and her brother had not returned, she began to
feel some slight apprehension. He had promised to be back for a dinner
that was long since due--a repast she had herself prepared, more
sumptuous than common on account of the saint's day. This was it that
elicited the anxious self-asked interrogatories.

After giving utterance to them, she paced backward and forward; now
standing in the portal and gazing along the road; now returning to the
_sola de comida_, to look upon the table, with cloth spread, wines
decantered, fruits and flowers on the epergne--all but the dishes that
waited serving till Valerian should show himself.

To look on something besides--a portrait that hung upon the wall,
underneath her own. It was a small thing--a mere photographic
carte-de-visite. But it was the likeness of one who had a large place
in her brother's heart, if not in her own. In hers, how could it? It
was the photograph of a man she had never seen--Frank Hamersley. He had
left it with Colonel Miranda, as a souvenir of their short but friendly
intercourse.

Did Colonel Miranda's sister regard it in that light? She could not in
any other. Still, as she gazed upon it, a thought was passing through
her mind somewhat different from a sentiment of simple friendship. Her
brother had told her all--the circumstances that led to his acquaintance
with Hamersley; of the duel, and in what a knightly manner the
Kentuckian had carried himself; adding his own commentaries in a very
flattering fashion. This, of itself, had been enough to pique curiosity
in a young girl, just escaped from her convent school; but added to the
outward semblance of the stranger, by the sun made lustrous--so lustrous
inwardly--Adela Miranda was moved by something more than curiosity. As
she stood regarding the likeness of Frank Hamersley she felt very much
as he had done looking at hers--in love with one only known by portrait
and repute.

In such there is nothing strange nor new. Many a reader of this tale
could speak of a similar experience.

While gazing on the carte-de-visite she was roused from the sweet
reverie it had called up by hearing footsteps outside. Someone coming
in through the _saggan_.

"Valerian at last!"

The steps sounded as if the man making them were in a hurry. So should
her brother be, having so long delayed his return.

She glided out to meet him with an interrogatory on her lips.

"Valerian?"--this suddenly changing to the