more disappointed than I cared to admit. I had believed that Manuel was a living and triumphant contradiction of the vulgar theory that gratitude has no place in the Spanish heart; and yet he had deserted me at the first opportunity, when there was nothing more to be gained from my friendship, and had even seduced my faithful dog from his allegiance to me. Reflection would suffice to dispel such ideas for the moment, but they came back again and again with redoubled force, and at last I came to acquiesce in them, and doubt that such things as disinterested friendship and real gratitude were to be found on earth.
"My business, by patient care and attention, became prosperous once more; but my dear wife grew daily weaker and more wan, despite all that loving kindness could do for her; and a year after my return I stood by a new-made grave, alone in the world, still under the middle age, a childless, downcast, disappointed man.
"Once only during all this time had I heard from Manuel. A Spanish lady, well advanced in years,—for whose children I had once used my influence with some success, and who thereafter always regarded me both as a friend and a son,—returning from Los Angeles, called at my house and said to me: 'Capitan, I met the sister of your little protégé, Manuel, at Los Angeles, and brought you a message from her. She is very grateful to you for what you did for Manuel, and begs you to accept a little gift in token of her regard.' In the package I found a pair of fine handkerchiefs, delicately and
