The Wheeling daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1865-1903, 1895-12-11

lie nuu broken neT Iull anu ulIluht ll-
stantly. yet with infinite gentleness he
released her unframed with hardly her
crisp ilounces crumplGd, in an upright
position against the wall. Even her
guitar, still hanging from her shoulder
by yellow ribbon, had bounded elastic
and resOunding against the wall but lay
intact at her sntln-slippercd feet, She
caught 1t UP with another quick little
cry, but this time moro of sauclne99
thnn fear, and threw her little hand
across the strings. half dehantly.
II hope you are not hurt?'snld the
circuit preacher. grnvely.
She broke into n sllvcry laugh, She
was 1.-THE, yet plump; barred with black
and yellow, and small wasted like u
pretty wasp Her complexion In that
light was sheen OF pearl satin that
made her eyes blackcr and her little
mouth rcdder than any other color
could. She was small, but, remember
ing the fOurteen-year-o wife Of the
shop-kccpcr he felt that for all her
childish voice and features, she was a
crown woman. and sudden slyness
took hold OF him.
But she looked pertly in his face,
stood her guitar upright before her, and
put her hands behind her hack us she
shrugged her shoulders.
at was the fault OF you" she said, In
broken English that seemed as much
infRntile MS foreign. what for you not
remain to yourself In your own casa?
So II come. You creep sO-in the dark
and shake my wall. and | fall. And
She" pointing to the guitar, ITS a
most broke And all for thees, l have
only made you n serenade. lngrate!"
~ beg your pardon" said Masterton,
quickly, hut was curious. 1 thought
might help YOU and"
Make yourself another cat on the
wall, eh? No one is enough, thank
4 rown lowered on Masterton's
brow. you don't understand me-" he
said, bluntly. II did not know who was
here"
"Ah, bueno! Then 1t is Pepita RamI-
req, you see." said she. tapping her boz
dice with one little finger; all the same;
the niece from Manuel Garcia, who
keeps the Mission garden and III there.
And yOu?"
My name is Mastcrton."
"How moOch?"
''Masterton," he repeated.
She tried to pronounce It once or twice
desperately, and then shook her little
head so violently that yellow rose fRs.
tened over her ear fell to the ground.
But she did not heed II, nor the fact that
Masterton had picked It up.
"Ah. cannOtv she said, poutlngly.
ut IL as dccfeecult to make go as my
guitar with your serenadc"
Can you not say Stephen Master
ton?'" he naked. more gently, with
returning and f0rgivelng sense of her
chlldlshness.
"Es.stcfen? All, Estcban! Yes: Don
Estebun! Bueno! Then, Don Estebnn,
what for you sink 80 melancholy one
night, and one night no iierce2 The
melancholy. he ees not so bad; but
the fercc-ahl he Is wecked! Ess II
how the Americana make always his
serennde?"
MYSTERIOUS brow again darkened,
And his hymn OF cxaltntion had been
mistaken by these people-by this
this wanton child.
1T was no serenadc." he replied, curt
ly: Il was In praise OF the Lord"
"Of how mooch?"
"Of the Lord OF Hosts--of the Al
mighty in Heaven" He lifted his long
arms ruvcrGntly on high.
"Oh." she said. with frightened
look. slightly cdging away from tho
wall. At secure distance she stopped
"Thcn YOU are soldier Don Estebnn?"
MOI!
"Thcn for what YOU sink I nm sol
ller Of the Lord and you make die In
HIS nrmy?' oh, you have said" She
gathered M her guitar tightly under