e," resumed Coronado, seeing that he must
urge her. "I venture now to ask you again. I implore you not to refuse me.
I cannot be refused. It would make me utterly wretched. It might perhaps
bring wretchedness upon you. I hope not. I could not wish you a pain,
though you should give me many. My very dear Clara, I offer you the only
love of my life, and the only love that I shall ever offer to any one.
Will you take it?"

Clara was greatly moved. She could not doubt his sincerity; no one who
heard him could have doubted it; he _was_ sincere. To her, young,
tender-hearted, capable of loving earnestly, beginning already to know
what love is, it seemed a horrible thing to spurn affection. If it had not
been for Thurstane, she would have taken Coronado for pity.

"Oh, my cousin!" she sighed, and stopped there.

Coronado drew courage from the kindly title of relationship, and, leaning
gently towards her, attempted to take her hand. It was a mistake; she was
strangely shocked by his touch; she perceived that she did not like him,
and she drew away from him.

"Thank you for that word," he whispered. "Is it the kindest that you can
give me? Is there--?"

"Coronado!" she interrupted. "This is all an error. See here. I am not an
independent creature. I am a young girl. I owe some duty somewhere. My
father and mother are gone, but I have a grandfather. Coronado, he is the
head of my family, and I ought not to marry without his permission. Why
can you not wait until we are with Munoz?"

There she suddenly dropped her head between the palms of her hands. It
struck her that she was hypocritical; that even with the consent of Munoz
she would not marry Coronado; that it was her duty to tell him so.

"My cousin, I have not told the whole truth," she added, after a terrible
struggle. "I would not marry any one without first laying the case before
my grandfather. But that is not all. Coronado, I cannot--no, I cannot
marry you."

The man without a conscience, the man who was capable of planning and
ordering murder, turned pale under this announcement.

Notwithstanding its commonness, notwithstanding that it has been described
until the subject is hackneyed, notwithstanding that it has become a
laughing-stock for many, even including poets and novelists, there is
probably no heart-pain keener than disappointment in love. The shock of it
is like a deep stab; it not merely tortures, but it instantly sickens; the
anguish is much, but t