ave slipped
back into hiding; for, in spite of her boldness on the previous day, she
now seemed shyer than ever when I spoke to her.

"Rima," I said, "do you remember where we first talked together under a
tree one morning, when you spoke of your mother, telling me that she was
dead?"

"Yes."

"I am going now to that spot to wait for you. I must speak to you again
in that place about this journey to Riolama." As she kept silent, I
added: "Will you promise to come to me there?"

She shook her head, turning half away.

"Have you forgotten our compact, Rima?"

"No," she returned; and then, suddenly coming near, spoke in a low tone:
"I will go there to please you, and you must also do as I tell you."

"What do you wish, Rima?"

She came nearer still. "Listen! You must not look into my eyes, you must
not touch me with your hands."

"Sweet Rima, I must hold your hand when I speak with you."

"No, no, no," she murmured, shrinking from me; and finding that it must
be as she wished, I reluctantly agreed.

Before I had waited long, she appeared at the trysting-place, and stood
before me, as on a former occasion, on that same spot of clean yellow
sand, clasping and unclasping her fingers, troubled in mind even then.
Only now her trouble was different and greater, making her shyer and
more reticent.

"Rima, your grandfather is going to take you to Riolama. Do you wish me
to go with you?"

"Oh, do you not know that?" she returned, with a swift glance at my
face.

"How should I know?"

Her eyes wandered away restlessly. "On Ytaioa you told me a hundred
things which I did not know," she replied in a vague way, wishing,
perhaps, to imply that with so great a knowledge of geography it was
strange I did not know everything, even her most secret thoughts.

"Tell me, why must you go to Riolama?"

"You have heard. To speak to my people."

"What will you say to them? Tell me."

"What you do not understand. How tell you?"

"I understand you when you speak in Spanish."

"Oh, that is not speaking."

"Last night you spoke to your mother in Spanish. Did you not tell her
everything?"

"Oh no--not then. When I tell her everything I speak in another way, in
a low voice--not on my knees and praying. At night, and in the woods,
and when I am alone I tell her. But perhaps she does not hear me; she is
not here, but up there--so far! She never answers, but when I speak to
my people they will answer me."

Then she turned