‘Maria,’ said he, in a decisive tone, ‘if you have been told that I love Julia Vandewater, or that I have ever given her the least reason to suspect so, you have been told a downright falsehood.’ ‘You not love Julia? No? Not a little bit?’ and she seized his hand and gazed into his face earnestly. ‘No, Maria, I do not love her.’ Maria was silent, and looked much puzzled. She trotted her foot; she looked at Monteagle, and then she fixed her gaze upon the ground for several minutes. Suddenly lifting her head, she said to Monteagle in a brisk tone, ‘You tell me one very big lie!’ ‘No, upon my honor.’ After a moment’s silence, she said, ‘Where you have been last night?’ ‘I can’t tell you that, Maria.’ ‘Ah! I find you out. You love one pretty lady: you see her last night, and you say I not tell you where I go last night.’ ‘No, Maria, I have answered one of your questions; but cannot answer the other.’ Maria looked down, and breathed a deep sigh. Monteagle’s pride was a little touched. He said, ‘I do not know that I shall ever marry, Maria. But if I happened to fall in with a congenial spirit—a _virtuous_, _chaste_, respectable girl, I don’t know what might happen.’ Maria threw back her head, shook her raven tresses fiercely, and her nostrils dilated as she answered—‘What thing is men! they think of nobody but himself. Woman got soul for somebody besides herself,’ and she struck her breast forcibly, so much so that Monteagle heard a dagger rattle in its scabbard. ‘Oh, yes, Maria, I have feeling for others,’ returned Monteagle. ‘I have feeling for you, and although I may not wish to marry you—’ The girl whirled completely round on one foot, and interrupted Monteagle by a shout of laughter that might have roused the inmates of the distant ranch. He looked at her surprised. Scarcely deigning him a glance, she began again, and laughed till her breath failed her. ‘Man is so fool!’ said she at length. ‘Here,’ she continued, taking a string of costly pearls from some place where they had been concealed about her person, and laying them on his hand. ‘You think that poor Maria give you these? You think I buy?’ Monteagle examined the precious gift by the twilight, and perceived that it was, indeed, too magnificent to have come from the poor nymph, and that it must be a gift from some unknown individual. He perceived the drift of Maria’s questionings. He believed that this was the gift of some wealthy lady who was kindly disposed towards him; and that Maria had been commissioned to sound him on the subject of his reported attachment to Julia. Here was an adventure, indeed, and his imagination was at once set on fire. ‘Tell me, Maria, the name of the lady?’ ‘What lady?’ ‘The lady who sent me these pearls.’ ‘A Lady—ha! ha! ha! It was not a lady. It was one big gentleman.’ Monteagle’s vanity fell ninety degrees, at hearing these words. ‘Who was the gentleman?’ inquired he, impatiently.