it as a token--a souvenir. It will remind you, that you should
never cease to love a poor girl, who knew of nothing more precious to
offer to God in exchange for your life. The other I shall keep myself,
as a talisman. Oh! it is a fearful thing I am now going to say to you.
If one day you should cease to love me--if I should know this beyond all
doubt--swear to me, Rafael, that, no matter in what place you may be--no
matter at what hour it may reach you--when you receive this tress from
me, that you will instantly come to see me. This silent messenger will
say to you, `_The woman who sends you this token knows that you no
longer love her; but, despite all, she cannot cease to love you, and she
desires once more, only once more, to see you kneeling before her_'--as
you are now, Don Rafael!"

"I swear it," cried the lover with emphasis. "I swear it; and though I
were standing in front of my most mortal foe, with my sword raised to
strike him, I should suspend the blow to obey that sacred message!"

"Your oath is registered in Heaven, Don Rafael," said Gertrudis. "But
now the time presses. Accept from me this sun-scarf, which I have
embroidered for you. Each thread of the embroidery will recall a
thought, a prayer, or a sigh, of which you have been the object. Adieu,
my beloved Rafael! You must go; your father may stand in need of your
help. What is a mistress when compared with one's father?"

"It is time," said Don Rafael, suddenly awakening to a sense of his
filial duty, "I shall be gone."

And yet he remained kneeling at the feet of Gertrudis, ever intending to
go, and as often tarrying in his intent, adieu following adieu, like the
eternal waves of the ocean!

"Say to him to go, Marianita," said Gertrudis with a sweet smile, "I
have not the courage to tell him. One more kiss, Don Rafael, ere we
part! let it be the pledge--"

The ardent pressure of her lover's lips interrupted her speech. One
last fond embrace--a strange commingling of joy and sorrow--one wildly
spoken "_Adios_!" and Don Rafael rushed from the apartment.

The clattering of hoofs, heard shortly after, told that he was galloping
away from the hacienda.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

DUTY VERSUS LOVE.

The last beams of the sun were gilding the summit of the ridge that
bounded the plain of Las Palmas, when Don Rafael Tres-Villas crossed it
on his way to the hacienda Del Valle. To recover the time he had lost,
he pressed his horse to