at the first sound of her voice Felipa had started up, and,
wrenching herself free from old Dominga's arms, 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 racked 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."

"BRO."

To him that hath, we are told,
Shall be given. Yes, by the Cross!
To the rich man Fate sends gold,
To the poor man loss on loss.

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

Two houses, a saw-mill, and a tide-water marsh, with a railroad-track
crossing it from northeast to southwest; on the other side the sea. One
of the houses was near the drawbridge, and there the keeper lived, old
Mr. Vickery. Not at all despised was old Mr. Vickery on account of his
lowly occupation: the Vickerys had always lived on Vic