"Speak to me, Fausta," he would say; "I love your voice: look at me; I
love your eyes. How fair love is when we are together and alone! Is it
not exquisite to speak of love when all else is still?"

And Fausta, waist-encircled, would answer, "Ruis, I love you; I need to
see you, to see you again, and always. When you leave me it is as though
I fell asleep, to reawake only at your return."

It was with this duo and its infinite variations that they charmed two
months away. To Ruis, at first, no other months of all his life had been
so fertile in delight. To Fausta they were not months, but dreams
fulfilled.

Meanwhile, Don Jayme had not been idle. He had been much in Puerto
Principe, and he had made two journeys to Havana. Now from Santiago to
Havana the distance is 600 miles, and Don Jayme was not a man to
undertake such a journey without due and sufficient cause. Be this as
it may, it so happened that after his second visit to the capital he
enjoyed a memorable interview with his son. To him he had as yet said
nothing of his plans, but on this occasion he made no secret of them.

"Ruis," he said, leisurely, with the air of one engaging in conversation
solely for conversation's sake, "you know the House of Sandoval?"

"Surely: we are more or less related. A hundred years ago an Ixar
married a Sandoval--"

"Of the younger branch, however. We do not bear their arms."

"There was no bluer blood in all Castile."

"No, nor yet in Aragon. Don Jorge is in Havana."

"Don Jorge of Sandoval! I thought him dead."

"His credit was, but that has since revived. He came to Cuba the year
before I came myself. I am little richer now than then, but he has
garnered millions."

"Ah!"

"Yes, millions--three at least. In the Convent of Our Lady del Pilar is
his daughter, Dona Clarisa. We have agreed that you and she should wed."

Ruis laughed. "To-morrow," he answered; "I am not in haste for
matrimony;" and laughed again.

"Ruis, Don Jorge and I, we have agreed." There was something in the
father's face that banished the merriment of the son. "This night we
leave for Havana. See to it that you are in readiness."

In his perplexity Ruis twisted a cigarette.

"Have you understood me?" Don Jayme asked. "In a month we shall be in
Spain. You will like to be back there, will you not?" he continued, in
suaver tones. "You will like to be back there, rich, and--and the
husband of a beautiful girl. Eh, my son? You will like that,