"Do you doubt it? You do not? But what help for it? He is so much against you. I think some one has been telling him something bad about you. When we go to _matins_ he always sends _Tia_ Josefa along with us, and I'm sure she has instructions to watch us. I know it's only _me_. He's not half so careful about sister. He allows her to drive out alone--to the Alameda--anywhere. If I go, I must be accompanied by Tia Josefa." "The deuce take Tia Josefa!" "And do you know, Francisco, there's something worse yet? I've only heard it this very day. Josefa told it me. I believe papa put it in her head to tell me. If I don't consent to marry _him_--you know whom I mean--I'm to be shut up in a convent! Only think of it! Imprisoned for life in a dark cloister, or marry a man I can't love--old enough to be my uncle! _Ay Dios_! What am I to do about it?" "Neither one nor the other of those two things--if I can hinder it. Don't be uneasy, love! I'll find some way to save you from such a fate--which would be equally ruinous to myself. Your father can have nothing against me, except that I'm poor. Who knows but that I may become rich during this war. I have hopes of promotion, and--listen dearest!" Here the voice of Francisco sank into a whisper, as if the communication he was making required peculiar secrecy. The words were not audible across the street; neither were those murmured in response. I only heard some phrases that fell from the lady's lips as she turned to go inside. "_Adios querido! Hasta la manana_!" Far sweeter to _my_ ear were some words spoken by Francisco himself. "Stay! A moment, _dear Dolores_! one moment--" I did not hear the conclusion of his passionate appeal, nor the reply-- if there was one. Dolores might have stayed in the _balcon_, and chatted with her dear Francis for an hour by the cathedral clock, without giving me the slightest chagrin. I was too happy to listen to another word of their conversation. Mercedes--_my_ Mercedes--was not she who had dropped that little note, and said to him who received it, "Va con Dios!" There was still a hope that her heart was free; that no "querido Francisco" had yet taken possession of it! "God grant but that," was my mental prayer, as I turned to take my departure, "and Mercedes may yet be mine!" CHAPTER FOURTEEN. QUE COSA? Giving way to sweet imaginings, I stood for some seconds under the shadow of the portal. Meanwhile the Mexican had passed out of the street. As I believed that he had gone back to the saloon we had both lately forsaken, I started in the same direction. I now longed to have a conversation with him; determined in my own mind that it should be more cordial than any that had yet taken place between us. I could at that moment have embraced him: for my gratitude, hitherto restrained by the thought of his being my rival, was suddenly exalted to a feeling of fervour.