not Pedro without thy forgiveness. This man wants to part us. Give me thy blessing, and joyfully will I be gone."
—"I cannot bless thee, Francisca," answered he with quavering lips; "'tis; only on a wretched female that one takes and rejects again, a man gives his blessing as a vengeance. Return to these tender arms, my ever dear, my ever beloved wife. Myself, perhaps, has partly occasioned thy errors, return and let me expiate the crime on thy bosom."
—"No, Pedro, thy wife's bosom has no solace, no joy more for thee. 'Tis a hell, burning with incessant pangs! No, Pedro, no! Or bless me—or grant me one last request!
—"And what is that Francisca?"
She rose, went out of the garden-gate, and so very sanguine was my expectation, that I was unable to use the interval to comfort my unhappy friend. In a few minutes she made her re-appearance, with a sweet little boy, about four years old, in her arms. Her
