“I think yes. I think who loves should not wish to harm her beloved.” “Ah!” Mrs. Van Dorn breathed with satisfaction. “I felt sure that you would be sensible and that you would understand that this boy and girl affair is merely youthful folly, and that you will soon outgrow it. You are too fair a blossom not to be gathered by some brave young Mexican, and you will soon forget that you ever thought of doing a thing so foolish as to marry an Americano.” “I shall not forget--no. What is it that you wish for him? that you wish me to do for him? I do not quite understand.” To tell her exactly what she did wish seemed the height of cruelty, but Mrs. Van Dorn had gone too far to retreat. “My dear little girl,” she said, “I hope I am thinking of your own happiness as well as my son’s when I say that I wish to be assured that you have no thought of marrying Blythe, that you will tell him so and ask him not to see you again.” A quiver of pain passed over the girl’s face and the clasp of her hands tightened. “It will really make but little difference to you in a few months,” said the mother, trying to be jocular. “You will forget and I shall hear of your wedding before long, I am sure.” Lolita bowed her head, her attitude one of resigned grief. In a very low voice she said, “He has my heart but I will not marry him to make him sorry some days. I will not marry to keep him from to be what you are wishing. No, no. You are the mother; you have the right to say obey, and I obey, but I think I am die; I think I am die.” She lifted her face marble-like in its pallor; but suddenly she sprang to her feet with a scream. At the same instant Mrs. Van Dorn who had moved her arm to rest it upon the low window ledge heard a whirring sound, then felt a sharp, agonizing pain. Lolita sprang towards her, grasped her wrist and applied her lips to the burning spot, unheeding the fact that the rattlesnake which had been disturbed in his exit from the house, had also attacked her as she thrust him aside. Her scream brought Christine running to find Mrs. Van Dorn in an agony of fright and Lolita on her knees drawing the poison from the wound. “What is it? What is it?” cried Christine. “A snake, a dreadful rattler,” said Mrs. Van Dorn. “Oh, child, child!” the tears began to course down her cheeks. “Where is the snake? Did it strike you, Lolita?” asked Christine. “I do not know. Yes, I think. There, madam, I do not believe you are to suffer,” she added. “But you, you,” said Christine. “It does not matter,” said Lolita dully. “It is only my father who will care. For me it does not matter.” “Hush, hush, such talk will never do. Come with me, both of you,” ordered Christine. And fairly dragging Lolita, Mrs. Van Dorn running by her side, she hurried to the house. “Quick, quick, Alison,” she called when she was within hearing. “Get the rattlesnake cure. Mrs. Van Dorn and Lolita have been struck by a rattler.”