led the old affection in rivalry of
her? Or had she herself been unfortunate through any idle word to reopen
the wound? Had there been any suggestion?--she checked herself suddenly
at a thought that benumbed and chilled her!--perhaps that happy hour at
the cross might have reminded him of some episode with another? That was
the real significance of his rude speech. With this first taste of the
poison of jealousy upon her virgin lips, she seized the cup and drank it
eagerly. Ah, well--he should keep his blissful recollections of the
past undisturbed by her. Perhaps he might even see--though SHE had no
past--that her present life might be as disturbing to him! She recalled,
with a foolish pleasure, his solitary faint sneer at the devotion of
the Commander's Secretary. Why shouldn't she, hereafter, encourage
that devotion as well as that sneer from this complacently beloved Mr.
Hurlstone? Why should he be so assured of her past? The fair and
gentle reader who may be shocked at this revelation of Eleanor Keene's
character will remember that she has not been recorded as an angel in
these pages--but as a very human, honest, inexperienced girl, for the
first time struggling with the most diplomatic, Machiavellian, and
hypocritical of all the passions.

In pursuance of this new resolution, she determined to accept an
invitation from Mrs. Markham to accompany her and the Commander to
a reception at the Alcalde's house--the happy Secretary being of the
party. Mrs. Markham, who was under promise to the Comandante not to
reveal his plan for the escape of herself and Miss Keene until the
arrival of the expected transport, had paid little attention to the late
vagaries of her friend, and had contented herself by once saying, with
a marked emphasis, that the more free they kept themselves from any
entanglements with other people, the more prepared they would be for A
CHANGE.

"Perhaps it's just as well not to be too free, even with those Jesuits
over at the Mission. Your brother, you know, might not like it."

"THOSE JESUITS!" repeated Miss Keene indignantly. "Father Esteban, to
begin with, is a Franciscan, and Mr. Hurlstone is as orthodox as you or
I."

"Don't be too sure of that, my dear," returned Mrs. Markham
sententiously. "Heaven only knows what disguises they assume. Why,
Hurlstone and the priest are already as thick as two peas; and you can't
make me believe they didn't know of each other before we came here. He
was the f