ldren,
rather than to sacrifice that in order to make them love him."

It seemed to Dolores that there might be a way open between the two, but
she said nothing, and left her hand in his, glad that he was kind, but
feeling, as he felt, that there could never be any real understanding
between them. The breach had existed too long, and it was far too wide.

"You are headstrong, my dear," he said, nodding at each word. "You are
very headstrong, if you will only reflect."

"It is not my head, it is my heart," answered Dolores. "And besides,"
she added with a smile, "I am your daughter, and you are not of a very
gentle and yielding disposition, are you?"

"No," he answered with hesitation, "perhaps not." Then his face relaxed
a little, and he almost smiled too.

It seemed as if the peace were made and as if thereafter there need not
be trouble again. But it was even then not far off, for it was as
impossible for Mendoza to yield as it would have been for Dolores to
give up her love for Don John. She did not see this, and she fancied
that a real change had taken place in his disposition, so that he would
forget that he had threatened to send her to Las Huelgas, and not think
of it again.

"What is done cannot be undone," he said, with renewed sadness. "You
will never quite believe that you have been everything to me during your
life. How could you not be, my child? I am very lonely. Your mother has
been dead nearly eighteen years, and Rodrigo--"

He stopped short suddenly, for he had never spoken his son's name in the
girl's hearing since Rodrigo had left him to follow his own fortunes.

"I think Rodrigo broke my heart," said the old man, after a short pause,
controlling his voice so that it sounded dry and indifferent. "And if
there is anything left of it, you will break the rest."

He rose, taking his hand from hers, and turning away, with the roughness
of a strong, hard man, who has broken down once under great emotion and
is capable of any harshness in his fear of yielding to it again. Dolores
started slightly and drew back. In her the kindly impression was still
strong, but his tone and manner wounded her.

"You are wrong," she said earnestly. "Since you have shown me that you
love me, I will indeed do my best not to hurt you or displease you. I
will do what I can--what I can."

She repeated the last words slowly and with unconscious emphasis. He
turned his face to her again instantly.

"Then promise me tha