that she was his nephew's plighted, bride. He joined their hands,
blessed them, and left them alone together, ere she had had power
to utter a single word; and when voice was recalled by the tender,
earnest accents of her cousin, beseeching her to ratify her father's
consent--to say she would learn to love him, if she did not then; that
she would not refuse the devotedness he proffered--what could she
answer? She had so long loved him, venerated him, gloried in his
achievements, his honors, as of an elder and much-loved brother, that,
had she followed the impulse of her nature, she would have thrown
herself as a sister on his neck, and poured forth her tale of sorrow.
But she had sworn to be guided by her father, and he had besought her
to reveal nothing; and therefore she promised to be his, even while
with tears she declared herself unworthy. But such words were of
little meaning to her enraptured lover save to bid him passionately
deny them, and excite his ardent affection more than ever--satisfied
that she could be not indifferent, listening as she did, with such
flushed cheek and glistening eye, to the theme of his life since they
had parted--the favor of the sovereigns, and the station he had won.

During the two months which intervened between Don Ferdinand's
departure and promised return, Marie strained every nerve to face her
destiny, and so meet it with calmness. Had she not loved, it would
have been impossible to feel herself the cherished object of her
cousin's love without returning it, possessing, as he did, alike
inward and outward attraction to win regard. She studiously and
earnestly banished every thought of Arthur as it rose; she prayed only
for strength to be faithful, not only in outward seeming but in inward
thought; that Stanley might never cross her path again, or, if he did,
that his very affections might be estranged from her; that the secret
she had revealed might alone be thought upon, till all of love had
gone. The torture of such prayer, let those who love decide; but it
was the thought of his woe, did he ever know she was another's bride,
that haunted her. Her own suffering it was comparitively easy to bear,
believing as she did, that they were called for by her involuntary
sin: but his--so successfully had she conquered herself; that it was
only when his countenance of reproach would flit before her, that the
groan burst from her heart, and she felt bowed unto the earth.

Infirmity itself seemed conquered in the rejoicing thankfulness with
which Henriquez regarded this fulfilment of his wishes. He appeared
actually to regain strength and energy; his alarming fainting fits had
not recurred since his nephew's visit, and Marie hoped he would
be spared her longer than he believed. He never recurred to her
confession, but lavished on her, if possible, yet more endearing love,
and constantly alluded to the intense happiness which her consent to
be her cousin's bride had given him. Once he left the vale, despite
his precarious health, taking with him his old retainer, Reuben, and
returned, laden with the richest gems and costliest silks, to adorn
his child, on her bridal day, as befitted the bride of Ferdinand.

Time passed: the day specified by Ferdinand rapidly approached. He was
there to meet it--and not alone. Thoughtful of his Marie's feeling, he
had resolved that she should not stand beside the altar without
one female friend; and he brought one, the sight of whom awakened
associations with such overpowering strength, that Marie could only
throw herself upon her bosom, almost convulsed with tears. It was
Donna Emelie de Castro, at whose house she had joined the world; but
her emotion, supposed natural to the agitating ceremony impending,
and her father's precarious health, happily for her, passed without
further notice than sympathy and love.

Henriquez, for once, was indifferent alike to the agitation of Marie,
or the presence of Ferdinand. His glance was fixed on one of a little
group, all of whom, with the exception of this individual, were
familiar to his home and heart. He was clothed as a monk; but his
cowl was thrown back, and his gaze so fixed on Marie that she blushed
beneath it, and turned away.

"Do not turn from me, my child," he said; and Henriquez started at the
voice, it was so fraught with memories of the departed. "Stranger as
I must be, save in name, to thee--thou art none such to me. I seem
to feel thy mother once again before me--and never was sister more
beloved!--Manuel, hast thou, indeed, forgotten Julien?"

Almost ere he ceased to speak, the long separated relatives were
clasped in each, other's arms. The five-and-twenty years, which had
changed the prime of manhood into advancing age, and blanched the hair
of each, had had no power to decrease the strong ties of kindred,
so powerful in their secret race. The agitation and excitement of
Henriquez was so excessive, not only then, but during the few days
intervening before the celebration of the bridal, that Marie, in spite
of the near approach of the dreaded day, could only think of him.

Ferdinand was no exacting lover: his affection for her was so intense,
so true; his confidence in her truth so perfect, that, though he might
at times have fancied that she loved not then with fervor equal to
his own, he was contented to believe that his devotion would in time
create in her as powerful a feeling. He had so watched, so tended her
from infancy: she had so clung to and reverenced him, so opened her
young heart, without one reservation, to his view--so treated him as
her most cherished, most loved friend, that how could he dream she had
aught to conceal, or believe that, did she know there was, she could
have hesitated, one moment, to refuse his hand, preferring even the
misery of so grieving him, to the continued agony of deceit? It was
this perfect confidence, this almost childish trust, so beautiful in
one tried, as he had been, in the ordeal of the world, that wrung
Marie's heart with deepest torture. He believed her other than she
was;--but it was too late--she dared not undeceive him.

The nuptial morning dawned. The party, not more than twelve or
fourteen in all, assembled within the little edifice, whose nature
had so puzzled Arthur. Its interior was as peculiar as its outward
appearance: its walls, of polished cedar, were unadorned with either
carving, pictures, or imagery. In the centre, facing the east, was a
sort of raised table or desk, surrounded by a railing, and covered
with a cloth of the richest and most elaborately worked brocade.
Exactly opposite, and occupying the centre of the eastern wall, was
a sort of lofty chest, or ark; the upper part of which, arched, and
richly painted, with a blue ground, bore in two columns, strange
hieroglyphics in gold: beneath this were portals of polished cedar,
panelled, and marked out with gold, but bearing no device; their
hinges set in gilded pillars, which supported the arch above. Before
these portals were generally drawn curtains, of material rich and
glittering as that upon the reading-desk. But this day not only were
the curtains drawn aside, but the portals themselves flung open, as
the bridal party neared the steps which led to it, and disclosed six
or seven rolls of parchment, folded on silver pins, and filled with
the same strange letters, each clothed in drapery of variously colored
brocade, or velvet, and surmounted by two sets of silver ornaments,
in which the bell and pomegranate were, though small, distinctly
discernible. A superb lamp, of solid silver, was suspended from the
roof; and one of smaller dimensions, but of equally valuable material,
and always kept lighted, hung just before the ark.

Julien Morales, at his own particular request, was to read the
ceremony; and three hours after noon he stood within the portals, on
the highest step; a slab of white marble divided him from the bride
and bridegroom, over whom a canopy was raised, supported by four
silver poles. The luxuriant hair of the bride had been gathered
up, and, save two massive braids, shading her brow and cheek, was
concealed under a head-dress, somewhat resembling an eastern turban,
but well suited to her countenance. Her dress, of the fashion before
described, was all of white--the jacket or bodice richly woven with
gold threads; but so thick a veil enveloped face and form, that
her sweet face was concealed, until, at one particular part of the
mysterious rite (for such, to the Spaniards, this ceremony must have
been), the veil was uplifted for her to taste the sacred wine, and not
allowed to fall again. Neither the bridegroom (agitated himself,
for his was not a nature to think lightly of the nuptial rite), nor
Henriquez (whose excitement was extreme) was conscious of the looks
of alarm, blended with admiration, which the raising of the veil
attracted towards Marie. Lovely she was; but it was the loveliness of
a marble statue, not of life--her very lips were blanched, and every
feature still, indeed; but a stillness of so peculiar an expression,
so inexpressibly, so thrillingly sad, that admiration appeared
indefinably and strangely transformed to pain. The wedding ring was
placed upon her hand--a thin crystal goblet broken by Ferdinand,
on the marble at his feet--and the rites were concluded. An almost
convulsive embrace from her father--the unusual wildness of his voice
and manner, as he blessed, and called her his own precious child, who
this day had placed the seal upon his happiness, and confirmed twenty
years of filial devotedness and love--awoke her from that stagnating
trance. She folded her arms round his neck, and burst into passionate
tears; and there were none, not even Ferdinand, to chide or doubt that
emotion--it was but natural to her character, and the solemn service
of the day.

Gay and joyous was the meal which followed the bridal. No
appurtenances of modern pomp and luxury, indeed, decorated the board:
its only ornaments were the loveliest flowers, arranged in alabaster
vases, and silver baskets filled with blushing fruit. The food was
simple, and the wines not choice; but the guests thought not of mere
sensual enjoyment. In these secret meetings, each felt there was
something holy; richer homes, more gorgeous feasts, were theirs in the
world, whenever they so willed; but such intercourse of brotherhood
seldom occurred, and when it came, was consequently hallowed.

Some time they sat around the board; and so unrestrained, so full of
varied interest was their eager converse, that sunset came unheeded;
and the silver lamps, fed with sweet incense, were placed upon the
table. Julien then arose, and solemnly pronounced the usual blessing,
or rather thanksgiving, after the bridal feast. Marie did not look up
during its continuance; but as it concluded, she arose, and was about
to retire with Donna Emilie, when her eye caught her father, and a cry
of alarm broke from her. The burning flush had given place to a livid
paleness--the glittering of the eye to a fixed and glassy gaze. The
frame was, for a moment, rigid as stone, then fearfully convulsed;
and Reuben, starting forward, caught his master as he fell. There was
something so startling and unusual in the seizure, that even those
accustomed to his periods of insensibility were alarmed; and vain was
every effort of Ferdinand to awaken hope and comfort in the seemingly
frozen spirit of his bride.

Henriquez was conveyed to his room, and every restorative applied; but
even the skill of Julien, well versed as he was in the healing art,
was without effect. More than an hour passed, and still he lay like
death; and no sound, no sob, broke from the torn heart of his hapless
child, who knelt beside his couch; her large dark eyes, distended
to even more than their usual size, fixed upon his face; her hands
clasped round one of his; but had she sought thus to give warmth she
would have failed, for the hand of the living was cold and damp as
that of the seeming dead.

A slight, almost imperceptible flush floated over that livid
cheek--the eyes unclosed, but so quickly closed again that it was more
like the convulsive quivering of the muscle than the effort of the
will; and Marie alone had marked the change.

"Father!" she almost shrieked in agony, "in mercy speak to me
again--say but you forgive--bless--"

"Forgive" feebly repeated the dying man; and the strong feeling of
the father, for a brief interval, conquered even death--"Forgive?--my
beautiful--my own!--the word is meaningless, applied to thee. Art thou
not my Ferdinand's bride, and hast thou not so taken the sting, the
trial even from this dread moment? My precious one!--would I could see
that face once more--but it is dark--all dark--kiss me, my child!"

She threw herself upon his bosom, and covered his cheek with kisses.
He passed his hand feebly over her face, as if the touch could once
more bring her features to his sight; and then extending his left
hand, feebly called--"Ferdinand!"

His nephew caught the withered hand, and kneeling down, pressed it
reverentially and fondly to his lips.

Henriquez's lips moved, but there came no word.

"Doubt me not, my more than father! From boyhood to youth, from youth
to manhood, I have doted on thy child. Shall I love and cherish her
less now, that she has only me? Oh, trust me!--if devotion can give
joy, she will know no grief, that man can avert, again!"

A strange but a beautiful light for a single minute dispersed the
fearful shadow creeping over Henriquez's features.

"My son! my son!--I bless thee--and thou, too, my drooping flower.
Julien! my brother--lay me beside my Miriam. Thou didst not come for
this--but it is well. My children--my friends--send up the hymn of
praise--the avowal of our faith; once more awake the voice of our
fathers!"

He was obeyed; a psalm arose, solemn and sweet, in accents familiar
as their mother tongue, to those who chanted; but had any other been
near, not a syllable would have been intelligible. But the voice which
in general led to such solemn service--so thrilling in its sweetness,
that the most indifferent could not listen to it unmoved--now lay
hushed and mute, powerless even to breathe the sobs that crushed
her heart. And when the psalm ceased, and the prayer for the dying
followed, with one mighty effort Henriquez raised himself, and
clasping his hands, uttered distinctly the last solemn words ever
spoken by his race, and then sunk back--and there was silence.
Minutes, many minutes, rolled by--but Marie moved not. Gently, and
tenderly, Don Ferdinand succeeded in disengaging the convulsive hold
with which she still clasped her parent, and sought to bear her from
that sad and solemn room. Wildly she looked up in his face, and then
on those beloved features, already fixed and gray in death;--with
frantic strength she pushed aside her husband, and sunk down by her
father's side.




CHAPTER VIII.

"Slight are the outward signs of evil thought:
Within, within--'twas there the spirit wrought.
Love shows all changes: hate, ambition, guile,
Betray no further than the bitter smile."

BYRON.


Our readers must imagine that nearly a year and a half has elapsed
since the conclusion of our last chapter. During that interval the
outward life of Marie had passed in a calm, even stream; which, could
she have succeeded in entirely banishing thoughts of the past, would
have been unalloyed enjoyment. Her marriage, as we hinted in our
fourth chapter, had been solemnized in public, with all the form and
ceremony of the Catholic Church, and with a splendor incumbent on the
high rank and immense wealth of the bridegroom. In compliance with
Marie's wishes, however, she had not yet been presented to the
Queen; delicate health (which was the fact, for a terrible fever
had succeeded the varied emotions of her wedding day) and her
late bereavement, was her husband's excuse to Isabella for her
non-appearance--an excuse graciously accepted; the rather that the
Queen of Castile was then much engrossed with political changes and
national reforms, than from any failing of interest in Don Ferdinand's
bride.

Changed as was her estate, from her lovely home in the Vale of Cedars,
where she had dwelt as the sole companion of an ailing parent, to the
mistress of a large establishment in one of the most populous cities
of Castile; the idolized wife of the Governor of the town--and, as
such, the object of popular love and veneration, and called upon,
frequently, to exert influence and authority--still Marie did not fail
performing every new duty with a grace and sweetness binding her more
and more closely to the doting heart of her husband. For her inward
self, Marie was calm--nay, at intervals, almost happy. She had neither
prayed nor struggled in vain, and she felt as if her very prayer was
answered in the fact that Arthur Stanley had been appointed to some
high and honorable post in Sicily, and they were not therefore likely
yet to meet again. The wife of such a character as Morales could not
have continued wretched unless perversely resolved so to be. But his
very virtues, while they inspired the deepest reverence towards him,
engendered some degree of fear. Could she really have loved him as--he
believed she did--this feeling would not have had existence; but its
foundation was the constant thought that she was deceiving him--the
remorse, that his fond confidence was so utterly misplaced--the
consciousness, that there was still something to conceal, which, if
discovered, must blight his happiness for ever, and estrange him from
her, were it only for the past deceit. Had his character been less
lofty--his confidence in her less perfect--his very love less fond
and trusting--she could have borne her trial better; but to one true,
ingenuous, open as herself, what could be more terrible than the
unceasing thought that she was acting a part--and to her husband?
Often and often she longed, with an almost irresistible impulse, to
fling herself at his feet, and beseech him not to pierce her heart
with such fond trust; but the impulse was forcibly controlled. What
would such confession avail her now?--or him, save to wound?

Amongst the many Spaniards of noble birth who visited Don Ferdinand's,
was one Don Luis Garcia, whose actual rank and office no one seemed to
know; and yet, in affairs of church or state, camp or council, he was
always so associated, that it was impossible to discover to which of
these he was allied; in fact, there was a mystery around him, which no
one could solve. Notwithstanding his easy--nay, it was by some thought
fascinating manners, his presence generally created a restraint, felt
intuitively by all, yet comprehended by none. That there is such, an
emotion as antipathy mercifully placed within us, often as a warning,
we do most strenuously believe; but we seldom trace and recognize it
as such, till circumstances reveal its truth.

The real character of Don Luis, and the office he held, our future
pages will disclose; suffice it here to state, that there was no
lack of personal attractions or mental graces, to account for the
universal, yet unspoken and unacknowledged dislike which he inspired.
Apparently in the prime of life, he yet seemed to have relinquished
all the pleasures and even the passions of life. Austere, even rigid,
in those acts of piety and personal mortifications enjoined by his
religion--voluntary fasts, privations, nights supposed to be past in
vigil and in penance; occasional rich gifts to patron saints, and
their human followers; an absence of all worldly feeling, even
ambition; some extraordinary deeds of benevolence--all rendered him an
object of actual veneration to the priests and monks with which the
goodly city of Segovia abounded; and even the populace declared him
faultless, as a catholic and a man, even while their inward shuddering
belied the words.

Don Ferdinand Morales alone was untroubled with these contradictory
emotions. Incapable of hypocrisy himself, he could not imagine it
in others: his nature seemed actually too frank and true for the
admission even of a prejudice. Little did he dream that his name,
his wealth, his very favor with the Queen, his influence with her
subjects, had already stamped him, in the breast of the man to whom
his house and heart alike were open, as an object of suspicion and
espial; and that ere a year had passed over his wedded life, these
feelings were ripened, cherished--changed from the mere thought of
persecution, to palpable resolve, by personal and ungovernable hate.

Don Luis had never known love; not even the fleeting fancy, much less
the actual passion, of the sensualist, or the spiritual aspirings of
true affection. Of the last, in fact, he was utterly incapable.
No feeling, with him, was of an evanescent nature: under the cold
austerity of the ordinary man, lay coals of living fire. It mattered
not under what guise excited--hate, revenge, ambition, he was capable
of all. At love, alone, he had ever laughed--exulting in his own
security.

The internal condition of Spain, as we have before said, had been,
until the accession of Isabella and Ferdinand, one of the grossest
license and most fearful immorality. Encouraged in the indulgence of
every passion, by the example of the Court, no dictates of either
religion or morality ever interfered to protect the sanctity of home;
unbridled desires were often the sole cause of murderous assaults; and
these fearful crimes continually passing unpunished, encouraged the
supposition that men's passions were given to be their sole guide,
before which, honor, innocence, and virtue fell powerless.

The vigorous proceedings of Ferdinand and Isabella had already
remedied these terrible abuses. Over the public safety and reform they
had some power; but over the hearts of individuals they had none; and
there were still some with whom past license was far more influencing
than present restraint and legal severity; still some who paused at
no crime so that the gratification of their passions was ensured; and
foremost amongst these, though by his secret office pledged to the
annihilation of all domestic and social ties, as regarded his own
person, was Don Luis Garcia.

For rather more than a year, Don Ferdinand Morales had enjoyed the
society of his young wife uninterruptedly, save by occasional visits,
of brief duration, to Valladolid and Leon, where Isabella alternately
held her court. He was now, however, summoned to attend the
sovereigns, on a visit to Ferdinand's paternal dominions, an office
which would cause his absence for a much longer interval. He obeyed
with extreme reluctance--nor did Marie feel the separation less. There
was, in some measure, a feeling of security in his presence, which,
whenever he was absent, gave place to fearful tremblings as to what
might transpire to shake her faith in her, ere he returned.

Resolved that not the very faintest breath of scandal should touch
_his_ wife, Marie, during the absence of Morales, always kept herself
secluded. This time her retirement was stricter than ever; and great,
then, was her indignation and astonishment, when about a fortnight
before her husband's expected return, and in direct contradiction
to her commands, Don Luis Garcia was admitted to her presence; and
nothing but actual flight, for which she was far too proud and
self-possessed, could have averted the private interview which
followed. The actual words which passed we know not, but, after a very
brief interval of careless converse on the part of Garcia--something
he said earnestly, and in the tones of pitying sympathy, which caused
the cheek and lips of Marie to blanch to marble, and her whole frame
to shiver, and then grow rigid, as if turned to stone. Could it be
that the fatal secret, which she believed was known only to herself
and Arthur, that she had loved another ere she wedded Ferdinand, had
been penetrated by the man towards whom she had ever felt the most
intense abhorrence? and that he dared refer to it as a source of
sympathy--as a proof that he could feel for her more than her
unsuspecting husband? Why was speech so frozen up within her, that she
could not, for the moment, answer, and give him back the lie? But that
silence of deadly terror lasted not long: he had continued to speak;
at first she was unconscious of his change of tone, words, and even
action; but when his actual meaning flashed upon her, voice, strength,
energy returned in such a burst of womanly indignation, womanly
majesty, that Garcia himself, skilled in every art of evil as he was,
quailed beneath it, and felt that he was powerless, save by violence
and revenge.

While that terrible interview lasted, the wife of Morales had not
failed; but when once more alone, the most deadly terror took
possession of her. She had, indeed, so triumphed as to banish Garcia,
defeated, from her presence; but fearful threats of vengeance were in
that interview divulged--allusions to some secret power, over which
he was the head, armed with authority even greater than that of
the sovereign's--mysteriously spoken, but still almost strangely
intelligible, that in her betrayal or her silence lay the safety or
the danger of her husband--all compelled the conviction that her
terror and her indignation at the daring insult must be buried deep in
her own breast; even while the supposition that Don Luis knew all the
past (though how, her wildest imagination could not discover), and
that therefore she was in his power, urged her yet more to a full
confession to her husband. Better if his heart must be wrung by her,
than by a foe; and yet she shrunk in anguish from the task.

She was, however, deceived as to the amount of Garcia's knowledge of
her past life. Accustomed to read human nature under all its varied
phases--employing an unusually acute penetration so to know his
fellows as to enable him, when needed, to create the greatest amount
of misery--he had simply perceived that Marie's love for her husband
was of a different nature to his for her, and that she had some secret
to conceal. On this he had based his words: his suspicions were,
unhappily, confirmed by the still, yet expressive agony they had
occasioned. Baffled, as in some measure he had been, his internal rage
that he should have so quailed before a woman, naturally increased the
whirlwind of contending passions: but schooled by his impenetrable
system of hypocrisy to outward quietness and control, he waited,
certain that circumstances would either of themselves occur, or be so
guided by him as to give him ample means of triumph and revenge.




CHAPTER IX.

"You would have thought the very windows spake;
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their desiring eyes."

SHAKSPEARE.


In an apartment, whose pale, green hangings, embroidered with
richly-colored flowers, and whose furniture and ornaments, all of
delicate material and refined taste, marked it as a meet boudoir for
gentle blood, sat Marie and her husband. She occupied her favorite
seat--a cushion at his feet, and was listening with interest to his
animated history of the Sovereign's welcome to Saragossa, the popular
ferment at their appearance, the good they had accomplished, and would
still accomplish, as their judicious plans matured. It was clear, he
said, that they had resolved the sovereign power should not be merely
nominal, as it had been. By making himself proclaimed and received
as grand master of the three great orders of knighthood--Saint
Iago, Compostella, and Alcantara--the immense influence of those
associations must succumb to, and be guided by, Ferdinand alone; the
power of the nobles would thus be insensibly diminished, and the mass
of the kingdom--the PEOPLE--as a natural consequence, become of more
importance, their position more open to the eyes of the sovereigns,
and their condition, physically and morally, ameliorated and improved.

"I feel and acknowledge this, dearest; though one of the class whose
power must be diminished to accomplish it;" he continued, "I am too
anxious for the internal prosperity of my country to quarrel with any
measures which minds so enlightened as its present sovereigns may deem
requisite. But this is but a grave theme for thee, love. Knowest
thou that her Grace reproached me with not bringing thee to join the
Arragonese festivities? When Donna Emilie spoke of thee, and thy
gentle worth and feminine loveliness, as being such as indeed her
Grace would love, my Sovereign banished me her presence as a disloyal
cavalier for so deserting thee; and when I marked how pale and thin
thou art, I feel that she was right; I should have borne thee with
me."

"Or not have left me. Oh, my husband, leave me not again!" she
replied, with sudden and involuntary emotion, which caused him to
throw his arm round her, and fondly kiss her brow.

"Not for the court, dearest; but that gentle heart must not forget
thou art a warrior's wife, and as such, for his honor's sake, must
sometimes bear the pang of parting. Nay, thou tremblest, and art still
paler! Ere such summons come, thou wilt have learned to know and love
thy Queen, and in her protecting favor find some solace, should I be
called to war."

"War! talk they of war again? I thought all was now at peace?"

"Yes, love, in our sovereign's hereditary dominions; but there can be
no lasting peace while some of the fairest territory of Spain still
dims the supremacy of Castile, and bows down to Moorish masters. It is
towards Grenada King Ferdinand looks, yearning for the day when, all
internal commotions healed, he can head a gallant army to compel
subjection; and sad as it will be to leave thee, sweet, thou wilt
forgive thy soldier if he say, would that the day were come!"

"And will not their present extent of kingdom suffice the sovereigns?
When they recall their former petty domains, and compare them with the
present, is it not enough?"

Morales smiled. "Thou speakest as a very woman, gentle one, to whom
the actual word 'ambition' is unknown. Why, the very cause thou namest
urges our sovereigns to the conquest of these Moors. They are the blot
upon a kingdom otherwise as fair and great as any other European land.
They thirst to raise it in the scale of kingdoms--to send down their
names to posterity, as the founders of the Spanish monarchy--the
builders and supporters of a united throne, and so leave their
children an undivided land. Surely this is a glorious project, one
which every Spanish warrior must rejoice to aid. But fear not a speedy
summons, love; much must be accomplished first. Isabella will visit
this ancient city ere then, and thou wilt learn to love and reverence
her as I do."

"In truth, my husband, thou hast made me loyal as thyself; but say
they not she is severe, determined, stern?"

"To the guilty, yes; even the weak crafty will not stand before her
repelling glance: but what hast thou to fear, my love? Penetrative as
she is, seeming to read the heart through the countenance, she can
read nought in thee save qualities to love. I remember well the eagle
glance she fixed on King Ferdinand's young English favorite, Senor
Stanley, the first time he was presented to her. But she was
satisfied, for he ranks as deservedly high in her favor as in her
husband's. Thou hast heard me speak of this young Englishman, my
Marie?"

Her face was at that moment turned from him, or he might have started
at its sudden flush; but she assented by a sign.

"He was so full of joyousness and mirth, that to us of graver nature
it seemed almost below his dignity as man; and now they tell me he
is changed so mournfully; grave, sad, silent, maturity seems to have
descended upon him ere he has quite passed boyhood; or he has some
secret sorrow, too sacred to be revealed. There is some talk of his
recall from Sicily, he having besought the king for a post of more
active and more dangerous service. Ferdinand loves such daring
spirits, and therefore no doubt will grant his boon. Ha! Alberic, what
is it?" he continued, eagerly, as a page entered, and delivered a
packet secured with floss silk, and sealed with the royal signet,
adding that it had been brought by an officer of the royal guard,
attended by some men at arms. "Give him welcome suited to his rank,
boy: I will but peruse these, and attend him instantly."

The page withdrew, and Don Ferdinand, hastily cutting the silk, was
speedily so engrossed in his despatches, as to forget for the time
even the presence of his wife; and well it was so; for it enabled her
with a strong effort to conquer the deadly sickness Morale's careless
words had caused--the pang of dread accompanying every thought of
Arthur's return to Spain--to still the throbbing pulse and quivering
lip, and, outwardly unmoved, meet his joyous glance once more.

"'Tis as I thought and hoped," he said, with animation: "the
sovereigns hold their court for some months in this city; coeval,
in antiquity, associations, and loyalty, with Valladolid and Leon,
Isabella, with her characteristic thought for all her subjects, has
decided on making it occasionally the seat of empire alternately with
them, and commissions me, under her royal seal, to see the castle
fittingly prepared. Listen, love, what her Grace writes further--'Take
heed, my good lord, and hide not in a casket the brightest gem which
we have heard adorns thy home. We would ourselves judge the value of
thy well-hoarded jewel--not that we doubt its worth; for it would be
strange, indeed, if he who hath ever borne off the laurel wreath from
the competitors for glory, should not in like manner seek and win
the prize of beauty. In simple language, let Donna Marie be in
attendance.' And so thou shalt, love; and by thy gentle virtues and
modest loveliness, add increase of honor to thy husband. Ha! what
says Gonzalo de Lara?" he added, as his eye glanced over another
paper--"'Tumults in Sicily--active measures--Senor Stanley--enough on
which to expend his chivalric ardor, and evince his devotedness to
Ferdinand; but Sicily quieted--supposed the king will still grant
his request--assign him some post about his person, be at hand for
military service against the Moors.' Good! then the war is resolved
on. We must bestir ourselves, dearest, to prepare fit reception for
our royal guests; there is but brief time."

He embraced and left her as he spoke; and for several minutes Marie
remained without the power even to rise from her seat: one pang
conquered, another came. Arthur's recall appeared determined; would
it be so soon that he would join this sovereigns before they reached
Segovia? She dared not think, save to pray, with wild and desperate
fervor, that such might not be.

Magnificent, indeed, were Don Ferdinand's preparations for the banquet
with which he intended to welcome his sovereigns to Segovia. The
castle was to be the seat of their residence, and the actual _locale_
of their court; but it was at his own private dwelling he resolved, by
a sumptuous entertainment, to evince how deeply and reverentially
he felt the favor with which he was regarded by both monarchs, more
especially by Isabella, his native Sovereign.

In the many struggles which were constantly occurring between the
Spaniards and Moors, the former had become acquainted with the light
yet beautiful architecture and varied skill in all the arts peculiar
to the latter, and displayed their improved taste in both public and
private buildings. Morales, in addition to natural taste, possessed
great affluence, which enabled him to evince yet greater splendor in
his establishment than was usual to his countrymen.

There was one octangular room, the large panels forming the walls of
which were painted, each forming a striking picture of the principal
events in the history of Spain, from the descent of Don Palayo, and
the mountaineers of Asturias, who struck the first blow for Spanish
freedom, to the accession of Ferdinand and Isabella. The paintings
were not detached pictures, but drawn and colored on the wall itself,
which had been previously prepared for the reception of the colors by
a curious process, still in use among the Orientals.[A] The colors,
when dry, were rubbed, till the utmost brilliancy was attained; and
this, combined as it was with a freedom and correctness of drawing,
produced an effect as striking then as it would be novel to modern
eyes. One side, divided into three compartments, contained in one a
touching likeness of the young Alfonso. His figure, rather larger than
life, was clothed in armor, which shone as inlaid with gold. His head
was bare, and his bright locks flowed over his shoulders as he wore
them in life. His brilliant eye, his lofty brow, and peculiarly sweet
expression of mouth, had been caught by the limner, and transferred to
his painting in all their original beauty. Round him were grouped
some of the celebrated cavaliers of his party; and the back-ground,
occupied by troops not in regular battalions, but as impelled by some
whelming feeling of national excitement, impossible to be restrained.
Answering to this was a full length of the infanta Isabella I., in
the act of refusing the crown offered by the confederates. The centre
compartment represented the union of Castile and Arragon by the
nuptials of their respective sovereigns in the cathedral church of
Valladolid. Over these pictures were suspended golden lamps, inlaid
with gems; so that, day or night, the effect should remain the same.
Opposite the dais, huge folding-doors opened on an extensive hall,
where the banquets were generally held, and down which Don Ferdinand
intended to range the tables for his guests of lesser rank, leaving
the octangular apartment for the royal tables, and those of the most
distinguished nobles; the one, however, so communicating with the
other, as to appear one lengthened chamber. On the right hand of the
dais, another large door opened on a withdrawing-room, the floor of
which was of marble, curiously tinted; and the walls hung with Genoa
velvet, ruby-colored, and bordered by a wide fringe of gold. Superb
vases of alternate crystal and frosted silver, on pedestals of
alabaster and of aqua-marine, were ranged along the walls, the
delicate beauty of their material and workmanship coming out well
against the rich coloring of the hangings behind. The roof, a lofty
dome, displayed the light Arabesque workmanship, peculiar to Moorish
architecture, as did the form and ornaments of the windows. This
apartment opened into another, much smaller, each side of which,
apparently formed of silver plate, reflected as mirrors every object;
and the pillars supporting the peculiarly light roof of the same
glittering material. Some parts of the extensive gardens Morales
intended to illuminate; and others, for the effect of contrast, to be
left in deepest shadow.

[Footnote A: See Art Union Journal, August, 1845.]

Nothing was omitted which could do honor to the royal guests, or
cast a reproach upon the magnificent hospitality of their hosts. The
preparations were but just completed, when an advance guard arrived at
Segovia with the tidings of the rapid approach of the sovereigns; and
Morales, with a gallant troop of his own retainers, and a procession
of the civil and military officers of Segovia, hastened to meet and
escort them to the town.

With an uncontrollable impulse, Marie had followed the example of
almost every female in Segovia, and, wrapt in her shrouding veil, had
stationed herself, with some attendants at a casement overlooking the
long line of march. The city itself presented one scene of gladsome
bustle and excitment: flags were suspended from every "turret, dome,
and tower," rich tapestries hung over balconies, which were filled
with females of every rank and grade, vying in the richness and
elegance of their apparel, and their coquettish use of the veil and
fan, so as to half-hide and half-display their features, more or less
beautiful--for beautiful as a nation, the Spanish women undoubtedly
are. Bells were ringing from every church; ever and anon came a burst
of warlike music, as detached troops galloped in the town, welcomed
with shouts as the officer at their head was recognized. Even the
priests themselves, with their sober dresses and solemn countenances,
seemed touched with the universal excitement, relaxing into smiles and
hearty greeting with the laymen they encountered. As the hours waned,
popular excitement increased. It was the first visit of Isabella to
the city; and already had her character been displayed in such actions
as to kindle the warmest love towards the woman, in addition to the
enthusiastic loyalty towards the Queen.

At length the rumor rose that the main body was approaching--in little
more than a hour the sovereigns would pass the gates, and excitement
waxed wilder and wilder, and impatience was only restrained by the
interest excited towards the gallant bodies of cavalry, which now in
slow and measured march approached, forming the commencement of a
line, which for three hours continued to pour within the city in one
unbroken strain.

Even Marie herself, pre-occupied as she was in the dread search for
one object, could not glance down on the moving multitude beneath her
without in some degree sharing the enthusiasm of her countrymen. There
were gallant warriors of every age, from the old man to the beardless
youth; chargers, superb in form and rich in decoration; a field of
spears glittering in the broad sunshine, some bearing the light gay
pennoncelle, others absolutely bending beneath the heavy folds of
banners, which the light breeze at times extended so as to display
their curious heraldic bearings, and then sunk heavily around their
staffs. Esquires bearing their masters' shields, whose spotless
fields flung back a hundred-fold the noonday sun--plumes so long and
drooping, as to fall from the gilded crest till they rested on the
shoulder--armor so bright as to dazzle the eyes of the beholders, save
when partly concealed under the magnificent surcoats and mantles,
amongst which the richest velvets, slashed with gold or silver,
distinguished the highest nobles. Pageantry like this mingled with
such stirring sounds as the tramp of the noble horse, curveting,
prancing, rearing, as if disdaining the slow order of march--the
thrilling blast of many trumpets, the long roll, or short, sharp call
of the drum; and the mingled notes of martial instruments, blending
together in wild yet stirring harmony, would be sufficient even
in this prosaic age to bid the heart throb and the cheek burn,
recognizing it, as perhaps we should, merely as the _symbol_, not the
_thing_. What, then, must it have been, when men felt such glittering
pageant and chivalric seeming, the _realities_ of life?