candle and went out without a word.
Her husband followed her. They found the child sitting up in bed bathed
in tears; a dream had frightened her. When she saw her father she
stretched out her arms to him. "Not go away, papa, not go away!" she
entreated, her voice big with tears. Franco pressed her in his arms,
covered her with kisses, soothed her, and then put her back into her
little bed. But she clung tightly to one of her father's hands, and
could not be prevailed upon to let it go.

Luisa took another candle from the table and tried to light it, but her
hands shook so she did not succeed. "Are you not coming to bed?" Franco
asked. "No," she said, trembling more violently than ever. Franco
thought he divined a supposition, a fear in her, and was offended. "Oh,
you can come!" he said angrily. Luisa lighted her candle and said, more
calmly, that she must work on the little shoes. She went out, and only
on the threshold did she murmur: "Good-night." "Good-night," Franco
answered coldly. For a moment he thought he would undress, but he
presently relinquished his intention because his wife was still up, and
at work. He spread back the coverlet and lay down in his clothes, on the
side of the bed next to the child, that he might hold Maria's little
hand--she had not yet gone to sleep--and put out the light.

What sweetness in the touch of that dear, tiny hand! Franco felt her the
little child she was, his daughter, the innocent, loving baby, and then
he imagined her a woman, her heart all his, united to him in every
thought, every sentiment, and he fancied the little hand that pressed
his was striving to compensate him for all that Luisa had made him
suffer, and was saying: "Papa, you and I are united for ever!" Good God!
he shuddered at the thought that Luisa might wish to bring her up in her
own way of thinking, and that he, being far away, would be powerless to
prevent this. He prayed to God, to the Virgin Mary, to the saintly
grandmother Teresa, to his own mother, who, he was well aware, had been
so pure and so pious. "Watch over my Maria, watch over her!" he
murmured. He offered to sacrifice his whole being, his earthly
happiness, his health, even life itself, that Maria might be saved from
error.

"Papa," said the child, "a kiss."

He leaned out of bed, and, bending down, sought the dear little face in
the dark, and told her to be quiet, to go to sleep. She was silent for a
moment, and then called--

"Papa!"