ard would
have a quieter life. Go on."

"Hardly a week has passed since last I wrote,
yet to-night I fly again in spirit to you,
since my burning heart must pour itself out to
some other heart that can beat with mine. It is
midnight. All day I have suffered, and now I
fain would lose myself in sleep. But no! My
eyes are propped open, my heart throbs to
suffocation, I enrage, I tear myself--how
should sleep come to such as I? O Marguerite,
there in your cool retreat, with that best of
men, my uncle,--yours also,--a Paladin, but one
whose blood flows, or rests, quietly, as yours,
can you feel for me, for your Rita, who burns,
who dissolves in anguish? Listen! I desire to
go to Europe. I have never seen it, as you
know. Spain, the home of my ancestors, the
cradle of the San Reals, is but a name to me.
Now I have the opportunity. An escort offers
itself, perfection, beyond earthly desire. You
recall my friend, my Conchita, who divides my
heart with you? She is married, my dear! She is
the Senora Bobadilla; her husband is noble,
rich, devoted. Young, I do not say; brilliant,
I do not pretend! Conchita is brought up in the
Spanish way, my child; she weds a Spanish
husband, as her parents provide him; it is the
custom. Now! Marguerite, they offer to take me
with them to Spain, to France, Italy, the
world's end. It is the opportunity of a
lifetime. I pine, I die for change. When you
consider that I have been a year here, without
once leaving home,--it is an eternity! I
implore my father; I weep--torrents! I clasp
his knees. I say, 'Kill me, but let me go!' No!
he is adamant. He talks about the disturbed
state of the country! Has it been ever
undisturbed? I ask you, Marguerite! Briefly, I
remain! The Bobadillas sail to-morrow, without
me. I feel that this blow has crushed me,
Marguerite. I feel my strength, never, as you
know, robust, ebbing from me. Be prepared,
Marguerite! I feel that in a few weeks I may be
gone, indeed, but not to Europe; to another and
a kinder world. The San Reals are a short-lived
race; they suffer, they die! My father will
realise o