een me and you? As to
following me--Well, I have already given him a specimen of what I
am. I would give a year of my life to have him alone for about half
an hour."

"You wrong him," cried Pepita, earnestly. "You wrong him. You must
not talk so. He is not a bravo. He is my brother. He has been like
a father to me. He loves me dearly, and my good name is dearer to
him than life. He is so good and so noble, dear Luigi! It was his
love for me that blinded him and made him furious. He thought you
were deceiving us all, and would not listen to you."

"But if he were so noble would he have attacked one unarmed man,
and he at the head of a dozen?"

"I tell you," cried Pepita, "you do not know him. He was so blinded
by passion that he had no mercy. Oh, I owe every thing to him! And
I know how good and noble he is!"

"Pepita, for your sake I will forgive him every thing."

"I can not stay longer," said Pepita, making an effort to rise.

"Oh, Pepita! you can not leave me forever."

Pepita fell weeping into his arms, her slender form convulsed with
emotion.

"You shall not."

"I must--there is no help."

"Why must you? Can you not fly with me? What prevents you from being
mine? Let us go and be united in the little church where I saw you
first."

"Impossible!" moaned Pepita.

"Why?"

"Because I could not do you such injustice. You have your father far
away in America. You might offend him."

"Bother my father!" cried Dick.

Pepita looked shocked.

"I mean--he would allow me to do any thing I liked, and glory in it,
because I did it. He would chuckle over it for a month."

"Luigi--"

"Pepita, do you love him better than me?"

"No, but if I leave him so it would break his heart. He will think I
am ruined. He will declare a vendetta against you, and follow you to
the end of the world."

"Is there no hope?"

"No--not now."

"Not now? And when will there be? Can it be possible that you would
give me up? Then I would not give you up! If you do not love me I
must love you."

"Cruel!" murmured Pepita.

"Forgive," said Dick, penitently. "Perhaps I am too sudden. If I
come back again in two or three months will you be as hardhearted
as you are now?"

"Hard-hearted!" sighed Pepita, tearfully. "You should not reproach
me. My troubles are more than I can bear. It is no slight thing that
you ask."

"Will waiting soften you? Will it make any difference? If I came for
you--"

"You must not leave me so,"