," she gasped, after a pause, "whether I
heard you right? Did you say"--

"Yes, Dolores, you did. I did say what I had no right to say, like a
dishonorable man."

"But is it true? Are you sure it is true?" she said, scarcely seeming to
hear my words.

"God knows it is," said I despairingly.

"Then why don't you save me? Why do you let them sell me to this
dreadful man? He don't love me--he never will. Can't you take me away?"

"Dolores, I am a poor man. I cannot give you any of these splendors your
father desires for you."

"Do you think I care for them? I love you more than all the world
together. And if you do really love me, why should we not be happy with
each other?"

"Dolores," I said, with a last effort to keep calm, "I am much older
than you, and know the world, and ought not to take advantage of your
simplicity. You have been so accustomed to abundant wealth and all it
can give, that you cannot form an idea of what the hardships and
discomforts of marrying a poor man would be. You are unused to having
the least care, or making the least exertion for yourself. All the world
would say that I acted a very dishonorable part to take you from a
position which offers you wealth, splendor, and ease, to one of
comparative hardship. Perhaps some day you would think so yourself."

While I was speaking, Dolores turned me toward the moonlight, and fixed
her great dark eyes piercingly upon me, as if she wanted to read my
soul. "Is that all?" she said; "is that the only reason?"

"I do not understand you," said I.

She gave me such a desolate look, and answered in a tone of utter
dejection, "Oh, I didn't know, but perhaps _you_ might not want me. All
the rest are so glad to sell me to anybody that will take me. But you
really do love me, don't you?" she added, laying her hand on mine.

What answer I made I cannot say. I only know that every vestige of what
is called reason and common sense left me at that moment, and that there
followed an hour of delirium in which I--we both were _very_ happy--we
forgot everything but each other, and we arranged all our plans for
flight. There was fortunately a ship lying in the harbor of St.
Augustine, the captain of which was known to me. In course of a day or
two passage was taken, and my effects transported on board. Nobody
seemed to suspect us. Everything went on quietly up to the day before
that appointed for sailing. I took my usual rides, and did everything as
much as p