"--she lifted her
sweet lashes slowly--"I have derrange my inside. It is an affair of my
family. My grandfather have once toomble over the bull at a rodeo. He
speak no more; he is dead. For why? He has derrange his inside. Believe
me, it is of the family. You comprehend? The Saltellos are not as the
other peoples for this. When I am gone, you will bring to me the berry
to grow upon my tomb, Pancho; the berry you have picked for me. The
little flower will come too, the little star will arrive, but Consuelo,
who lofe you, she will come not more! When you are happy and talk in the
road to the Essmith, you will not think of me. You will not see my eyes,
Pancho; thees little grass"--she ran her plump little fingers through a
tussock--"will hide them; and the small animals in the black coats that
lif here will have much sorrow--but you will not. It ees better so! My
father will not that I, a Catholique, should marry into a camp-meeting,
and lif in a tent, and make howl like the coyote." (It was one
of Consuelo's bewildering beliefs that there was only one form of
dissent--Methodism!) "He will not that I should marry a man who possess
not the many horses, ox, and cow, like him. But I care not. YOU are my
only religion, Pancho! I have enofe of the horse, and ox, and cow when
YOU are with me! Kiss me, Pancho. Perhaps it is for the last time--the
feenish! Who knows?"

There were tears in her lovely eyes; I felt that my own were growing
dim; the sun was sinking over the dreary plain to the slow rising of the
wind; an infinite loneliness had fallen upon us, and yet I was miserably
conscious of some dreadful unreality in it all. A desire to laugh, which
I felt must be hysterical, was creeping over me; I dared not speak. But
her dear head was on my shoulder, and the situation was not unpleasant.

Nevertheless, something must be done! This was the more difficult as it
was by no means clear what had already been done. Even while I supported
her drooping figure I was straining my eyes across her shoulder for
succor of some kind. Suddenly the figure of a rapid rider appeared
upon the road. It seemed familiar. I looked again--it was the blessed
Enriquez! A sense of deep relief came over me. I loved Consuelo; but
never before had lover ever hailed the irruption of one of his beloved's
family with such complacency.

"You are safe, dearest; it is Enriquez!"

I thought she received the information coldly. Suddenly she turned upon
me her e