‘Surely,’ said he, ‘you will not be so unkind—’
‘Hush!’ cried Maria, clapping her hand on his mouth. ‘I am nothing this evening. Her hand has written this, and I cannot see you to-night,’ and here the girl sat down upon the stairs, and fell into a deep reverie.
‘What shall I do?’ thought Monteagle, ‘If I speak to another girl, every eye will be upon me; all sorts of surmises. No, no, I have it. I will consult Blodget.’
He then slipped a slug into the hand of Maria, who seemed to be almost unconscious of the act, and stepping to the door of the saloon, he opened it, and called to his companion.
Blodget was lazily conversing with the mistress of the house upon some topic of general interest, and though surrounded on all sides by the most fascinating beauties of almost every civilized country—who threw out their lures to entrap him, he appeared as unconscious as a pair of tongs in a china shop. When he heard Monteagle pronounce his name, he looked up surprised: he fairly started, and seizing his hat, quickly came out to him. They passed into the street together.
‘What have you done with Maria?’ said Blodget.
‘She has received a note from somebody, and has retired alone to ponder upon its contents,’ answered the youth.
‘Oh! I know—I think, at least, that the lady who followed you out—the lady in the mask—ha! ha! ha! I think that she must have brought the note. But did she not make you acquainted with its contents?’
‘No. But whatever its contents were, they made a deep impression upon her.’
‘Ah,’ exclaimed Blodget, stopping as if to think. ‘I have heard something of this. I think I understand something of it. You must know that Maria received her education at a convent in Santiago, about a hundred miles from Valparaiso, an old-fashioned city where religion flourishes. This is a religieuse who came to the house enveloped in the costume of that city; and I think I have learned that Maria was the bosom friend of a young lady of fine promise, and very devout habits, before she took to the road.’