other: their faces were
alike.

The child, without divining the cause, had noticed this peculiarity in
the drawings.

"Why is it?" she asked one day, as we sat together. "These ladies are
all in different costumes, of different nations; are they not? and yet
there is a resemblance in their faces! They have all the same features;
indeed, exactly the same, I think."

"It is your face, Zoe; I can sketch no other."

She raised her large eyes, and bent them upon me with an expression of
innocent wonder. Was she blushing? No!

"Is that like me?"

"It is, as nearly as I can make it."

"And why do you not sketch other faces?"

"Why! because I--Zoe, I fear you would not understand me."

"Oh, Enrique; do you think me so bad a scholar? Do I not understand all
that you tell me of the far countries where you have been? Surely I may
comprehend this as well."

"I will tell you, then, Zoe."

I bent forward, with a burning heart and trembling voice.

"It is because your face is ever before me; I can paint no other. It
is, that--I love you, Zoe!"

"Oh! is that the reason? And when you love one, her face is always
before you, whether she herself be present or no? Is it not so?"

"It is so," I replied, with a painful feeling of disappointment.

"And is that love, Enrique?"

"It is."

"Then must I love you; for, wherever I may be, I can see your face: how
plainly before me! If I could use this pencil as you do, I am sure I
could paint it, though you were not near me! What then? Do you think I
love you, Enrique?"

No pen could trace my feelings at that moment. We were seated; and the
sheet on which were the sketches was held jointly between us. My hand
wandered over its surface, until the unresisting fingers of my companion
were clasped in mine. A wilder emotion followed the electric touch: the
paper fell upon the floor; and with a proud but trembling heart I drew
the yielding form to mine!

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

LIGHT AND SHADE.

The house we inhabited stood in a quadrangular inclosure that sloped
down to the banks of the river, the Del Norte. This inclosure was a
garden or shrubbery, guarded on all sides by high, thick walls of adobe.
Along the summit of these walls had been planted rows of the cactus,
that threw out huge, thorny limbs, forming an impassable
chevaux-de-frise. There was but one entrance to the house and garden,
through a strong wicket gate, which I had noticed was always shut an