“I 'd rather talk of the future, Maria, dearest. I 'd rather we should speak of all the happy days we may spend together.”
“But how so? Once at Bexar, I 'm to wait at the monastery till my father sends his mules and people to fetch me home; meanwhile, you will have wandered away Heaven knows where.”
“And where do you call home, Maria?”
“Far away, beyond the Rio Grande, in the gold country, near Aguaverde.”
“And why should I not go thither? I am free to turn my steps whither I will. Perhaps your father would not despise the services of one who has some smattering of knowledge upon many a theme.”
“But a Caballero—a real Señhor—turn miner! They are all miners there.”
“No matter; Fortune might favor me, and make me rich, and then,—and then,—who is to tell what changes might follow? The Caballero might bid adieu to the 'Placer,' and the fair 'Donna Maria' wave a good-bye to the nunnery—and, by the way, that is a very cruel destiny they intend for you.”
“Who knows? I was very happy in the 'Sacred Heart.'”
“Possibly, Maria; but you were a child, and would have been happy anywhere. But think of the future; think of the time when you will be loved, and will love in turn; think of that bright world of which the convent-window does not admit one passing glance. Think of the glorious freedom to enjoy whatever is beautiful in Nature, and to feel sympathies with all that is great and good; and reflect upon the sad monotony of the cloister,—its cold and cheerless existence, uncared for, almost unfelt.”
“And when the Superior is cross!” cried she, holding up her hands.