e present, it was not entirely to
his liking. There was an awkward five minutes to pass, but once passed
he would shake the red dust from him and never set foot on that road
again. Fausta, truly, had been very sweet, and she had beguiled for him
many and many an otherwise wearisome hour. But she was like the fruit,
which on arriving he had relished. She had lost her savor. I will give
her the gold, he thought, the gold and a kiss. The gold will serve for
dower and the kiss for farewell.

So mused Don Ruis. He had reached her door, and, as before, at the noise
of hoofs she came out with a welcome.

"Ah, Ruis," she murmured, "I have watched for you the entire day. This
morning I went to our Eden, and again this afternoon. Where were you?
Ruis, I caught a butterfly, it was like a winged acacia, and I gathered
the jasmines you like, and waited, but you did not come. My Ruis, I
thought you ill perhaps, yet everything was so fair and still I knew
you could not be but well. And, Ruis, as I was leaving, a yellow-breast
began to sing. He seemed to bring a message from you. I know it now, it
was that you would come to-night. Ruis, forgive my foolish words, it is
because my heart is full of love for you. But why do you not dismount?
Come, we will stroll there beneath the stars. Do you know, Ruis, with
you I am so happy there are moments when I could die of joy. But why do
you not speak to me? Is it the night? My Ruis, your face seems changed."

"Fausta, I have come to say good-bye."

"Good-bye? Ruis, you jest."

"No, Fausta, it is not jest. Don Jayme and I return to Spain."

"To Spain! It cannot be! You said that when you went, we both should
go; that I should be your wife."

"Don Jayme has found another for me."

"And what of your word, Don Ruis?"

"There, Fausta, it is painful enough. Were it not for Don Jayme, you
know--naturally, you know--you know very well what I would do. But see,
what would you? It is painful, indeed."

"Painful? Painful to whom? Not to Don Jayme, nor seemingly to you."

"Ah, but it is; and see, I have brought you this, and this too." He took
the bags from the holster and held them to her. Yet she made no motion
to take them. She stepped back a little, and to the midnight of her eyes
came a sudden flash. "How much is in them," he continued, "I do not
know, but it must be like St. Peter's pence; you can see"--and he
affected a little laugh--"they are not light to hold. Truly they must
represent