oint to begin
and stop, and an end to joy as well as grief. We should, however,
take the world as it comes and as it goes. I do, and so do you,
_compadre_!"--pitching a cigar spear fashion at Don Ignacio to
attract his attention--"and, therefore, we should never look too
far ahead, and live only for the present.

"Indulging then in this train of thought, as I set down my lovely burden
here, and the cloak fell from her shoulders, I was prepared for any
thing which might happen. I wore a slightly different costume at the
time than that she had been accustomed to see me in, as I always do when
I think there might be a chance of a surprise or trap laid for us in
entering the inlet. So, instead of fine linen and velvet, I had on a red
flannel shirt, canvas trowsers, with a cutlass slung to my side, and a
pair of pistols in my belt. I don't think I appear handsome in that rig,
but the fellows at my back somehow think it is becoming to me,
especially when we are engaged in a hand-to-hand fight! What say you,
_compadre_?"

The Don said nothing, and merely waved his fore finger, as if dress was
not a matter to which he devoted much attention. He thought, however,
that sleeves should be cut loose for knives when the pockets were not
too small for pistols; but he uttered no word.

"_Bueno!_ There I stood"--pointing to the corner of the room as he
spoke--"drenched with rain, and there stood my tall and lovely wife!

"The saloon was brilliantly lighted; a profusion of plants and flowers
were clustered here, there, and every where, on cabinets and tables, in
striking contrast to the display exhibited yonder in that armory, where
pikes, muskets, and knives were gleaming through the open door.

"Quick as the lightning which was piercing deep into the inmost crevices
of the rocks and lighting up the crag without, Lucia's dark eyes flashed
around the apartment from floor to ceiling, from flower to blade,
resting an instant on the frame of miniatures there--hers was not among
the collection _then_; it is the one in the middle, doctor--"

There were no knives on the table, or else, from the deadly look the
doctor gave, he might have perhaps sprinkled the narrator's heart's
blood on the floor.

"--Until at last her gaze of terror rested on _me_! No one, I fancy, can
tell the power of Spanish girls, who has never seen them when the whole
passion of their souls, either in love or hate, comes pouring in a black
blaze of jet from their