"Father, she is a flower." "Of which you have enjoyed the perfume. Dona Clarisa is a bouquet. The change should be pleasant. Come, Ruis, prepare yourself; in an hour we must start." "I have given my word." Don Jayme coughed and examined his tapering, yellow fingers. "Then get it back," he said at last. "Ah yes, but how." Don Jayme coughed again and shrugged his shoulders. Then suddenly he filliped his forefinger and thumb together as were he counting coin. "Send for your horse, Ruis. I will attend to that." When Ruis returned Don Jayme placed two small yet heavy bags before him. "Offer one," he said; "it is ample. But should she play the difficult, then give the other too. And Ruis, the road is not always safe; are you armed? At least take this dagger. There, I had forgotten; that there may be no complications, get a receipt." Ruis stuck the dirk in his belt and placed the bags in the holster. His father stood watching him on the veranda. "I will wait for you here," he said, as Ruis mounted; "do not be long." And as the young man touched the horse with his heel, he called out, "I count on you, Ruis." He waved his hand to him lovingly. He was in great good spirits; the goal to which for five years he had striven was full in sight. And Ruis from the saddle answered, "Count on your gold, Don Jayme." In a moment he was out of sight, galloping down the road, with only stars and fire-flys to light the way. But of the road the horse knew every inch. And as Ruis galloped he thought of Madrid and its allurements, of the corrida and its emotions, of the Dona Clarisa that was to be his, and of other donas that he would meet. The future certainly was very bright. As for the present, it was not entirely to his liking. There was an awkward five minutes to pass, but once passed he would shake the red dust from him and never set foot on that road again. Fausta, truly, had been very sweet, and she had beguiled for him many and many an otherwise wearisome hour. But she was like the fruit, which on arriving he had relished. She had lost her savor. I will give her the gold, he thought, the gold and a kiss. The gold will serve for dower and the kiss for farewell. So mused Don Ruis. He had reached her door, and, as before, at the noise of hoofs she came out with a welcome.