carnations, and yellow-flowered musk. The Senora's passion for
musk she had inherited from her mother. It was so strong that she
sometimes wondered at it; and one day, as she sat with Father
Salvierderra in the veranda, she picked a handful of the blossoms,
and giving them to him, said, "I do not know why it is, but it seems
to me if I were dead I could be brought to life by the smell of
musk."

"It is in your blood, Senora," the old monk replied. "When I was
last in your father's house in Seville, your mother sent for me to
her room, and under her window was a stone balcony full of
growing musk, which so filled the room with its odor that I was
like to faint. But she said it cured her of diseases, and without it
she fell ill. You were a baby then."

"Yes," cried the Senora, "but I recollect that balcony. I recollect
being lifted up to a window, and looking down into a bed of
blooming yellow flowers; but I did not know what they were. How
strange!"

"No. Not strange, daughter," replied Father Salvierderra. "It would
have been stranger if you had not acquired the taste, thus drawing
it in with the mother's milk. It would behoove mothers to
remember this far more than they do."

Besides the geraniums and carnations and musk in the red jars,
there were many sorts of climbing vines,-- some coming from the
ground, and twining around the pillars of the veranda; some
growing in great bowls, swung by cords from the roof of the
veranda, or set on shelves against the walls. These bowls were of