‘Only just enough to go on with, Mr Courtney; but Sir Russell is as impatient as a boy of twenty, and refuses to wait a day over the month. I have sent my orders to England, as you desired me; but, of course, they can’t be here in time. The wedding-dress I can luckily supply. Perhaps you have forgotten the exquisite dress of Honiton lace you gave me when the dear child was born. I am having it made up over white satin; and she could wear nothing, Sir Russell says, more elegant or appropriate. As the happy event is taking place in the hot season, Maraquita can wear nothing but white muslin and lace, which I shall have no trouble in procuring for her; and by the time the rainy season sets in, her dresses will have arrived from England. Really, Mr Courtney, it seems as if the fates smiled upon her, for nothing could be more fortunate than everything has turned out.’ The planter acquiesced in his wife’s opinion, and the few days he spent on the hills confirmed it as his own. No two people could appear to be happier than Quita and her _fiancé_. She suffered herself to be loved, and caressed, and petted to any extent; and Sir Russell was always ready to gratify her. Her proud father thought she looked lovelier than ever, under the consciousness of her coming honours, and went back to Beauregard fully satisfied that she was the most fortunate girl in the world. But as the time passed on, and the moment drew near when the mother and daughter must also quit the hills, Quita’s agitation became very apparent. ‘Mamma,’ she would say, in a horrified whisper, clinging fast to her mother’s hand, ‘are you quite, _quite_ sure _he_ has left Beauregard?’ ‘Quite sure, my dearest. Your father sent him away a fortnight ago, and Mr Campbell, the new overseer, is living at the Oleander Bungalow in his stead.’ ‘But might he not be hiding somewhere near? At Shanty Hill, or in the Miners’ Gulch? There are public-houses in both those places.’ ‘Quita, my child, you must get over this foolish fear. In the first place, your father is quite convinced that De Courcelles has left San Diego, as there is no vacant situation in the island for which he could apply; and in the second, even if he were in the neighbourhood he would not dare to speak to you, far less to try and injure you.’ ‘Ah, mamma, you don’t know Henri! You should have seen his eyes when he said he would stab me at the altar. He is terrible when he is in a rage. And I feel convinced he will keep his word. He will hang about Beauregard till my wedding-day, and then he will hide in the church and shoot me, and I shall die in my wedding-dress, bespattered with blood!’ replied Quita, relapsing into tears at the awful picture she had conjured up in her imagination.