monastery till my father
sends his mules and people to fetch me home; meanwhile, you will have
wandered away Heaven knows where."

"And where do you call home, Maria?"

"Far away, beyond the Rio Grande, in the gold country, near Aguaverde."

"And why should I not go thither? I am free to turn my steps whither I
will. Perhaps your father would not despise the services of one who has
some smattering of knowledge upon many a theme."

"But a Caballero--a real Senhor--turn miner! They are all miners there."

"No matter; Fortune might favor me, and make me rich, and then,--and
then,--who is to tell what changes might follow? The Caballero might bid
adieu to the 'Placer,' and the fair 'Donna Maria' wave a good-bye to
the nunnery--and, by the way, that is a very cruel destiny they intend
for you."

"Who knows? I was very happy in the 'Sacred Heart.'"

"Possibly, Maria; but you were a child, and would have been happy
anywhere. But think of the future; think of the time when you will be
loved, and will love in turn; think of that bright world of which the
convent-window does not admit one passing glance. Think of the glorious
freedom to enjoy whatever is beautiful in Nature, and to feel sympathies
with all that is great and good; and reflect upon the sad monotony of
the cloister,--its cold and cheerless existence, un cared for, almost
unfelt."

"And when the Superior is cross!" cried she, holding up her hands.

"And she is always cross, Maria. That austere habit repels every
generous emotion, as it defies every expansion of the heart. No, no; you
must not be a nun."

"Well, I will not," said she.

"You promise me this, Maria?"

"Yes, upon one condition,--that you will come to the 'Placer,' and tell
my father all that you have told to me. He is so good and so kind, he
'll never force me."

"But will he receive me? Will your father permit me so to speak?"

"You saved my life, Senhor," said she, half-proudly; "and little as you
reckon such a service, it is one upon which Don Estavan Olares will set
some store."

"Ah!" said I, sighing, "how little merit had I in the feat! It did not
even cause me the slightest injury."

"I am just as gratified as though you had been eaten by an alligator,
Senhor," said she, laughing with a sly malice that made me half suspect
that some, at least, of her innocence was assumed.

From this we wandered on to speak of the journey for the morrow, which
I proposed she should make upon