saw
the look, and wrenching herself free from old Dominga's arms, she threw
herself at Christine's feet. "Look at _me_ so," she cried--"me too: do
not look at him. He has forgotten poor Felipa: he does not love her any
more. But _you_ do not forget, senora: _you_ love me--_you_ love me. Say
you do or I shall die!"

We were all shocked by the pallor and the wild hungry look of her
uplifted face. Edward bent down and tried to lift her in his arms, but
when she saw him a sudden fierceness came into her eyes: they shot out
yellow light and seemed to narrow to a point of flame. Before we knew it
she had turned, seized something and plunged it into his encircling arm.
It was my little Venetian dagger.

We sprang forward; our dresses were spotted with the fast-flowing blood;
but Edward did not relax his hold on the writhing wild little body he
held until it lay exhausted in his arms. "I am glad I did it," said the
child, looking up into his face with her inflexible eyes. "Put me
down--put me down, I say, by the gracious senora, that I may die with
the trailing of her white robe over me." And the old grandmother with
trembling hands received her and laid her down mutely at Christine's
feet.

* * * * *

Ah, well! Felipa did not die. The poisons wracked but did not kill her,
and the snake must have spared the little thin brown neck so
despairingly offered to him. We went away: there was nothing for us to
do but to go away as quickly as possible and leave her to her kind. To
the silent old grandfather I said, "It will pass: she is but a child."

"She is nearly twelve, senora. Her mother was married at thirteen."

"But she loved them both alike, Bartolo. It is nothing: she does not
know."

"You are right, lady: she does not know," replied the old man slowly;
"but _I_ know. It was two loves, and the stronger thrust the knife."

CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON.

AT CHICKAMAUGA.

It was the cream of army life in Southern Tennessee that we left to go
to Chickamauga. Our brigade had been detached, and lay for some days at
the foot of Waldron's Ridge, which runs parallel to the broad Tennessee
River, and a few miles north of Chattanooga, then the objective point of
the campaign of the Army of the Cumberland under Rosecrans. Of course we
knew that when the movements in progress in the country below were
sufficiently advanced there would probably be lively work in effecting a
passage of the ri