The steamer running between San Francisco and the Mexican ports on the Gulf of California stopped at San Diego to take the newly married couples; a large party of friends escorted them on board.
Don Mariano was kind and affable to all, but many days passed before he became reconciled to the fact that the marriage of his two children was not celebrated as his own had been, in the good old times of yore.
The brides and grooms had been gone for some time, and might now be coming back in a few days.
“I am glad we three are alone, for there is something of which I wish to speak with you two when no one of the family is with us,” said Doña Josefa to Carlota and Rosario, as they sat in their favorite front veranda, sewing.
The girls looked up, and casting a quick glance to see whether any one was approaching, waited to hear what their mother had to say. The awnings being only half down no one could come from the outside unobserved.
“What is it, mamma?” Carlota asked, seeing that her mother seemed to hesitate; “anything unpleasant?”
“Well, no—yes. That is to say, to me it is, very. Have you noticed Mercedes' manner lately? She seems absorbed, silent, thoughtful, sad, and—and—you know what I fear. She says she is not sick, then it is some mental trouble, I am sure. So, then, I have been thinking that she had better go with Elvira and visit New York for a while, the change will do her good. I do not approve of young girls going from home on visits, but as she will go with her married sister, and—and—I hope it will be for her good.”
“And yet it may not,” said Carlota.
“Perhaps, if it is as you—as we three—fear, absence might be worse for her,” added Rosario; “Mercedes is very gentle, but she is very loving and constant, so it might do more harm than good to send her away now. Remember what the poet says about it:
‘La ausencia es para el amor
Lo que el aire para el fuego;
Si es poco, lo apaga luego,
Si es grande, lo hace mayor.’