o is also a wise friend and a sympathetic
comrade. As he entered the garden she slipped her hand into his. He
clasped it tightly. His smile answered her smile. There was no need for
any words of salutation.

The full moon had risen. The white house stood clearly out in its
radiance. The lattices were wide open and the parlor lighted. They
walked slowly towards it, between hedges of white camelias and scarlet
japonicas. Vanilla, patchuli, verbena, wild wandering honeysuckle--a
hundred other scents--perfumed the light, warm air. As they came near
the house there was a sound of music, soft and tinkling, with a rhythmic
accent as pulsating as a beating heart.

"It is Don Luis, father."

"Ah! He plays well--and he looks well."

They had advanced to where Don Luis was distinctly visible. He was
within the room, but leaning against the open door, playing upon a
mandolin. Robert Worth smiled as he offered his hand to him. It was
impossible not to smile at a youth so handsome, and so charming--a
youth who had all the romance of the past in his name, his home,
his picturesque costume; and all the enchantments of hope and great
enthusiasms in his future.

"Luis, I am glad to see you; and I felt your music as soon as I heard
it."

He was glancing inquiringly around the room as he spoke; and Antonia
answered the look:

"Mother and Isabel are supping with Dona Valdez. There is to be a dance.
I am waiting for you, father. You must put on your velvet vest."

"And you, Luis?"

"I do not go. I asked the judge for the appointment. He refused me. Very
well! I care not to drink chocolate and dance in his house. One hand
washes the other, and one cousin should help another."

"Why did he refuse you?"

"Who can tell?" but Luis shrugged his shoulders expressively, and added,
"He gave the office to Blas-Sangre."

"Ah!"

"Yes, it is so--naturally;--Blas-Sangre is rich, and when the devil
of money condescends to appear, every little devil rises up to do him
homage."

"Let it pass, Luis. Suppose you sing me that last verse again. It had a
taking charm. The music was like a boat rocking on the water."

"So it ought to be. I learned the words in New Orleans. The music came
from the heart of my mandolin. Listen, Senor!

"'Row young oarsman, row, young oarsman,
Into the crypt of the night we float:
Fair, faint moonbeams wash and wander,
Wash and wander about the boat.
Not a fe