or's
wife when she returns....

She laughs at me! She declares I shall do whatever is her pleasure! And
what is my puny strength to hers? With all the will in the world to
resist her, I am as wax in her hands!

CHAPTER XIII.

The first day of March.

For six months I have added nothing to this record; though time and
again I have taken up my pen to write, and then laid it by, with no mark
upon the fresh page. Can heartache be written down in words? Can
loneliness and longing,--the desolation of one who has no human creature
on whom to lavish love and care,--the dull misery that is known only to
those whose best beloved are suffering the worst woes of this woeful
life,--can all these be told? Ah, no! one can only feel them--bear
them--and be crushed by them.

If it had not been for the good old dame, I know not what would have
become of me. Many a day and many a night I have clung to her for hours,
weeping--crying aloud, "I cannot bear it! I cannot!" What choice had I
but to bear it? And tears cannot flow forever; the calm of utter
weariness succeeds.

'Tis not that I have been ill treated. I am well housed, and daintily
clothed and fed. Unless Melinza--or some other guest--is present, I sit
at the Governor's own table. His wife makes of me something between a
companion and a plaything: one moment I have to bear with her capricious
kindness; the next, I am teased or driven away from her with as little
courtesy as she shows to the noble hound that follows her like her own
shadow.

Until lately I have seen little of Melinza. Early in the winter he went
away to the Habana and remained absent two months, during which time I
had more peace of mind than I have known since first we came here. But
since his return he has tried in various ways to force himself into my
presence; and Dona Orosia,--who could so easily shield me if she
chose,--before she comes to my relief, permits him to annoy me until I
am roused to the point of passionate repulse. One could almost think she
loves to see me suffer--unless it is the sight of his discomfiture that
affords her such satisfaction.

But all of this I could endure if only my dear love were free! I have
heard that he is ill. It may not be true,--God grant that it is not!
Still, though the rumour came to me by devious ways, and through old
Barbara's lips at last (and she is ever prone to think the worst), it is
more than possible! I, myself, have suffered somewhat from th