“Child,” replied the Governor, “you have always been something more to me than an ordinary child, a child of entirely plebeian birth. The mere fact of your wounded pride on learning that you were born out of wedlock, that broke your heart and caused your untimely demise, proved the question of your blood to be other than plebeian.” “I do not cry any more now, over the past,” said Catalina, “for I believe in the righting of all wrongs. It is worked out by Nature and Nature’s help to man.” “Come, child, my little philosopher, kiss your papa; kiss me fondly. A strange fear is crowding over me,” he said, holding out his arms to her. She did his bidding with much fervor, and whispering in his ear, said: “Juan is coming with our luncheon. I will open the door.” The faithful old man entered and set before them a dainty meal, and stood quietly back of the Governor’s chair while he ate heartily of the food. The meal was quite contrary to the usual customs of the household—that is, without any conversation and with much dispatch. The Governor arose when he had finished, looked at his watch, and said: “It is now one o’clock. Juan, remove the dishes, and take the child to the housekeeper.” “Yes, your Honor,” replied Juan. “Here is a letter I was told to give you at one o’clock.” The Governor took the letter, and kissing the child fondly, said: “Go with Juan, dear, and tell Juanita you need to sleep.” As they were leaving the room, she said: “I am sleepy and will take a nap—but will show you the way to Marriet Motuble, when you go.” “A strange child,” mentally commented the Governor, as he tore the envelope open. “As if I intended to call upon Miss Motuble, the massive giantess; the aggressive señorita. No, no, Catalina, dear, sweet child, you are a wonder in many ways, but this time you are mistaken. Dearest Helen, would that I could visit you! What, what is this?” holding the letter he pulled out of the envelope at arm’s length. “What is it?” “I, Marriet Motuble, nearing the end of my third existence,” he read, “wish you to bear in mind the following: that by the time you have finished reading this note which I have ordered to be left with you at one o’clock this very day, I will no more be a mortal. By my own hands will the great chasm which separates the physical from the spiritual of man be reached. Such an act has been recorded, since the beginning of time, as a crime against the great Creator as well as against self. Be it further known that I, Marriet Motuble, this moment confess to my many faults, the greatest of all my sins to my mind being my pretensions to having been a subject of ‘Memory Fluid,’ or of having remembered a previous existence. I only made this pretense to ingratiate myself into your favor, knowing your great belief in your wonderful ‘Memory Fluid,’ to make you return my great love. My labors were in vain. I am, on the other hand, repulsive to you—so I this day, at one o’clock, make an end of this earthly existence.”