ould know that my cheek is not for you."

"Why," said he, stifling his anger, "it seems free enough to every
counter-jumper in the town!"

Was it love, or simple innocence, which made her answer apologetically?

"True, Don Guzman; but they are my equals."

"And I?"

"You are a nobleman, sir; and should recollect that you are one."

"Well," said he, forcing a sneer, "it is a strange taste to prefer the
shopkeeper!"

"Prefer?" said she, forcing a laugh in her turn; "it is a mere form
among us. They are nothing to me, I can tell you."

"And I, then, less than nothing?"

Rose turned very red; but she had nerve to answer--

"And why should you be anything to me? You have condescended too much,
sir, already to us, in giving us many a--many a pleasant evening. You
must condescend no further. You wrong yourself, sir, and me too. No,
sir; not a step nearer!--I will not! A salute between equals means
nothing: but between you and me--I vow, sir, if you do not leave me this
moment, I will complain to my father."

"Do so, madam! I care as little for your father's anger, as you for my
misery."

"Cruel!" cried Rose, trembling from head to foot.

"I love you, madam!" cried he, throwing himself at her feet. "I adore
you! Never mention differences of rank to me more; for I have forgotten
them; forgotten all but love, all but you, madam! My light, my lodestar,
my princess, my goddess! You see where my pride is gone; remember I
plead as a suppliant, a beggar--though one who may be one day a prince,
a king! ay, and a prince now, a very Lucifer of pride to all except to
you; to you a wretch who grovels at your feet, and cries, 'Have mercy
on me, on my loneliness, my homelessness, my friendlessness.' Ah, Rose
(madam I should have said, forgive the madness of my passion), you know
not the heart which you break. Cold Northerns, you little dream how a
Spaniard can love. Love? Worship, rather; as I worship you, madam; as
I bless the captivity which brought me the sight of you, and the ruin
which first made me rich. Is it possible, saints and Virgin! do my own
tears deceive my eyes, or are there tears, too, in those radiant orbs?"

"Go, sir!" cried poor Rose, recovering herself suddenly; "and let me
never see you more." And, as a last chance for life, she darted out of
the room.

"Your slave obeys you, madam, and kisses your hands and feet forever
and a day," said the cunning Spaniard, and drawing himself up, walked
serenely out