Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1906-10-13

worn in Spain by many q beauty Of the
house of Morago. and spiked the knot with
| two long pins globed at the end with gold,
while the maid fastened her slippers and
| smoothed the pink silk stockings over the
| arched thin instep above, what is lover
| like? Is 1t like meeting one Of the saints
| Of heaven?"
| mo. senorita."
Like what. them"
Like-like nothing but himself, senorita.
You would not have him otherwise.
"Oh, stupid one! Hast thou no magma
ton? Fancy any man being well enough
| as he is! For instance. there is Don An
| tonic, who is SO handsome and fiery, and
Don Ignacio. who can sing and dance and
ride no one else in all the CALIFORNIA;.
| and Don Weelam Sturgs. who is very
| clever and true. If 1 could roll them Ato
! one-a tamale of corn and chicken and pep
| pers-there would be a man almost to my
| liking. But even then-not quite. And one
| man-what nonsense! l have too much
| color tonight. Rosa
NO senorfta, you have never been go
beautiful. When the lover comes and you
| love him, senorita, you will think him
| greater than our natural king and lord and
all other men poor Indians.
But how shall know?s
| Your heart will tell you, senorita."
MY heart? My father and my mother
will chose for me a husband whom l shall
| love as all other women love their hus-
| bands-just enough and no more. Then. l
suppose. shall never known
Would you marry at your parents bid
| ding, like a child. senorita? 1 do not think
you would"
| Concha looked at the girl in astonishment,
but with a greater establishment she sud
denly realized that she would not. Even
her little fingers stffened in a rush of per-
| sonality, of passionate resentment against
! the shackles bound by the ages about the
feminine ego. Her individuality, long bud
| ding. burst into flower; her eyes gazed far
| beyond her radiant image in the mirror
with look of terrified but dauntless in
| sight then moved slowly to the girl that
sat weeping on the floor
Il know not what thy sin was, she Sald
musingly, but / have heard it said thou
didst obey no law but thine own willard
| his. Why should the punishment nave
| been so terrible? Thou hast sworn to me
| thou didst not help to murder the woman
| Il cannot tell you. senorita. You will
never know anything of sin, but of love
| yes, 1 think you will know that and before
| very long
Before long?' Concha's lips parted and
| the nervous color she had deprecated left
| her cheeks. What meanest thou, Rosa =
| Her voice rose hoarsely.
| And the Indian, with the insight OF her
| own tragedy, replied: THE Russian has
| come for you, senorta. You will go with
| him, far away to the north and the snow.
| These others never could win your heart;
| but this man who looks like a king. and
| as if many women had loved him, and he
! had cared lttle-Oh, senorita, Carlos was
| only a poor Indian, but the men that
| WOinen-iONp all nave something tIdl makes
them brothers-the great Russian and the
! poor man who goes mad for a moment and
| kills woman that he may live with
| another forever. The great Russian is
| free but he is the same. senorita-he. too,
| could kill for love, and such are the men
| we women die for!''
| CoHchat ambitious and romantic, eager
| for the brilliant life the advent of this Rus
| sian nobleman seemed to herald had as
| Sured Santiago that he would love her;
| but they had been the empty words of the
| Favorta of many conquests; of love and
, and passion she had known. suspected
| nothing. AS she watched Rosa. huddled
and convulsed, little pointed arrows flew
| into her brain. Girls in those old Span
| ish days went to the altar with serene
| honor among those that preceded their
! friends to abet the parents in a Gus om
| which assuredly did not err on the side
| of uglness. Concha had larger vocabu-
| larry than other Californians of her sex.
| for she had read many books, and if
never a novel, she knew something of
! poetry. Sturgis had filled the sala with
! the sonOrous ron of his favorite masters
and it had pleased her ear; but the Ian
| guage of passion had been so many beauti-
| in her consciousness. But the rude ex-
| preston OF the miserable woman at her
! feet, whose sobs grew more uncomfortable
! every moment. made it forever impossible
| that she should prattle again as she had
| to Santiago and Rezanov in the last day
! and night: and although she felt as If
Straining her eyes III the dark, her cheeks
| burned once more, and she rose uneasily
! and walked to the window.
She returned in moment and stood
over Rosa, but her voice when she spoke
| had lost it's hoarseness and was cold and
| irritated.
Control myself" she said. And go and
| battle thine eyes. Wouldst look like a