my advice, go to bed
and repose. To-morrow you will be calm, and to-morrow you shall tell
me all."

"To-morrow! to-morrow!" muttered Magdalena. "Well, well; to-morrow you
will find me!"

"Yes; I will waken you, and sit at your bedside, and laugh your griefs
away. Good night, Magdalena!"

"Farewell, dearest!" said the heart-stricken girl; and Juanita left
the chamber.

Before a silver crucifix, Magdalena knelt in prayer.

"Father of mercies, blessed Virgin, absolve me of the sin--if sin it
be to rush unbidden to the presence of my Judge! My burden is too
great to bear!"

She rose from her knees, took from a cupboard a goblet of Venetian
glass, and a flask of Xeres wine. Into the goblet she first dropped
the contents of a paper she took from her bosom, and then filled it to
the brim with wine. She had already stretched forth her hand to the
fatal glass, when she heard her name called by her father.

"He would give me a good-night kiss," said the wretched girl. "I must
receive it with pure lips. I come, dear father,--I come."

Scarcely had she left her chamber when the old duenna again stole into
the room.

"If I could only find one of the gallant's letters," she muttered to
herself, "I could arm her father's mind against her; and then if madam
tried to get me turned away, she would have her labor for her pains.
What have we here? A flask of Xeres, as I live! So ho, senorita! Is
this the source of your inspiration when you berate your betters? I
declare it smells good; the jade is no bad judge of wine!"

As she spoke, the old woman, who had no particular aversion to the
juice of the grape, hurriedly drank off the contents of the goblet,
and immediately filled it up again from the flask.

"There! she'll be no wiser," said she, with a cunning leer. "And now I
must hurry off. I would not have the young baggage find me here for a
month's wages!"

Margarita effected her retreat just in time. Magdalena returned, after
having, as she supposed, seen her poor father for the last time.

Had not despair completely overmastered the reason of the poor girl,
she would have shrunk from the idea of committing suicide. But misery
had completely, though temporarily, wrecked her intellect. She felt no
horror, no remorse at the deed she was about to commit. With a steady
hand she raised the goblet to her lips, and then drank the fatal
draught, as she supposed it, to the last dregs.

"I must sleep now," she said, with a dee