"Senorita Isabel!" she screamed; "but this is abominable! At the midnight also! Who could have believed in such wickedness?
Grace of Mary, it is inconceivable!" She laid her hand roughly on Isabel's shoulder, and Luis removed it with as little courtesy.

"You were not called," he said, with the haughty insolence of a Mexican noble to a servant--"Depart." "My Senora! Listen! You yourself also--you will die.

You that are really weak--so broken-hearted--" Then a miracle occurred.

The Senora threw off the nightmare of selfish sorrow and spiritual sentimentality which had held her in bondage.

She took the cigarito from her lips with a scornful air, and repeated the words of Luis: "You were not called.