The Squatter and the Don. María Amparo Ruiz de Burton

seat; Jane and Lucy in the front, Clementina with Everett, the driver. In the phæton I will take Alice, her lap dog and our two satchels, and last but not least, Webster will take ‘the Concord’ with Willie in the front seat and Tisha in the back in state, with the cockatoos and canaries and parcels,” said Clarence, patting Tisha on the back.

      All laughed, approving the disposition of forces.

      “Are these carriages ours, Clary?” asked Clementine.

      “It looks like it,” said Clarence, lifting her to her place, “and you shall see how soon the phæton distances the big carriage.”

      CHAPTER VIII.—Victoriano and His Sister.

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      The golden rays of a setting sun were vanishing in the west, and a silvered moon was rising serenely over the eastern hills, when the phæton, having distanced the other carriages by a full half hour, reached the foot of the low hill where the Alamar house stood. The French windows opening upon the front veranda, sent broad streams of light across the garden and far over the hill. Sounds of music greeted Alice and Clarence on their arrival. He checked his horses saying:

      “You see there are two roads here; one goes directly to our house, while the upper one passes close to the gate of the Alamares. I can take the upper road if you would like to hear the music.”

      “I would, indeed, unless it might seem intrusive.”

      “They are too kind hearted to think that, besides, I have a message of Doña Elvira to deliver,” he said, guiding his horses to the left, slowly climbing the hill to approach the gate silently. The phæton stood in the penumbra between the lights of two windows, and it had not been heard. The singing had ceased, the prelude of a Spanish song was begun and interrupted. The lady at the piano arose and selected another piece of music, and began the accompaniment of the old and well known “Don't you Remember Sweet Alice, Ben Bolt?”

      “Who is that lady?” asked Alice in a whisper.

      “She is Miss Mercedes,” whispered Clarence, glad of the excuse to whisper, and with a preparatory checking of breath and swallowing of something that seemed to fill his throat always, when her name was mentioned.

      “I hope she will sing,” said Alice.

      “Perhaps,” was the laconic reply, and both waited in silence. Clarence could distinctly hear his heart throbs.

      A man's voice, a fine tenor, began the song. He sang the first stanza so correctly and with so much feeling that it seemed to Clarence that he could not have listened to the simple melody before now attentively enough to appreciate its pathos, for it sounded most sweetly touching to him. Only one verse was sung.

      “I never thought that song capable of so much expression, or Tano capable of giving it so well.”

      The reason why Victoriano interrupted this song was because Mercedes had said, “Sing something else, Tano, that song is too sad. It will give me the blues.”

      “Me too. Those American songs always speak of death or dying. Ugh! You sing something lively.” Then he added, “I wonder why the Darrells haven't come? I suppose they are going to remain in town until to-morrow.” So saying he walked to the window. His eyes were too well trained to distinguish objects in the darkness not to have quickly perceived the phæton, though it could not be seen very distinctly. He saw it, but thought it must be Gabriel and Elvira returning unexpectedly. He ran to the gate, exclaiming:

      “Hallo! What made you return? Didn't the Holmans come? What has happened?”

      “Nothing,” Clarence answered. “The Holmans came all safe and sound, and I delivered them into the hands of Don Gabriel, who, accompanied by Doña Elvira, came to meet them. Doña Elvira requested me to say that they will remain in town a couple of days and then come home.”

      “And where is your family?” asked Tano, coming to the phæton.

      “They are coming, and here is a small part and parcel of the same—called our sister Alice. Don Victoriano permit me to present Miss Alice Darrell.”

      “Miss Alice, your humble servant,” said Victoriano, bowing. “Allow me to go to the other side of the phæton to try a more graceful bow a little nearer, and the honor of shaking hands, a la Americana”.

      Mercedes came now, tripping down in the path, also thinking that their carriage had returned, because some accident had happened to somebody.

      “Is that you, Gabriel?” said she.

      “You come and see,” said Victoriano.

      She came close to the phæton, right between the wheels, but still thinking she saw Gabriel, said: “What has happened? Ah! it is Mr. Darrell,” she added, with a tremor in her voice, that made Clarence think she was alarmed.

      He hastened to reply: “Nothing has happened. Your friends are all safe and well.”

      “This is Miss Alice Darrell. Can you bow to her in the dark, and shake hands?” asked Victoriano.

      “I think I can, but she might not see my bow,” said Mercedes, laughing, and extended her hand, saying: “I am glad to make your acquaintance, Miss Darrell.”

      Clarence took her hand, as Alice had not seen it.

      “See here, that hand was for me,” Alice said, laughing.

      “Certainly,” said Clarence, putting Mercedes' hand in hers.

      “Will you not shake hands with Clarence?” said Victoriano. “I declare, solemnly, girls are very ungrateful. Here Clarence has been so sorry, because you hurt your foot, and you have never thanked him for his kind sympathy.”

      “Mr. Darrell has never expressed his kind sympathy to me, how was I to presume he felt it?”

      “The presumption would have been mine had I expressed all I felt,” said he, taking off his glove, which action she rightly understood to mean that he wished to shake hands with her.

      She extended her hand, and he clasped it in his. That ineffable thrill which he felt for the first time in his life when he lifted her in his arms was now felt again. It coursed through his veins with the warm blood that rushed to his heart.

      Neither one took any notice of what Victoriano and Alice were saying until they heard him say:

      “That's all right. He is going to be married soon, then he'll be on the shelf. That's a comfort.”

      “Who will be on the shelf?” Mercedes asked.

      “Gabriel, of course; and I am glad of it, as Miss Alice has just coolly told me that he is the handsomest man she ever saw, forgetting that Clarence is here, and poor me, too.”

      “Present company is always excepted,” Alice argued; “and the rule, I suppose, applies now, though I cannot well see whether it does or not, you being in the dark.”

      “That is so. Come out of the shadow.” Clarence suggested.

      “I can't now. I feel too abashed,” Victoriano replied.

      “He will soon recover. His fits of diffidence don't last long,” said Mercedes.

      “So he is diffident now?” asked Alice, laughing.

      “Yes; that is why I don't want you to tell me that Gabriel is handsome; it abashes me too much.”

      “He is a good reasoner, too, you see that, Miss Darrell; though by moonlight his logic shines but dimly. Come, we must not keep Miss Darrell longer, since they will not come in,” said Mercedes.

      “I think you might stop and take supper with us,” said Victoriano.

      “O, no, thank you,” Clarence answered. “We came in advance to light