"Narcissa is dead," he said, monotonously, "and since coming to town I have learned that I am a beggar; we are all homeless--outcasts." "Oh, Manuel!" she cried, laying her hand on his arm, "my poor, poor boy. Come with me into the open air--this place chokes me. And now tell me about Narcissa." She drew him out into the sunshine, and back again to the fragrant shadows of the orange grove. She sought a rustic seat for them, but he threw himself on the sod beside it. "Wrecked and lost and lonely," he groaned, "it is well that Narcissa is dead; and yet she was our only comfort." "Poor Manuel!" she repeated, softly; "my poor boy." Her fingers were straying among the sunny waves of his hair, and he caught her hand suddenly, and covered it with a frenzy of kisses. "Leonora!" he cried, all the reckless fire of his nation breaking into flames, "come with me, and we will be happy. You do not love your wealthy affianced, you love me. Be mine; I will work and toil for you, and you shall be my queen. Oh, Nora, I love you--I love you--I love you." Poor Nora! why should stern reality be so bitter? "Foolish boy," she said, disengaging her hand, "you are mad. What if Don Pedro--" "Ah, true; I had forgotten--you are an American. Go, then, be happy with your wealthy husband; Manuel will never cross your path again." "Manuel!" she cried, and she stretched out her arms towards the spot where he had just stood, "come back, for I love you, and you alone." But a rustling in the willow-hedge only answered to her passionate cry, and she cowered on the garden-bench, sobbing and moaning out her helpless grief. The rustling in the willow-hedge behind her grew louder, so that even she was startled by the noise. "Ho, Nell!" The words fell on her ears like the crack of doom, her face grew white to the very lips, and a great horror crept into her eyes. She turned as if expecting to meet the engulfing jaws of some dread monster, and her eyes fell upon the form of a man, whose slovenly dress and bloated features spoke of a life of neglect and dissipation--perhaps worse. "Why, Nell, old girl," he continued, familiarly, "this is a pretty reception to give your husband. I'm not a ghost; don't be afraid of me." "Wretch!" she cried, trembling with fear and excitement. "How dare you come here? Go at once, or I shall call for help." "No, you won't. I'm not afraid. Come, you can get rid of me in a minute. The truth is, I'm d----d hard up; got into two or three little unpleasantnesses, and got out only by a scratch. I want to get away from here--it's unhealthy here for me--but I've got no money. Saw you down town with that pompous Greaser the other day; know him well; he's got lots of money; and I thought that, for love and affection, as they say in the law, and in consideration of our former relations, you might help me to some of his spare coin."