And Fausta, waist-encircled, would answer, "Ruis, I love you; I need to see you, to see you again, and always. When you leave me it is as though I fell asleep, to reawake only at your return." It was with this duo and its infinite variations that they charmed two months away. To Ruis, at first, no other months of all his life had been so fertile in delight. To Fausta they were not months, but dreams fulfilled. Meanwhile, Don Jayme had not been idle. He had been much in Puerto Principe, and he had made two journeys to Havana. Now from Santiago to Havana the distance is 600 miles, and Don Jayme was not a man to undertake such a journey without due and sufficient cause. Be this as it may, it so happened that after his second visit to the capital he enjoyed a memorable interview with his son. To him he had as yet said nothing of his plans, but on this occasion he made no secret of them. "Ruis," he said, leisurely, with the air of one engaging in conversation solely for conversation's sake, "you know the House of Sandoval?" "Surely: we are more or less related. A hundred years ago an Ixar married a Sandoval--" "Of the younger branch, however. We do not bear their arms." "There was no bluer blood in all Castile." "No, nor yet in Aragon. Don Jorge is in Havana." "Don Jorge of Sandoval! I thought him dead." "His credit was, but that has since revived. He came to Cuba the year before I came myself. I am little richer now than then, but he has garnered millions." "Ah!" "Yes, millions--three at least. In the Convent of Our Lady del Pilar is his daughter, Dona Clarisa. We have agreed that you and she should wed." Ruis laughed. "To-morrow," he answered; "I am not in haste for matrimony;" and laughed again. "Ruis, Don Jorge and I, we have agreed." There was something in the father's face that banished the merriment of the son. "This night we leave for Havana. See to it that you are in readiness." In his perplexity Ruis twisted a cigarette. "Have you understood me?" Don Jayme asked. "In a month we shall be in Spain. You will like to be back there, will you not?" he continued, in suaver tones. "You will like to be back there, rich, and--and the husband of a beautiful girl. Eh, my son? You will like that, will you not? Ruis, see, it is for you. You are all I have. It was for you I came here; it was for you I made this match. For myself, nothing matters. I have had my day. It is in you I live, in you only; and in our name to which this marriage will give a new and needed lustre." "And you say we leave to-night?" Don Jayme nodded. "That will be difficult. H'm." He hesitated, and as he hesitated his father looked inquiringly at him. "It is this: there is one here who thinks that name is to be hers." "Then does she flatter herself. Who is she?" "A neighbor." "Bah! the Fausta? The Fausta is it?" Had Fausta been a negress Don Jayme could not have displayed greater contempt. "Why, the Fausta is a Creole, the daughter of a highwayman."