did not see him, in the fast gathering dusk, until close to the spot
where he was standing.

"You here, Pedro!" she exclaimed. "But it is not well to be out at this
time of the day. Don't you know you are doing wrong? I am astonished to
see you so careless," she added, smiling.

It was the first time Pedro had seen her smile in any but a grave, quiet
way. Now, accompanied as it was with the half-playful, half-deprecating
manner in which she uttered her chiding, it proved too much for him.

"Do–a," he said, "I am going away to-morrow. I have struggled hard to
leave here without showing you my heart, and I should have done so had
not you come by this way to-night. Oh, why are you so far above me, that
I must think of you as one belonging to Heaven rather than earth? Why
are you so good and beautiful? For know, Do–a, I love you, I love you,"
and Pedro poured out his confession of love in a swift rushing stream of
words.

Amazed at such vehemence in one who had always until now shown himself
the quietest of mortals, Apolinaria listened, as in a dream, hardly
comprehending the full significance of what she heard. At last, with a
start, she gave a slight shiver, and interrupted Pedro in the midst of
his impassioned speech.

"Pedro," she said gently and quietly, "I am sorry you have told me this,
more sorry you should have allowed such a feeling toward me to take root
and grow up in you, for I am sure, my friend, you will see that I could
not entertain any such change in my life as is implied in your words.
Once, when I was younger than I am now, and before I had taken up my