Poor Cissy's eyes leaped up in unaffected and sparkling affirmation before her tongue replied. To bask in this beloved sunshine for days together; to have this quaint Spanish life before her eyes, and those soft Spanish accents in her ears; to forget herself in wandering in the old-time Mission garden beyond; to have daily access to Mr. Braggs's piano and the organ of the church--this was indeed the realization of her fondest dreams! Yet she hesitated. Somewhere in her inherited Puritan nature was a vague conviction that it was wrong, and it seemed even to find an echo in the warning of the preacher: this was what she was “pining for.” “I don't know,” she stammered. “I must ask auntie; I shouldn't like to leave her; and there's the chapel.” “Isn't that revivalist preacher enough to run it for a while?” said her companion, half-sneeringly. The remark was not a tactful one. “Mr. Seabright hasn't been here for a month,” she answered somewhat quickly. “But he's coming next Sunday, and I'm glad of it. He's a very good man. And there's nothing he don't notice. He saw how silly it was to stick the chapel into the very heart of the woods, and he told them so.” “And I suppose he'll run up a brand-new meeting-house out on the road,” said Braggs, smiling. “No, he's going to open up the woods, and let the sun and light in, and clear out the underbrush.” “And what's that for?” There was such an utter and abrupt change in the speaker's voice and manner--which until then had been lazily fastidious and confident--that Cissy was startled. And the change being rude and dictatorial, she was startled into opposition. She had wanted to say that the improvement had been suggested by HER, but she took a more aggressive attitude. “Brother Seabright says it's a question of religion and morals. It's a scandal and a wrong, and a disgrace to the Word, that the chapel should have been put there.” Don Eliseo's face turned so white and waxy that Cissy would have noticed it had she not femininely looked away while taking this attitude. “I suppose that's a part of his sensation style, and very effective,” he said, resuming his former voice and manner. “I must try to hear him some day. But, now, in regard to your coming here, of course I shall consult your aunt, although I imagine she will have no objection. I only wanted to know how YOU felt about it.” He again laid his hand on hers. “I should like to come very much,” said Cissy timidly; “and it's very kind of you, I'm sure; but you'll see what auntie says, won't you?” She withdrew her hand after momentarily grasping his, as if his own act had been only a parting salutation, and departed.