Lianor bent down, and kissed his brow, lovingly--repentingly.

"You have been a great deal too good to me. But there is something
more I wish to ask; it will make me happy if you will grant my
request."

"We shall see. Tell me first what it is."

Lianor briefly related her wish to visit the old temple which lay
beyond Goa, to search with Panteleone the curious old ruins she had so
often read of in her studies.

Don Gracia looked grave; evidently this project did not find much
favor in his eyes.

A Portuguese by birth, but sent to Goa as Viceroy, Don Garcia de Sa
had lived there long enough to know the treacherous natures of the
Brahmins who dwelt near, and feared to let his child run the risk of
being found and captured.

But as Lianor had truly remarked, he loved his daughter so
passionately that he very rarely refused her anything, even though he
doubted the wisdom of complying with her wishes.

"Papa"--the sweet voice was very coaxing, and the red lips close to
his cheek--"say yes, darling; it will make me so happy."

"But suppose any danger should threaten you?"