will you
not? Ruis, see, it is for you. You are all I have. It was for you I came
here; it was for you I made this match. For myself, nothing matters. I
have had my day. It is in you I live, in you only; and in our name to
which this marriage will give a new and needed lustre."

"And you say we leave to-night?"

Don Jayme nodded.

"That will be difficult. H'm." He hesitated, and as he hesitated his
father looked inquiringly at him. "It is this: there is one here who
thinks that name is to be hers."

"Then does she flatter herself. Who is she?"

"A neighbor."

"Bah! the Fausta? The Fausta is it?" Had Fausta been a negress Don Jayme
could not have displayed greater contempt. "Why, the Fausta is a Creole,
the daughter of a highwayman."

"Father, she is a flower."

"Of which you have enjoyed the perfume. Dona Clarisa is a bouquet. The
change should be pleasant. Come, Ruis, prepare yourself; in an hour we
must start."

"I have given my word."

Don Jayme coughed and examined his tapering, yellow fingers. "Then get
it back," he said at last.

"Ah yes, but how."

Don Jayme coughed again and shrugged his shoulders. Then suddenly he
filliped his forefinger and thumb together as were he counting coin.
"Send for your horse, Ruis. I will attend to that." When Ruis returned
Don Jayme placed two small yet heavy bags before him. "Offer one," he
said; "it is ample. But should she play the difficult, then give the
other too. And Ruis, the road is not always safe; are you armed? At
least take this dagger. There, I had forgotten; that there may be no
complications, get a receipt."

Ruis stuck the dirk in his belt and placed the bags in the holster. His
father stood watching him on the veranda. "I will wait for you here," he
said, as Ruis mounted; "do not be long." And as the young man touched
the horse with his heel, he called out, "I count on you, Ruis." He
waved his hand to him lovingly. He was in great good spirits; the goal
to which for five years he had striven was full in sight.

And Ruis from the saddle answered, "Count on your gold, Don Jayme."

In a moment he was out of sight, galloping down the road, with only
stars and fire-flys to light the way. But of the road the horse knew
every inch. And as Ruis galloped he thought of Madrid and its
allurements, of the corrida and its emotions, of the Dona Clarisa that
was to be his, and of other donas that he would meet. The future
certainly was very bright. As for th