hour after hour, every day, to amuse me, profiting, at the same time, by the lessons. Her hand prepared little dulces and other dishes to tempt my slowly returning appetite. Her hand arranged the flowers which filled my room with fragrance; and her hand bathed my aching brow, and arranged my pillows when sleep grew heavy upon my eyelids. You can guess the rest.
"When I was able to sit up once more, and to begin to bear my weight upon the broken limb and move about the room with the aid of a crutch and the chairs, I was madly, hopelessly in love—despite the disparity of our years—with Manuela, and determined that she should not leave me, if I could prevent it. The time came when she told me that she must go home; that I did not need her care and assistance longer. Then I poured forth all which was in my heart; told her that I should always need her care and sympathy and assistance, and made her the offer of my hand and heart, in all good faith and sincerity, confident of acceptance."
"And she accepted you, of course?"
"No; she did not. She broke from me, with a startled look, as if something which she had long dreaded had come upon her at last, unexpectedly; and answered me, proudly, but sadly: Love me? Yes; she could love me, did love me, would always love me. She was proud to receive a true man's love, and to own that she returned it. But she was an orphan,—their father had died since I left Manuel in Los Angeles; poor; almost uneducated, and lacking all of what we call the necessary accomplish-
