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 with hand at his sash, feeling for the weapon which, for the occasion, was not there.

"Restore me the shoe! This instant give it back!" he commanded.

"I was sent for it; I will restore it to the owner," Henderson replied, his manner lofty and severe.

"Who commands you?"

"That is for me to know, Don Roberto."

"Very well," said Roberto, indifferently, as if the humor of the situation had mended the affront given him by his valet; "go on, then, and take the shoe to its owner. We will accompany you; we will go by your side, to see the pretty foot that it fits."

"No, Don Roberto. Let the poor fellow have his hour of romance, if he can. I am not one with you to pry into it, or into the lady's confusion, let her be whom she may."

Fernando turned away with these words, going toward the house. Henderson felt his heart warm to the young fellow, glad to know there was some of the delicacy of chivalry still living in that race.

"Yankee thief! you'll feel the bite of rawhide for this," Roberto threatened. "Come, take me to the owner of this shoe."

Henderson stood in the bright moonlight confronting this petulant tyrant who believed himself master not only of the present situation but the future as well. The little shoe was soft in Henderson's hand; he held its pliant, thin sole bent in his palm, hiding it from Roberto's curiously hungry