diabolical. Never had the Plaza de Toros witnessed such atormentamiento. María Concepción was among the stars. Her spirit soared in revolt, magnificent and comprehensive, against circumstances, society, destiny, against papa himself. Unfortunately, her body could neither soar nor revolt, as it was still held tightly in its seat by papa's grasp upon her arm, his one desperate idea being to simulate unconsciousness of the appalling disgrace which had overtaken the house of Montes de Oca. But papa could not pinion her soul. It was as free at that moment as it would be on the triumphant day when her body should have no more life in it. Already she felt upon her the delicious languor of death,-possibly the good doctor's leeches had something to do with that, and while her swimming eyes followed each movement of El Mañoso, her imagination swiftly pictured the course of her closing days on earth. Papa would undoubtedly condemn her to return to her beloved College of the Sacred Heart, there to be edified by the good sisters, under durance, and with appropriate penances, until such time as the escándalo she had caused in the world might be partly forgotten, and herself graced with sufficient sobriedad to restrain her from a repetition of behavior fit only, in papa's judgment, for tourists de los Estados Unidos. And quite unexpectedly, probably in a week or ten days, she would breathe her last. El Mañoso would hear that news, of course. She hoped that he would live on; but would her spirit have power to dissuade him from following the example of all the love-crossed matadors of romance, who in tragic immolation had presented their breasts to the devastating horns of bulls? But, see, he kneels, El Mañoso, before her eyes! The bull charges! Qué horror! She prepared in that instant to expire. But no! The monster's head struck the unresisting cloth. There arose a shout from the crowd, its resentment long since swallowed up in noisy delight. El Mañoso showed his teeth in a caustic smile. He had beaten that two-faced mob to his feet! Royally he had entertained it, far beyond its expectations or deserts, and now it clamored respectfully for the supreme act in the ritual of the bull-ring. So be it! But first he would give those pigs a lesson in manners. María Concepción heard his voice, addressed to "the sun," to all the world. She heard the stream of Sevillan scurrility, bitterly personal and shockingly frank, with which he lashed the populace who had turned against him, and then turned again. This her hero, this bandier of abuse with the unclean mob! Icy cold all over, she saw his sinister laugh as he tempted his victim to embark upon the charge of death. And at the moment of moments, when the bull's agitated heart at last received the sword, and four thousand human mouths gasped as one-then, in the spasm of supreme effort that transfigured his countenance as he celebrated the sacrament of his order, she divined the soul of a high priest of the abattoir. Die of love, she? Rather let her die of shame! His triumphal march around the arena, with effeminate swagger and conceited smile, acknowledging the gifts showered upon him-cigars, money, trinkets, and what-not, to be gathered up for him by his attendants; hats and caps to be tossed back to their owners; a ceremonious bag of gold from the president-she saw it all. She looked at her papa. He had grown old. Her papacíto, her handsome little papa of the many foibles! She saw him as an illused child, to whom she should have been a mother-she, far older now than he. Instead of which, what thing had she done? A trickle of discreet laughter in "the shade" made her heart leap. What if papa should be compelled to challenge some one, to fight a duel for the honor which she had exposed to mockery? had exposed to mockery? With anguish she implored the Virgin to avert that peril. by causing the journals and the gossips at the Jockey Club to be polite and reticent about this affair! Without turning her head, she felt people's eyes playing on her skin like points of fire. She tried to rise, to escape from that abominable place and go home, where she could at least change her dress. But papa was exchanging diplomatic bows and smiles with neighboring friends, and pinching her to follow his example. Papa's pinches were of a severity to stimulate the most despairful to a renewed interest in life. Four more bulls remained to be despatched, two by the senior matador, and two by that insufferable junior. And hark! "The sun" was beginning again: "Otro toro! Otro toro!" LL other waters have their time of peace, ALL Calm, or the turn of tide, or summer drought: But on. these bars the tumults never cease; In violent death this river passes out. Brimming she goes, a bloody-colored rush, Hurrying her heaped disorder, rank on rank, Bubbleless speed so still that in the hush One hears the mined earth dropping from the bank, Slipping in little falls whose tingeings drown, Then, roaring out aloud, her water spreads, Changing the raddled ruin of her course So swiftly that the pilgrim on the shore. Hears the loud whirlpool laughing like a horse Where the scurfed sand was parched an hour before. And always underneath that heaving tide The changing bottom runs or piles or quakes, If anything should touch that shifting sand, It takes the clipper ere she comes to land; There was a full-rigged ship, the Travancore, Clanging, she topped the tide; her sails were furled, Now, looking up, beheld their duty done, So, having coiled their gear, they left the deck; Then pushing back the tins, they lit their pipes, These sunbeams sidled when the vessel rolled; Like gold the solder on the manhole shone; And quietly sleep came upon that crew; LXXXVII-46 Till blindly a careering wave's collapse Rose from beneath her bows and spouted high, A sleeper at the table heaved a sigh, And lurched, half drunk with sleep, across the floor, Blinked, and lurched back, and fell asleep again. Then there was greater silence in the room; Yet something jerking in the vessel's course To rush the whirlpool on Magellan Sand. And in the uneasy water just below, Her mate inquired "if the men should stir Then, as she settled down and gathered speed, Since, on such godless bars, there might be some." But, "No," the captain said. "The men have been The pilot 's able, and the ship 's a queen; The hands can rest until we come to quay." They ceased; they took their stations; right ahead The ship crept forward, trembling to the bone. And just above the worst a passing wave Then for a ghastly moment she was loose, And instantly the sand beneath her gave, The foremast broke; its mighty bulk of steel But, like an overladen beast, she lay Dumb in the mud, with billows at her lips, Grinding her grave among the bones of ships. At the first crashing of the mast, the men They found that Fate had caught them in a pen: Then as, with shoulders down, their gathered strength, Plucking, and causing motion, till it seemed That she would get her off. They heard her screw Mumble the bubbled riprap as she steamed. "Please God, the tug will shift her," said the crew. "She 's off," the seamen said. They felt her glide, The scraping stopped; the tugboat's screw was still. "She 's holed," a voice without cried-"holed and jammed, I lose my ticket, and the men are damned. Never; they shall not." And the speaker beat No tremor stirred the ruin on the deck. Then, as their natures bade, the seamen learned |