Ch. 18: Under One Flag - Page 2

dearest."

"Holy Maria! They are also my own grandchildren."

"Well, well, we must remember that Abbie is a little Puritan.
She believes in bringing up children strictly, and it is good;
for Thomas would spoil them. As for Isabel's boys--"

"God be blessed! Isabel's boys are entirely charming. They
have been corrected at my own knee. There are not more
beautifully behaved boys in the christened world."

"And Antonia's little Christina?"

"She is already an angel. Ah, Roberto! If I had only died
when I was as innocent as that dear one!"

"I am thankful you did not die, Maria. How dark my life would
have been without you!"

"Beloved, then I am glad I am not in the kingdom of heaven;
though, if one dies like Christina, one escapes purgatory.
Roberto, when I rise I am very stiff: I think, indeed, I have
some rheumatism."

"That is not unlikely; and also Maria, you have now some
years."

"Let that be confessed; but the good God knows that I lost all
my youth in that awful flight of 'thirty-six."

"Maria, we all left or lost something on that dark journey.
To-day, we shall recover its full value."

"To be sure--that is what is said--we shall see. Will you now
send Dolores to me? I must arrange my toilet with some haste;
and tell me, Roberto, what dress is your preference; it
is your eyes, beloved, I wish to please."

Robert Worth was not too old to feel charmed and touched by
the compliment. And he was not a thoughtless or churlish
husband; he knew how to repay such a wifely compliment, and it
was a pleasant sight to see the aged companions standing hand
in hand before the handsome suits which Dolores had spread out
for her mistress to examine.

He looked at the purple and the black and the white robes, and
then he looked at the face beside him. It was faded, and had
lost its oval shape; but its coloring was yet beautiful, and
the large, dark eyes tender and bright below the snow-white
hair. After a few minutes' consideration, he touched, gently,
a robe of white satin. "Put this on, Maria," he said, "and
your white mantilla, and your best jewels. The occasion will
excuse the utmost splendor."

The choice delighted her. She had really wished to wear it,
and some one's judgment to endorse her own inclinations was
all that was necessary to confirm her wish. Dolores found her
in the most delightful temper. She sat before the glass,
smiling and talking, while her maid piled high the snowy
plaits and curls and crowned them with the jewelled comb, only
worn on very great festivals. Her form was