"But the General was resolute. The girl could follow them to Seville, he said, when she became well enough to travel, no harm need come to her and she could be well spared. Mrs. Harrington had improved so much in her health that Zillah could have plenty of time to get well without much inconvenience to her mistress. Miss Crawford's little maid was always at her disposal.

"James Harrington did not seem satisfied with this reasoning, but he said nothing more, and the next day we went up to Cadiz, leaving Zillah behind.

"The girl was greatly distressed, and protested that she was well enough to travel anywhere with her mistress, that everything would go wrong if she was left behind, that the people were strange and would not know how to direct her. She attempted to leave her bed and put on a traveling dress, but fainted as her foot touched the floor. I was sorry for the poor creature, and my heart ached at the necessity of leaving her alone; but like her I was powerless in the hands of my guardian.

"Just before we left, General Harrington went in to speak with her. She was acting very unreasonably, he said, and deserved chastisement for her folly. Did she expect his whole family to wait in that dull place till it was her pleasure to get well? The truth was, James had spoiled the girl.

"He must have been harsh with the poor thing, though that was not at all like him, for she was sobbing as if her heart would break ten minutes after, when I went into her room, and said many bitter things of her master's cruelty, which in common charity I shall never repeat. Certainly the girl does seem to be terribly spoiled. I wish her no harm, poor wretch, but if she were going back home a free woman my heart would be lighter. I wonder if they would let me purchase her and give her the freedom which belongs to every one of God's creatures. She has managed to pick up a tolerable education, and in a country where hundreds of the blue blood are darker than she is, might do well; for she certainly is beautiful and has bright native talent enough to carve out a happy future for herself. As for the money, a year's income would be nothing compared with the relief of seeing her happy, free, and of all things, away from us. I will speak of this to Mrs. Harrington; no woman ever had a kinder heart or a keener sense of justice; the difficulty with her is that she spoils her servants with too much kindness. That is a thing which people just out of barbarism are apt to mistake for weakness.

"I think this girl has been made unhappy by the education which lifts her out of the common herd of slaves. She feels the disgrace of caste with terrible acuteness, and in no strata of society can find a place for herself. In order to make the slaves useful or happy, they must be educated in masses. It does not do to lift one from among his fellows as a specimen of what they can possibly become. Open a future for the slaves, give them intelligence and freedom at the same time; but I need not go on. How many times has all this been said. But the day will come when justice shall be brought about.

"We are leaving Cadiz for Seville, where General Harrington proposes to spend the holy week. I have had no opportunity to speak with Mrs. Harrington yet, but the fate of the poor girl we have left behind hangs heavily on my spirits. James Harrington, too, seems depressed. Is it—can it be? No, no, no! A thousand times no! How dare I form it in thought? Still, she is beautiful, clever, elevated by her intelligence far above some of my own order. She has caressing ways, too, when it pleases her to assume them, and a look out of those almond-shaped eyes when she is pleased or grieved, that troubles even me with painful admiration. No, if money can buy her she shall be out of her thraldom, and happy as a bird, but only on condition that she flies away to her own country, or stays in this after we leave it. Strive as I will for charity, nothing on earth, I do think, will ever make me like that girl even as a servant.

"Our steamboat is just now turning into the mouth of the Guadalquiver. What strange, barren-looking things are these Spanish castles! Their walls, of a dull, yellowish red, seem more like an upheaving of the soil itself, than massive stone piled up by the labor of man. They are bare, too, of the rich vines and tremulous leafage which makes the ruins of Italy so picturesque, and those of England so grand in their decay. Here is a massive building on our right, full of historic interest, I dare say, and it may be rich in Moorish embellishments if I could see the interior; but at this distance it looks bleak and barren as a prison. My own vague 'castles in Spain' are ten thousand times more beautiful.

"I said this to James Harrington as he came and stood beside me on the deck.

"'Oh,' he answered with a sigh, 'Who of us does not build air castles only to see them vanish into mist. As you say, mine have been more beautiful than that heap of stones. After all, architecture is severely perfect, which Nature does not claim after it leaves the hand of its constructor. The struggle which she makes to draw art back into her own bosom, is always beautiful.'

"Thus he will talk to me for hours, but never of himself. What have I done that we are driven so far apart,—that he so studiously turns his eyes away when mine question him with unconscious earnestness,—unconscious till some look of his reminds me that for a moment I have been off my guard. Then I grow angry with myself, and avoid him with what must seem to him childish caprice. Does he understand all that I think and suffer? Does he know how that day among the water lilies haunts my memory?"



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE EATON FAMILY.

"There is an American family on board—some persons whom the Harringtons have met before in the South, and who have attempted to renew the acquaintance. The old people seem to me very coarse, common-place persons—planters from the interior of Louisiana—rich and vulgar; but the daughter is beautiful—a blonde, with lovely hair, full of sunshine, and eyes of that deep purplish blue which one seldom sees after childhood. Her figure is petite but finely rounded. She has all the health and freshness of a child, with the sweetest graces of womanhood. Yes, I can say this, and acknowledge the charm of her beauty, though she has given me the most wretched day I ever passed in my life.

"James Harrington had known her before, and was rejoiced at the meeting. When he saw her across the deck my hand was on his arm, for we were walking together. The start he gave shook off my hold and, with both hands extended, he went to meet her, glad as I had never seen him before.

"The girl blushed like a rose, and came forward to meet him, quite half way, smiling up in his face as I had never dared to smile through all the months of our domestic intercourse. My heart turned cold. I felt a strange contraction about my mouth as if all the blood were retreating from the lips, which would not syllable a word when he brought the young lady towards me and presented her.

"She looked at me earnestly, like a child who felt itself repulsed, and stood silent as if expecting me to come out of my reticence and receive her as every one evidently did.

"At last I spoke with an effort, and I dare say brusquely, for I felt that my voice sounded forced and cold.

"'You are an old friend—you have known Gen. Harrington and his family before?' I said.

"'Oh yes,' she answered, smiling up at James. 'We are old friends. How long is it, Mr. Harrington, since you taught me to ride? Indeed, Miss Crawford, I think he has taught me almost everything worth knowing that I can boast of.'

"I made an effort to smile, and answered in the insincerity of my pain, that it must have been a pleasant task to instruct so lovely a pupil.

"She laughed sweetly, and replied in her childish fashion, 'He used to say as much, but I am sure it was only to encourage me.'

"Just then her father crossed the deck, radiant with pleasure, and shouted a greeting as he came. He was a large, heavy man, robust and genial, overshadowed by a broad Panama hat, and flourishing a large white handkerchief in his hand, as if it had been the star spangled banner, which was to open the heart of every American he met.

"'Hallo! We have overtaken them at last, have we, Miss Lucy? Now I hope you are satisfied. How are you, Harrington? Did not expect to see us in this part of the world, I dare say? Is the General and Mrs. Harrington on board? Of course I might have known as much from a sight of this young lady. The General's ward, I suppose.' Here Mr. Eaton took off his Panama hat and made an elaborate bow, which I returned, striving to meet his cordiality, with some show of interest.

"'Well, this is comfortable,' he said, fanning himself with the broad rim of his hat, 'of all countries in the world Spain is the one where an American likes to meet an American best. I don't understand one word of their lingo, and our courier isn't much better off—hates the Spaniards so that he never would learn their language, in hopes that it might keep any one from bringing him here. But he is a good fellow, can be trusted with untold gold. Language or no language, I wasn't going to do without him. But it is awkward work trying to make these Spaniards understand. Ask what you will and they answer all alike, Kiem Sabe, as if that was the answer to an honest question. Oh my boy, I'd give twice the money we got for her, that I hadn't sold you that girl Zillah. When we took her to Cuba she pitched in and learned the language right smart; wonderful girl that; have you got her yet, Harrington?'

"'She came with us to Spain,' said Harrington, looking a good deal disturbed, 'but you forget she was General Harrington's purchase. I believe my mother took a fancy to her.'

"'Your mother! Why bless your soul, she never saw the girl till General Harrington took her home. He said that you had urged him to buy her; come, come, don't blush up like that, what the deuce do I care who fancied the girl, she was a great bargain to any one.'

"'Are you speaking of Zillah?' said Miss Eaton, languidly. 'What a pretty creature she was. It seemed a shame to keep her with the other negroes. I remember often and often visitors mistook her for me.'

"'But that was before they had seen you, Lucy. The girl is well enough, but no one could mistake her for you. Such coal black hair, eyes like velvet. Yes, yes, the girl was a beauty,—one good reason why I was willing to sell her.'

"James Harrington was so annoyed by the conversation, that he walked away frowning. I had never seen his noble face darken so unpleasantly before.

"Miss Eaton laughed, and followed him with a pair of sparkling eyes, that had a world of mischief in them.

"'Something wrong I see. That girl will keep things stirring wherever she is; knows a heap, and far too handsome for my plantation; glad to get rid of her, if the truth must be told. Women folks were fools enough to teach her to read and write, after that she took the bits into her own mouth, and learned every thing. What do you think I would do with a fancy slave like that?'

"'Father, you cannot see, but General Harrington is coming,' said Miss Eaton.

"'Oh, ho! my old friend, how is the lady?'

"'Mrs. Harrington is quite well, the voyage has done her a world of good, long enough for a chance at health you understand. That is why we selected a sailing vessel. It isn't going to sea at all when you get into the steamers. Where is James? I thought he came this way, his mother wants him.'

"'Oh, I am to blame, I drove him off talking about that girl Zillah.'

"'Come this way,' said the General hastily, 'I wish to surprise Mrs. Harrington, she will be rejoiced to know that you are here.'

"They went away together. I saw General Harrington stop his friend after they got out of hearing, and talk with him earnestly as if expostulating about something. Then I saw Mr. Eaton clap his hand on the General's shoulders, nod his head half a dozen times, and move on as if some matter had been amicably settled between them. From that day, I never heard Mr. Eaton mention the girl Zillah again. Was it because James Harrington seemed so displeased with the subject?

"I was left alone with the young lady, who seemed so sweet and good that it was impossible to look upon her with anything but kindness. Yet I never turned towards her without a nervous thrill that almost held my breath; every line of her face, and graceful curve of her form, seemed burned on my memory from the first moment I saw her. Was this jealousy? What had I to be jealous of? A fair girl whom he had known well, and was pleased to see in a strange country, where friends are few and unusually welcome, surely I am not so weak or wild as to give myself up to an unreasonable and unreasoning fancy like that."



CHAPTER XXXIX.

THAT SPANISH NOBLEMAN.

"Miss Eaton was enthusiastic about the scenery of the river, as the boat swept over its amber-hued waves, and the scenery became more and more Arcadian. She was a little romantic too, and fell into some childish affectations, that gave me a fair excuse for not thinking her perfect. Upon the boat was a tall, powerful looking man, with bold black eyes, and the carriage of a person used to power of some kind. His dress was remarkable,—the short jacket of the country, buttoned and ornamented with quantities of round golden buttons, that rattled and tinkled as he walked up and down, was ornamented with a very rich embroidery, in which gleams of crimson and brown were enwrought on the blue ground with delicate effect; a traveling cap, also richly embroidered, sat jauntingly on the side of his head. Everything about him was apparently new, and if too gorgeous, effective.

"Miss Eaton watched this man with her furtive blue eyes, as he passed us ever and again, each time fastening his gaze on her face with a look of audacious admiration that made the blood come hotly into my cheek.

"'What is he, have you any idea?' she whispered, as he passed us for the fifth time, 'some nobleman I am sure. Don't you think so, Miss Crawford?'

"I answered pleasantly, that as this was the first country of Europe that I had seen, it was impossible for me to judge what particular trait distinguished its nobility. While I was saying this, a little fussy woman, wearing a showy dress and lace mantilla, came up to us and called Miss Eaton by name.

"'My dear,' she said, giving Lucy's bonnet a jerk forward. 'Have you seen him?'

"'Who, mamma?'

"'Why that duke, he passed here just now, and I saw him looking at you—with that bonnet stuck on end, dear me!'

"Lucy began to re-arrange her bonnet, entering into her mother's anxiety. 'Was it—was it the gentleman with the buttons, mamma. How is it now? too far forward I think,—with the buttons?'

"'Such buttons!' interrupted the mother, 'solid gold every one of 'em, blue blood, every drop in his veins—any one could swear to that without telling. Did you see him, Miss?'

"'Miss Crawford, mamma,' said Lucy, 'General Harrington's ward, whom we have heard so much about.'

"The woman looked at me keenly through an enamelled eye glass, which she carried fastened to a chain of gold, twisted around her wrist.

"'Glad to make your acquaintance, Miss Crawford,' she said, dropping the glass after a full survey of my person. 'James has told us so much about you. Indeed, we were getting almost jealous, weren't we, Lucy? There, there he comes again. Drop your parasol, Lucy, carelessly, you know. Hush, hush!'

"The Spanish traveller came by us again, with his long sweeping walk and bold eyes, which he kept on the blushing face of Miss Eaton—impertinently, I thought.

"Mrs. Eaton gave me a little punch with the point of her parasol, after he had passed.

"'Struck! undoubtedly struck. Don't you think so?'

"'Oh, mamma, how can you! I'm sure it was Miss Crawford his Highness was admiring.'

"'But how do you know it is his Highness,' I inquired.

"'How? Why, look at him. His very tread has nobility in it. You have not been travelling abroad long enough to distinguish at a glance. In order to know the aristocracy of a nation one must have mingled with it on equal terms. Now that gentleman is a royal duke, I take it. Lucy, dear, if you could manage to be speaking French when he comes this way again. Perhaps Miss Crawford knows enough to give you countenance. I am a little—just a little—out of practice since my passion for the Spanish. Noble language, isn't it, Miss? Something so dignified—so rolling—so rich in sound. Here comes Mr. James Harrington, handsome as ever, but wanting, as I may suggest, in the grand air. See with what modest appreciation he passes the duke.'

"The vulgarity of this woman did more to lift the cloud from my heart than a hundred arguments could have done. I knew young Harrington well enough to feel that he was safe with a woman like this, though the mother of an angel. A sense of amusement stole over me, and I awaited his approach, cured of the anxiety that had, for a time, made me so wretched.

"If I had calculated on a second exhibition of snobbery after Harrington joined us, Mrs. Eaton disappointed me. I think she held the young gentleman in too much awe for a free exercise of the vanity that was in her. She did not even mention 'the duke,' and I remarked that this personage kept on another portion of the deck while James was with us.

"How beautiful are the banks of this river, as we go nearer and nearer its source! It is strange that I, an American, born in a land which spreads the broadest prairies on earth to the breeze and the sunshine, should have caught my first glimpse of one in the heart of Spain. Here mile after mile, the Guadalquiver, spread through vast plains of tall grass and wild flowers, which sweeps away from you on either hand in a sea of billowy green touched with purple and crimson, gleams now and then where the tall flowers grow thickest, and swayed by the wind till the waving grass seems to heave and roll like the ocean itself.

"I had left my companions, and stood by the bulwarks admiring the beauty of this scene with a sense of keen pleasure. Its vastness, its soft wave-like undulations charmed me into forgetfulness of all that has made the trip unpleasant. There was no habitation in sight, yet those prairies gave one an idea of infinite life.

"'It is here,' said a voice at my elbow, 'where the people of Seville come for the wild bulls that form the great feature in their bull fights. Wandering about in that long grass are thousands of splendid animals that probably never saw the face of man.'

"It was James Harrington. I felt that he was there before he spoke. A quick throbbing of my heart had warned me of his presence.

"'I see nothing of them,' was my answer. 'It seems one broad sea of wavy grass, more still and lonely than the ocean itself, because no ships are to be seen.'

"'Look,' he said, pointing to a long, undulating ripple in the grass, which seemed like the flow of some brook, 'a drove is coming toward the shore.'

"As he spoke, the thick wall of grass that hedged in the river was parted, and the fiery head and broad chest of a wild bull, black as jet, came into full view, while the rest of his body was still concealed.

"Rosa Bonheur would have gloried in a study like that. The great wild eyes, burning with angry fire—the long, slender horns, black as ebony, and sharp as steel, which curved out from the proud symmetry of that head, would have inspired lower genius than hers. The furious toss of those horns, the swelling nostrils, blood red with angry heat, the vehement pawing of his hoof upon the bank, were enough to terrify a bolder person than I am. But the river was deep, and our boat far enough from the shore to silence any fear of danger. Besides, the creature was so magnificent in his wild rage, that admiration overwhelmed all other feelings.

"As the boat came opposite this bull, there was commotion in the tall grass all around him, and out from the dense covert broke half a dozen kindred beasts, all drawn to the shore by the rush and sound of the steamboat. Superb animals they were, one and all; perfect creatures, fresh from the hand of Nature, untouched by fetter or lasso, untamable as the lion in his jungle. Some were ready for fight with the monster beast that had seemed to challenge combat, with its rushing wheels and the defiant snort of its engine. Others looked gravely at the passing phenomenon, and stood motionless, with the long grass closing over their backs, evidently wondering what terrible thing had come among them to torment the waters so. While we were looking, these grave old animals, who had doubtless been within sight of human beings before, wheeled slowly and were lost in the long grass which closed over their backs, as sea waves cover a victim. But the black bull came farther out from his covert, tearing the bank with his hoofs, erecting his tail like a banner, ripping up the earth with his sharp horns, and bellowing a defiance after us, that made me tremble where I stood. Heaven help the matador, whom fate should throw into the path of that terrible creature.

"The banks of the Guadalquiver are Arcadian, after the prairies are passed. As we approached the beautiful basin in which the old city of Seville is built, villas and country houses were seen here and there along the shores; clumps of gnarled old olive trees wound down to the water; orange and citron trees in full blossom, and fruit, perfumed the air; sometimes a single tree stood out alone large and symmetrical as a New England pear tree; then whole orchards sloped down to the river, with great golden piles of fruit heaped on the grass underneath, and the blossoms showering down so thickly, that it seemed as if a squall of snow must have swept by only an hour before. I think in the whole world, there cannot be found trees so large, so perfect, and so vivid in their greenness, as those we saw in the orange orchards, just before we came in sight of Seville. How I longed to go ashore and bathe myself in their perfume, and taste their delicious fruit!

"James Harrington was standing near, and he too must have felt the influence of all that subdued me; for the scent of the orange blossoms swept over us both, the rich amber-hued waves of the river whispered the same music to him that I had listened to. We had conversed but little,—a climate like this induces reverie, rather than speech; all the sensibilities of one's nature exert themselves unconsciously, a harsh word or bitter thought would melt into forgiveness, before either could be spoken. Was he affected in this way? I cannot tell; my heart deceives me if there was not unusual tenderness in his voice, a tremor as if he feared to say what my heart paused to gather in. I dared not look at him. In my soul there lay thoughts he might shrink from reading, and I should perish with shame if he but guessed that they existed."



CHAPTER XL.

THE MANOEUVRING MOTHER.

"We come in sight of Seville, the high tower of the Giralda, cutting against the blue of the sky, first won my attention; then a portion of the old city came in view, backed by one of the finest cathedrals in the world.

"It was just before holy week; the steamboat brought many passengers from Cadiz, who had come to witness the ceremonies in this the second city of Spain.

"Many persons, mostly ladies, were on the shore when our boat came up to its landing place. Dressed in their light flowing muslins and lace mantillas, they had a picturesque appearance quite in harmony with the place. The moment we came in sight, a hundred pretty hands gave out signals of welcome from the twinkle of their delicate fingers. There was no bustle, no confusion, but a world of welcoming smiles, and soft murmuring words, which would have filled me with a sense of loneliness, had not all that I loved been close by. How could I miss those wreathing welcomes, when the wealth of my whole existence went with me?

"'You are pleased. You like Seville. I can read it in your face.'

"He had not spoken to me during the last ten minutes, and I started from the dreaming observation into which I had fallen, to answer him.

"'I was wondering if all the world could produce another spot more lovely.'

"'And I was thinking pretty much the same thing. In a scene like this the hard cares of life seem impossible. It is a place to live, love, and die in.'

"I could not answer him. Indeed, his words were spoken so dreamily that they required no response.

"We were on shore then, waiting for General and Mrs. Harrington. The Eatons joined us, full of some important intelligence, which I saw the elder lady was dying to communicate.

"'I told you so—never was mistaken in my life,' she whispered. 'The captain speaks French almost as well as I do.'

"To have saved my life I could not have helped smiling. The woman had given me a specimen of her French that day, and I could imagine how perfect any information must be conveyed to her in that language.

"'I asked him who the gentleman was, and he told me he was the greatest man in Seville, just then. No wonder I admired him—all the ladies did, not excepting the Infanta herself, who would present him with a golden key next week, in token of her high appreciation! She must be some member of the royal family—master of the wardrobe, I suppose, by the key. They never give such offices to anything less than a duke, you know.'

"The little woman was all in a flutter of excitement. Again she made a motion that I should bend my head to listen.

"'Would I oblige her and ride or walk with Mr. James. She would rather that the duke should not see Lucy with him just now. He might understand an engagement, and the Spaniards were so proud and particular. That was a good soul! She could trust me with all her little secrets.'

"The silly thing did not dream how willing I was to oblige her, but General Harrington broke up our plans. He had engaged a carriage, and called on me to get in with Mrs. Harrington. My maid was already seated there, so James walked to the shore alone. The Eatons had their way, for he did not offer to go with them. They lingered at the landing till the duke drove off. Mrs. Eaton told me that he had absolutely waved a kiss to Lucy from his carriage window. Of course it was not returned, 'but straws show where the wind lies,' she said. 'So many people told us before we came away, that we ought to look higher for a girl like our Lucy. I wonder if a duke would meet the ideas of our friends.'

"The woman's fussy vanity wearied me—so puerile, so ridiculous, yet there was a sting in it. Look higher for their daughter! Higher than whom? But why should I let the talk of this silly woman annoy me? The daughter is wonderfully beautiful, but what of that? Still I have heard it said that the most brilliant men often choose such women for their wives. There is repose in this companionship it is said, and so it may be for a time, but men do not live for repose. When a man wants rest for his intellect, let him sleep, not marry a pretty idiot.

"Dear, dear! how bitter I am becoming! How unhappy I am! What possesses me to think of this poor girl as an enemy? Is it because he took her to the cathedral yesterday and left me to General Harrington.

"We went to the cathedral again this morning. I saw General Harrington talking earnestly with James just before we started. He seemed a little angry. I could not hear a word, but they both looked towards me, and I saw the blood rush into James' face when he saw that I was regarding them. He hesitated a moment after the General left him, and advanced a step towards me, then wheeled suddenly and went away. A few minutes after I saw him walking towards the cathedral with Lucy Eaton. We followed them after a little, General Harrington observing, with a laugh, that we must give the young people their chances."



CHAPTER XLI.

THE CATHEDRAL AT SEVILLE.

"The cathedral was magnificent. All its rich properties in velvets, silver and gold, had been brought forth for its adornment. The altar was one blaze of light—tapers of snow-white wax rose in crowds from golden candlesticks, garlanded with flowers which sent their sweetness through the pungent smoke of the censers, and clothed the altar with a sacred whiteness. Reliquaires flaming with jewels, flashed out through all this noonday splendor, and two enormous tapers, six feet high, stood like sentinels on each side the altar. Yet all this was insufficient to light up the vast edifice or penetrate the chapels in the side aisles. Here all was shadowy and full of religious gloom, where any weary soul might pray in solitude, notwithstanding the priests were saying high mass at the great altar, and a grand choir of fresh, young voices filled the whole edifice with music which seemed born of Heaven.

"The gloom along the centre of the building was heightened by draperies of warm crimson velvet, which, banded at each seam with gold, swept down the vast stone pillars and fell in massive folds over the great entrance doors.

"I could not understand all that was said, for the service was in Latin, but I did feel the solemn swell of the music in every fibre of my being, and the devotional feeling which impressed the crowd touched me with holy sympathy.

"I do not know what caused the impulse, but Mrs. Harrington took my hand tenderly in hers. Then we stole to a side altar gleaming snow-white through the shadows, and kneeling down together asked that help and blessing from God which both of us thirsted for. The whispered prayers we uttered that solemn hour, undoubtedly sanctified a friendship which has been growing deeper and stronger from the first hour of my meeting with this lovely woman. She wept that day, and I saw, for the first time, that under her soft and gentle exterior, lay feelings and passions which the world would never dream of.

"I did not appear to notice the singular emotion she betrayed at that altar, but it recurred to me afterwards, and my mind was filled with conjectures about its cause. Surely it could not be her husband. No human being was ever more attentive and kind to a wife than General Harrington was to his. There was something almost chivalric in his devotion to her wishes. Was it her son? There my heart stood still. With only these near relatives in the world, she could have no grief which did not relate to them or one of them at least.

"That night Mrs. Harrington came into my room, which opened upon the same verandah with her own. She sat down on the sofa I occupied, and began to talk to me of the ceremonies we had witnessed that day in the cathedral. From that she glided gradually to other subjects, and dwelt with a touch of sadness on the impolicy of early marriages. 'Her own,' she said, 'had been a happy one, and she had married at sixteen; but as a general thing she would advise no girl to undertake the cares of domestic life under two or three and twenty. Particularly she would urge this on me. With no mother to guide me in a choice, with money enough to invite venal offers, I was, she thought, liable to peculiar temptations. Besides,' she added sweetly, 'I have no daughter, and crave a little of your life, for there will come a time when I shall be very lonely.'

"I did not ask her when that time would be, or to whom it related, but sat still, mute and cold. Was James Harrington engaged? I thought of Mrs. Eaton's vague speeches regarding him, of her daughter's blushes and Harrington's attention to her that day when I seemed utterly forgotten. Was the kind lady preparing me? Had she seen my weakness! Heavens, how my heart burned within me that I had so betrayed myself to this delicate and high-minded woman, his mother too. Wounded pride made me courageous. I would answer carelessly. She should never know that I had been mute from want of speech. I arose from the sofa and drank a glass of water, eagerly, for it seemed as if I must strangle. Then I said with a laugh,

"'You have something to tell me. Who is it that is likely to enter into an early marriage! certainly it is not me.'

"'No indeed, I have little fear of that, but they have been forcing the subject on me since I came home. Why cannot people allow a family to rest in peace. I have never seen that he cared so much for the girl.'

"'Of whom are you speaking?' I asked.

"'Of my son and Miss Eaton.'

"'Is he then engaged to her?'

"'I do not understand it, but the General seems confident that it will soon come about. The Eatons are enormously wealthy, you know, and Lucy is an only child.'

"'But what of that? There is no need that Mr. Harrington should make a mercenary marriage. Are not you rich, and is not he an only son?'

"'Why how sharply you speak, Mabel. I never observed your voice so shrill before,' exclaimed the lady, lifting up her two delicate hands as if to ward off a disagreeable sound. 'Upon my word I think we are all getting cross. When I told the General how much better I should like you,—that is, how much better I did like you than that pretty thing with the blue eyes, he asked me if I was willing to betray the young creature thrown into our protection, by giving her wealth into the hands of my own son, whom I knew—'

"She checked herself and turned her face from me like a guilty child.

"'When you knew that he did not like me?' I questioned, controlling myself.

"'No, no, he did not say that. Who could help liking you, Mabel? It was love he was talking about. She said it would be treacherous to let him entangle you for your money, when I was sure that he looked upon you only as a sister. I said that we were not sure of that by any means. Indeed, sometimes it had seemed to me—Oh Mabel, how wild you look. I did not say a thing to wound your delicacy. There is not a lady in the land who might not be proud of any preference James Harrington can give. I only thought that General Harrington was mistaken. As for my James liking or marrying anybody for her money, the idea made me quite beside myself. It is not often that I get out of temper, but this really made me angry.'

"'No wonder,' I said, 'It was unkind indeed in the General to speak of me in that way.'

"'No, no, you quite misunderstand again. General Harrington is incapable of unkindness. As for indelicacy, a more perfect gentleman never lived. His sensitive honor was touched. You are his ward, beautiful, young, rich. James is his step-son, without a dollar of his own, wholly dependent on the General—'

"'But I thought the property came from his father.' I said this so abruptly that it brought the color into Mrs. Harrington's face, and sent the hot blood into my own.

"'So it did, but my husband loved me dearly, and in his will gave every dollar to me; knowing, he said, that I would be generous with our only child; and so I have been, Mabel. The General is liberal to a fault. James never wants for money.'

"'But he is a man now, and dependence must be irksome.'

"'Oh, he is not dependent; that feeling is impossible with a man like the General. James knows well enough that the whole property will be his when my husband has done with it—that is made sure in my will; first the General, then my son. I should be a wretched woman else.'

"'I am sure you will do right in the end,' I said.

"'I had thought at one time that the property was so large and had increased so much in value, that it would be well to divide it and give James half; but the General fancied that it might take him too much away from us—that he might get to speculate or want to go into business,—a thing none of the Harringtons ever had stooped to, and we decided to put it off. James felt a little hurt, I know, but it was all for his own good, and because his society is so dear to us.'

"I think the woman was in earnest, and had no idea how unjust she seemed in thus withholding the natural inheritance of her son, in behalf of the man she had married. The whole thing disturbed me, all the more because I dared not speak out the revolt of my own feelings. Mrs. Harrington saw this in my face, I dare say, and began to apologise about troubling me with family matters.

"'Here, I came to have a little chat about that girl Lucy, and we have branched off into discussions on money, the last thing on earth that I ever care to think about,' she said. 'Now tell me, do you think that she is so very pretty?'

"'Yes,' I answered, 'very pretty. I have seldom seen anything more delicately beautiful.'

"I spoke the truth, in spite of all the bitter feelings which the few last days had engendered. That girl's beauty was so patent that even prejudice must acknowledge it. Nay, in my determination to be just, her perfections were perhaps a little exaggerated.

"'There, I think you are wrong, Mabel. I have seen fifty prettier girls even of her own type—necks like lilies, cheeks like the lip of a sea shell, and golden hair. But I like coloring, depth, richness. Now in my estimation you are fifty times more beautiful than Lucy Eaton, and I know James thinks so in spite of the General's belief about that girl.'

"'Oh, Mrs. Harrington, how partial and how kind you are.'

"'Well, I should like to have any one look at you now, and say if I am wrong. Why, no peach was ever so richly crimsoned as your cheeks this moment, and as for the eyes, Mabel, you have splendid eyes! That was the first thing James told me when I asked about you; 'purplish gray,' he said, with such curling lashes, their glance is something to remember when she looks up.'

"'Did Mr. Harrington say this?'

"'Indeed he did, and a great deal more. Upon my word, Mabel, I think he was taken with you then.'

"'I am sure you are mistaken. We scarcely exchanged a dozen words.'

"'But James has his eyes.'

"'I must not trust my ears when you flatter so sweetly,' I said.

"'Well, the truth is, Mabel, I am a little disappointed. My heart, I may as well own it, was set on having you for a daughter-in-law, and I wont believe it quite impossible yet. General Harrington is so nice in his sense of honor, but women care nothing about business, and the idea of refusing a noble young fellow because you have money, is just ridiculous, especially as my son will have plenty by and by, don't you think so.'

"'It would be where love existed, certainly,' I answered, ready to cast myself into this woman's arms, and tell her all that was stirring in my heart.

"'Ah, it is a pity that you could not have fancied him,' she answered, 'seeing it would have saved him from this choice which General Harrington approves so much; but I cannot believe it yet.'

"'But the General should know.'

"'I hope not, I hope not. The truth is, dear, I never could like the girl, and as for her mother, the very idea of a connection with her makes me shiver.'

"'She certainly is not a pleasant woman,' I said.

"'Pleasant! but we will not talk of her. Mercy! that is her voice, let me escape.'"



CHAPTER XLII.

A DUKE IN THE HOUSE.

"Mrs. Harrington gathered up the cloud-like drapery of her white dress, and glided out of the room. She was certainly a lovely woman, sweet and gentle as a child, with nerve and energy, too, as I afterwards found out; but that night she had wounded me terribly, and I was glad to see her go.

"I sat down on the couch when quite alone, and covering my face with both hands, struggled hard to free the tears that weighed down my heart. It seemed that some wrong had been done me,—that the whole Harrington family was in league to break up my life before it had really commenced. But I could not shed a tear, a keen sense of shame kept me from the relief of weeping. Shame that I, a young girl, should suffer thus from a knowledge of another's happiness. Yes, I was bitterly ashamed, and shut my face out from the mirror before me, afraid to look upon my own humiliation. Did they know it? Had that aristocratic old man guessed at my weakness, and sent his wife there to convince me how hopeless it was? Not directly—not in any way that she could recognise as a mission; that was impossible to a woman so sensitive, but was she not the unconscious instrument of his keener penetration?

"While I was tormenting myself with these fears, Mrs. Eaton came in, swinging her lilac parasol, and with her rich lace shawl trailing to the ground.

"'Oh, I have come to tell you one must have confidence in some persons, or the heart would give out, you know. Guess who it was that Lucy and I met in the Court of Oranges, just now.'

"'I cannot tell. Mr. Harrington, perhaps!'

"'Mr. Harrington, no indeed. We can meet him at any time. It was his Highness, the duke, walking quite alone, under the orange trees, with a slender little cane in his hand, that he was beating the branches with, all in a brown study, showering down the blossoms among his gold buttons—so romantic—and in his glossy hair. Lucy gave a little scream when she saw him, and clasped her hands so. The duke gave a start and came toward us, then checked himself and begged pardon in such delicious Spanish, only we couldn't quite understand it. He saw that, and broke a twig of orange blossoms from one of the branches bending over him, and gave it to Lucy with an air—I cannot describe it—but you never saw anything so princely. Lucy blushed beautifully, and fastened the orange blossoms in her bosom. He smiled then, and gave her such a look. There is no two ways about it, Miss Crawford, that girl of mine was born to wear the purple. Her head is just the size for a coronet. Why not? The empress Josephine was no handsomer than my Lucy. As for family, who has got anything to say against any genteel American family being good enough to marry dukes, and emperors too, providing they've got money enough?'

"The woman tired me dreadfully. I was too wretched for any enjoyment of her absurdities, or they might have amused me. I answered her with civility, and tried my best to fasten some attention on the ridiculous things she was saying, but an under current of painful thought disturbed me all the while.

"'Now I tell you this in the strictest confidence, remember,' she went on to say. 'I must have some one to rely upon; but not a word to the Harringtons. You know the old adage, 'It's well to be off with an old love, before you are on with a new.' Promise not to say a word about it, Miss Crawford.'

"'I shall not speak—I shall not care to speak to any one about it,' I answered almost impatiently, I fear, for the woman was tormenting me beyond endurance.

"'But I did not tell you all. When we came home it happened, I really can't tell how, that the duke moved along with us, and when we got to the hotel I could not avoid asking him in. He understood my Spanish splendidly, and when Lucy ventured on a few words, seemed perfectly delighted. Miss Crawford, say nothing about it, but he's in there now.'

"'What, with Miss Eaton?'

"'Yes, he's there talking to her. I don't suppose she can make out all he says, but some people talk with their eyes, you know. What magnificent eyes he has. Did you notice, Miss Crawford?'

"'No, I did not observe.'

"'But he has. Well, good night. I mustn't stay out too long. Remember, not a word to any human being.'

"With a sensation of relief I saw this silly woman leave the room. Why should she come there to mingle so much of contempt with the pain I was suffering! Can this be true?

"How many times during the night I asked myself this question! Each time my heart turned away humiliated and wounded. I did not sleep, I could not. All the pride of my nature was up in arms. Why did she drag up this question of money? Are such things to render every sentiment of the soul coarse and earthy, by mingling with them as the better element? What wild thoughts came over me as I lay awake that long night! How I reasoned for and against the thing I dreaded. With what keen scrutiny I criticised every word and look of his during our acquaintance!"



CHAPTER XLIII.

HOPES AND PERSUASIONS.

"In the morning my head and heart both ached with the strain of thought which had racked them so piteously. I shrank nervously from appearing before any of my tormentors. But they came to my door, wondering what kept me so late. There was to be a splendid religious procession that day. All the churches of Seville were to send forth their imaged Madonnas in great splendor, with attending priests, that their worshipers might see them by broad daylight. Great preparations had been made on this occasion, for one Madonna of wonderful potency was to be brought forth from her convent for the first time in ninety years. The convent Montes Serat being one of most holy repute, and at a distance from the city, had not, for nearly a century, joined in the procession of the holy week; but now its famous Madonna was coming forth from her sacred privacy, rich in the gifts of her votaries, resplendent with the jewels which attested her superior sanctity.

"The advent of no crowned monarch into his capital ever produced a greater sensation than this coming of our Lady of Montes Serat. It awoke a strong spirit of rivalry in all the churches of Seville. Fair devotees emptied their jewel cases in behalf of their favorite Madonnas—nothing was withheld which female pride could bestow on the object of its religious idolatry. So, for a time, all Seville was in a tumult of ambitious rivalry, and out of this was sure to come the most brilliant day of the holy week. I had not cared to go to this exhibition, but General Harrington had secured a balcony overlooking that of the Infanta and her suite. It was to be a splendid procession, they said, and I should regret it forever if they permitted me to remain at home.

"I found it easier to submit than to contend, but still hesitated, when James Harrington came up to the verandah where we were sitting, and leaning over my chair, whispered a request that I should go. His manner was almost caressing, and there thrilled through his voice such genuine anxiety, that I could hardly suppress the quick leaping of my heart, or speak at first, it throbbed so loudly. The rest had left us and we were alone.

"'Do go! It seems an age since I have seen you except in a crowd,' he said, drawing a chair to mine.

"'But this will be a crowd, also!'

"'Not for us.'

"I looked up suddenly and felt the warm crimson leap to my face, when my eyes met his.

"'Let us be happy this once,' he said, 'the crowd itself will be well worth seeing. Besides, the Infanta will be there, with her husband, Le Duc de Montpensier. Then remember that the Princess Clementina, wife of the Prince of Saxe Coburg will be of the party,—quite a nest of royalty, you will find; just the persons that I for one should like to see.'

"'And so would I. My heart always warms toward the children of that good man, Louis Philippe,' I answered.

"'Then you will go?'

"'Yes, I will certainly go; the promise of seeing all these interesting persons makes me almost impatient.'

"'Ah, how bright you look; we shall have a pleasant day. Mother is getting ready. She seems to be feeling young as a girl. Did you ever see any one change as she has since we came to Seville?'

"'The General was speaking of it this morning,' I replied. 'She is so well and happy,' he said, 'that I can hardly think of moving yet. The very air of Seville carries balm with it.'

"Harrington turned away and walked to a window, as if I had said something to disturb him. After a little he came back again with the air of a man who had flung aside some unpleasant burden, and began to talk of the country we were in.

"'What a calm, delicious climate it is,' he said, 'I wonder people can get angry or very much in earnest here. For myself this country life seems like floating at will on some lake, with scarcely air enough to stir a sail, or ripple foam wreaths around the prow of one's boat; the very breath we draw is a luxury.'

"'A sad one sometimes,' I answered, 'the very solitude and repose which steal over one, enfeebles the spirit and makes life too harmonious for improvement either of the mind or heart. Continued life in a place like this, would rob an American of his last attribute,—a love of progression. Rest and sensuous enjoyment were not intended for a people like us. Yet the place is so lovely, I feel like a traitor while saying this.'

"He looked at me with unconscious earnestness, sighed gently and paced the room once or twice before he resumed the subject.

"'You are right; a soul worth having would never content itself with the drowsy sweetness of a life like this. After all, the great glory of existence lies in action.'

"'And the greatest happiness;' I answered, with a dreamy sense of the inaction to which I, as a woman, was forever consigned.

"'You speak with the feeling of a man, shut out from his proper career,' he said, 'there, I think you and I can have sympathy; only the life of a woman should be restful, and full of love.'

"'And I of a man?' I questioned.

"'You must not ask that question of a man shut out from action, and—and even from the woman's privilege of loving.'

"What was there in my expression that changed his so instantly? Could he discover in my eyes the brightness that had come over me with the sound of his voice, tender and impressive as it had been that day among the water lilies? I do not know, but in a moment a cloud crept over his face, and a chill into his voice.

"'Excuse me, if I have pressed you over much,' he said. 'But it is a lovely day and the procession will be well worth seeing. If it would not be considered sacrilegious among so many good Catholics, I should say, there would be a rivalry among the Madonnas. You will go?'

"'Yes,' I answered, sinking into depression again, 'as well there as here. Who will be of our party?'

"'Oh, the General, and my mother, of course, with the Eatons. That will be enough to fill the balcony.'

"I felt the blood growing warm in my cheeks. Why must those Eatons forever compose a portion of our party? Could no one see how I detested this eternal companionship with persons who had not a single idea or principle in common with us?

"Just then Miss Eaton came into the balcony—her transparent muslin dress looped up at the sleeves and throat with delicate blue ribbons, floating like a cloud around her, and a wreath of forget-me-nots relieving the snow-white chip of her bonnet. Her parasol was frosted over with soft Brussels lace, and a better dressed or more beautiful creature I have seldom set my eyes upon. James Harrington left my chair the moment she appeared. Taking the parasol from her hand, he commenced playing with it as he conversed with her, lightly, carelessly, and with such smiles as he had not given me in many a long day.

"At times one gets in love with pain, to abridge it seems like cowardice. What mattered it whether I suffered a little more or less, since suffering was so early become my destiny? This girl, with her bright beauty and soft words, superseded me every where; yet she did not seem to prize the homage for which I famished, but stood there, smiling up in his face, and dropping a sweet word now and then, carelessly, as she would have given sugar to a parrot."



CHAPTER XLIV.

THE INFANTA AND HER GUESTS.

"I went into my room and threw a world of bitter energy into my toilet, angry with myself for not being beautiful enough to win one heart from that pretty face, angry with him that he could not understand the depth of feeling and of thought which made my preference so much more worthy than anything that young creature could ever feel. I had a cruel pleasure in depreciating myself, and almost hated the face which looked into mine half angrily from the glass. Its large gray eyes, with their thick lashes, seemed heavy with unshed tears. There was a frown on the forehead, rendering it dark and turbulent. The mouth harmonized with this stormy look, and trembled into half sarcastic smiles, as if each feature reviled the other. Now I was larger, taller, more pronounced in face and person than the pretty fairy who could entertain him so flippantly, while I sat dumb and silent in his presence. No wonder I hated myself, yet many persons had thought me good looking, and I could recollect a thousand compliments on my talents and powers of pleasing, which came to me then like remembered mockeries.

"I made no effort to look beautiful, but over my simple white dress threw a lace mantilla, fastening it to my head with clusters of tea roses, and allowing it to sweep over my person, black and shadowy, like the thoughts that haunted my mind. This was a common dress among the Spanish ladies, and I put it on that day for the first time, thinking to escape the observation that a foreign costume was sure to provoke. Miss Eaton gave an exclamation of delight when I went down to the parlor. If any thing could inspire her to enthusiasm it was a novelty in dress.

"'Oh, how charming! And you have turned Spaniard,' she said, clasping her little hands and examining me from head to foot, in a sort of rapture. 'Ain't she splendid, Mr. Harrington! Those crimson roses look superb in the black lace. I am sick of my bonnet. Just hold my parasol while I make myself a senorita also.'

"She ran out of the room, snatching some orange blossoms from a vase as she went, and sending back soft gushes of an opera song to us.

"'What a light-hearted creature she is,' said Harrington, watching her with admiring eyes as she floated off. 'A lovely face, don't you think so?'

"'Yes, I think so, a very lovely face.'

"Perhaps some of the bitterness in my heart found its way through my voice. Something there was which disturbed James Harrington. He turned and looked at me keenly, seemed about to make some reply, but checked himself and began to play with the coral handle of Lucy's parasol. Directly, Lucy Eaton came back more like a summer cloud than ever, for over her head she had thrown a veil of Brussels point, delicate as a mist, and white as frost. But for her canary colored gloves and blue ribbons, she would have appeared in absolute bridal costume, for she had twisted the orange blossoms into a pretty garland which held the veil or mantilla over her head, and was blushing like a rose with a sense of her own completeness.

"We started for the public square through which the procession was to pass. The streets were full of people, men, women, and children, all in their richest costume, and brilliant with expectation. Every woman had the national fall of lace on her head, almost invariably fastened with clusters of natural roses; some of these mantillas were marvels of costly work, and fell shadow-like over those soft summer dresses, giving them a graceful and cloud-like lightness. All Seville was on foot, no carriages are permitted in the street during the holy week. Poor and rich were, for the time, on a perfect level, and each came forth well dressed and radiant, to honor the most interesting spectacle known to the nation. It was like looking down on an out door opera when we entered the queint stone balcony reserved for us, with fresh palm leaves interwoven in the carved work, and cushioned chairs waiting for our occupation. No flower garden was ever more radiant and blooming. Hundreds of colored parasols swayed towards the sun like mammoth poppies, gay fans kept the air in perpetual motion. Pretty white hands twinkled recognition from friend to friend; floating lace gave a cloud-like softness to the whole scene, indescribably beautiful. All was eagerness and gay commotion. On the outskirts of the square, horsemen with arms at their sides, were stationed like statues. The balconies were hung with gorgeously tinted draperies, crowded with beautiful women and garlanded with flowers.

"One balcony, more spacious than the rest, was richly ornamented with draperies of crimson velvet falling from a gilded crown over head, and drawn back by cords of heavy bullion. A flight of steps led to this balcony from the street, and altogether it had a look of regal magnificence which drew the general attention that way.

"While we were occupied with this novel scene, a hum and murmur of voices drew the general attention toward one of the principal streets entering the square. This was followed by a general commotion in the crowd, through which a murmur, like that of hiving bees, ran to and fro; ladies stood up, parasols swayed confusedly, expectation was in every face.

"Directly the cause of all this excitement became apparent. The Infanta had entered the square, and was approaching the royal balcony. She was a lovely woman, very young and in the full bloom of her beauty, dark-eyed, dark-haired, well formed, and carrying herself with queenly dignity, which it is said the sovereign herself does not equal. The slanting sunbeams fell directly upon her as she passed by our balcony in full state; the train of her dress, blue as the sky, and looped with clusters of pink roses, was carried by four noblemen, all richly attired, as if the street had been some palace hall. Her dress was looped back at the shoulders with aigrette of diamonds, whose pendent sparks dropped half way to the elbow, quivering like fire from beneath the long white mantilla that swept over her person as sweeps the blue of a summer sky. The veil was fastened to her graceful head by a tiara of the same pure gems, which twinkled through it like starlight on frost. Her walk was queenly, her look full of sweet womanliness. They tell me she is prettier and more popular than the queen, and I can readily believe it, for this young creature is very lovely.

"The steps of the royal balcony descended directly to the pavement. The Infanta mounted them, gliding upward with the grace of a bird of paradise, followed by her train-bearers. Directly after she was seated, the balcony filled from a room beyond it, into which the royal party had assembled. Le Duc de Montpensier, his sister, Princess Clementina, and her husband, the Duke of Saxe Coburg, the cousin of Prince Albert of England, and two or three pretty children, mingled with the group, giving it a domestic grace pleasant to contemplate."



CHAPTER XLV.

THE PROCESSION OF THE MADONNAS.

"Now the procession commenced. Lines of solemn monks, with their gray gowns fastened at the waist with rope girdles, came out of their monasteries and reverently followed the particular Madonna worshipped by their order, as she was carried around, standing on a platform carpeted with velvet, dressed sumptuously, like a woman of the world. Some of these Madonnas were covered with jewels richer and in greater profusion than those worn by the Infanta herself. One, our Lady of Montes Serat, was elevated on a platform ten feet long, carried by eight stalwart priests. The platform was carpeted with crimson velvet, ornamented at the sides with heavy bullion fringe. Her black velvet robe was studded with diamonds over the whole length of its ample and flowing train. This swept back to the verge of the platform in heavy folds, while adown the front was one maze of jewels, covering the velvet so thickly that you could scarcely see it. A mantilla of such lace as cannot be bought for gold, fell over her shoulders, and in her stiff hand she carried a marvel of point lace which, with a living person, would have answered for a pocket handkerchief.

"Six tall tapers of white wax shed their refulgence over the image, lighting up all its wealth of jewels, and its sweeping draperies into wonderful magnificence. The platform was strewn with garlands and freshly gathered roses, which perfumed the air as she passed through thousands and thousands who looked upon her with smiles of wonder and adoration.

"Just as this particular Madonna came slowly in sight, a glorious sunset poured its last beams upon us, filling the square with an atmosphere of sifted gold. In the midst of this refulgence, and just as our Lady of Montes Serat was approaching the royal balcony, a strange scene surprised us.

"The worshipers of a rival Madonna, composed of priests in sweeping robes that trailed along the street some ten or fifteen feet, and tall caps, like extinguishers, on the head—crowded so close upon our Lady of Montes Serat, that the whole procession was thrown into confusion. One priest trod on the trailing garments of another, forcing him back against his brethren. Bitter rivalry between the followers of both Madonnas was at work. The two images were crowded together and hustled before the balcony in which the Infanta sat, surrounded by her royal guests; but the priests still in confusion broke line and fell upon each other, dealing blows that might have come from prize-fighters. The guard took alarm, swords flashed from their scabbards. A wild cry arose from the crowd. The tornado of a great panic swept over it, and while we looked on terrified, a cloud of dust, a few troopers riding madly about with drawn swords, and the rival Madonnas, standing stiff and stately before the Infanta's balcony, were all that remained of the crowd, or the pageant.

"The square was empty, but every street leading to it was closed up with frightened people. The Infanta arose, knelt first to one virgin, then to the other, with impartial homage, and one of her officers gave some order from a window of the house. Instantly every lamp in the square blazed into brilliant light, and the people came crowding back rapidly as they had left. The priests fell into line, and the Infanta, sweeping down those balcony steps with her four train bearers, placed herself in front of our Lady of Montes Serat, and led the procession forward in her own person.

"When the panic was at its height, and the rush of people underneath our balcony was like a stampede of wild animals, I felt myself growing faint, and looked around for something to rest against. That instant an arm supported me and a voice whispered, 'Do not be frightened, you are safe.'

"I started from his arms lest he should feel the quick beating of my heart, and replied quickly that I was not afraid.

"He left me then, and I could have cried with vexation at receiving his kindness so ungraciously. What must he think of me?

"While I was blaming myself and wondering how I could redeem this seeming coolness, Mrs. Eaton called James Harrington into the room from which our balcony opened, where she held an animated conversation with him. Lucy remained behind. I noticed that she leaned over the railing and seemed anxious about some one who had evidently been swept off with the crowd, which was then gathering back to the square. Directly I saw her face brighten, and looking downward for the cause saw the young man whom we had met on the steamboat, leaning against a lamp post and looking up to our balcony in an easy, familiar way, that annoyed me. Still I could not withhold some admiration from the man. He certainly was a splendid creature, formed in the perfection of manly strength, and quite handsome enough to turn the head of a vain girl like Lucy.

"I watched the movements of these two persons listlessly, for the faintness had not quite left me, and they seemed to me like creatures in a dream. I saw Lucy take a note from her bosom and tie it to a spray of orange blossoms which she had been wearing there. This she held a moment carefully in her hands, then leaning over the railing dropped it.

"Had her mother called James Harrington away, that Lucy might be left unwatched, to give this signal to her strange admirer? All this seemed like it. How innocent she looked when James came back to the balcony! No sunshine ever touched a red rose more sweetly than the smile settled on her lips when he came and bent over her chair."



CHAPTER XLVI.

WHERE WE SAW THE DUKE.

"The Holy Week is over, carriages once more appear in the streets. The world claims its own again. I have been to a bull fight and am even now shivering with disgust of myself. Still, it was a magnificent spectacle—that grand amphitheatre of beautiful faces, the hilarity and gay confusion, the open homage, the child-like enjoyment. Until these wild, brave animals came bounding into the arena, there was nothing in the scene which any out-door amusement might not exhibit. Indeed, the gathering of an assembly in Spain is full of spirited life. If a woman is beautiful, a hundred voices tell her so as she presents herself to the general gaze. When our party entered the amphitheatre, a general murmur of admiring comments hailed us. Beautiful—superb—fair as a lily—bright as an angel! were the exclamations that followed that lovely creature as she moved to her seat, leaning upon James Harrington's arm. No wonder he looked proud of her!

"Mrs. Harrington did not care to see a scene so revolting, and I would have stayed at home gladly, but they refused to hear of it, reason as I might. It seems as if they were determined to chain me like a slave to this girl's chariot wheels. Well, I can endure it. There must have been thousands of persons present, for the great amphitheatre was full long before the Infanta appeared with her family and her royal guests. She was received with exclamations, and took her seat with a slight bow of recognition and a smile full of eloquent thanks for the popular favor so pleasantly manifested. Two or three lovely children were in the box, evidently eager for the fighting to commence. Soon after the Infanta was seated, a man richly dressed, and of noble presence, strode across the arena, flung his cap on the ground, and made a profound bow to the royal party. The Infanta arose, leaned a little forward and cast a golden key at his feet. This key was to unlock the door which connected the arena with the compartment outside, in which the wild bulls were kept.

"All this time the man had stood with his back toward us. When he stooped to pick up the key and turned from the presence, Lucy Eaton uttered a faint cry, and her mother caught hold of my arm with a grasp that pained me. 'Oh mercy—oh mercy! It is—it is the Duke,' she exclaimed, 'What can he be doing there?'

"'I think it is his place,' I answered in a low voice. 'Hush, I would say nothing about it.'

"I looked at Lucy. She was white as snow, and her eyes dwelt on the man with a frightened stare.

"'Why is he there?' she whispered, shivering perceptibly. 'Tell me, if you can, what it means.'

"'What are you inquiring about?' questioned General Harrington, bending toward us with suave politeness. 'Anything that I can tell you?'

"'Who is that man?' I inquired, observing that Lucy could not speak without bursting into tears.

"'Which man?'

"'That person in the arena, who was just bowing to the Infanta.'

"'Oh that man? He is the chief matadore. The best bull-fighter in all Spain.'

"'A matadore, a bull fighter!' almost shrieked Mrs. Eaton, turning upon her daughter and snatching a moss rose from her bosom where it held the folds of her muslin dress together. 'Fling it away, child. Pitch it after him. The humbug—the impostor—the—the—'

"Here the good woman broke down for want of breath, and rattled her fan open with a vicious twist of the hand, as if she longed to box some one's ears with it.

"I saw that Lucy was troubled and that her lips were quivering. General Harrington had turned his attention to the arena, for that moment the matadore was crossing towards a door in the wall, and the first wild bull was expected momentarily. He was so absorbed that he did not heed Mrs. Eaton's angry exclamations, though her husband did.

"'What is the matter, mother. Why, you will smash that fan to flinders; it cost—'

"'No matter how much it cost,' said Mrs. Eaton; 'I don't think these Spaniards care about that, or anything else but cheating the very eyes out of your head. The impostors!'

"'Why, who has been cheating us, mother?'

"'Never you mind. Oh mercy!'

"Lucy, too, gave a faint scream and clung to me like a frightened child. No wonder. That instant a door in the wall swung open, and a black bull rushed through. With a bound or more he plunged into the heart of the arena, tossed his head upwards, and stood motionless surveying the great concourse of people with his flaming eyes, as if making up his mind where to plunge first.

"A shout followed his appearance, for he was a beautiful savage creature, with a superb chest and head, black and glossy as a raven. Ladies clapped their hands and waved their gossamer handkerchiefs in wild enthusiasm, while the general shout rolled upward like thunder. This terrified the creature till he tore up the earth and plunged hither and thither in his madness, bellowing hoarsely through the tumult, and leveling his horns at the crowd as if he burned to toss every one in sight.

"Then the matadores came in, closely dressed, glittering with embroidery and a profuse display of buttons. One carried a red cloak in his hand, with which he taunted and exasperated the bull into hot rage. Then the contact commenced. The Matadores, slight, agile and vigilant, fell to tormenting the noble creature into new wrath. They flung their cloaks over his eyes, they leaped on his back and away again, pricked him with their swords, taunted him from a distance, and, when he made a mad plunge upon them, slipped through some secret door in the wall and laughed at his grave astonishment.

"Lucy looked on all this, fascinated. Tears stood in her eyes, but an eager curiosity shone through them.

"'There must be some mistake,' I heard her murmur. 'He is not among them.'

"She was undeceived. The bull had begun to exhaust his rage, his tormentors had done their utmost, and the people wanted more excitement. He came in then, splendid as an Apollo, tall, lithe, powerful. Then followed the lightning play of human intelligence and trained strength against savage impulse. The man was everywhere at the same moment. His sword flashed now here, now there, up and down like a quiver of lightning. He would entice the animal close to him, and just as his fierce horns were lowered, leap astride his neck, and land, with a bound, ten feet away. Now he darted under him, now made a flying leap over his back, cheered on, and accompanied by waving handkerchiefs, eager hands, and bursts of admiring applause.

"A new feature was added to the scene. Several horses were brought in, blindfolded and old, ridden by inferior matadores. One of these poor creatures was urged up to the waiting bull, which made a rush at his chest with both horns, tore his way to the vitals, and let the heart out, almost heaving the beast from the earth as those murderous horns rent their way out of his body.

"Oh! it was sickening; the smell of the hot blood, the overwhelming bravos, the exultation of delicate women and innocent children, as the infuriated bull plunged his horns, reddened to the frontlet, again and again into that writhing breast. I wish I had never seen it. In fact I could not see clearly, for every thing grew misty from the sick shuddering that fell upon me. I shivered down in my seat and shut my eyes, degraded and full of self contempt, that any thing should have brought me to that horrid place.

"I would have gone home, but the confusion was so great, and the crowd so dense, that I dared not propose it, especially as General Harrington joined heartily in the enthusiasm, and would, I feared, resent any interruption.

"So I sat there, with my head bowed and my face covered, loathing myself and everything around me. A shriek from Lucy Eaton brought me out of this state. Starting up, I saw the man she had called a duke, tossed high in the air, whence he came to the earth with a crash. This stunned him for a moment, but before the bull could follow up its advantage, he sprung to his feet, flung his scarlet cloak over the creature's eyes, and gave the signal for a general attack.

"Out rushed the matadores in a body, armed with javelins and darts, feathered at the ends with fringes of variegated paper, and sharp as steel at the head. These were hurled at the bull, and as each struck through his jetty hide, fire-crackers concealed in the paper ornaments, gave out a storm of noisy fire;—another and another darted through the air, thicker and sharper, till the tortured animal bellowed out his agony in pathetic helplessness, and fell upon his knees exhausted. Then the matadore drew toward the Infanta and seemed waiting for some signal. She smiled, lifted her hand, closing all but the delicate thumb. This was a death signal for the poor brute, who seemed to know that his fate was coming, and staggered up from his knees ready to fight for the last breath of his life.

"Then commenced a fresh onset of death. The bull fought desperately, staggering, reeling, plunging and making fierce attacks with his horns, while the fire-crackers blazed around him, and a hundred javelins quivered in his body. The matadore became cool and cautious as his victim grew more and more frantic. He played with the creature's agony, flitted here and there in the smoke of his torment, pierced his sides with the point of his sword, and flung fresh javelins into the bleeding wounds. The Infanta lifted her thumb again. The Matadore saw it. His sword flashed in the sunbeams like a gleam of fire, fell on the animal's dripping neck, and he sank to the earth, dead.

"More of this happened that day; twelve of those splendid beasts were brought forth to slaughter and be slaughtered one after another. Some, braver than the rest, were sent back alive; but that ornamented sledge dragged off twelve of the finest creatures I ever saw. At last, even the Spanish ladies became weary of this terrible work. As for me, I went home sickened, and so nervous I could not rest."



CHAPTER XLVII.

MRS. EATON'S TRIBULATION.

"While I was lying in my room, shocked by the day I had spent, Mrs. Eaton came in, sun-burned, excited, and panting for breath. 'Wasn't it a terrible thing! Such an imposition. To pass himself off for a duke! I declare I could kill him.'

"'But did he deceive you?' I asked.

"'Did he, why of course, the scamp! And poor Lucy liking him so much. She wont believe it now, hardly. He looked so splendid taking up that key and swinging his sword about like a Saracen, Lucy says, just to tantalize me, when I know exactly what he is. But I come to ask a great favor, Miss Crawford. You're the only person that I breathed a word to about it. Supposing you just keep quiet, now, especially to James Harrington. It might do mischief there if you said a word, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to do that. Only think of a daughter of mine almost falling in love with one of them matadore fellows. I tell you it makes my blood boil—but you wont say a word. Poor Lucy would die of shame if you did.'

"'I certainly shall not mention the man to any one,' I answered.

"'That's a good soul. I was sure we might depend on you. Now I'll go and tell Lucy. She's been crying like a baby ever since we come home. I wonder if the fellow will have the impudence to follow us again. The Duke! The impostor, I say,—to look like a nobleman and not be one.'

"How fussy and disagreeable the woman is. But I am too weary for much thought of her or any thing else indeed, yet I cannot sleep.

"Mrs. Harrington lay on the low couch which was her favorite resting place during the day, and I sat beside her reading aloud a new English novel that Miss Eaton had lent me. Presently James came in, and making me a sign not to stop, sat down near one of the windows, as if to listen to the story; but when I glanced at him, I saw by his face that his thoughts were leagues away from any consciousness of the words my voice pronounced.

"I suppose I had no right to wonder whither his fancies had strayed, but I could not help it; and when I looked at him again, I knew that it was no idle reverie which had possession of him, but stern, absorbing thought, for his face looked hard and cold as it so often had done of late.

"I almost lost the consciousness of what I was reading, in the rush of odd fancies that came over my mind. My voice must have grown careless and indistinct, for I heard Mrs. Harrington say:—

"'Don't read any more, Mabel; I am sure you are tired.'

"I felt myself start and color; I colored all the more from annoyance at feeling my cheeks begin to glow, and I could hear that I answered constrainedly:

"'No; I am not tired.'

"'I know by your voice, my dear,' Mrs. Harrington said with her usual thoughtfulness for others. 'It was selfish in me, I should not have allowed you to read so long, but I was so interested in the story that I forgot.'

"I closed the book; it was always very difficult for me to read aloud with any listener besides herself, but she seemed so troubled at what she considered her selfishness, that I said truthfully enough:

"'I did not know that I was tired, it is such a beautiful book that one forgets everything in the interest of the story.'

"'Yes, indeed,' Mrs. Harrington said, smelling at a little bouquet of roses she held in her hand, 'James,' she called in a louder voice, 'have you read it?'

"He started and exclaimed quickly—

"'Did you speak, mother? I beg your pardon, I did not know you were talking to me.'

"'I only asked if you had read this new novel of Bulwer's, that Mabel and I are so delighted with.'

"'Not yet,' he replied, settling back in his chair.

"I could see his face in the mirror; and the effort he made to collect his thoughts and appear to listen while his mother went on talking about the book, was perfectly plain to me.

"'You like it,' he said, absently.

"'My dear James,' she exclaimed, laughing in her pleasant, genial way, 'where are your thoughts this morning? I don't believe you have heard one word I was saying.'

"'Oh yes,' he replied, 'you were saying how much you and Miss Crawford were interested in the book.'

"'I had done with that,' said she, shaking her bouquet at him playfully, 'I was asking you the name of his last work.'

"'Whose? Ah! Bulwer's—I am stupid this morning, I must acknowledge.'

"I was sorry for the sort of embarrassment he displayed—something unusual with him, so strong and self-centered, and I mentioned the name of the romance that had preceded the one we were reading.

"'Of course,' said Mrs. Harrington, 'Mabel's memory never fails! Do you know, James, the faculty she has of retaining names and dates is something marvellous, especially to poor me, who sometimes can scarcely recollect my own age and rightful appellation.

"'One has the opportunity of admiring so many splendid qualities in Miss Crawford,' he answered, in the distant, ceremonious way which he so often employed toward me of late.

"I felt absolutely hurt, silly and childish as it was to care for so slight a thing. I suppose my tell-tale face showed it, for Mrs. Harrington said, teasingly—

"'Really, James, you are very stately and magnificent, this morning! that speech sounded grand and stilted enough to have suited Sir Charles Grandison.'

"He laughed a little, but it sounded so forced that I wondered Mrs. Harrington did not observe it.

"'I told you that I was stupid,' he said, 'so you need not be severe on my poor attempt at a compliment.'

"'I assure your lordship that Mabel does not care for compliments,' continued his mother. 'Do you, my pretty Queen Mab?'

"'I think they are a very poor substitute for real kindness between friends,' I said.

"I could hear that my voice sounded somewhat irritable, but I could not resist speaking, though the instant after, I could have bitten my tongue off for showing so plainly any annoyance at his manner and words. Mrs. Harrington did not notice my little ebullition—was it wounded selfishness and pride, I wonder? She took my remark quite as a matter of course.

"'You are perfectly right,' she said. 'Please to remember that, master James.'

"I saw that he was looking earnestly at me—perhaps he thought that he had hurt me, but I was determined to make no more silly self betrayals. I forced my face to look indifferent, and sat playing carelessly with the bronze paper cutter in my hand.

"'I am sure Miss Crawford knows that I should be only too proud to be acknowledged as her friend, and that I value her intellect too highly for an attempt at empty compliments,' James observed, gravely.

"'Ah, viola l'amende honorable!" laughed Mrs. Harrington. 'Mabel is appeased, and I am content with your explanation.'

"There was a brief silence; I could feel that James was still looking at me, and did not raise my eyes. Mrs. Harrington was playing with her flowers, and when she spoke again had forgotten the whole matter—the merest trifle to her, indeed to anybody possessed of a grain of common sense, but of so much importance to ridiculous, fanciful me.

"'This is so perfect a day,' she said, 'that I think we must go out to drive. Will you go with us, James?'

"'I fear that I shall be unable,' he replied, 'I have several letters to write, and the American mail goes out to-day.'

"'Then we will ask Miss Eaton, Mabel,' said Mrs. Harrington, 'she always likes to go with us.'

"I could have dispensed with this young lady's society, but of course I did not say so, and I had the decency to be ashamed of my unaccountable feeling toward her. She was so very beautiful that to anybody less captious than I had grown, even nonsense from such lips as hers would have been more graceful and acceptable than the wisest remark from almost any other woman.

"'I am sorry you can't go, James,' Mrs. Harrington was saying, when I had finished my little mental self-flagellation for all my misdemeanors and evil thoughts, and could listen to what they were saying.

"'Are you particularly anxious to have me go with you, this morning, petite mia?' James asked, with more animation than he had before displayed.

"'Indeed I am! I feel babyish to-day, and want to be petted! If you don't go, I shall think you are beginning to tire of this poor invalid woman who is so great a trouble to you all.'

"'My mother could never think that,' he said hastily, rising, and moving close to her sofa, where he stood gently smoothing her beautiful hair with his hand.

"'Besides,' she went on, 'these women are just no party at all. Mabel's head is full of the book, and between us, poor little Miss Eaton will have a wearisome drive of it.'

"'I shall go with you,' James answered, 'my letters can wait till the next mail.'

"'We have conquered, Mabel!' cried Mrs. Harrington, with that air of triumph so many women show on such occasions,—a feeling which, I confess, has always been a mystery to me.

"But just now Mrs. Harrington made a sad mistake when she said that we had conquered—as if either of us had anything to do with Mr. James' change of determination! The moment she had announced her intention of inviting our beautiful neighbor, he had discovered that it was easy for him to let his correspondence lie over. Either Mrs. Harrington was very blind, or she chose to ignore a fact that was as palpable as if he had given utterance to it.

"I felt tired and moody, and half inclined to make that ordinary feminine fib, a headache, a plea for not making one of the party. I do not know what I might have said; I dare say something I should have been sorry for, because I felt strangely perverse and irritable."



CHAPTER XLVIII.

ZILLAH'S LETTER.

"One morning, while we were arranging a drive for the afternoon, General Harrington entered the room, bringing a letter in his hand.

"'How do you find yourself this morning, fair lady!' he asked, approaching his wife and kissing her hand with his accustomed gallantry.

"'Quite well,' she answered, lifting her eyes to his with that lovely smile of greeting she always had for him, and which made her face so beautiful.

"'That is the most delightful news that could greet me,' he replied, with one of his courtly bows. 'How is my paragon of wards?' he continued, turning to me.

"I answered him pleasantly; he was so elegant and thorough-bred that one was insensibly forced to restrain even pettish thoughts in his presence. But I was abashed all the while, for I noticed that as the General came up to the sofa, James immediately retreated and resumed his seat in the window. He had often of late betrayed those little signs of desiring to avoid the General's society, and they puzzled me very much, for the elder man's behavior to him was always friendly and courteous in the extreme.

"'I need not ask after your health, James,' the General said, good naturedly, 'because it cannot have materially altered since I made the inquiry an hour ago.'

"'What is that letter?' asked Mrs. Harrington, with the curiosity that becomes habitual with most invalids, and speaking so quickly, that James' disregard of his stepfather's remark was not noticeable.

"'It is for you, madam; I could not resist the pleasure of giving it to you myself, for I know how much you like to receive letters.'

"'Thanks! You manage in everything to give me a double pleasure,' she said, taking the letter from his hand and tearing it open.

"'From Zillah,' she said, glancing down the page.

"I saw James start. He caught me looking at him, and quieted himself at once; but I noted his agitation plainly.

"The General was busy wheeling an easy chair near the sofa, and did not catch his wife's remark.

"'From whom did you say it was, my dear?' he asked.

"'From Zillah,' she replied, without looking up.

"'She, indeed,' said he carelessly, 'and what does the poor and rather bad tempered Zillah have to say?'

"He sat down by his wife's side, playing with the flowers that lay on her cushions, and did not observe the quick, angry, defiant look that James shot at him as he spoke.

"'Poor girl,' said Mrs. Harrington, as she finished reading the hurried scrawl, 'she is pining to come and join us; she says she is much better, but so lonely and homesick that she feels it will be impossible for her to get well until she is safe with us again.'

"The General shrugged his shoulders.

"'Your spoiled Zillah is seldom contented,' he said, pleasantly enough.

"'Just read the letter,' Mrs. Harrington said, placing it in his hands. 'I am sure you will be sorry for her—she says she feels like a poor little Italian grey-hound left out in the cold.'

"The General read the letter and returned it to his wife, saying—

"'I suppose she is lonely, and since she is well enough to travel, of course she had better come on at once—she can be of service to you, I dare say, even if she is not strong enough to resume her old duties.'

"'I really want to see her, pretty creature,' Mrs. Harrington said, glancing over portions of the letter again.

"'I feel quite lost without her caprices and bad temper—besides, she always knows exactly what is to be done for me, and does it in the best way.'

"'Only, thanks to Miss Mabel's kindness, you have not had time to miss her,' the General said.

"'Oh, there never was such a nurse as Mabel,' cried she, 'but then I can't quite make a servant of her, willing as she is to sacrifice herself to my whims.'

"'I scarcely thought you regarded the girl Zillah quite as a servant,' said James, speaking for the first time. There was something so bitter in his voice, that I wondered they did not notice it.

"'Indeed I do not,' Mrs. Harrington replied. 'She is faithful and loving, and so handsome that it is like having some exotic flower about me.'

"'Mrs. Harrington never forgets what is due herself or others, James, whether they may be dependent or friends,' the General said, in a more reproving tone than I ever before heard him employ towards his wife's son.

"Again James' dark eyes flashed upon him that strange look of anger and defiance.

"'May I see the letter, mother?' he asked, quickly.

"'Certainly,' Mrs. Harrington said, stretching out her hand over the back of the sofa.

"As James took the letter, the General said—

"'Zillah is not likely to have any important secrets to write to your mother.'

"I might—perhaps it was fancy, caused by the suspicion that was in my own mind—but I thought he slightly emphasized the words 'your mother.' No, I am sure it was not fancy, for James' lips shut together in the compressed way they did when he was angry, and a frown gathered on his forehead—he had caught the peculiar tone as I did."



CHAPTER XLIX.

THE GENERAL PROPOSES A TRIP TO CADIZ.

"While James was reading the letter, the General said to his wife—

"'I find that I shall be obliged to go back to Cadiz, so I will bring Zillah home.'