at it elicited. The Lady Superior was gracious, and even
enthusiastic. Ah, yes, it was a growing custom of the American
caballeros--who had no homes, nor yet time to create any--to bring
their sisters, wards, and nieces here, and--with a dove-like
side-glance towards Key--even the young senoritas they wished to fit
for their Christian brides! Unlike the caballero, there were many
business men so immersed in their affairs that they could not find time
for a personal examination of the convent,--which was to be
regretted,--but who, trusting to the reputation of the Sacred Heart and
its good friends, simply sent the young lady there by some trusted
female companion. Notably this was the case of the Senor Rivers,--did
Don Preble ever know him?--a great capitalist in the Sierras, whose
sweet young sister, a naive, ingenuous creature, was the pride of the
convent. Of course, it was better that it was so. Discipline and
seclusion had to be maintained. The young girl should look upon this
as her home. The rules for visitors were necessarily severe. It was
rare indeed--except in a case of urgency, such as happened last
night--that even a lady, unless the parent of a scholar, was admitted
to the hospitality of the convent. And this lady was only the friend
of that same sister of the American capitalist, although she was the
one who had brought her there. No, she was not a relation. Perhaps Don
Preble had heard of a Mrs. Barker,--the friend of Rivers of the
Sierras. It was a queer combination of names. But what will you? The
names of Americanos mean nothing. And Don Preble knows them not. Ah!
possibly?--good! The lady would be remembered, being tall, dark, and
of fine presence, though sad. A few hours earlier and Don Preble could
have judged for himself, for, as it were, she might have passed through
this visitors' room. But she was gone--departed by the coach. It was
from a telegram--those heathen contrivances that blurt out things to
you, with never an excuse, nor a smile, nor a kiss of the hand! For
her part, she never let her scholars receive them, but opened them
herself, and translated them in a Christian spirit, after due
preparation, at her leisure. And it was this telegram that made the
Senora Barker go, or, without doubt, she would have of herself told to
the Don Preble, her compatriot of the Sierras, how good the convent was
for his niece.

Stung by the thought that this woman had again evaded him,