Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1901-07-27

ing his hands. SAINTS, angels and martyrs
if this should come to my wife's ears.
swear to you l do not know any Concha-
never heard OF her l will have nothing
to do with her. Gentlemen, You must ex-
cuse me. l have an engagement"
And with this hurried adieu the little
man in the Madrid suit fairly bolted out
of the cafe and ran down the street at
full speed.
And in the dusk Of the gabled arches the
Gallegan sat with his head sunk low in his
hand.
What fool, Ramon Garcia! what a
mortal fool you were to have thought for
moment that your little Dolores could
have loved thing like that
CHAPTER XII.
The Crying of q Young Child.
AS soon as he knew that the cause for
which he had stabbed his wife's cousin had
been one which in nowise concerned little
Dolores the disguised Ramon Garcia went
out to seek his wife. a great pity and a
great remorse tearing like hungry murcian
vultures at his heart. He was not worthy
even to speak to that pure creature. His
hasty jealousy had ruined their lives He
it was who had squandered his chances.
lost his patrimony, broken up their little
home behind the whispering reeds OF the
Cerde. Yes. he had done all that, but-he
loved her.
Ramon did not hide and skulk now. He
walked down the street with his long locks
shorn, his beard clean shaver and his Gal
Logan dress and plumed hat, secure that
none Of his fellow townsmen would recog-
nize him. And, at least in the semi
ness, he was safe.
Ramon opened the little Wicket to which
she had SO often run to meet him, under
the three great fig trees. The gate creaked
on unaccustomed hinges. The white square
of placard on the post caught his eye: It
was too dark to see clearly or else Ell Sar-
ria would have seen that 1T was a bill of
sale Of the house and effects Of a certain
Ramon Garcia, outlaw. AS he stepped
within his foot slipped among the rotten
figs which lay almost ankle deep on the
path he had once kept SO clean.
The path before him was tangled across
and across with bindweed and runners Of
vine. The neglected artichokes had shot
and their glary seed balls rose as high as
his chin like gigantic thistles.
and loving welcome lay all dark before
him, blank and unlovely as a funeral vault.
Yet for all these signs of desolation Ra-
mon only reproached himself the more.
1.-The little Dolores" he thought "she has
felt herself forsaken. Like wounded doe
she shrinks from sight. Doubtless she
comes and goes by the back Of the house.
1t did not occur to him that she would
ever be turned out Of the house that was
his and hers. She would go on living there
ana waiting IOF lfm ana now now sur
prised she would be. But he would tell
her all and she would forgive him. And
1t is typical of the man and OF his nation
that he never for a moment dreamed that
his being "Ea Sarria," an outlaw with q
price on his head, would make not one
whit of difference to Dolores, and that he
had been jealous would be one proof more
that he loved her.
After all, what was 1t to be outlawed?
II he did this service for the abbot and
Don Carlos-a hard one surely-he would
be received to the army OF Navarro and he
might at once become sergeant. Or he
might escape across the seas and make q
home for Dolores in new country. Mean
time he would see her once more for that
night hold her safe in his arms
But by this time he had gone round the
gable by the little narrow path over which
the reeds continuously rustled. He paused
the window with the broken grille. and he
smiled when he thought OF the ignominious
| flight of Don Rafael down the village
street With a quickened step and his heart
thudding In his ears he went about the lit
| tie reed-built cabana In which he had kept
Concha's frewood. and stood at the back
| door.
| It was closed and impervious No ray
| OF light penetrated. Perhaps Concha has
gone out and the little one being afraid
Is sitting alone in the dark or has drawn
| the clothes over her head In bed"
| He had always loved the deliehtful ter
rors with which Dolores was won't to Gins
/ to him. or fee to throw herself on his boz
som from some imaginary peril, q cent?
pede that scuttled out OF the chutter-crack
or he-goat that had stamped his foot at
her down on the rocks by the river
He Knocked and called his old mama for