Garcia himself was taken ill, and one day,
feeling slightly better, he sent for his daughter, to whom he wished
to speak on important business.

He was not kept long waiting. Lianor soon appeared, looking like a
crushed flower in her somber robes.

"You wished to see me, papa?"

"Yes, Lianor; but you can almost guess for what. You know how much I
desire to see you wedded to my friend; a man who loves you and will
make you happy. I shall not live long, of that I feel sure. Manuel
Tonza has waited patiently, and I think it is only right you give him
hope. To-day you will accept his hand, and in another week, with my
consent, you will become his wife."

Lianor reeled against the bed, and held firmly to the silken curtains
to prevent herself falling.

"Do you mean this, father? His wife--when he murdered Luiz?"

"What nonsense are you saying, child? Do not let me hear you speak
like this again. What motive could a wealthy man like Tonza have in
getting rid of one of his own employes? Grief has turned your brain.
Cast aside those weird garments, and in three hours be ready to
receive your future husband."

A low, gasping cry fell on his ears as he finished speaking, and he
turned in time to see the slight figure sway to and fro, then fall
heavily to the ground.

But what use was her feeble strength against the powerful wills of two
determined men?

Ere the day was over, Lianor, with a heart full of bitter, despairing
grief for Luiz, was bound by a sacred promise to a man whom she knew
to be both bad and selfish--whom she hated!

CHAPTER III.

In one of the many straggling streets, almost hidden behind a few
large shops of curious build, stood a small boutique full of ancient
relics and jeweled bric-a-brac.

Inside, seated by the counter, writing in a large ledger, was an old
man, whose hooked nose and piercing eyes proclaimed him at once to be
from the tribe of Israel.

This Jew, Phenee, was not alone. Flitting about the shop, arranging
the antique curiosities, was a young and very beautiful girl, with
delicate features and lustrous, black eyes.

"Can I help you, grandfather?" the girl asked, suddenly stopping
before the desk, and leaning both dimpled arms on the dusty book.

"No, no, Miriam; I have almost finished. Leave me for a few moments'
quiet."

Miriam sank gently on a high chair, and drooping her head pensively on
her hand, sat for some time in unbroken silence, gazing out through
the o