jose. "He is
hanging on desperately to his ice-peak, but the Devil has almost
succeeded in clawing him off."
Gallito frowned. "This talk of yours is nonsense, Jose; but if there is
anything in it, Harry may understand that any interest he may have in my
daughter can lead to nothing. She is a dancer before she is anything
else, it is in her blood. Harry does not and never can understand her;
only one of her own kind can do that. He is by nature a religious; his
cabin is the cell of a monk."
Again Jose's eerie, malicious laughter echoed through the room.
"Aye, laugh," growled Gallito; "but you see my daughter for the first
time. You think because she smiles at Harry that she loves him; you
think because she is the only woman he talks to that he loves her; you
do not know her.
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