"That I couldn't tell you, for I do not know, and perhaps I am wrong to have said so much. But I spoke because it was painful to me to think that you believe my own loving, lovely mamma prejudiced, for she is not.

She might be mistaken, but she is kindness itself."

Clarence mentally demurred to this warm praise, but wisely held his peace.

"Promise me you will not think mamma is prejudiced," said she, without the least suspicion of the tyranny, the unreasonableness of such a request.

"I promise it, of course, if you desire it, but I would at the same time, like to know what is the _wrong_ act of which I am accused, that has brought upon me her censure. I assure you I have not the slightest idea; I think my record as an honest man can well bear scrutiny. Can it be that I have made money in mining stocks?"

"Oh, no. She does not know that, and if she did, she would not think it wrong, for she knows nothing about stocks."

"Then I vow I have not the remotest idea of what it is."

"Think no more about it now, and when you return, you ask papa. He will soon find out the mistake and vindicate you."

"Yes, he will do so I am sure. I would blindly trust my life and honor in his hands," said he, warmly, and quick as a flash came his reward, for she pressed his hands most gratefully. "Ah! Mercedes why did you do that?" The poor young man was trying to make up his mind not to press his suit until he had been vindicated, and Dona Josefa had nothing against him. But that pressure made him ambitious, impatient; he wished to have some promise that she would not accept any one else's suit. She was going from him, out of his sight. He was certain that dozens, yes hundreds, would fall in love with her as soon as they saw her. Would she not love some one? It would be natural to prefer to him, some of those elegant New Yorkers, or some fascinating foreigner whom she might meet in Washington. This thought made him wretched.

"I'm so glad you appreciate papa," said she, withdrawing her hands, which she considered he had held long enough. Noticing that he looked troubled, and that his hand trembled, she added: "I fear I have been indiscreet, and have caused you pain by what I said; if so, I am very sorry. Have I pained you?"

"I have never done anything dishonorable. I can prove that to Dona Josefa at any time. But"-he broke off, and after a paused, added: "Oh!

Mercedes! how wretched I shall be, thinking that you might love some one else. Is not your refusal to give me any encouragement a proof that you feel you never can care for me?"

"Please don't say that. I do care for you. That is, I mean, I ought not to tell you so, but-but"-she did not finish, for the rash young man had again seized her little hands, and was covering them with kisses, forgetting that any passenger had the right to come and sit there on the same bench to enjoy the silvery moonlight, sailing over the broad, sublime Pacific.

"Oh! Mr. Darrell! Don't do that. Please let us go now to call Elvira.

She thinks George is with me," she said, rising.

"We don't want Elvira, we don't want George. Let them be. Why do you grudge me this happiness of being alone with you for the first and, perhaps, for the last time in my life? Please sit down. I will behave myself. I will not kiss your hands, I promise; but won't you reward my self-restraint by answering one question?"

"What is the question?" said she, sitting down again, only a little further off; "tell me, and then we must go to find Elvira."

"I want you to tell me-I mean, I beg and entreat you to tell me this-if I can prove that I have never done anything dishonorable, and your mother ceases to object to my marrying you, will you then consent to be my wife?"

The question gave Mercedes exquisite pleasure, for she loved him with all her heart. The word wife soundly so sweetly coming from his lips, but she had promised her mother "_not to encourage him_." So she must not. It would be dishonorable to break her word. What could she say, not to make him unhappy, and yet not commit the sin of disobedience to her mother's command?

She looked down, and her expressive features again showed that she was troubled.

"Oh! I was mistaken. Your silence tells me I cannot hope."

"Do not be impatient, please. I was trying to think how I could explain to you my position."

"Your position?"

"Yes. How much what papa said to you might alter things. But I cannot see how I can say anything to you, except to be patient. Yes, let us both be patient."

"Patience and despair do not travel together."

"Discard despair, and trust to patience, and"-she was going to say, "trust me," but remembered her mother's commands, and that to say so much even would be _to encourage him_. She was silent. She could have rejected an offer of marriage easily without taking away all hope, but as she "_must not encourage him_," that was the most difficult dilemma for the poor girl. "Trust to papa, and-and do not be blaming me in your heart. I cannot bear that."

"I shall not blame you. I shall do whatever you order me. But at all times I do not understand you," said he, sadly.

"It is because my position is so-so difficult, so unnatural. I wish you could understand it without my explaining it. Can't you?"

"I'll try," said he, in most dejected tones, again thinking of the elegant New Yorkers, and fascinating Washingtonians, on their knees before her. "But I do not understand why you refuse me one word of encouragement."

"Oh! that is just _the word_ I cannot give," she sighed.

"This is all the work of Dona Josefa," thought he, and the form of the handsome matron seemed to rise before him from the billows of the Pacific, and stand with Juno's lofty majesty in severe impassibility before his sad gaze.

Mercedes, too, was looking at the immense sea, as if trying to discover in that vast expanse some consoling words that a good, obedient daughter might speak on such an occasion.

CHAPTER XI.-_George is a Christian Gentleman._

In vain did Mercedes scan the broad bosom of the Pacific Ocean in search of something to say that would be soothing to Clarence's feelings, very proper for her to utter, and very acceptable to her mamma's sentiments, had she been there to hear it. But that vast sea was dark and mute. It did not respond. It only made her shudder to think of its awful silence that was so solemn, but not in the least comforting. It was so dark, so limitless, so cold. She turned her eyes to the luminous wake trailed by the steamer where such wealth of diamonds was wasted. "Fitful scintillations and then all lost in gloom," she said, adding: "No, all is not wasted, those bright diamonds are not as evanescent as we, they will sink, but reappear again and remain there always to gladden or amuse poor travelers for ages to come; yes, when our two poor hearts have ceased forever to throb with joy or pain."

"Is it not, then, wrong when life is so flitting to refuse pure and holy happiness which God has permitted to the children of man?"

"We will be talking bookish, like Corina Holman, if we sit here alone with the silent Pacific. Let us go to find Elvira," said she, rising.

"Ah, there she is now!"

Elvira was bidding good night to her two lady friends who stood at the door of their state-room, and (as all ladies must) had something very interesting to say at the last moment.

"And so I am to be patient whether there is hope or not," said Clarence.

"You said you would speak with papa. You forget how very kind he is to everybody in general, and how partial to you in particular."

"Yes, he is most generous, almost too noble for this world."

"I have often thought that, but as he is past fifty, I trust that a kind Providence will spare him to us for many years yet."

"Of course, he will be spared to you. If no good man could live, then the gift of life would be a brand upon man's forehead. But a character as his, is truly very rare. He comes nearer to my standard of excellence than any other man I ever saw, and I revere and love him for it."

"I shall treasure those words in my heart, believe me. Let them remain there forever," she said, her voice vibrating with emotion.

"Well, well, and where is George?" said Elvira, looking around for her missing husband.

"He went to the captain's room to play cribbage about two minutes after you left," said Mercedes.

"Good chaperone he is; and what have you been talking about here like two little owls who know they musn't jump into the water because they are not ducks?"

"One isn't, any way," Clarence said, smiling.

"As my married experience is yet fresh and limited, I don't know whether it would be proper or not for us three to take a turn on deck and see whether George is enjoying himself. What do you think, Mr. Darrell, would a husband object to that?"

"I should say not. Why should he? To my way of thinking no husband of ordinary good sense could object to his wife showing that interest in him. Mr. Mechlin will not, I am sure."