ita trembled so violently that she was compelled to lean for support
upon her uncle's arm, and Don Pedro, more astonished than anyone, rushed
towards his son.

"What, Stephano?" he said joyfully. "It is your cousin whom----"

"Yes, father," replied the young man. "It is she whom I love."

In the midst of such general interest Stephano, pale with emotion,
advanced towards his cousin.

"Rosita, I love you," he said, simply. "Will you keep this bouquet which
I offer to you?"

The young man pronounced these words with a voice so sweet and
expressive, and the gesture with which he offered the symbolic flower
was so imploring and passionate, that a sympathetic thrill ran through
the spectators, and tears bedimmed Don Pedro's eyes.

[Illustration: "'ROSITA, I LOVE YOU,' HE SAID."]

Rosita, not less pale than her cousin, took the bouquet with a trembling
hand, gazed upon it tenderly, then made a movement as if to throw it
down, paused, and then at last, with head turned aside, let it fall.

"Santa Maria! He also!" cried the crowd, mournfully.

"Do not condemn me without hearing my justification," cried Rosita,
turning to Don Pedro.

"Your justification?" repeated Stephano, with relief.

"Uncle," she said, after a pause, "there is a secret which I may have
been wrong in concealing from you hitherto, but I must confide it to you
alone."

"To me!" cried the astonished old man.

"I will come with you at once," and, seizing Rosita's hand, he led her
away, making signs to the peasants as he did so to disperse.

Stephano strolled out to breathe the air upon the hills, whose shadows
were beginning to slope down into the valley. The sky was lighted only
by the afterglow of the red, sunken sun; the evening breeze carried
along in the warm air the perfume of the jasmine flowers and orange
groves in bloom, and no sound was heard but the music of guitars and
castanets, mingled sometimes with the faint tinkle of sheep bells.

When Stephano re-entered he found his father and cousin in the lower
hall. Rosita, on perceiving him, made a pretext for rising, and
hurriedly left the room. Don Pedro and his son were left alone.

"One word, father," said Stephano. "Does Rosita love me, and will she
also become my wife?"

"You must forget Rosita," replied the old man. "You must tear from your
heart even the remembrance of your love."

The young man abandoned himself to despair.

"I shall never forget her," he said, passionately.