lived in the midst of such things for nearly three years."
"Were they always this bad?" he asked her, with an answering smile that unedged the solemnity of the question.
"No," she replied; "but all the while I was in Guariqui I breathed nothing but an atmosphere of intrigue and counter-intrigue. It was the same with my brother Arturo, ever since he went south to fight for father's claims. We talked and worked together often in Guariqui. It must have crept into my blood in some way, for even when I was away from it, even when I was safe and happy in New York, I wasn't altogether sorry when a Locombian planter's son, studying in the School of Mines there, came and gave me the first inkling of what was going on. I believe I was almost glad when I found Arturo needed me again, and needed me so badly. It appealed to something dominant in me; it made idling seem so empty and foolish. Then I found it was more than an escapade, a game—that it was a peril, and I couldn't stand off. I couldn't hold myself away from it a moment longer."
He moved his head slowly up and down as a sign of comprehension. His sympathy brought the fleetest shadow of a smile to her still troubled lips.
