r our coming."

A single glance showed that Rosa had indeed told her story. She sat on
a lounge, looking very miserable. My mother rose and came toward me.
Taking my hands, she clasped them in her own. She was a very beautiful
woman, famous for her beauty even among the ladies of Lima. She was
tall and slightly built, with black hair and glorious dark eyes that
shone like stars. I have heard that at one time she was called the
"Lady of the Stars," and I am not surprised. They shone now, but all
gentleness had gone from them, and was replaced by a hard, fierce
glitter which half frightened me. Her cheeks were white, and her lips
bloodless; but as far as could be seen, she had not shed a tear.

Still holding my hands, and looking into my face, she said, "You have
heard the news, Juan? You know that your father lies dead on the
mountains, slain while carrying a message of peace to the fierce men
who live there?"

I bowed my head, but could utter no sound save the anguished cry of
"Mother, mother!"

"Hush!" she exclaimed; "it is no time for tears now. I shall weep
later in my own room, but not before the world, Juan. Our grief is our
own, my son, not the country's. And there is little Rosa, brave little
Rosa, who came to bring me the news; she must go back. Let Miguel
bring round the carriage, and see that half a dozen of the men ride in
attendance. Don Felipe's daughter must have an escort befitting her
father's rank."

I began to speak of the strange visitor outside; but Rosa was her first
care, and she would see no one until Rosa had been attended to. So I
hurried Miguel, the coachman, and the men who were to ride on either
side of the carriage, returning to the room only when all was ready.

Mother had wrapped Rosa up warmly, and now, kissing her, she said,
"Good-bye, my child. You were very good to think of me, and I shall
not forget. Tell your father the truth; he will not mind now."

Rosa kissed my mother in reply, and walked unsteadily to the coach.
She was still sobbing, and the sight of her white face added to my
misery.

"Don't cry, Rosa," said I, as I helped her into the carriage and wished
her good-bye, neither of us having any idea of the strange events which
would happen before we met again.

As soon as the carriage had gone, my mother directed that the stranger
should be admitted, and he came in accompanied by Jose. I would have
left the room, but my mother stopped me, saying,--