slowly--"I have derrange my inside. It is an
affair of my family. My grandfather have once toomble over the bull at
a _rodeo_.[165-1] He speak no more; he is dead. For why? He has
derrange his inside. Believe me, it is of the family. You comprehend?
The Saltellos are not as the other peoples for this. When I am gone,
you will bring to me the berry to grow upon my tomb, Pancho; the berry
you have picked for me. The little flower will come too, the little
star will arrive, but Consuelo, who lofe you, she will come not more!

"When you are happy and talk in the road to the Essmith, you will not
think of me. You will not see my eyes, Pancho; thees little grass"--she
ran her plump little fingers through a tussock--"will hide them; and
the small animals in the black coats that lif here will have much
sorrow--but you will not. It ees better so! My father will not that I,
a Catholique, should marry into a camp-meeting and lif in a tent." (It
was one of Consuelo's bewildering beliefs that there was only one form
of dissent--Methodism!) "He will not that I should marry a man who
possess not the many horses, ox, and cow, like him. But _I_ care not.
_You_ are my only religion, Pancho! I have enofe of the horse, and ox,
and cow when _you_ are with me! Kiss me, Pancho. Perhaps it is for the
last time--the feenish! Who knows?"

There were tears in her lovely eyes; I felt that my own were growing
dim; the sun was sinking over the dreary plain to the slow rising of
the wind; and infinite loneliness had fallen upon us, and yet I was
miserably conscious of some dreadful unreality in it all. A desire to
laugh, which I felt must be hysterical, was creeping over me; I dared
not speak. But her dear head was on my shoulder, and the situation was
not unpleasant.

Nevertheless, something must be done! This was the more difficult as it
was by no means clear what had already been done. Even while I
supported her drooping figure, I was straining my eyes across her
shoulder for succor of some kind. Suddenly the figure of a rapid rider
appeared upon the road. It seemed familiar. I looked again--it was the
blessed Enriquez! A sense of deep relief came over me. I loved
Consuelo; but never before had lover ever hailed the irruption of one
of his beloved's family with such complacency.

"You are safe, dearest; it is Enriquez!"

I thought she received the information coldly. Suddenly she turned upon
me her eyes, now bright and glittering. "Swear to