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I like to think of an hour as the singular of Houri which the Mohammedans call nymphs of paradise, because they were, or are, beautiful-eyed. My Hour then becomes a goddess walking through my life, and, as the poet says, et vera incessu patuit dea.

The younger girl was sleeping placidly; there was a smile on her face her lips were parted like those of one who is utterly and entirely happy. She made a fair picture as she lay there, with her yellow hair streaming over her shoulders. She just murmured something in her sleep, as Vera bent over her and brushed her forehead lightly with her lips. "Oh, I wonder how long this cloud will last!"

Then, too, any line of march that could be selected led through mountain passes easily defended. In fact, there were at that time but two roads from Vera Cruz to the City of Mexico that could be taken by an army; one by Jalapa and Perote, the other by Cordova and Orizaba, the two coming together on the great plain which extends to the City of Mexico after the range of mountains is passed.

They refused, and a strange new strength filled my veins. I contrived to get the better of the two men, and half an hour afterward I left the house in company with your brother." All this was news indeed to Vera, but she asked no questions she was quite content to stand there and listen to all that Evors had to say. "I would not stay with your brother," he went on.

He was finally startled into a consciousness of the immediate present by the calling of Vera at his door. 'There are two letters for you. Father. He looked about him in bewilderment; the hours had passed in a trance, and he had no idea of his time or place. 'Oh, all right, he said, too much dazed to know what it meant. He heard his daughter going downstairs.

She has guessed my secret and shares my feelings, he thought, and what she is asking, is for a frank, brief avowal. "You are so noble, so beautiful, Vera Vassilievna, so pure...." An exclamation was wrung from her, and she would have risen, but could not. "You mock me, you mock me," she said, raising her hands beseechingly. "You are ill, Vera Vassilievna," he said, looking at her in terror.

"Only you'd better go back and hide again until it's dark. They might come back...." He caught Vera by the arm. His eyes were flames. He drew her with him back into her little room. He closed the door. "The Revolution has come it has really come," he cried. "Yes," she answered, "it has come into this very house. The world has changed."

"Vera, you are ill," he said earnestly. "Give Grandmother your confidence." "Silence! Not a word of Grandmother! Goodbye! To-morrow we will go for a stroll, do some shopping, go down by the river, anything you like." "I will go away, Vera," he cried, filled with inexpressible fear. "I am worn out. Why do you deceive me? Why did you call me back to find you still here?

The cathedral is also a fine building, with some good pictures, and several lay relics of Pizarro, Almagro, and Vasco Nufiez, that riveted my attention; while their fragments of the Vera Cruz, and arrow points that had quivered in the muscles of St Sebastian, were passed by as weak inventions of the enemy.

He ought to have been glad to hear this news, but he heard it with a spasm of pain. When he entered his aunt's room she sent Pashutka out and locked the door. "How anxiously I have been expecting you!" she said. "I wanted to send a messenger for you." "What is the matter?" he exclaimed, pale with terror in fear of bad news of Vera. "Your friend Leonti Ivanovich is ill." "Poor fellow!