“Remember, I am older than yourself, and may early lose the beauty you love so well, leaving an old wife to burden your youth.” “What are a few years to me? Women like you grow lovelier with age, and you shall have a strong young husband to lean on all your life.” “Remember, I am not of your faith, and the priests will shut me out from your heaven.” “Let them prate as they will. Where you go I will go; Santa Paula shall be my madonna!” “Remember, I am a deserted woman, and in the world we are going to my name may become the sport of that man's cruel tongue. Could you bear that patiently; and curb your fiery pride if I desired it?” “Anything for you, Pauline!” “One thing more. I give you my liberty; for a time give me forbearance in return, and though wed in haste woo me slowly, lest this sore heart of mine find even your light yoke heavy. Can you promise this, and wait till time has healed my wound, and taught me to be meek?” “I swear to obey you in all things; make me what you will, for soul and body I am wholly yours henceforth.” “Faithful and true! I knew you would not fail me. Now go, Manuel. Tomorrow do your part resolutely as I shall do mine, and in a week we will begin the new life together. Ours is a strange betrothal, but it shall not lack some touch of tenderness from me. Love, good night.” Pauline bent till her bright hair mingled with the dark, kissed the boy on lips and forehead as a fond sister might have done, then put him gently from her; and like one in a blessed dream he went away to pace all night beneath her window, longing for the day. As the echo of his steps died along the corridor, Pauline's eye fell on the paper lying where her lover flung it. At this sight all the softness vanished, the stern woman reappeared, and, crushing it in her hand with slow significance, she said low to herself, “This is an old, old story, but it shall have a new ending.” Chapter II “What jewels will the señora wear tonight?” “None, Dolores. Manuel has gone for flowers--he likes them best. You may go.” “But the señora's toilette is not finished; the sandals, the gloves, the garland yet remain.” “Leave them all; I shall not go down. I am tired of this endless folly. Give me that book and go.” The pretty Creole obeyed; and careless of Dolores' work, Pauline sank into the deep chair with a listless mien, turned the pages for a little, then lost herself in thoughts that seemed to bring no rest. Silently the young husband entered and, pausing, regarded his wife with mingled pain and pleasure--pain to see her so spiritless, pleasure to see her so fair. She seemed unconscious of his presence till the fragrance of his floral burden betrayed him, and looking up to smile a welcome she met a glance that changed the sad dreamer into an excited actor, for it told her that the object of her search was found. Springing erect, she asked eagerly, “Manuel, is he here?” “Yes.” “Alone?” “His wife is with him.” “Is she beautiful?”