"Claim me with this!" she cries as his arms enfold her.
The dream of young love; first love; true love.
Every obstacle fades away: Lagunitas' millions; proud guardian; scheming duenna; watchful Villa Rocca. The world is naught to the two whose arms bind the universe in love's golden circle,
Raoul murmurs to the glowing maiden in his arms:
"And can you trust me?"
The splendid beauty clasps him closer, whispering softly:
"A Spanish girl loves once and to the death."
"But, darling," she falters, as her arms cling closer, "we must wait and hope!"
A letter from Philip Hardin arrives, in the gayest midwinter of a rejuvenated Paris. The time for decisive action has arrived. Natalie revolves every clause of Hardin's proposition in her mind.
In less than a year the now blooming Isabel will be eighteen years of age. The accounting—