ifice--the only
revelation he allowed himself to make of his hopeless passion--with the
frigidity of a duenna! Had he wounded her in some other unknown way?
Was she mortified that he had not first declared his passion--he who had
never dared to speak to her of love before? Perhaps she even doubted
it! In his ignorance of the world he had, perhaps, committed some grave
offense! He should not have let her go! He should have questioned,
implored her--thrown himself at her feet! Was it too late yet?

He passed hurriedly into the formal little drawing-room, whose bizarre
coloring was still darkened by the closed blinds and dropped awnings
that had shut out the heat of day. She was not there. He passed the open
door of her room; it was empty. At the end of the passage a faint light
stole from a door opening into the garden that was still ajar. She must
have passed out that way. He opened it, and stepped out into the garden.

The sound of voices beside a ruined fountain a hundred yards away
indicated the vicinity of the party; but a single glance showed him that
she was not among them. So much the better--he would find her alone.
Cautiously slipping beside the wall of the house, under the shadow of a
creeper, he gained the long avenue without attracting attention. She was
not there. Had she effectively evaded contact with the others by leaving
the garden through the little gate in the wall that entered the Mission
enclosure? It was partly open, as if some one had just passed through.
He followed, took a few steps, and stopped abruptly. In the shadow of
one of the old pear-trees a man and woman were standing. An impulse of
wild jealousy seized him; he was about to leap forward, but the next
moment the measured voice of the Comandante, addressing Mrs. Markham,
fell upon his ear. He drew back with a sudden flush upon his face. The
Comandante of Todos Santos, in grave, earnest accents, was actually
offering to Mrs. Markham the same proposal that he, Don Ramon, had made
to Mrs. Brimmer but a moment ago!

"No one," said the Comandante sententiously, "will know it but myself.
You will leave the ship at Acapulco; you will rejoin your husband in
good time; you will be happy, my child; you will forget the old man
who drags out the few years of loneliness still left to him in Todos
Santos."

Forgetting himself, Don Ramon leaned breathlessly forward to hear Mrs.
Markham's reply. Would she answer the Comandante as Dona Barbara had
answ