and earn
it, or I'll put you into the street."

The girl, bending submissively under this storm of invective and
bitter reproach, walked slowly towards the house. Her aunt followed,
growling fiercely.

"Cursed red-coat!--common, beggarly soldier! How can you, an Hidalgo
of the best blue blood, whose ancestors were settled here before the
English robbers stole the fortress--before the English?--before the
Moors! You, an Hidalgo, to take up with a base-born hireling
cut-throat--"

"No more, aunt!" Mariquita turned on her with flashing eyes. "Call me
what you like, you shall not abuse him--my affianced lover--the man to
whom I have given my troth!"

"What!" screamed the old crone, now furious with rage. "Do you dare
tell me that--to my face? Never, impudent huzzy--never, while I have
strength and spirit and power to say you no--shall you wed this hated
English mercenary--"

"I will wed no one else."

"That will we see. Is not your hand promised--"

"Not with my consent."

"--Promised, formally, to Benito Villegas--my husband's cousin?"

"I have not consented. Never shall I agree. Benito is a villain. I
hate and detest him!"

"Tell him so to his face, evil-tongued slut!--tell him if you dare! He
is now in the house. That is why I came to fetch you. I saw him
approaching."

"He knows my opinion of him, but if you wish it, aunt, he shall hear
it again," said the young girl, undaunted; and she walked on through
the workroom, straight into the little shop.

Benito was seated at the counter, talking confidentially, and in a
very low voice, with Tio Pedro.

"Are the bales ready, uncle? In two days from now we can run them
through like oil in a tube."

"Have you settled the terms?"

"On both sides. Here the inspectors were difficult, but I oiled their
palms. On the other side the Custom-house officers are my friends. All
is straight and easy. The tobacco must be shipped to-morrow--"

"In the same _falucha_?"

"Yes; for Estepona. Be ready, then, at gunfire--"

He stopped suddenly as Mariquita came in.

"Beautiful as a star!" was his greeting; and in a fulsome, familiar
tone he went on--"You are like the sun at noon, my beauty, and burn
my heart with your bright eyes."

"Insolent!" retorted Mariquita. "Hold your tongue."

"What! cross-grained and out of humour, sweetest? Come, sit here on my
knee and listen, while I whisper some good news."

"Unless you address me more decently, Benito Villegas, I shal