n a week, if not less. Indeed, he has this day
been to see about taking passages to Panama. That's why he was not at
home to receive you; leaving me to do the honours of the house, and
apologise for his seeming rudeness."

For that not much apology was needed, thinks Crozier, who is for a time
silent, not knowing what next to say. Love, reputed eloquent, is oft
the reverse; and though opening the lips of a landsman, will shut those
of men who follow the sea. There is a remarkable modesty about the
latter more than the former--in the presence of women. Why, I cannot
tell; only knowing that as a rule it is so; and certainly in the case of
Edward Crozier.

In time he gets over his embarrassment, so far as to venture upon an
interrogatory, not very pertinent--

"I suppose, Dona Carmen, you are very happy at the prospect of returning
to Spain?"

"No, indeed," answers Don Gregorio's daughter. "On the contrary, it
makes me rather melancholy. I love dear California, and could live in
it all my life. Couldn't you?"

"Under certain circumstances, I could."

"But you like the country, don't you?"

"I do, now. In ten days from this time, I shall no longer care for it--
not three straws."

"Why do you say that, Don Eduardo? There's an enigma in your words.
Please explain them?"

While asking the question, her grey-blue eyes gaze into his, with an
expression of searching eagerness--almost anxiety.

"Shall I tell you why, senorita!"

"I have asked you, senor."

"Well, then, I like California now, because it contains the fairest
object on earth--to me the dearest--the woman I love. In ten days or
less, by her own showing, she will be away from it; why should I care
for it then? Now, Dona Carmen, I've given you the key to what you've
called an enigma."

"Not quite. Perhaps you will pardon a woman's curiosity, if I ask the
name of the lady who thus controls your likes and dislikes."

Crozier hesitates, a red spot flushing out upon his cheek. He is about
to pronounce a name--perhaps make a speech, the most important he has
ever made in his life--because laden with his life's happiness, or
leading to the reverse. What if it should be coldly received?

But no; he cannot be mistaken. Her question, so quaintly, yet so
impressively put--surely courts the answer he intends giving? And he
gives it without further reflection--her own name, not an added word.

"_Carmen Montijo_."

"Eduardo," she asks, after