him. It was faded, and had lost its oval
shape; but its coloring was yet beautiful, and the large, dark eyes
tender and bright below the snow-white hair. After a few minutes'
consideration, he touched, gently, a robe of white satin. "Put this on,
Maria," he said, "and your white mantilla, and your best jewels. The
occasion will excuse the utmost splendor."

The choice delighted her. She had really wished to wear it, and
some one's judgment to endorse her own inclinations was all that was
necessary to confirm her wish. Dolores found her in the most delightful
temper. She sat before the glass, smiling and talking, while her maid
piled high the snowy plaits and curls and crowned them with the jewelled
comb, only worn on very great festivals. Her form was still good, and
the white satin fell gracefully from her throat to her small feet.
Besides, whatever of loss or gain had marred her once fine proportions,
was entirely concealed by the beautifying, graceful, veiling folds of
her mantilla. There was the flash of diamonds, and the moonlight glimmer
of pearls beneath this flimsy covering; and at her belt a few white
lilies. She was exceedingly pleased with her own appearance, and her
satisfaction gave an ease and a sense of authority to her air and
movements which was charming.

"By Maria's grace, I am a very pretty old lady," she said to herself;
"and I think I shall I astonish my daughter-in-law a little. One is
afraid of these calm, cool, northern women, but I feel to-day that even
Abbie must be proud of me."

Indeed, her entrance into the large parlor made quite a sensation. She
could see the quiet pleasure in her husband's face; and her son Thomas,
after one glance, put down the child on his knee, and went to meet her.
"Mi madre," he whispered with a kiss. He had not used the pretty Spanish
word for years, but in the sudden rush of admiring tenderness, his
boyish heart came back to him, and quite unconsciously he used his
boyhood's speech. After this, she was not the least in awe of her wise
daughter-in-law. She touched her cheek kindly, and asked her about the
children, and was immeasurably delighted when Abbie said: "How beautiful
you are to-day! I wish I had your likeness to send to Boston. Robert,
come here and look at your grandmother! I want you to remember, as long
as you live, how grandmother looks to-day." And Robert--a fine lad eight
years old, accustomed to implicit obedience--put down the book he was
readi