"I would not seem unkind, but would put a check upon your tongue. You are scarcely more than a stranger to me. Two days ago you did not know that such a person lived as I; and yet, in that short time, you are pleading to hear a song from the little love-bird which nestles in Itlza's heart. Know you not, O Cacami, that the little bird is chary, and may be easily frightened away?" she replied archly, but kindly. "Your words are severe, Laughing-eyes, yet of them I may be deserving, for I have been impetuous; but I can not think my conduct should drive you from me, in that you are surely jesting. I am not a trifler, Itlza, and, believe me, never one spoke more sincerely. Only bid me hope, and I will be your silent slave." We would not have the reader think that Cacami was foolish, for he was not. He was unquestionably stricken with that peculiar affection which, ever since the first man and woman were brought face to face, has held the loftiest minds, and brought under subjection the strongest wills, making slaves of all, willing or unwilling, to the object through the attraction of which the affection is produced, causing men of intelligence, not infrequently, to fall into ridicule. Still, recognizing the innateness of the thing, we look upon such conduct as a natural consequence. Cacami's fault was in not restraining his impulsiveness. He read in the words which fell from Itlza's lips that she was not wholly indifferent to his wooing, and, as a last earnest, plead for a hope. Itlza's reply was not very encouraging. "To bid you hope might be to deceive you," she said. "No, you must not ask it of me. If the time should come when the little love-bird would sing its song for Cacami, he shall know it. Promise, then, to speak no more of love until you have permission, and Itlza will be your friend." "A wish from you, O Laughing-eyes, is a command to me. I will do the best I can; but should I fail, it will be for love of you." He spoke pathetically, and Itlza's heart went out to him with a sudden impulse, and a more adroit wooer than he might have won there and then, but Cacami had promised, and the opportunity passed unimproved. "I have your promise, then?" asked the persistent Itlza. "Yes," he answered, resignedly. She laughed at his sober acquiescence and pathetic yes, and said: "Your ready submission almost persuades me to believe you sincere. But, there, do not speak," she suddenly added, anticipating him, as he looked up at her fondly, showing in his expression that he was about to put some thought into words. She placed her hand over his mouth, and continued: "I do believe you would violate your promise before it is cold upon your lips." He put her hand away gently, and said: "You shall not again have occasion to check me. Laughing-eyes shall learn that Cacami can hold his tongue." * * * * *