sted an hour, Cissy tactfully
dividing his somewhat exclusive instruction with the others, and even
interpreting it to their slower comprehension. When it was over, the
choristers shyly departed, according to their usual custom, leaving
Cissy and Don Eliseo--and occasionally one of the padres to more
informal practicing and performance. Neither the ingenuousness of Cissy
nor the worldly caution of aunt Vashti had ever questioned the propriety
of these prolonged and secluded seances; and the young girl herself,
although by no means unaccustomed to the bashful attentions of the youth
of West Woodlands, had never dreamed of these later musical interviews
as being anything but an ordinary recreation of her art. The feeling of
gratitude and kindness she had for Don Eliseo, her aunt's friend, had
never left her conscious or embarrassed when she was alone with him.
But to-day, possibly from his own nervousness and preoccupation, she was
aware of some vague uneasiness, and at an early opportunity rose to go.
But Don Eliseo gently laid his hand on hers and said:--

"Don't go yet; I want to talk to you." His touch suddenly reminded her
that once or twice before he had done the same thing, and she had been
disagreeably impressed by it. But she lifted her brown eyes to his with
an unconsciousness that was more crushing than a withdrawal of her hand,
and waited for him to go on.

"It is such a long way for you to come, and you have so little time to
stay when you are here, that I am thinking of asking your aunt to let
you live here at the Mission, as a pupil, in the house of the Senora
Hernandez, until your lessons are finished. Padre Jose will attend to
the rest of your education. Would you like it?"

Poor Cissy's eyes leaped up in unaffected and sparkling affirmation
before her tongue replied. To bask in this beloved sunshine for days
together; to have this quaint Spanish life before her eyes, and those
soft Spanish accents in her ears; to forget herself in wandering in the
old-time Mission garden beyond; to have daily access to Mr. Braggs's
piano and the organ of the church--this was indeed the realization
of her fondest dreams! Yet she hesitated. Somewhere in her inherited
Puritan nature was a vague conviction that it was wrong, and it seemed
even to find an echo in the warning of the preacher: this was what she
was "pining for."

"I don't know," she stammered. "I must ask auntie; I shouldn't like to
leave her; and there's t