me the
night before Manzanares that at Toledo she heard you calling Pilar
O'Donnel, 'darling.' 'Young Mr. O'Donnel seems very fond of his sister,'
mother said, looking straight at me, though she seemed to speak
innocently. 'I heard him call her "darling girl." ' You can imagine how I
felt! But I hoped she was mistaken, or that she'd invented it to make me
unhappy; so I wouldn't let myself be _very_ unhappy, only a little
distressed. Because, you know, Miss O'Donnel is awfully pretty and
perfectly fascinating. Mother said, the night we were at Manzanares, that
she was one of those girls whom most men fall irresistibly in love with;
and--and I loved you so much, I couldn't help being jealous."

"As if any man could even _see_ poor little Pilar, when you were near!" I
exclaimed, forgetting Dick's difference of opinion.

"Oh, I had faith in you, then. But next morning that pretty Mariquita
handed me a letter, which I was sure was from you, as she hid it behind a
tin of hot water. I was taking it, when mother saw, and snatched it away.
You can't imagine the things I said to her, to make her give it back. I
was so furious, that for once in my life I wasn't in the least afraid, and
I would have tried to rush past her and run out to you, when she'd refused
to give the letter up, but I wasn't dressed. My room had no door of its
own. I had to go through mother's room to get out; and before I knew what
she was doing, she'd slammed the door between us, locking it on her side.
I hadn't even a proper window, only a little barred, square thing, high up
in the wall. I couldn't scream for help, even if I hadn't been ashamed to
make a scene in a strange hotel; so what was I to do.

"She kept me there, wild with rage against her, for quite an hour after I
was dressed and ready to dart out when I had the chance; but at last she
unlocked the door, looking very grave. 'I've opened your letter,' she
said, 'and read it, as it was my duty and my right to do. It is different
from what I expected, and I've decided after all that it's as well you
should have it.'

"Then she handed me a torn envelope, and I recognized it as the one we had
crumpled up between us when she snatched it away. Your handwriting was on
it, and I never doubted it was yours inside, though it looked as if you'd
written in a hurry, with a bad pen. No name was signed; but the letter
said you thought it best to tell me, without waiting longer, that you
feared we'd both been