Rachela sat in her chair within it.
"The Senorita had better remain within," she said, sullenly; "the sun grows hot." "Let me pass, Rachela, I am in a hurry." "To be sure, the Senorita will have her way--good or bad." Antonia heeded her not; she was hastening down the main avenue toward the gateway.

This avenue was hedged on each side with oleanders, and they met in a light, waving arch above her head.

At this season they were one mass of pale pink blossoms and dark glossy leaves.

The vivid sunshine through them made a rosy light which tinged her face and her white gown with an indescribable glow.

If a mortal woman can ever look like an angel, the fair, swiftly moving Antonia had at that moment the angelic expression of joy and love; the angelic unconsciousness of rapid and graceful movement; the angelic atmosphere that was in itself a dream of paradise; rose-tinted, divinely sweet and warm.
Dare saw her coming, and suddenly ceased speaking{.?
?} He was in the midst of a sentence, but he forgot what he was saying.