appy when they are near," a little,
dark-eyed woman, clad in picturesque robes of brilliant crimson and gold,
said rapidly, as she threw herself down on a pile of soft cushions
opposite the sweet, pale mother.

Lianor sighed, but she could not look sad long with those loved
children clasped in her arms.

"I cannot understand Manuel," she said, with a puzzled expression in
her eyes; "he is so strange, sometimes gay--almost too gay; then he
relapses into a gloomy, brooding apathy, from which even the children
have no power to rouse him."

"But you have. He is never too morose to have a smile for you. I
think, sometimes, he feels lonely. You are bound to him, yet your
heart is as unresponsive to his passionate love as if you were
strangers," Savitre said, thoughtfully.

"Do you think so, Savitre? I am indeed sorry; but you know how
impossible it is to forget my first love. I like Manuel, but beyond
that, affection--except for my darlings--is dead; buried in Luiz's
grave."

"Hush! here comes Manuel," Savitre whispered, warningly.

It was indeed Manuel, older and graver-looking than of yore, with a
deep melancholy in his eyes, brought there only by intense suffering.

Savitre, on his entrance, softly glided from the room, leaving husband
and wife alone.

"Lianor," he began, a bright smile lighting up his face as he bent to
kiss her fair brow, "I have been thinking, and am resolved to quit
India and return to Portugal. I have been here long enough. Don't you
think that will be pleasant, dearest?"

"Nothing would please me more," Lianor cried, delightedly. "The
greatest wish of my life is to see Portugal once more, to show our
country to our children," bending to kiss her tiny daughter's face.

"Then it will be granted. Prepare to start as soon as possible. Now, I
am determined to leave here. Something seems to urge me to go at
once."

Only too anxious, Lianor began her arrangements.

Savitre, who had never cared to leave her friend before, even to
become Panteleone's bride, entered into the preparations with
unconcealed eagerness.

She had faithfully promised her lover that, once in Portugal, she
would, with his father's approval, marry him.

Lianor felt no regret at leaving India, except for a loved grave--her
father's--which she had so carefully tended.

Not many days after, Manuel Tonza, his wife, children, Panteleone, and
Savitre, accompanied by several faithful servants, including Lalli and
Tolla, em