In the moonlight he watched her, and as he gazed upon her graceful figure and small head and slender, bending arms, it seemed to him that she had come down from an altar to suffer in life, and that it had been almost sacrilege to lay his hands upon her shoulders and keep her from doing her own will.

He almost wondered how he had found courage to be so rough and commanding.

He was gentle of heart, though it was his trade to make sharp speeches, and there were wonderful delicacies of thought and feeling far down in his suffering cripple's nature.
"Come," he said softly, when he had waited a long time, and when he thought she was growing more quiet.

"You must let me take you away, Dona Maria Dolores, for we cannot stay here." "Take me back to him," she answered.

"Let me go back to him!" "No--to your father--I cannot take you to him.