STORIES BY FOREIGN AUTHORS

SPANISH

THE TALL WOMAN . . . . . . . . . . . . By Pedro Antonio De AlarconTHE WHITE BUTTERFLY. . . . . . . . . By Jose SelgasTHE ORGANIST. . . . . . . . . . . . . . By Gustavo Adolfo BecquerMOORS AND CHRISTIANS . . . . . . . . By Pedro Antonio De AlarconBREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS . . . . By Fernan Caballero

1898

THE TALL WOMANby Pedro Antonio De AlarconFrom "Modern Ghosts" translated by Rollo Ogden. 

 THE TALL WOMAN

I. 

"How little we really know, my friends; how little we really know. "

The speaker was Gabriel, a distinguished civil engineer of the mountaincorps. He was seated under a pine tree, near a spring, on the crest of theGuadarrama. It was only about a league and a half distant from the palaceof the Escurial, on the boundary line of the provinces of Madrid andSegovia. I know the place, spring, pine tree and all, but I have forgottenits name. 

"Let us sit down, " went on Gabriel, "as that is the correct thing to do, and as our programme calls for a rest here--here in this pleasant andclassic spot, famous for the digestive properties of that spring, and forthe many lambs here devoured by our noted teachers, Don Miguel Bosch, DonMaximo Laguna, Don Augustin Pascual, and other illustrious naturalists. Sit down, and I will tell you a strange and wonderful story in proof of mythesis, which is, though you call me an obscurantist for it, thatsupernatural events still occur on this terraqueous globe. I mean eventswhich you cannot get into terms of reason, or science, or philosophy--asthose 'words, words, words, ' in Hamlet's phrase, are understood (or arenot understood) to-day. "

Gabriel was addressing his animated remarks to five persons of differentages. None of them was young, though only one was well along in years. Three of them were, like Gabriel, engineers, the fourth was a painter, andthe fifth was a litterateur in a small way. In company with the speaker, who was the youngest, we had all ridden up on hired mules from the RealSitio de San Lorenzo to spend the day botanizing among the beautiful pinegroves of Pequerinos, chasing butterflies with gauze nets, catching rarebeetles under the bark of the decayed pines, and eating a cold lunch outof a hamper which we had paid for on shares. 

This took place in 1875. It was the height of the summer. I do notremember whether it was Saint James's day or Saint Louis's; I am inclinedto think it was Saint Louis's. Whichever it was, we enjoyed a deliciouscoolness at that height, and the heart and brain, as well as the stomach, were there in much better working order than usual. 

When the six friends were seated, Gabriel continued as follows:

"I do not think you will accuse me of being a visionary. Luckily orunluckily, I am, if you will allow me to say so, a man of the modernworld. I have no superstition about me, and am as much of a Positivist asthe best of them, although I include among the positive data of nature allthe mysterious faculties and feelings of the soul. Well, then, apropos ofsupernatural, or extra-natural, phenomena, listen to what I have seen andheard, although I was not the real hero of the very strange story I amgoing to relate, and then tell me what explanation of an earthly, physical, or natural sort, however you may name it, can be given of sowonderful an occurrence. 

"The case was as follows. But wait! Pour me out a drop, for theskin-bottle must have got cooled off by this time in that bubbling, crystalline spring, located by Providence on this piny crest for theexpress purpose of cooling a botanist's wine. "

II. 

Well, gentlemen, I do not know whether you ever heard of an engineer ofthe roads corps named Telesforo X---; he died in 1860. "

"No; I haven't. "

"But I have. "

"So have I. He was a young fellow from Andalusia, with a black moustache;he was to have married the Marquis of Moreda's daughter, but he died ofjaundice. "

"The very one, " said Gabriel. "Well, then, my friend Telesforo, six monthsbefore his death, was still a most promising young man, as they saynowadays. He was good-looking, well-built, energetic, and had the glory ofbeing the first one in his class to be promoted. He had already gaineddistinction in the practice of his profession through some fine pieces ofwork. Several different companies were competing for his services, andmany marriageable women were also competing for him. But Telesforo, as yousaid, was faithful to poor Joaquina Moreda. 

"As you know, it turned out that she died suddenly at the baths of SantaAgueda, at the end of the summer of 1859. I was in Pau when I received thesad news of her death, which affected me very much on account of my closefriendship with Telesforo. With her I had spoken only once, in the houseof her aunt, the wife of General Lopez, and I certainly thought her bluishpallor a symptom of bad health. But, however that may be, she had adistinguished manner and a great deal of grace, and was, besides, the onlydaughter of a title, and a title that carried some comfortable thousandswith it; so I felt sure my good mathematician would be inconsolable. Consequently, as soon as I was back in Madrid, fifteen or twenty daysafter his loss, I went to see them very early one morning. He lived inelegant batchelor quarters in Lobo Street--I do not remember the number, but it was near the Carrera de San Jeronimo. 

"The young engineer was very melancholy, although calm and apparentlymaster of his grief. He was already at work, even at that hour, laboringwith his assistants over some railroad plans or other. He was dressed indeep mourning. 

"He greeted me with a long and close embrace, without so much as sighing. Then he gave some directions to his assistants about the work in hand, andafterwards led me to his private office at the farther end of the house. As we were on our way there he said, in a sorrowful tone and withoutglancing at me:

"'I am very glad you have come. Several times I have found myself wishingyou were here. A very strange thing has happened to me. Only a friend suchas you are can hear of it without thinking me either a fool or crazy. Iwant to get an opinion about it as calm and cool as science itself. 

"'Sit down, ' he went on when we had reached his office, 'and do notimagine that I am going to afflict you with a description of the sorrow Iam suffering--a sorrow which will last as long as I live. Why should I?You can easily picture it to yourself, little as you know of trouble. Andas for being comforted, I do not wish to be, either now, or later, orever! What I am going to speak to you about, with the requisitedeliberation, going back to the very beginning of the thing, is a horribleand mysterious occurrence, which was an infernal omen of my calamity, andwhich has distressed me in a frightful manner. '

"'Go on, ' I replied, sitting down. The fact was, I almost repented havingentered the house as I saw the expression of abject fear on my friend'sface. 

"'Listen, then, ' said he, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "

III. 

"'I DO not know whether it is due to some inborn fatality of imagination, or to having heard some story or other of the kind with which children areso rashly allowed to be frightened, but the fact is, that since myearliest years nothing has caused me so much horror and alarm as a womanalone, in the street, at a late hour of the night. The effect is the samewhether I actually encounter her, or simply have an image of her in mymind. 

"'You can testify that I was never a coward. I fought a duel once, when Ihad to, like any other man. Just after I had left the School of Engineers, my workmen in Despenaperros revolted, and I fought them with stick andpistol until I made them submit. All my life long, in Jaen, in Madrid, andelsewhere, I have walked the streets at all hours, alone and unarmed, andif I have chanced to run upon suspicious-looking persons, thieves, or meresneaking beggars, they have had to get out of my way or take to theirheels. But if the person turned out to be a solitary woman, standingstill or walking, and I was also alone, with no one in sight in anydirection--then (laugh if you want to, but believe me) I would be allcovered over with goose-flesh; vague fears would assail me; I would thinkabout beings of the other world, about imaginary existences, and about allthe superstitious stories which would make me laugh under othercircumstances. I would quicken my pace, or else turn back, and would notget over my fright in the least until safe in my own house. 

"'Once there I would fall a-laughing, and would be ashamed of my crazyfears. The only comfort I had was that nobody knew anything about it. ThenI would dispassionately remind myself that I did not believe in goblins, witches, or ghosts, and that I had no reason whatever to be afraid of thatwretched woman driven from her home at such an hour by poverty, or somecrime, or accident, to whom I might better have offered help, if sheneeded it, or given alms. Nevertheless, the pitiable scene would be goneover again as often as a similar thing occurred--and remember that I wastwenty-four years old, that I had experienced a great many adventures bynight, and yet that I had never had the slightest difficulty of any sortwith such solitary women in the streets after midnight! But nothing ofwhat I have so far told you ever came to have any importance, since thatirrational fear always left me as soon as I reached home, or saw any oneelse in the street, and I would scarcely recall it a few minutesafterwards, any more than one would recall a stupid mistake which had noresult of any consequence. 

"'Things were going on so, when, nearly three years ago (unhappily, I havegood reason for knowing the date, it was the night of November 15-16, 1857), I was coming home at three in the morning. As you remember, I wasliving then in that little house in Jardines Street, near Montera Street. I had just come, at that late hour, a bitter, cold wind blowing at thetime, out of a sort of a gambling-house--I tell you this, although I knowit will surprise you. You know that I am not a gambler. I went into theplace, deceived by an alleged friend. But the fact was, that as peoplebegan to drop in about midnight, coming from receptions or the theatre, the play began to be very heavy, and one saw the gleam of gold in plenty. Then came bank-bills and notes of hand. Little by little I was carriedaway by the feverish and seductive passion, and lost all the money I had. I even went away missing a second sum, for which I had left my note behindme. In short, I ruined myself completely; and but for the legacy that cameto me afterwards, together with the good jobs I have had, my situationwould have been extremely critical and painful. 

"So I was going home, I say, at so late an hour that night, numb with thecold, hungry, ashamed, and disgusted as you can imagine, thinking about mysick old father more than about myself. I should have to write to himfor money, and this would astonish as much as it would grieve him, sincehe thought me in very easy circumstances. Just before reaching my street, where it crosses Peligros Street, as I was walking in front of anewly-built house, I perceived something in its doorway. It was a tall, large woman, standing stiff and motionless, as if made of wood. She seemedto be about sixty years old. Her wild and malignant eyes, unshaded byeyelashes, were fixed on mine like two daggers. Her toothless mouth made ahorrible grimace at me, meant to be a smile. 

"The very terror or delirium of fear which instantly overcame me gave mesomehow a most acute perception, so that I could distinguish at a glance, in the two seconds it took me to pass by that repugnant vision, theslightest details of her face and dress. Let me see if I can put togethermy impressions in the way and form in which I received them, as they wereengraved ineffaceably on my brain in the light of the street-lamp whichshone luridly over that ghastly scene. But I am exciting myself too much, though there is reason enough for it, as you will see further on. Don't beconcerned, however, for the state of my mind. I am not yet crazy!

"'The first thing which struck me in that WOMAN, as I will call her, washer extreme height and the breadth of her bony shoulders. Then, theroundness and fixity of her dry, owl-eyes, the enormous size of herprotruding nose, and the great dark cavern of her mouth. Finally, herdress, like that of a young woman of Avapies--the new little cottonhandkerchief which she wore on her head, tied under her chin, and adiminutive fan which she carried open in her hand, and with which, inaffected modesty, she was covering the middle of her waist. 

"'Nothing could be at the same time more ridiculous and more awful, morelaughable and more taunting, than that little fan in those huge hands. Itseemed like a make-believe sceptre in the hands of such an old, hideous, and bony giantess! A like effect was produced by the showy percalehandkerchief adorning her face by the side of that cut-water nose, hookedand masculine; for a moment I was led to believe (or I was very glad to)that it was a man in disguise. 

"'But her cynical glance and harsh smile were of a hag, of a witch, anenchantress, a Fate, a--I know not what! There was something about her tojustify fully the aversion and fright which I had been caused all my lifelong by women walking alone in the streets at night. One would have saidthat I had had a presentiment of that encounter from my cradle. One wouldhave said that I was frightened by it instinctively, as every living beingfears and divines, and scents and recognizes, its natural enemy beforeever being injured by it, before ever having seen it, and solely onhearing its tread. 

"'I did not dash away in a run when I saw my life's sphinx. I restrainedmy impulse to do so, less out of shame and manly pride than out of fearlest my very fright should reveal to her who I was, or should give herwings to follow me, to overtake me--I do not know what. Panic like thatdreams of dangers which have neither form nor name. 

"'My house was at the opposite end of the long and narrow street, in whichI was alone, entirely alone with that mysterious phantom whom I thoughtable to annihilate me with a word. How should I ever get home? Oh, howanxiously I looked towards that distant Montera street, broad and welllighted, where there are policemen to be found at all hours! I decided, finally, to get the better of my weakness; to dissemble and hide thatwretched fear; not to hasten my pace, but to keep on advancing slowly, even at the cost of years of health or life, and in this way, little bylittle, to go on getting nearer to my house, exerting myself to the utmostnot to fall fainting on the ground before I reached it. 

"'I was walking along in this way--I must have taken about twenty stepsafter leaving behind me the doorway where the woman with the fan washidden, when suddenly a horrible idea came to me--horrible, yet verynatural nevertheless--the idea that I would look back to see if my enemywas following me. One thing or the other I thought, with the rapidity of aflash of lightning: either my alarm has some foundation or it is madness;if it has any foundation, this woman will have started after me, will beovertaking me, and there is no hope for me on earth. But if it is madness, a mere supposition, a panic fright like any other, I will convince myselfof it in the present instance, and for every case that may occurhereafter, by seeing that that poor old woman has stayed in that doorwayto protect herself from the cold, or to wait till the door is opened; andthereupon I can go on to my house in perfect tranquillity, and I shallhave cured myself of a fancy that causes me great mortification. 

"'This reasoning gone through with, I made an extraordinary effort andturned my head. Ah, Gabriel!--Gabriel! how fearful it was! The tall womanhad followed me with silent tread, was right over me, almost touching mewith her fan, almost leaning her head on my shoulder. 

"'Why was she doing it?--why, my Gabriel? Was she a thief? Was she reallya man in disguise? Was she some malicious old hag who had seen that I wasafraid of her? Was she a spectre conjured up by my very cowardice? Was shea mocking phantasm of human self-deception?

"'I could never tell you all I thought in a single moment. If the truthmust be told, I gave a scream and flew away like a child of four years whothinks he sees the Black Man. I did not stop running until I got out intoMontera Street. Once there, my fear left me like magic. This in spite ofthe fact that that street also was deserted. Then I turned my head to lookback to Jardines Street. I could see down its whole length. It was lightedwell enough for me to see the tall woman, if she had drawn back in anydirection, and, by Heaven! I could not see her, standing still, walking, or in any way! However, I was very careful not to go back into that streetagain. The wretch, I said to myself, has slunk into some other doorway. But she can't move without my seeing her. 

"'Just then I saw a policeman coming up Caballero de Gracia Street, and Ishouted to him without stirring from my place. I told him that there was aman dressed as a woman in Jardines Street. I directed him to go round bythe way of Peligros and Aduana Streets, while I would remain where I was, and in that way the fellow, who was probably a thief or murderer, couldnot escape us. The policeman did as I said. He went through Aduana Street, and as soon as I saw his lantern coming along Jardines Street I also wentup it resolutely. 

"'We soon met at about the middle of the block, without either of ushaving encountered a soul, although we had examined door after door. 

"'"He has got into some house, " said the policeman. 

"'"That must be so, " I replied, opening my door with the fixed purpose ofmoving to some other street the next day. 

"'A few moments later I was in my room; I always carried my latchkey, soas not to have to disturb my good Jose. Nevertheless, he was waiting forme that night. My misfortunes of the 15th and 16th of November were notyet ended. 

"'"What has happened?" I asked him, in surprise. 

"'"Major Falcon was here, " he replied, with evident agitation, "waitingfor you from eleven till half-past two, and he told me that, if you camehome to sleep, you had better not undress, as he would be back atdaybreak. "

"'Those words left me trembling with grief and alarm, as if they hadpredicted my own death to me. I knew that my beloved father, at his homein Jean, had been suffering frequent and dangerous attacks of his chronicdisease. I had written to my brothers that, if there should be a suddenand fatal termination of the sickness, they were to telegraph MajorFalcon, who would inform me in some suitable way. I had not the slightestdoubt, therefore, that my father had died. 

"'I sat down in an arm-chair to wait for the morning and my friend, and, with them, the news of my great misfortune. God only knows what I sufferedin those two cruel hours of waiting. All the while, three distinct ideaswere inseparably joined in my mind; though they seemed unlike, they tookpains, as it were, to keep in a dreadful group. They were: my losses atplay, my meeting with the tall woman, and the death of my revered father. 

"'Precisely at six Major Falcon came into my room, and looked at me insilence. I threw myself into his arms, weeping bitterly, and he exclaimed, caressing me:

"'"Yes, my dear fellow, weep, weep. "'"

IV. 

"My friend Telesforo, " Gabriel went on, after having drained another glassof wine, "also rested a moment when he reached this point, and then heproceeded as follows:

"'If my story ended here, perhaps you would not find anythingextraordinary or supernatural in it. You would say to me the same thingthat men of good judgment said to me at that time: that every one who hasa lively imagination is subject to some impulse of fear or other; thatmine came from belated, solitary women, and that the old creature ofJardines Street was only some homeless waif who was going to beg of mewhen I screamed and ran. 

"'For my part, I tried to believe that it was so. I even came to believeit at the end of several months. Still, I would have given years of mylife to be sure that I was not again to encounter the tall woman. But, to-day, I would give every drop of my blood to be able to meet her again. '

"'What for?'

"'To kill her on the spot. '

"'I do not understand you. '

"'You will understand me when I tell you that I did meet her again, threeweeks ago, a few hours before I had the fatal news of my poor Joaquina'sdeath. '

"'Tell me about it, tell me about it!'

"'There is little more to tell. It was five o'clock in the morning. It wasnot yet fully light, though the dawn was visible from the streets lookingtowards the east. The street-lamps had just been put out, and thepolicemen had withdrawn. As I was going through Prado Street, so as to getto the other end of Lobo Street, the dreadful woman crossed in front ofme. She did not look at me, and I thought she had not seen me. 

"'She wore the same dress and carried the same fan as three years before. My trepidation and alarm were greater than ever. I ran rapidly acrossPrado Street as soon as she had passed, although I did not take my eyesoff her, so as to make sure that she did not look back, and, when I hadreached the other end of Lobo Street, I panted as if I had just swum animpetuous stream. Then I pressed on with fresh speed towards home, fillednow with gladness rather than fear, for I thought that the hateful witchhad been conquered and shorn of her power, from the very fact that I hadbeen so near her and yet that she had not seen me. 

"'But soon, and when I had almost reached this house, a rush of fear sweptover me, in the thought that the crafty old hag had seen and recognizedme, that she had made a pretence of not knowing me so as to let me getinto Lobo Street, where it was still rather dark, and where she might setupon me in safety, that she would follow me, that she was already over me. 

"'Upon this, I looked around--and there she was! There at my shoulder, almost touching me with her clothes, gazing at me with her horrible littleeyes, displaying the gloomy cavern of her mouth, fanning herself in amocking manner, as if to make fun of my childish alarm. 

"'I passed from dread to the most furious anger, to savage and desperaterage. I dashed at the heavy old creature. I flung her against the wall. Iput my hand to her throat. I felt of her face, her breast, the stragglinglocks of her gray hair until I was thoroughly convinced that she was ahuman being--a woman. 

"'Meanwhile she had uttered a howl which was hoarse and piercing at thesame time. It seemed false and feigned to me, like the hypocriticalexpression of a fear which she did not really feel. Immediately afterwardsshe exclaimed, making believe cry, though she was not crying, but lookingat me with her hyena eyes:

"'"Why have you picked a quarrel with me?"

"'This remark increased my fright and weakened my wrath. 

"'"Then you remember, " I cried, "that you have seen me somewhere else. "

"'"I should say so, my dear, " she replied, mockingly. "Saint Eugene'snight, in Jardines Street, three years ago. "

"'My very marrow was chilled. 

"'"But who are you?" I asked, without letting go of her. "Why do youfollow me? What business have you with me?"

"'"I am a poor weak woman, " she answered, with a devilish leer. "You hateme, and you are afraid of me without any reason. If not, tell me, goodsir, why you were so frightened the first time you saw me. "

"'"Because I have loathed you ever since I was born. Because you are theevil spirit of my life. "

"'"It seems, then, that you have known me for a long time. Well, look, myson, so have I known you. "

"'"You have known me? How long?"

"'"Since before you were born! And when I saw you pass by me, three yearsago, I said to myself, THAT'S THE ONE. "

"'"But what am I to you? What are you to me?"

"'"The devil!" replied the hag, spitting full in my face, freeing herselffrom my grasp, and running away with amazing swiftness. She held herskirts higher than her knees, and her feet did not make the slightestnoise as they touched the ground. 

"'It was madness to try to catch her. Besides, people were already passingthrough the Carrera de San Jeronimo, and in Prado Street, too. It wasbroad daylight. The tall woman kept on running, or flying, as far asHuertas Street, which was now lighted up by the sun. There she stopped tolook back at me. She waved her closed fan at me once or twice, threateningly, and then disappeared around a corner. 

"'Wait a little longer, Gabriel. Do not yet pronounce judgment in thiscase, where my life and soul are concerned. Listen to me two minuteslonger. 

"'When I entered my house I met Colonel Falcon, who had just come to tellme that my Joaquina, my betrothed, all my hope and happiness and joy onearth, had died the day before in Santa Agueda. The unfortunate father hadtelegraphed Falcon to tell me--me, who should have divined it an hourbefore, when I met the evil spirit of my life! Don't you understand, now, that I must kill that born enemy of my happiness, that vile old hag, whois the living mockery of my destiny?

"'But why do I say kill? Is she a woman? Is she a human being? Why have Ihad a presentiment of her ever since I was born? Why did she recognize mewhen she first saw me? Why do I never see her except when some greatcalamity has befallen me? Is she Satan? Is she Death? Is she Life? Is sheAntichrist? Who is she? What is she?'"

V. 

"I will spare you, my dear friends, " continued Gabriel, "the arguments andremarks which I used to see if I could not calm Telesforo, for they arethe same, precisely the same, which you are preparing now to advance toprove that there is nothing supernatural or superhuman in my story. Youwill even go further; you will say that my friend was half crazy; that healways was so; that, at least, he suffered from that moral disease whichsome call 'panic terror, ' and others 'emotional insanity'; that, evengranting the truth of what I have related about the tall woman, it mustall be referred to chance coincidences of dates and events; and, finally, that the poor old creature could also have been crazy, or a thief, or abeggar, or a procuress--as the hero of my story said to himself in a lucidinterval. "

"A very proper supposition, " exclaimed Gabriel's comrades; "that is justwhat we were going to say. "

"Well, listen a few minutes longer, and you will see that I was mistakenat the time, as you are mistaken now. The one who unfortunately made nomistake was Telesforo. It is much easier to speak the word 'insanity' thanto find an explanation for some things that happen on the earth. "

"Speak, speak!"

"I am going to; and this time, as it is the last, I will pick up thethread of my story without first drinking a glass of wine. "

VI. 

"A few days after that conversation with Telesforo I was sent to theprovince of Albacete in my capacity as engineer of the mountain corps. Not many weeks had passed before I learned, from a contractor for publicworks, that my unhappy friend had been attacked by a dreadful form ofjaundice; it had turned him entirely green, and he reclined in anarm-chair without working or wishing to see anybody, weeping night and dayin the most inconsolable and bitter grief. The doctors had given up hopeof his getting well. 

"This made me understand why he had not answered my letters. I had toresort to Colonel Falcon as a source of news of him, and all the whilethe reports kept getting more unfavorable and gloomy. 

"After an absence of five months I returned to Madrid the same daythat the telegraph brought the news of the battle of Tetuan. I rememberit as if it were yesterday. That night I bought the indispensableCorrespondencia de Espana, and the first thing I read in it was the noticeof Telesforo's death. His friends were invited to the funeral thefollowing morning. 

"You will be sure that I was present. As we arrived at the San Luiscemetery, whither I rode in one of the carriages nearest the hearse, myattention was called to a peasant woman. She was old and very tall. Shewas laughing sacrilegiously as she saw them taking out the coffin. Thenshe placed herself in front of the pall-bearers in a triumphant attitudeand pointed out to them with a very small fan the passage-way they were totake to reach the open and waiting grave. 

"At the first glance I perceived, with amazement and alarm, that shewas Telesforo's implacable enemy. She was just as he had described her tome--with her enormous nose, her devilish eyes, her awful mouth, herpercale handkerchief, and that diminutive fan which seemed in her handsthe sceptre of indecency and mockery. 

"She immediately observed that I was looking at her, and fixed her gazeupon me in a peculiar manner, as if recognizing me, as if letting me knowthat she recognized me, as if acquainted with the fact that the dead manhad told me about the scenes in Jardines Street and Lobo Street, as ifdefying me, as if declaring me the inheritor of the hate which she hadcherished for my unfortunate friend. 

"I confess that at the time my fright was greater than my wonder at thosenew COINCIDENCES and ACCIDENTS. It seemed evident to me that somesupernatural relation, antecedent to earthly life, had existed between themysterious old woman and Telesforo. But for the time being my sole concernwas about my own life, my own soul, my own happiness--all of which wouldbe exposed to the greatest peril if I should really inherit such a curse. 

"The tall woman began to laugh. She pointed at me contemptuously with thefan, as if she had read my thoughts and were publicly exposing mycowardice. I had to lean on a friend's arm to keep myself from falling. Then she made a pitying or disdainful gesture, turned on her heels, andwent into the cemetery. Her head was turned towards me. She fanned herselfand nodded to me at the same time. She sidled along among the graves withan indescribable, infernal coquetry, until at last she disappeared forever in that labyrinth of tombs. 

"I say for ever, since fifteen years have passed and I have never seen heragain. If she was a human being she must have died before this; if she wasnot, I rest in the conviction that she despised me too much to meddle withme. 

"Now, then, bring on your theories! Give me your opinion about thesestrange events. Do you still regard them as entirely natural?"

THE WHITE BUTTERFLYBy Jose SelgasTranslated by Mary J. Serrano. 

 THE WHITE BUTTERFLY

Berta has just completed her seventeenth year. Blissful age in which Lovefirst whispers his tender secrets to a maiden's heart! But cruel Love, whofor every secret he reveals draws forth a sigh! But here is Berta, andbeside her is a mirror, toward which she turns her eyes; she looks atherself in it for a moment and sighs, and then she smiles. And good reasonshe has to smile, for the mirror reveals to her the loveliest faceimaginable; whatever disquiet Love may have awakened in her heart, theimage which she sees in the mirror is enchanting enough to dispel it. 

And why should it not? Let us see. "What has her heart told her?" "It hastold her that it is sad. " "Sad! and why?" "Oh, for a very simple reason!Because it thrills in response to a new, strange feeling, never knownbefore. It fancies--curious caprice!--that it has changed owners. " "Andwhy is that?" "The fact is, that it has learned, it knows not where, thatmen are ungrateful and inconstant, and this is the reason why Bertasighs. " "Ah! And what does the mirror tell her to console her?" "Why, themirror tells her that she is beautiful. " "Yes?" "Yes; that her eyes aredark and lustrous, her eyebrows magnificent, her cheeks fresh and rosy. ""And what then?" "It is plain; her heart is filled with hope, andtherefore it is that Berta smiles. "

This is the condition of mind in which we find her. Up to the present shehas passed her life without thinking of anything more serious than theinnocent pranks of childhood; she was a child up to the age of seventeen, but a boisterous, gay, restless, daring, mischievous child; she turned thehouse upside down, and in the same way she would have been capable ofturning the world upside down; she had neither fears nor duties; sheplayed like a crazy thing and slept like a fool. For her mother had diedbefore Berta was old enough to know her; and although her mother'sportrait hung at the head of her bed, this image, at once sweet andserious, was not sufficient to restrain the thoughtless impetuosity of thegirl. She was, besides, an only daughter, and her father, of whom we shallgive some account later, adored her. In addition to all this, her nurse, who acted as housekeeper in the house, was at the same time the accompliceand the apologist of her pranks, for the truth is she loved her like theapple of her eye. 

Less than this might have sufficed to turn an angel into an imp, andindeed much less would have sufficed in Berta's case, for the naturalvivacity of her disposition inclined her to all kinds of pranks. Opposition irritated her to such a degree as to set her crying. But whattears! Suddenly, in the midst of her sobs, she would burst out laughing, for her soul was all gayety, spontaneous, contagious gayety, the gayety ofthe birds when day is breaking. 

But this gayety could not last for ever; and, willing or unwilling, themoment had to come some time when Berta would quiet down; for it was notnatural that she should remain all her life a madcap; and this moment atlast arrived; and all at once the girl's boisterous gayety began to calmdown, to cloud over, like a storm that is gathering, like a sky that isdarkening. 

The nurse is the first to observe this change in Berta, and although thegirl's pranks had driven her to her wits' end, seeing her silent, thoughtful, pensive, that is to say, quiet, she is overjoyed. The girl isnow a woman. Profound mystery! She has left off the giddiness of childhoodto take on the sedateness of youth. Poor woman! she does not know that ayoung girl is a thousand times more crazy than a child. But the fact isthat Berta does not seem the same girl. And the change has taken place ofa sudden, from one day to another, in the twinkling of an eye, so to say. 

And sedateness becomes her well, very well. She seems taller, more--moreeverything; nothing better could be asked of her; but since she hasbecome sensible the house is silent. The songs, the tumult, all theboisterousness of the past have disappeared. The good nurse, who isenchanted to see her so quiet, so silent, so sedate, yet misses the noisygayety that formerly filled the house; and if the choice had been givento her, she would hardly have known which to prefer. 

In this way the days pass calm and tranquil. Berta, who had always beenso early a riser, does not now rise very early. Does she sleep more?That is what no one knows, but if she sleeps more she certainly eats less;and not only this, but from time to time, and without any apparent cause, heart-breaking sighs escape her. 

The nurse, who idolizes her, and who would do anything in the world toplease or to serve her, observes it all but says nothing. She saysnothing, but she thinks the more. That is to say, that at every sigh shehears she draws down her mouth, screws up her eye, and says to herself:"Hm! there it is again. "

Of course she would not remain silent for long; for she was not a woman tohold her tongue easily. Besides, Berta's sedateness was now getting to bea fixed fact, and the nurse was at the end of her patience; for as she wasaccustomed to say, "A loaf that is put into the oven twisted will not comeout of it straight. "

And if she succeeded in keeping silence for a few days, it was onlybecause she was waiting for Berta herself to speak and tell her what wason her mind; but Berta gave no sign that she understood her; her heartremained closed to the nurse, notwithstanding all her efforts to open it. The key had been lost, and none of those that hung at the housekeeper'sgirdle fitted it. It would be necessary to force the lock. 

One day the nurse left off temporizing and took the bull by the horns. Sheentered Berta's room, where she found her engaged in fastening a flamingred carnation in her dark hair. 

"There! that's what I like to see, " she said. "That's right, now. What abeautiful pink! It is as red as fire. And pinks of that color don't growin your flower-beds!"

Berta cast down her eyes. 

"You think I can't see what is going on before my eyes, " she continued, "when you know that nothing can escape me. Yes, yes. I should like to seethe girl that could hoodwink me! But why don't you say something? Have youlost your tongue?"

Berta turned as red as a poppy. 

"Bah!" cried the nurse. "That pink must have flown over from the terracein front of your windows. I can see the plant from here; there were fourpinks on it yesterday, and to-day there are only three. The neighbor, eh?What folly! There is neither sense nor reason in that. "

This time Berta turned pale, and looked fixedly at her nurse, as if shehad not taken in the sense of her words. 

"I don't mean, " resumed the nurse, "that you ought to take the veil, orthat the neighbor is a man to be looked down upon either; but you areworthy of a king, and there is no sort of sense in this. A few signalsfrom window to window; a few sidelong glances, and then--what? Nothing. You will forget each other. It will be out of sight out of mind with bothof you. "

Berta shook her head. 

"You say it will not be so?" asked the nurse. 

"I say it will not, " answered Berta. 

"And why not? Let us hear why not? What security have you--"

Berta did not allow her to finish. 

"Our vows, " she said. 

"Vows!" cried the nurse, crossing herself. "Is that where we are!--Vows!"she repeated, scornfully; "pretty things they are--words that the windcarries away. "

Some memory of her own youth must have come to her mind at this moment, for she sighed and then went on:

"And would they by chance be the first vows in the world to be broken?To-day it is all very well; there is no one else for you to see but theneighbor; but to-morrow?"

"Never, " replied Berta. 

"Worse and worse, " returned the nurse; "for in that case he will be thefirst to tire of you, and then hold him if you can. To-day he may be assweet as honey to you, but to-morrow it will be another story. What areyou going to say? That he is young, and handsome? Silly, silly girl. Is heany the less a man for that? Do you want to know what men are?"

Berta, going up to her nurse, put her hand over her mouth and answeredquickly:

"No, I don't want to know. "

The nurse left Berta's room, holding her hands to her head and saying toherself:

"Mad, stark, staring mad!"

We know already that Berta has a father, and now we are going to learnthat this father, without being in any way an extraordinary being, is yetno common man. To look at him, one would take him to be over sixty; butappearances are in this case deceitful, for he is not yet forty-nine. In the same city in which he dwells live some who were companions of hischildhood, and they are still young; but Berta's father became a widowershortly after his marriage, and the loss of his wife put an end to hisyouth. He settled his affairs, gave up his business, realized a part ofhis property and retired from the world. That is to say, that he devotedhimself to the care of his daughter, in whom he beheld the living image ofthe wife he had lost. Why should he wish to be young any longer? He grewaged then long before he had grown old. 

Berta--Berta. In this name all his thoughts were centred, and in histhoughts there was much of sweetness and much of bitterness, for there isnot in the circle of human happiness a cup of honey that has not its dropof gall. 

To see him now walking up and down his room, looking now at the ceiling, now at the floor, biting his nails and striking his forehead, one wouldthink the heavens were about to fall down and crush him or the earth toopen up under his feet. 

Suddenly he struck his forehead with his open palm, and crossing over tothe door of the room, he raised the curtain, put out his head, and openedhis lips to say something; but the words remained unuttered, and he stoodwith his mouth wide open, gazing with amazement at the nurse who, withoutobserving the movement of the curtain, was approaching the door, gesticulating violently; it was evident that she had somethingextraordinary on her mind. 

Berta's father drew aside; the nurse entered the room, and the tworemained face to face, looking at each other as if they had never seeneach other before. "

"What is the matter, Nurse Juana?" asked Berta's father. "I never saw youlook like that before. "

"Well, you look no better youself. Any one would say, to see you, that youhad just risen from the grave. "

Berta's father slowly arched his eyebrows, heaved a profound sigh, andsinking into a chair, as if weighed down by the burden of existence, heasked again:

"What is the matter?"

"The matter is, " answered the nurse, "that the devil has got into thishouse. "

"It is possible, " he answered; "and if you add that it is not an hoursince he left this room, you will not be far wrong. "

"The Lord have mercy on us!" exclaimed the nurse: "the devil here!"

"Yes, Nurse Juana, the devil in person. "

"And you saw him?"

"I saw him. "

"What a horrible visitor!" exclaimed Juana, crossing herself. 

"No, " said Berta's father, "he is not horrible; he took the appearance ofa handsome young man who has all the air of a terrible rake. "

"And how did this demon come in?"

"By the door, Juana, by the door. "

"What a man!" cried the nurse in dismay. 

Berta's father was very kind-hearted, and he had a very good opinion ofmankind; thus it was that he shook his head despondently as he replied:

"A man!--A man would not be so cruel to me. To take Berta from me is totake my life. It is to assassinate me without allowing me a chance todefend myself; and that is the most horrible part of it--they will bemarried, and Berta will be united for life to the murderer of her father. "

The nurse folded her arms and there was a moment of sorrowful silence. 

Suddenly she said:

"Ah!--Berta will refuse. "

A bitter smile crossed the lips of the unhappy father. 

"You think she will not?" said the nurse. "Now, we shall see. "

And she turned to go for Berta, but at the same moment the curtain wasraised and Berta entered the room. 

The red carnation glowed in her black hair like fire in the darkness; hereyes shone with a strange light, and in the fearless expression of hercountenance was to be divined the strength of an unalterable resolution. 

She looked alternately at her father and at her nurse, and then in atrembling voice she said:

"I know all. It may be to my life-long happiness; it may be to my eternalmisery; but that man is the master of my heart. "

She smiled first at her father and then at her nurse; and left the roomwith the same tranquillity with which she had entered it. 

The nurse and the father remained standing where she left them, motionless, dumb, astounded. 

The devil then had succeeded in gaining an entrance into Berta's house inthe manner in which we have seen; and not only had he gained an entranceinto it, but he had taken possession of it as if it had always been hisown. He was hardly out of it before he was back again. He spent in itseveral of his mornings, many of his afternoons, and all his evenings; andthere was no way of escaping his assiduous visits, for Berta was alwaysthere to receive him. And it was not easy to be angry with him, either;for he possessed the charm of an irresistible gayety, and one had not onlyto be resigned but to show pleasure at his constant presence. Besides, neither Berta's father nor the housekeeper dared to treat him coldly; theyfelt compelled, by what irresistible spell they knew not, to receive himwith all honor and with a smiling countenance. 

This is the case when they are under the influence of his presence: butwhen he is absent, the father and the nurse treat him without any ceremonywhatever. The two get together in secret and in whispers revengethemselves upon him by picking him to pieces. In these secret backbitingsthey give vent to the aversion with which he inspires them; and the fatherand the nurse between them leave him without a single good quality. 

And it is not without reason that they berate him, for since he took thehouse by storm nothing is done in it but what pleases him; he it is whorules it, he it is who orders everything. For Berta thinks that all hedoes is right, and there is no help for it but to bow in silence to herwill. 

But they are not satisfied with berating him; they also conspire againsthim. What means shall they take to overthrow the power of this unlawfulruler?--for in the eyes of the housekeeper he is a usurper, and in thoseof Berta's father, a tyrant;--turn him out of the house? This is the onethought of the conspirators. But how? This is the difficulty whichconfronts them. 

Two means entirely opposed to each other occur to them--to fly from him orto make a stand against him. To fly is the plan of Berta's father; it isthe resource which is most consistent with his pacific character. To flyfar from him, far away, to the ends of the earth. 

But to this the housekeeper answers:

"Fly from him! What nonsense! Where could we go, that he would not followus? No; such folly is not to be thought of. What we ought to do is to takea firm stand and defend ourselves against him. "

"Defend ourselves against him!" exclaimed Berta's father. "With whatweapons? With what strength?"

"Neither strength nor weapons are required, " replied the nurse. "Some dayyou bar the door against him, and then he may knock in vain. Satan turnsaway from closed doors. "

"Nurse Juana, that is folly, " replied Berta's father; "if he does not comein by the door he will come in by the window, or down the chimney. "

Juana bit her lips reflectively, for what she had never been able toexplain satisfactorily to herself was how he had succeeded in entering thehouse for the first time, for the door was always kept closed; it wasnecessary to knock to have it opened; and it was never opened unless underthe inspection of the housekeeper; she always wanted to know who came inand who went out, and in this she was very particular. How then had hebeen able to come in without being seen or heard?

Her first inquiries on this mysterious point were addressed to Berta--andBerta answered simply that he had entered without knocking because thedoor was open. This the nurse found impossible to believe. 

She remained thoughtful, then, for this demon of a man, it seemed, couldin truth enter the house even if the door were barred. 

The conspirators did not get beyond these two courses of action: to fly orto defend themselves. To fly was impossible, and to defend themselves wasimpracticable. Berta's father and the housekeeper discussed these twopoints daily without seeing light on any side. And must they resignthemselves to living under the diabolical yoke of that man? Both foundthemselves in a situation that would be difficult to describe. They livedin constant trepidation, fearing they knew not what. 

And who, then, is this man who rules them with his presence and who hasmade himself master of Berta's heart? His name is Adrian Baker, he livesalone, and he possesses a large fortune. This is all that is known abouthim. 

For the rest, he is young, tall, graceful in figure, with hair like goldand a complexion as fair as snow; ardent and impassioned in speech, andwith steadfast, searching, and melancholy eyes, blue as the blue of deepwaters. 

His manners could not be more natural, affectionate, and simple than theyare. He enters the house and runs up the stairs, two steps at a time. Nothing stops him. If he meets Berta's father, he rushes to him andembraces him, and the good man trembles from head to foot in the pressureof those affectionate embraces. If it is the housekeeper who comes to meethim, he lays his hand affectionately on her shoulder, and he always hassome pleasant remark to make, some cunning flattery which awakens in thenurse a strange emotion. She feels as if the sap of youth were, of asudden, flowing through her veins. 

There is no way of escaping the magic of his words, the spell of hisvoice, the charm of his presence. Juana has observed that when he looks atBerta his eyes shine with a light like that which the eyes of cats emit inthe dark; she has observed also that Berta turns pale under the power ofhis glance, and that she bows her head under it as if yielding to theinfluence of an irresistible will. 

She has observed still more: she has observed that this mysterious man attimes sits lost in thought, his chin resting on his hand and a frown onhis brows, as if he saw some dreadful vision before him, and thatpresently, as if awakening from a dream, he talks and smiles and laughs asbefore. Berta's father has observed, on his side, that he knows somethingabout everything, understands something of everything, has an explanationfor everything, comprehends and divines everything, as if he possessed thesecret of all things. And these observations they communicate to eachother, filled with wonder and amazement. 

Sometimes, sitting beside Berta, he amuses himself winding the linen flossor the silks with which she is embroidering, or in cutting fantasticfigures out of any scrap of paper that may be at hand. Then he is like achild. At other times he speaks of the world and of men, of foreigncountries and of remote ages, with so much gravity and judgment that heseems like an old man who has retired from the world laden with wisdom andexperience. 

But when he seats himself at the piano, then one can only yield one's selfunresistingly to the caprices of his will. The keys, touched by hisfingers, produce melodies so sparkling, so joyous, that the soul is filledwith gayety; but suddenly he changes to another key and the piano moansand sighs like a human voice, and the heart is moved and the eyes fillwith tears. But this is not all; for, when one least expects it, thunderlow and deep seems to roll through the instrument; and strains are heard, now near, now distant, that thrill the heart, and tones that fill the soulwith terror; through the vibrating chords all the spirits of the otherworld seem to be speaking in an unknown tongue. 

It is all very well for the housekeeper to regard Adrian Baker as thedevil in person, or as a man possessed by the devil, or at least as anextraordinary being, who possesses the diabolical secret of somewonder-working philtre. It is all very well for Berta's father to see inhim a masterful mind and an eccentric nature. And who knows--he hassometimes heard of mysterious fluids, of subtle forces which attract aridrepel, of dominating influences, of marvels of magnetism; and although hehas never given a great deal of thought to any of those matters, he thinksabout them since he has felt himself dominated by this singular personage, and Adrian Baker has become, in fact, his fixed idea, his absorbingthought, his unceasing preoccupation, his constant monomania. Berta'sfather and the housekeeper may very well attribute to him marvellouspowers, suggested by their own excited imaginations; but we must not sharein those hallucinations, nor are we to conclude from them that AdrianBaker is outside the common law to which ordinary mortals are subject. 

This is evident; but, still, who is Adrian Baker?

We shall present here all the information that we have been able to gatherabout him, and let each one draw from it the conclusion he pleases. 

It is not yet quite two years since one of the carriages which transportpassengers from the railway station to the city which is the scene of ourstory, drove rapidly from the station; the energy with which the coachmanwhipped up his horses showed the haste or the importance of the travellersit carried. 

This carriage entered the city and stopped before the door of the besthotel of the place; there the solitary traveller it carried alighted fromit, and this traveller was Adrian Baker. He was enveloped in a travellinggreat-coat lined with costly fur. The eagerness with which the waiters ofthe hotel hastened to meet him showed that they had discovered in the newguest a mine of tips. The coachman took his leave of him, hat in hand, andas he turned away looked around at the bystanders, displaying to them agold coin in his left eye. 

Nothing more was needed to cause the luggage of the guest to be whiskedoff to the most sumptuous room in the hotel. Seven cities of Greecedisputed with one another the honor of having been the birthplace ofHomer; more than seven waiters disputed with one another the honor ofcarrying Adrian Baker's valise. He was like a king entering his palace. 

For several days he was to be seen alone and on foot, traversing thestreets and visiting the most noteworthy buildings; then, alone also, butin a carriage, he was to be seen viewing the wildest and most picturesquespots in the neighborhood, with the attention of an artist, a philosopher, or a poet. 

He was affable and easy in his manners; and he soon had many friends whotalked admiringly of his eccentricities, of his riches, and of hislearning; so that he was for some time the lion of the day, and thereforethe favorite subject of every conversation. To win his friendship wouldhave been for the men a triumph; and to win his heart would have been forthe haughtiest woman more than a triumph; but Adrian Baker kept his inmostheart closed alike to friendship and to love; so that only three thingswere known about him--that he was young, that he was rich, and that he hadtravelled over half the world. 

He was supposed to be an Englishman, a German, or an American; in thefirst place, because he was fair, and in the second place, because, although he spoke Spanish as if it were his native tongue, a certainforeign flavor was to be noticed in his accent, which each one interpretedaccording to his fancy. 

For the rest, he seemed pleased with the beauty of the sky and the gayetyof the landscape, and although he had told no one whether he intended toremain there long or not, the fact was that he did not go away. Doubtlesshe grew tired of the life at the hotel, for one day he suddenly bought afine house and established himself in it like a prince. This edifice, venerable from its antiquity, had the grandiose aspect of a palace, andone of its angles fronted Berta's house. 

This is all that was known about Adrian Baker. We now know, therefore, that the mysterious Adrian Baker was neither more nor less than Berta'sneighbor himself. 

One night, returning from his daily visit to Berta, he entered the house, crossed the hall, and shut himself up in his own apartments. Shortlyafterwards the great door of the palace, creaking harshly on its hinges, was closed; the lights were extinguished one by one, and everythingremained in profound silence. Adrian Baker, however, was not asleep. 

At the further end of the room, which was lighted by the soft light of alamp, he sat with his elbows resting on a mahogany table and his faceburied in his hands, seemingly lost in thought. And his thoughts could notbe of a pleasant nature, for the stern frown upon his brow showed thatsome storm was raging behind that forehead smooth as a child's and pale asdeath. The light of the lamp, reflected from his golden hair, seemed toenvelop his head in fantastic lights and shadows. 

After many moments of immobility and silence, he struck the tableviolently with the palm of his hand, exclaiming:

"Accursed riches! Odious learning! Cruel experience!"

Then he rose to his feet, and striding up and down the room like a madman, he cried in smothered accents:

"Faith! Faith! Doubt is killing me!"

A moment later he shook his beautiful head and burst into a terriblelaugh. 

"Very well, " he said. "The proof is a terrible one, but I require thisproof. I must descend into the tomb to obtain it: well, then, I willdescend into the tomb. I must consult the sombre oracle of deathconcerning the mysteries of life: well, then, I will consult it. "

At this moment the glass chimney of the lamp burst, falling to the floorin a thousand fragments; the lurid flame sent forth a black smoke thatfilled the room with shadows which crept along the walls, mingled togetheron the ceiling, and crossed one another on the floor; the furniture seemedto be moving, the ceiling sinking down, and the walls receding. 

In the midst of this demon dance of lights and shadows, the flame of thelamp went out, as if in obedience to an invisible breath, and in thedarkness that followed all was silence. 

Something extraordinary must have occurred in Berta's house, for the nurseseemed to have been seized by a sudden fit of restlessness that would notlet her sit still for a moment. She went to and fro, upstairs and down, out and in, with the mechanical movement of an automaton. It was a sort ofnervous attack that had in a moment increased twofold the housekeeper'sdomestic activity. Suddenly she would stand still, and placing herforefinger on her upper lip she would remain motionless, as if she wereseeking in her mind the explanation of some mystery or the key to someriddle, gesticulating with expressive eloquence, and, so to say, thinkingin gestures. 

But the cause of the agitation which we observe in her could not be a veryalarming one, for in the midst of it all there was apparent something likejoy, a secret joy which in spite of herself was perceptible through herrestlessness and her gesticulations. In our poor human nature, joy andsorrow often manifest themselves by the same symptoms; and a piece of goodnews will agitate us in the same way as a piece of bad news. 

Be this as it may, what is certain is that the housekeeper seemed to beexcited by some secret thought which she turned over and over in her mind, and that she was waiting for something with impatience, for from time totime she stood still, stretched out her neck, and listened. 

Suddenly the door-bell rang twice; slowly, deliberately, producing on thenurse the effect of an electric shock. She threw down some house-linenwhich she had in her hands, overturned a chair or two that stood in herway, and tore a curtain that opposed her progress, leaving devastation anddestruction in her wake, like a storm. 

She pulled the cord which opened the door, and she pulled it so violentlythat the door sprang wide open, giving admittance to Berta's father, whoentered slowly, leaning on his cane like a man whose vitality is beginningto fail. As he entered, he raised his eyes with a look of melancholydiscouragement, and at the head of the stairs he saw the housekeeper, whoseemed to be trying to tell him something, gesticulating violently andwaving her arms like the apparatus of a semaphore. The good man did notunderstand a word of this telegraphic language, and he stopped at the footof the stairs, endeavoring to comprehend the meaning of the signs whichthe housekeeper was excitedly making above his head. But, naturally, hewas not very skilful in this kind of investigation, and his not very vividimagination was at this moment paralyzed. Finally, he shrugged hisshoulders with a sort of resigned and patient desperation, as if to say, "What are you trying to tell me?" The housekeeper folded her arms andshook her head three times; this meant: "Stupid! stupid! stupid!" The goodman bent his head under the triple accusation, and proceeded to ascend thestairs. At the head Nurse Juana was waiting for him, and without furtherceremony she took him by the hand and drew him into his room; and there, after assuring herself that no one was within hearing, she put her mouthclose to the ear of Berta's father, and in a mysterious voice, and with anair of profound mystery, she said to him:

"He is going away!"

"He is going away!" repeated Berta's father, exhaling a profound sigh. 

"Yes, " she added; "we are going to be free. "

"Free!" repeated the good man, shaking his head with an air ofincredulity. Then he asked:

"And where is he going?"

"He is going very far away, " answered the nurse. "That is certain. He isgoing very far away, to some place, I don't know where, at the other endof the earth. It is a sudden journey. "

The good man sighed again despondently; Nurse Juana looked at him withamazement, saying:

"Any one would suppose that I had just given you a piece of bad news. Canthat man have bewitched you to the extent--"

"Yes, " he interrupted, "for if he goes he will not go alone; he will takeBerta with him, and then what is to become of us?"

"Nothing of the kind, " replied Juana. "He will go alone--entirely alone. "

"Worse and worse, " said the father, "for then, what is to become ofBerta?"

"Nothing, " said the nurse. "Out of sight, out of mind. The absent areforgotten; the dead are buried. That is the way of the world. Berta knowsall about it; she told me herself, and she is as calm and as cool aspossible. Bah, she won't need any cordial to keep her up when she isbidding him good-bye. "

As she uttered the last word she turned her head and she could notrestrain the cry that rose to her lips as she saw Adrian Baker, who hadjust entered--Adrian Baker, in person, paler than ever, dressed in ahandsome travelling suit. His eyes shone with a strange lustre, and asmile, half sad, half mocking, curved his lips. 

He begged a thousand pardons for the surprise which he had caused them, and said that unforeseen circumstances obliged him to undertake a suddenjourney to New York, where he was urgently called by affairs of thegreatest importance, but that he would return soon. 

"I am going away, " he ended, "but I leave my heart here and I will comeback for it. "

Saying this, he embraced Berta's father so affectionately that the worthyman was deeply moved, and Nurse Juana, dominated by the voice and thepresence of this singular man, felt a tear or two spring to her eyes, which she hastened to wipe away with the corner of her apron. 

Adrian Baker laid his hand on her shoulder, a hand which the nurse felttremble, and she trembled herself as she heard him say:

"That is the way of the world, eh? Well, we shall see. "

Then he left the room, and the father and the nurse followed himmechanically. 

Berta came out to meet them, and her hand sought Adrian Baker's, and bothhands remained clasped for a long time. 

"You will come back soon?" asked Berta, in soft and trembling accents. 

"Soon, " he answered. 

"When?" she asked. 

"Soon, " repeated Baker. "If you wait for me your heart will announce myreturn to you. "

"I will wait for ever for you, " said Berta, in a choking voice, butwithout a tear in her eyes. 

Their hands unclasped, Adrian Baker hurried to the stairs, ran downprecipitately, and shortly afterward they heard the rolling of thecarriage which bore him away. 

Bertha gave her father a gentle smile and then ran to shut herself up inher room. 

As the noise of the carriage wheels died away in the distance, like adying peal of thunder, the housekeeper crossed herself, and said:

"He is gone; now we can breathe freely. "

Apparently Nurse Juana knew the human heart well, or at least Berta'sheart, for three months had passed since Adrian Baker had sailed for NewYork, and not once had she been able to surprise a tear in the eyes of thegirl to whom she had taken the place of a mother. Berta apparently felt nogrief at his absence. 

It is true that during these three months of absence a letter had beenreceived from New York, in which Adrian Baker said to Berta all that issaid in such cases; it was a simple, tender and earnest letter, that didnot seem to have been written three thousand miles away; on the other sideof the great ocean in which the most ardent and the most profound passionsare wrecked. It is true that this letter was answered by return of mail, and that it traversed the stormy solitudes of the sea full of promises andhopes. 

It is also true that Berta put away Adrian Baker's letter carefully, treasuring it as one treasures a relic. It is true that she passed wholehours seated at her piano running her fingers up and down the keys, playing Adrian Baker's favorite airs, which he himself had taught her. Butexcept this, Berta lived like other girls; she had an excellent appetiteand she slept the tranquil sleep of a happy heart. She spent the usualtime at her toilet table and she took pleasure in making herselfbeautiful. Some of the asperities of her character had become softened;she spoke with all her natural vivacity, and, finally, she never mentionedAdrian Baker's name. 

Her father and her nurse observed all this and deduced as a consequencethat the traveller had left no trace in Berta's heart. Only one feartroubled them, --the fear that he would return. 

In this way another month passed, and the memory of Adrian Baker began towear away; if his name was sometimes mentioned, it was as one evokes thememory of a dream. 

The dream, however, at times assumed the aspect of an impending reality. He might return, and beyond a doubt he had not intended to remain away forever; his last farewell had not been an eternal one. If he himself was onthe other side of the ocean, three thousand miles away, that is, in NewYork, at the other end of the earth, more, in the other world, his housewas there, opposite them, open, kept by his servants with the same luxuryand the same pomp as before he had gone away; his house that seemed likean enchanted palace waiting for its owner; and the order and care withwhich everything was conducted in it indicated that the servants did notwish to be surprised by the sudden appearance of their master; that is tosay, that Adrian Baker might return at any moment. The plants on theterrace spread their branches as full of life as if they were tended bythe hands of Adrian Baker himself. 

Berta's father and the housekeeper saw in this house a constant menace; itcame to be for them the shadow, so to say, of Adrian Baker; but for allthat, time passed and the traveller did not return. 

Spring came, and nature bloomed again with all the richness of vegetationwhich she displays in southern climes; and it is in the heart of the Souththat the scene of our story is laid. Everything put on its fairest andmost smiling aspect, and the soul felt the vague happiness of a hope thatis about to be realized. 

Berta shared in this beautiful awakening of nature, and it might be saidthat her every beauty had acquired a new charm; her eyes seemed larger, her glance gentler, calmer, more profound; her cheeks fresher, softer, androsier; and her smile more tender, innocent, and enchanting. Her figurehad acquired a majestic ease, which gave to her movements voluptuousnessand firmness. It seemed as if youth had made a supreme effort, and ingiving the last touch to her beauty had obtained a masterpiece. She was inthe full splendor of her loveliness. 

In exchange, Adrian Baker's palace one morning appeared as gloomy as asepulchre; the drawn blinds and the closed hall-door gave it the aspect ofa deserted house; profound silence reigned within it, and yet the palaceof Adrian Baker was still inhabited. 

In the hall the figure of the porter appeared like a shade; he was dressedentirely in black, and all the other servants of the house were also cladin mourning, and in their faces were to be observed signs of sadness. 

What had happened?

What had happened was simply that Adrian Baker had died in New York ofan acute attack of pneumonia. The news had spread through the city withthe rapidity with which bad news spreads, and it had also penetratedinto Berta's house. At first it seemed incredible that Adrian Baker shouldhave died, as if the life of this man were not subject to thecontingencies to which the lives of other mortals are subject. But thetidings had been confirmed and they must be believed. Besides, the aspectof the palace bore testimony to the authenticity of the news. In thathouse hung with black the very stones seemed to mourn. The news had comein a black-bordered letter dated in New York and signed by the headof the house of Wilson and Company, with which Adrian Baker had large sumsdeposited. 

Berta's father and the housekeeper looked at each other with amazement, and repeated, one after the other:

"He is dead!"

"He is dead!"

Berta, pale as death itself, surprised them as they uttered these words, and in a sepulchral voice she said:

"Yes, he has died in New York, but he lives in my heart. "

And turning from them she fled to her room and seated herself at thewindow from which she could see the terrace of the palace. The flowers, agitated gently by the breezes of spring, leaned toward Berta as ifsending her a melancholy greeting. She gazed at them without a tear in hereyes. The extreme pallor of her face and the slight trembling of her lipsalone revealed the grief that afflicted her soul. 

Suddenly the flight of a white butterfly circling in the air attracted hergaze. She followed it absently with her eyes, and the butterfly, as ifdrawn by Berta's gaze, tracing capricious circles, left the terrace, flewswiftly to Berta's window and entered the room. 

With an involuntary movement Berta extended her hands to catch it, but thebutterfly darted between them, and circled swiftly and silently about herhead, forming around her brow a sort of aureole, which appeared anddisappeared like a succession of lightning flashes. The wings of thebutterfly glowed above Bertha's head with a light like the first splendorsof the dawn. Then it passed before her eyes, she saw it hovering over theflowers on the terrace, and then it disappeared from her gaze as if it hadvanished into air. Her eyes sought it with indescribable eagerness, but invain; she saw it no more. 

She clasped her hands and two large tears rose to her eyes and rolled downher cheeks. 

On the following day the housekeeper, entering Berta's room, saw a shadowoutlined against the wall above the head of her bed. This shadow, as thenurse looked, took the form of a human head. 

It was the head of Adrian Baker, the same head, with its pale forehead, its compelling glance, and its smile, at once sweet, sad, and mocking. 

The housekeeper, out of her wits with terror, crossed herself as if shehad seen a diabolical vision and hurried out of the room. 

Adrian Baker's death has wrought terrible ravages in Berta. She does notdistress those around her by ceaseless sighs and tears; she does notcontinually proclaim in words the depth of her sorrow; on the contrary, she hides her grief in her own breast, devours her tears in secret, chokesback her sighs and utters no unavailing complaints; Adrian Baker's name isnever heard from her lips. 

It might be thought that she had consoled herself easily, if in her eyesthere did not lie the shadow of a deep grief, if the pallor of her cheeksdid not cover her youthful beauty like a funeral pall, if her hollow voicedid not reveal the profound loneliness of her heart. At times she smilesat her father, but in her smiles there is an inexpressible bitterness. Shecan be seen fading away, like the flame of an expiring lamp. Like a misershe hides her grief in the bottom of her heart, as if she feared that itmight be taken from her. 

Her father and her nurse see her growing thin, they see her fading away, they see her dying, without being able to stop the ravages of thepersistent, voiceless, inconsolable grief that is slowly sapping her youthand her life, and they curse the name of Adrian Baker, and they would atthe same time give their lives to bring him back to life; but death doesnot give up its prey, and only one hope remains to them, the last hope--time. 

But time passes, and the memory of Adrian Baker, like a slow poison, isgradually consuming Berta's life. 

Everything has been done: she has been surrounded with all the delights ofthe world; the most eligible suitors have sued for her favor; youth, beauty, and wealth have disputed her affection with one another, but hergrief has remained inaccessible; she has been subjected to every proof, but it has not been possible to tear from her soul the demon image ofAdrian Baker. Medical skill has been appealed to, and science hasexhausted its resources in vain, for Berta's malady is incurable. 

The nurse firmly believes that Adrian Baker has bewitched her; he hasdiffused through her blood a diabolical philtre. Strong love will surviveabsence, but no love will survive death. Berta, consequently, wasbewitched. 

Her father has only one thought, expressed in these words: "He has goneaway and he is taking her with him; after all, he is taking her withhim. "

But there is still one other resource to be appealed to--solitude, thefields, nature. Who can tell! the sky, the sun, the air of the country, may revive her; the poetry of nature may awaken in her heart new feelingsand new hopes; the murmur of the waters, the song of the birds, the shadeof the trees--why not? There is no human sorrow, however great it may be, that does not sink into insignificance before the grandeur of the heavens. 

At a little distance from the city Berta's father has a small villa, whosewhite walls and red roof can be seen through the trees which surround it. There could not be a more picturesque situation. To the right, themountain; to the left, the plain; in front, the sea, stretching far in thedistance, until it blends with the horizon; and that nothing may bewanting to complete the picture, the ruins of an ancient monastery, seatedon the slope of the mountain, can be seen from the villa. 

Berta offered no resistance, for it was a matter of indifference to herwhether she lived in the city or in the country; the only thing she showedany desire about was that the piano should be taken with them, as if sheregarded it as a dear friend and her only confidant; and the familyremoved to the villa and established themselves in it. 

Berta herself arranged the room which she was to occupy in the villa. Thisopened on the garden and served her both as bedroom and dressing-room. Above her bed she hung a beautiful life-size photograph of a head. It wasthat of Adrian Baker, with his pale, smooth brow, his large blue eyes andhis beautiful golden curls--the head of Adrian Baker admirablyphotographed, and which she herself had shaded. 

For the piano no place could be found to please Berta. There was only onecommon room in the villa, the parlor, which at times also served as adining-room. She was hesitating between the parlor and her bedroom, whenthe idea occurred to her to put it in a small pavilion covered with vinesand honeysuckles, which stood in a corner of the garden and which was usedas a hot-house. The idea seemed to be a happy one, and she smiled as itoccurred to her, and the piano was placed in the pavilion, like a bird inits cage. 

The journey must have fatigued Berta, for she retired early to her room, where the nurse left her in bed. Did she sleep? We cannot say; but at dawnthe songs of the birds that made their nests in the garden caused her torise. She opened the window-shutters and a flock of birds flew awayfrightened, to hide themselves in the tops of the trees, gilded by thefirst rays of the sun. Before long, however, the boldest of them returnedto hop before her window, looking at Berta with a certain audaciousfamiliarity as if they recognized in her an old friend. A few grains ofwheat and a few crumbs of bread scattered on the window-sill graduallyattracted the more timid, who grew at last to be familiar. The slightestmovement, indeed, caused them to take flight precipitately; but they soonrecovered their lost confidence and they returned again to hop gayly onthe iron railing of the window. 

Berta watched them, and as she watched them she smiled; and at the end ofa few days she had induced them to come in and out with perfectconfidence. In her solitary walks through the garden and through theavenue of lime trees which led to the villa, they followed her, flyingfrom tree to tree. She spent a few hours of the morning, every day, in thepavilion, and there the birds came also, mingling their joyous carolswith the melancholy strains of the piano; but the mad gayety of the birdswas powerless to mitigate the profound sadness of Berta; her one thoughtwas still Adrian--Adrian Baker. 

This name, which never escaped her lips, was to be seen written everywhereby Berta's hand, on the garden walls, on the trunks of the trees; and eventhe vines that covered the pavilion had interlaced their branches in sucha manner that "Adrian Baker" could be deciphered in them. This name was tobe met everywhere, like the mute echo of an undying memory. 

During the morning hours Berta's countenance seemed to be more animated, and her cheeks had even at times a rosy hue; but as the day declined hertransient animation faded away, as if the sun of her life too approachedits setting. 

Seated at her window she contemplated in silence the clouds illumined bythe last rays of the setting sun. Juana, who had exhausted in vain all hersubjects of conversation, was with her. A sudden brightness hovered overBerta's head for an instant, circled swiftly around it, and then vanishedfrom sight. 

"Did you see it?" cried Berta. 

"Yes, " answered the nurse, "it was a white butterfly that wanted to settleon your head. "

"Well?" asked Berta. 

"White butterflies, " said the nurse, "are a sign of good luck; they alwaysbring good news. "

"Yes, " answered Berta, pressing her nurse's hand convulsively. "That is mywhite butterfly, and this time it will not deceive me. Adrian is coming--yes, he is coming for me; that is what it has come to tell me--I waswaiting for it. "

The nurse gazed at her for a moment with dilated eyes; the setting sunillumined Berta's countenance with a strange light, and the poor woman, unable to support the look which burned in the eyes of the sick girl, benther head and clasped her hands, saying to herself:

"My God! She has lost her mind!"

The idea that Berta had lost her reason threw the housekeeper into a stateof distraction. She would hide herself in the remotest corners of thehouse to cry by herself. She could not bear alone the burden of soterrible a secret, but to whom could she confide it? How stab the father'sheart so cruelly! To tell him that Berta had lost her reason would be tokill him. The good man watched over his daughter with the eyes of love, but love itself made him blind and he did not perceive her madness. 

And the housekeeper became every day more and more convinced of thereality of this dreadful misfortune. During the night she stole many timesto the sleeping girl's bedside and listened to her calm breathing. Noextraordinary change, either in her habits, or her acts, or her words, gave evidence of the wandering of her mind. True; but she was waiting forAdrian Baker and she declared that he would come. It was in vain she triedto persuade her that this was folly, for Berta either grew angry andcommanded her to be silent, or smiled with scornful pity at her arguments. Was not this madness?

The housekeeper suddenly lost her appetite and her sleep; and she shunnedBerta's father, for she was not sure of being able to keep the secretwhich she carried in her bosom. The same thought kept revolving in hermind like a mill. It seemed as if Berta's madness was going to cost thenurse also her reason. 

One night she lay tossing about, unable to sleep, her imagination filledwith dreadful spectres. In the midst of the darkness she saw facesapproaching and receding from her, that laughed and wept, that vanished toappear again, and all these faces that danced before her eyes had, notwithstanding their grotesque features, a diabolical likeness to thehead of Adrian Baker. The nurse, terrified, shut her eyes, that she mightnot see them, but notwithstanding she still continued seeing them. 

She thought that she was under the influence of a nightmare, and making aneffort she sat up in the bed. Suddenly she heard a distant sound of sweetmusic, a mysterious melody whose notes died away on the breeze. 

She listened attentively, and she soon comprehended that the music sheheard came from the piano; and she sprang out of bed, crying:

"Berta! Berta!"

She began to dress herself quickly, groping for her things in thedarkness, saying as she did so, in a voice full of anguish:

"Alone, in the pavilion, and at this hour! Child of my heart, you aremad!"

All the visions she had seen disappeared; she saw nothing, she only heardthe distant notes of the piano breaking the silence of the night. 

Going into the hall she groped her way to Berta's room. She gently pushedin the door, which opened noiselessly, and an indistinct glimmer, like thelast gleam of twilight, met her eyes. It was the light of the night-lampburning softly in its porcelain vase. 

Her first glance was at the bed, which, in the indistinct light, presentedto her eyes only a shapeless object; but in a moment more she saw that thebed was empty. 

She thought of taking the lamp that burned in the corner of the room tolight her way and going to the pavilion, but at this moment she felt abreath of cold damp air blowing softly on her face. 

She turned her eyes in the direction from which the breeze had come, andobserved that the window was wide open and that outside all was profounddarkness. 

And filled with indescribable amazement, unwilling to believe the evidenceof her eyes, she saw what appeared to be a human figure standingmotionless in front of the window, its hands clasped and its foreheadresting against the window-frame. 

A cold perspiration, like that of death, broke out over her; she wouldhave shuddered, but she could not; she attempted to cry out, but her voicedied away in her throat; she attempted to fly, but her feet, fastened tothe ground, refused to carry her. 

With her eyes starting from their sockets, her mouth wide open, and terrordepicted on her countenance, she stood as if petrified, without thestrength to keep erect or the will to fall. 

And in truth she had some reason to be terrified. 

Before her stood Berta, leaning motionless against the window, drinking inwith rapt attention the notes which at that moment came in a torrent fromthe piano. 

It was not Berta, then, who was breaking the silence of the night withthat mysterious music. 

What unknown hand, what invisible hand was it that drew those sounds fromthe chords of the piano in the midst of the silence and the solitude ofthe night! Was what her eyes saw real! Was what her ears were listening toreal! Or was it all the dreadful hallucination of a terrible dream!

And this was not all; for the memory of the terrified nurse recalls with asecret shudder those mysterious melodies which now enchain her ear. Yes;through the piano roll sounds like the rumbling of thunder, and strainsare heard, now near, now far, that thrill the heart, and tones that fillthe soul with terror; through the vibrating chords all the spirits of theother world seem to be speaking in an unknown tongue. 

I do not know how long the housekeeper might have stood silent andmotionless, under the influence of the terror which mastered her, if Bertahad not observed her. 

It caused her neither surprise nor alarm to see her nurse there. Approaching her she took her by the hand, and, shaking her gently, said:

"Do you see?--Do you hear?--It is Adrian--Adrian who has come for me; thewhite butterfly did not deceive me. "

The housekeeper had by this time recovered herself sufficiently to passher hand over her forehead and to rub her eyes. 

"I knew that he would come, " continued Berta; "I have been waiting for himevery day. "

The nurse, as if by a supreme effort, drew a deep breath. 

"Do you hear those sighs that come from the piano?" said Berta. "It is he;he is calling me; and since you are here, let us go to meet him. "

And taking the lamp in her hand as she spoke, she added:

"Follow me. "

Nurse Juana followed her like a ghost. 

They entered the garden and walked toward the pavilion. The pale light ofthe lamp illumined Berta's countenance, shedding around it a fantasticlight that made the surrounding darkness seem more intense. 

The nurse felt herself drawn along by Berta; she walked mechanically; apower stronger than her terror impelled her. 

In this way they crossed the garden and reached the door of the pavilion. There Berta stopped, and called softly:

"Adrian!"

But there was no response to her call. 

Then they entered the pavilion. 

Juana caught hold of Berta to keep from falling, and closed her eyes. 

The light of the lamp illumined the pavilion, whose solitude seemedstartled by this unexpected visit; the piano was open and mute. 

"No one!" exclaimed Berta, sighing. 

"No one, " repeated Juana, opening her eyes. 

And so it was; the pavilion was empty. 

It is beyond a doubt that Berta's piano has the marvellous quality ofmaking its strings sound without the intervention of the human hand. Andthis being the case, it must be admitted that this marvellous instrumentis, in addition, a consummate musician, for it plays with the skillattained only by great artists. 

But since Nurse Juana cannot conceive how a piano can play of itself, without a hand moving the keys, she has decided that in this diabolicalaffair an invisible hand, the ghostly hand of some spirit from the otherworld, has intervened. 

This supposition is not altogether admissible, for it seems to have beensufficiently proved that spirits do not possess hands. But the nurse doesnot stop for such fine distinctions, and she firmly believes that thespirit of Adrian Baker is wandering about the villa. Condemned perhaps toeternal torment, he takes pleasure in torturing the living even after hisdeath. 

And it is indeed a diabolical amusement, for the serenade is repeatednightly; the family are aroused from sleep; they hasten to the pavilionand the piano becomes silent; they enter it and they find no one. Theyhave observed that the airs played by Berta in the morning are repeated bythe piano at night. 

Juana is assailed by continual terrors; there is no peace in the house. Berta's father is unable to explain the mystery, and his mind is filledwith confusion and his heart is a prey to sudden alarms. The light of daydissipates the agitation of their minds, they fancy themselves the victimsof vain hallucinations, and, arming themselves with heroic valor, theymake plans for unravelling the awesome mystery. 

The most courageous among them would hide in the pavilion, and there awaitin concealment the hour of the strange occurrence; in this way they woulddiscover what fingers drew those sounds from the piano. 

Strong in this purpose they awaited the first shades of night; but thenthe courage of the strongest failed. The air became filled with fearfulshadows, the silence with mysterious noises, and no one ventured to leavethe house. They spent the nights in vigil and the terror by which all werepossessed made them seem interminable. 

And for Berta, on the other hand, the days were interminable, and sheawaited the nights with eager impatience. 

One afternoon she expressed a desire to visit the ruins of the monastery, and she showed so much eagerness in the matter that there was no resourcebut to accede to her wish. Her father and her nurse resolved to accompanyher, and the three set out. 

The distance between the villa and the monastery was not great, but theparty walked slowly. In the winding path the ruins disappeared suddenlybehind a hill, as if the earth had swallowed them; a few steps further onthey suddenly reappeared; and the travellers stood before the ruinedportico. 

From this point the eye could contemplate the ruined walls, the brokenpartitions, the ceilings fallen in, and between the loose stones thesolitary flowers of the ruin. Only the arches which supported the vaultedroof of the chapel had resisted the corroding influence of time. 

The nurse would have now willingly returned to the villa, and Berta'sfather had no desire to go any further, but Berta passed through theruined portico, and they were obliged to follow her. 

She made her way into the chapel, passing under the crumbling arches whichthreatened at every moment to fall down and crush her, and she emerged atwhat must have been the centre of the monastery, for the remains of thewall and some broken and unsteady pilasters showed four paths which, uniting at their extremities, formed a square. This must have been thecloister, in the middle were vestiges of a choked-up cistern. 

Here Berta sat down on a piece of cornice which was imbedded in therubbish. She seemed pleased in the midst of this desolation. Her fatherand the nurse joined her with terror depicted on their countenances; theyhad heard the noise of footsteps in the chapel; more, Juana had seen ashadow glide away; how or where she did not know, but she was sure thatshe had seen it. 

Berta smiled and said:

"The noise of footsteps and a shadow? Very well; what harm can thosefootsteps or that shadow do us? They are perhaps the footsteps of AdrianBaker following us; it is his shade that accompanies us. What is therestrange in that? Do you not know that I carry him in my heart? Do you notknow that I am waiting for him, that I am always waiting for him?"

At the name of Adrian Baker, Berta's father and the nurse shuddered. 

"Yes, my child, " said the former, "but we are far from the villa, the sunis setting--it is growing late. "

"Yes, yes, " said Juana, "let us go back. "

Berta drew her father affectionately toward her and said:

"Dear father, I am not mad. Juana, I am not mad. Adrian promised me thathe would return, and he will return. I am waiting for him. Why should thatbe madness? I know that I grieve you, and I do not wish to grieve you. Ihave begged God a thousand times on my knees to tear his image from myheart and his memory from my mind; but God, who sees all things, from whomnothing is hidden, to whom all things are possible, has not wished to doit. Why? He alone knows. "

The father's eyes filled with tears, and the nurse hid her face in herhands to keep back the sobs that rose in her throat. 

Berta continued:

"Yes, it is growing late. But I am very tired. Let us wait a moment. "

They had nothing to say in answer to her words, nor could they have saidanything, for their voices failed them. 

All three remained silent. 

Suddenly they looked at one another with indescribable anxiety, for allthree had heard a sigh, a human sigh that seemed exhaled by the ruinsaround them. 

Could it have been the wind, moaning as it swept through the sharp pointsof the broken walls?

Berta rose to her feet, and cried twice in a loud voice:

"Adrian! Adrian!"

Her voice was borne away on the breeze, losing itself in the distance. Butbefore the last notes died away, another voice resounded among the ruins, saying:

"Berta! Berta!"

The sun had just set, and the twilight shadows gathered swiftly, as ifthey had sprung up from among the ruins, hiding the broken pillars and thecrumbling walls. 

In one of the angles of the cloister appeared a moving shadow. This shadowadvanced slowly until it reached the middle of the court where the remainsof the disused cistern were seen. There it stopped, and in a soft clearvoice uttered the words:

"It is I, Berta; it is I. "

"He!" she cried, extending her arms in the air. 

Juana uttered a cry of terror and caught hold of Berta with all thestrength left her; the father tried to rise, but, unable to sustainhimself, fell on his knees beside his daughter. 

It was not possible to reject the evidence of their senses. Whatever mightbe the hidden cause of the marvel, the dark key of the mystery, the shadowwhich had just appeared in the angle of the cloister was clearly theauthentic image, the _vera effigies_, the very person of Adrian Baker. Theastonished eyes of Berta, of her father, and of the nurse could not refuseto believe it. 

His fair curls, his pale brow, the outlines of his figure, his air, hisglance, his voice--all were there before the amazed eyes of Berta, herfather, and the nurse. 

Now, was this a fantastic creation of their troubled senses? Was it aphantom of the brain, or a reality? Did all three suffer at the same timethe same hallucination? The fixed thought of all three was Adrian Baker--and the senses often counterfeit the reality of our vain imaginings. Thestate of their minds, the place, the hour--and then, the air producessounds that deceive; the light and the darkness mingling together in themysterious hour of twilight people the solitude with strange visions. Andin the midst of those ruins, which began to assume fantastic forms, andwhich seemed to move, in the gathering shades of twilight, Berta, herfather, and the nurse might well believe themselves in the presence of aspectre evoked there by their presence. 

But the fact was, that the shadow, instead of vanishing, instead ofchanging its shape, as happens with chimeras of the brain, assumed beforetheir eyes a more distinct form, more definite outlines, according as heapproached the group. 

Reaching them, he took gently in his the hands Berta held out to him. Hiseyes shone with the light of a supreme triumph. 

"It is I, " he said, in a moved voice. "I, Adrian Baker. I am not a spectrerisen from the tomb. "

Berta felt herself growing faint and was obliged to sit down; and AdrianBaker continued thus:

"Forgive me. I have put your heart to a terrible proof, but the doubts ofmy soul were still more terrible. The world had filled my spirit withhorrible distrust and I desired to sound the uttermost depths of yourlove. It has resisted absence, and it has resisted death. Your love for mewas not a passing fancy; you did not deceive yourself when you vowed me aneternal love. I left you in order to watch you and I died to comprehendyou. I have followed you everywhere; I have not separated from you asingle moment. My sweet Berta! You waited for me living, and you havewaited for me dead. 'If you wait for me, ' I said, 'your own heart willannounce my return to you, ' and you see I have returned. I felt for you animmense tenderness, but a terrible doubt consumed my heart. Had my richesdazzled you? Forgive me, Berta. A fatal learning had frozen faith in mysoul; I doubted everything, and I doubted your heart also--I doubted you. "

Berta clasped her hands, and raising her eyes to heaven, exclaimedmournfully:

"My God! what cruel injustice!"

"Yes!" burst out Adrian Baker; "cruel injustice! but you have resuscitatedmy heart; you have brought my soul back to life. "

"Ah, " said Berta, laying her hands on his breast, "what if it were toolate!"

Then, turning to her father and the nurse, she said:

"I feel very cold; let us return to the villa;" and leaning on AdrianBaker's arm, she led the way. 

Her father and the nurse followed her in silence. The good man hadcomprehended everything, but the poor woman comprehended nothing. 

What passed that night in the villa it is not necessary to relate; it wasa night of pain, of agitation, and of anguish. It was necessary to go tothe city for a physician; why? Because Berta was dying. Adrian Baker wasthe image of despair; the unhappy father wept as if his heart would break, and the nurse stole away from time to time to cry, unable to restrain hertears. 

At dawn it was necessary to go again to the city, for the physician of thebody had exhausted the resources of science, and they were obliged to haverecourse to the physician of the soul. 

Dawn was just breaking when a priest alighted at the door of the villa. The sick girl received him, if we may be allowed the expression, withmelancholy gladness, and a little later all was over. 

In the middle of the room, on a funeral bier, lighted by six large waxtapers, which cast a melancholy light around, lay the body of the deadgirl. The window admitted the morning light; and the autumn wind, tearingthe dead leaves from the trees in the garden, scattered them over theinanimate form of Berta, as if death thus rendered homage to death. 

Attracted by the light of the torches, a white butterfly flew silently inand circled around and around the head of the dead girl. 

Watching the body were the father, leaning over the bier, bowed down underthe weight of an immeasurable grief; the nurse dissolved in tears; Adrian, with dry and glittering eyes, pale, motionless, mute, terrible in hisanguish; and the priest with folded arms and head bent over his breast, murmuring pious prayers. 

Such was the scene which the morning sun lighted in Berta's room. Thebirds of the garden alighted on the rail of the window, but did notventure to enter; they looked in apprehensively and flew away terrified;they twittered on the branches of the trees, and their melancholychirpings seemed like sighs. 

Breathing a sigh torn from the inmost depths of his soul, Adrian Bakerexclaimed in a hollow voice:

"Miserable man that I am! I have killed her!"

"Ah, yes, " said the priest, slowly shaking his head. "Divine Justice--Doubt kills. "

MAESE PEREZ, THE ORGANISTBy Gustavo Adolfo BecquerFrom "Modern Ghosts. " Translated by Rollo Ogden. 

 MAESE PEREZ, THE ORGANIST

I. 

"Do you see that man with the scarlet cloak, and the white plume in hishat, and the gold-embroidered vest? I mean the one just getting out of hislitter and going to greet that lady--the one coming along after those fourpages who are carrying torches? Well, that is the Marquis of Mascoso, lover of the widow, the Countess of Villapineda. They say that before hebegan paying court to her he had sought the hand of a very wealthy man'sdaughter, but the girl's father, who they say is a trifle close-fisted--but hush! Speaking of the devil--do you see that man closely wrapped inhis cloak coming on foot under the arch of San Felipe? Well, he is thefather in question. Everybody in Seville knows him on account of hisimmense fortune. 

"Look--look at that group of stately men! They are the twenty-fourknights. Aha! there's that Heming, too. They say that the gentlemen of thegreen cross have not challenged him yet, thanks to his influence with thegreat ones at Madrid. All he comes to church for is to hear the music. 

"Alas! neighbor, that looks bad. I fear there's going to be a scuffle. I shall take refuge in the church, for, according to my guess, there willbe more blows than Paternosters. Look, look! the Duke of Alcala's peopleare coming round the corner of Saint Peter's Square, and I think I seethe Duke of Medinasidonia's men in Duenas Alley. Didn't I tell you?There--there! The blows are beginning. Neighbor, neighbor, this way beforethey close the doors!

"But what's that? They've left off. What's that light? Torches! a litter!It's the bishop himself! God preserve him in his office as many centuriesas I desire to live myself! If it were not for him, half Seville wouldhave been burned up by this time with these quarrels of the dukes. Look atthem, look at them, the hypocrites, how they both press forward to kissthe bishop's ring!

"But come, neighbor--come into the church before it is packed full. Somenights like this it is so crowded that you could not get in if you were nolarger than a grain of wheat. The nuns have a prize in their organist. Other sisterhoods have made Maese Perez magnificent offers; nothingstrange about that, though, for the very archbishop has offered himmountains of gold if he would go to the cathedral. But he would not listento them. He would sooner die than give up his beloved organ. You don'tknow Maese Perez? Oh, I forgot you had just come to the neighborhood. Well, he is a holy man; poor, to be sure, but as charitable as any manthat ever lived. With no relative but a daughter, and no friend but hisorgan, he spends all his time in caring for the one and repairing theother. The organ is an old affair, you must know; but that makes nodifference to him. He handles it so that its tone is a wonder. How he doesknow it! and all by touch, too, for did I tell you that the poor man wasborn blind?

"Humble, too, as the very stones. He always says that he is only a poorconvent organist, when the fact is he could give lessons in sol fa to thevery chapel master of the primate. You see, he began before he had teeth. His father had the same position before him, and as the boy showed suchtalent, it was very natural that he should succeed his father when thelatter died. And what a touch he has, God bless him! He always plays well, always; but on a night like this he is wonderful. He has the greatestdevotion to this Christmas Eve mass, and when the host is elevated, precisely at twelve o'clock, which is the time that Our Lord came into theworld, his organ sounds like the voices of angels. 

"But why need I try to tell you about what you are going to hear to-night?It is enough for you to see that all the elegance of Seville, the veryarchbishop included, comes to a humble convent to listen to him. And it isnot only the learned people who can understand his skill that come; thecommon people, too, swarm to the church, and are still as the dead whenMaese Perez puts his hand to the organ. And when the host is elevated--when the host is elevated, then you can't hear a fly. Great tears fallfrom every eye, and when the music is over a long-drawn sigh is heard, showing how the people have been holding their breath all through. 

"But come, come, the bells have stopped ringing, and the mass is going tobegin. Hurry in. This is Christmas Eve for everybody, but for no one is ita greater occasion than for us. "

So saying, the good woman who had been acting as cicerone for her neighborpressed through the portico of the Convent of Santa Ines, and elbowingthis one and pushing the other, succeeded in getting inside the church, forcing her way through the multitude that was crowding about the door. 

II. 

The church was profusely lighted. The flood of light which fell fromthe altars glanced from the rich jewels of the great ladies, who, kneeling upon velvet cushions placed before them by pages, and takingtheir prayer-books from the hands of female attendants, formed a brilliantcircle around the chancel lattice. Standing next that lattice, wrappedin their richly colored and embroidered cloaks, letting their green andred orders be seen with studied carelessness, holding in one hand theirhats, the plumes sweeping the floor, and letting the other rest uponthe polished hilts of rapiers or the jewelled handles of daggers, thetwenty-four knights, and a large part of the highest nobility of Seville, seemed to be forming a wall for the purpose of keeping their wives anddaughters from contact with the populace. The latter, swaying back andforth at the rear of the nave, with a noise like that of a rising surf, broke out into joyous acclamations as the archbishop was seen to come in. That dignitary seated himself near the high altar under a scarlet canopy, surrounded by his attendants, and three times blessed the people. 

It was time for the mass to begin. 

Nevertheless, several minutes passed before the celebrant appeared. Themultitude commenced to murmur impatiently; the knights exchanged wordswith each other in a low tone; and the archbishop sent one of hisattendants to the sacristan to inquire why the ceremony did not begin. 

"Maese Perez has fallen sick, very sick, and it will be impossible for himto come to the midnight mass. "

This was the word brought back by the attendant. 

The news ran instantly through the crowd. The disturbance caused by it wasso great that the chief judge rose to his feet, and the officers came intothe church, to enforce silence. 

Just then a man of unpleasant face, thin, bony, and cross-eyed too, pushedup to the place where the archbishop was sitting. 

"Maese Perez is sick, " he said; "the ceremony cannot begin. If you seefit, I will play the organ in his absence. Maese Perez is not the bestorganist in the world, nor need this instrument be left unused after hisdeath for lack of any one able to play it. "

The archbishop nodded his head in assent, although some of the faithful, who had already recognized in that strange person an envious rival of theorganist of Santa Ines, were breaking out in cries of displeasure. Suddenly a surprising noise was heard in the portico. 

"Maese Perez is here! Maese Perez is here!"

At this shout, coming from those jammed in by the door, every one lookedaround. 

Maese Perez, pale and feeble, was in fact entering the church, brought ina chair which all were quarrelling for the honor of carrying upon theirshoulders. 

The commands of the physicians, the tears of his daughter--nothing hadbeen able to keep him in bed. 

"No, " he had said; "this is the last one, I know it. I know it, and I donot want to die without visiting my organ again, this night above all, this Christmas Eve. Come, I desire it, I order it; come, to the church!"

His desire had been gratified. The people carried him in their arms to theorgan-loft. The mass began. 

Twelve struck on the cathedral clock. 

The introit came, then the Gospel, then the offertory, and the momentarrived when the priest, after consecrating the sacred wafer, took it inhis hands and began to elevate it. A cloud of incense filled the church inbluish undulations. The little bells rang out in vibrating peals, andMaese Perez placed his aged fingers upon the organ keys. 

The multitudinous voices of the metal tubes gave forth a prolonged andmajestic chord, which died away little by little, as if a gentle breezehad borne away its last echoes. 

To this opening burst, which seemed like a voice lifted up to heaven fromearth, responded a sweet and distant note, which went on swelling andswelling in volume until it became a torrent of overpowering harmony. Itwas the voice of the angels, traversing space, and reaching the world. 

Then distant hymns began to be heard, intoned by the hierarchies ofseraphim; a thousand hymns at once, mingling to form a single one, thoughthis one was only an accompaniment to a strange melody which seemed tofloat above that ocean of mysterious echoes, as a strip of fog above thewaves of the sea. 

One song after another died away. The movement grew simpler. Now only twovoices were heard, whose echoes blended. Then but one remained, and alonesustained a note as brilliant as a thread of light. The priest bowed hisface, and above his gray head appeared the host. At that moment the notewhich Maese Perez was holding began to swell and swell, and an explosionof unspeakable joy filled the church. 

From each of the notes forming that magnificent chord a theme wasdeveloped; and some near, others far away, these brilliant, those muffled, one would have said that the waters and the birds, the breezes and theforests, men and angels, earth and heaven, were singing, each in its ownlanguage, a hymn in praise of the Saviour's birth. 

The people listened, amazed and breathless. The officiating priest felthis hands trembling; for it seemed as if he had seen the heavens openedand the host transfigured. 

The organ kept on, but its voice sank away gradually, like a tone goingfrom echo to echo, and dying as it goes. Suddenly a cry was heard in theorgan-loft--a piercing, shrill cry, the cry of a woman. 

The organ gave a strange, discordant sound, like a sob, and then wassilent. 

The multitude flocked to the stairs leading up to the organ-loft, towardswhich the anxious gaze of the faithful was turned. 

"What has happened? What is the matter?" one asked the other, and no oneknew what to reply. The confusion increased. The excitement threatened todisturb the good order and decorum fitting within a church. 

"What was that?" asked the great ladies of the chief judge. He had beenone of the first to ascend to the organ-loft. Now, pale and displayingsigns of deep grief, he was going to the archbishop, who was anxious, likeeverybody else, to know the cause of the disturbance. 

"What's the matter?"

"Maese Perez has just expired. "

In fact, when the first of the faithful rushed up the stairway, andreached the organ-loft, they saw the poor organist fallen face down uponthe keys of his old instrument, which was still vibrating, while hisdaughter, kneeling at his feet, was vainly calling to him with tears andsobs. 

III. 

"Good-evening, my dear Dona Baltasara. Are you also going to-night to theChristmas Eve mass? For my part, I was intending to go to the parishchurch to hear it, but what has happened--where is Vicente going, do youask? Why, where the crowd goes. And I must say, to tell the truth, thatever since Maese Perez died, it seems as if a marble slab was on my heartwhenever I go to Santa Ines. Poor dear man! He was a saint! I know onething--I keep a piece of his cloak as a relic, and he deserves it. I solemnly believe that if the archbishop would stir in the matter, ourgrandchildren would see his image among the saints on the altars. But, of course, he won't do that. The dead and absent have no friends, as theysay. It's all the latest thing, nowadays; you understand me. What? You donot know what has happened? Well, it's true you are not exactly in oursituation. From our house to the church, and from the church to ourhouse--a word here and another one there--on the wing--without anycuriosity whatever--I easily find out all the news. 

"Well, then, it's a settled thing that the organist of San Roman--thatsquint-eye, who is always slandering other organists--that greatblunderer, who seems more like a butcher than a master of sol fa--is goingto play this Christmas Eve in Maese Perez's old place. Of course, youknow, for everybody knows it, and it is a public matter in all Seville, that no one dared to try it. His daughter would not, though she is aprofessor of music herself. After her father's death she went into theconvent as a novice. Her unwillingness to play was the most natural thingin the world; accustomed as she was to those marvellous performances, anyother playing must have appeared bad to her, not to speak of her desire toavoid comparisons. But when the sisterhood had already decided that inhonor of the dead organist, and as a token of respect to his memory, theorgan should not be played to-night, here comes this fellow along, andsays that he is ready to play it. 

"Ignorance is the boldest of all things. It is true, the fault is not his, so much as theirs who have consented to this profanation, but that is theway of the world. But, I say, there's no small bit of people coming. Anyone would say that nothing had changed since last year. The samedistinguished persons, the same elegant costumes, the crowding at thedoor, the same excitement in the portico, the same throng in the church. Alas! if the dead man were to rise, he would feel like dying again to hearhis organ played by inferior hands. The fact is, if what the people of theneighborhood tell me is true, they are getting a fine reception ready forthe intruder. When the time comes for him to touch the keys, there isgoing to break out a racket made by timbrels, drums, and horse-fiddles, sothat you can't hear anything else. But hush! there's the hero of theoccasion going into the church. Goodness! what gaudy clothes, what aneckcloth, what a high and mighty air! Come, hurry up, the archbishop cameonly a moment ago, and the mass is going to begin. Come on; I guess thisnight will give us something to talk about for many a day!"

Saying this, the worthy woman, whom the reader recognizes by her abrupttalkativeness, went into the Church of Santa Ines, opening for herself apath, in her usual way, by shoving and elbowing through the crowd. 

The ceremony had already begun. The church was as brilliant as the yearbefore. 

The new organist, after passing between the rows of the faithful in thenave, and going to kiss the archbishop's ring, had gone up to theorgan-loft, where he was trying one stop of the organ after another, withan affected and ridiculous gravity. 

A low, confused noise was heard coming from the common people clustered atthe rear of the church, a sure augury of the coming storm, which would notbe long in breaking. 

"He is a mere clown, " said some, "who does not know how to do anything, not even look straight. "

"He is an ignoramus, " said others, "who, after having made a perfectrattle out of the organ in his own church, comes here to profane MaesePerez's. "

And while one was taking off his cloak so as to be ready to beat his drumto good advantage, and another was testing his timbrel, and all were moreand more buzzing out in talk, only here and there could one be found todefend even that curious person, whose proud and pedantic bearing sostrongly contrasted with the modest appearance and kind affability ofMaese Perez. 

At last the looked-for moment arrived, when the priest, after bowing lowand murmuring the sacred words, took the host in his hands. The bells gaveforth a peal, like a rain of crystal notes; the transparent waves ofincense rose, and the organ sounded. 

But its first chord was drowned by a horrible clamor which filled thewhole church. Bagpipes, horns, timbrels, drums, every instrument known tothe populace, lifted up their discordant voices all at once. 

The confusion and clangor lasted but a few seconds. As the noises began, so they ended, all together. 

The second chord, full, bold, magnificent, sustained itself, pouring fromthe organ's metal tubes like a cascade of inexhaustible and sonorousharmony. 

Celestial songs like those that caress the ear in moments of ecstasy;songs which the soul perceives, but which the lip cannot repeat; singlenotes of a distant melody, which sound at intervals, borne on the breeze;the rustle of leaves kissing each other on the trees with a murmur likerain; trills of larks which rise with quivering songs from among theflowers like a flight of arrows to the sky; nameless sounds, overwhelmingas the roar of a tempest; fluttering hymns, which seemed to be mounting tothe throne of the Lord like a mixture of light and sound--all wereexpressed by the organ's hundred voices, with more vigor, more subtlepoetry, more weird coloring, than had ever been known before. 

When the organist came down from the loft the crowd which pressed up tothe stairway was so great, and their eagerness to see and greet him sointense, that the chief judge, fearing, and not without reason, that hewould be suffocated among them all, ordered some of the officers to open apath for the organist, with their staves of office, so that he could reachthe high altar, where the prelate was waiting for him. 

"You perceive, " said the archbishop, "that I have come all the way from mypalace to hear you. Now, are you going to be as cruel as Maese Perez? Hewould never save me the journey, by going to play the Christmas Eve massin the cathedral. "

"Next year, " replied the organist, "I promise to give you the pleasure;since, for all the gold in the world, I would never play this organagain. "

"But why not?" interrupted the prelate. 

"Because, " returned the organist, endeavoring to repress the agitationwhich revealed itself in the pallor of his face--"because it is so old andpoor; one cannot express one's self on it satisfactorily. "

The archbishop withdrew, followed by his attendants. One after another thelitters of the great folk disappeared in the windings of the neighboringstreets. The group in the portico scattered. The sexton was locking up thedoors, when two women were perceived, who had stopped to cross themselvesand mutter a prayer, and who were now going on their way into DuenasAlley. 

"What would you have, my dear Dona Baltasara?" one was saying. "That's theway I am. Every crazy person with his whim. The barefooted Capuchins mightassure me that it was so, and I would not believe it. That man neverplayed what we have heard. Why, I have heard him a thousand times in SanBartolome, his parish church; the priest had to send him away he was sopoor a player. You felt like plugging your ears with cotton. Why, all youneed is to look at his face, and that is the mirror of the soul, they say. I remember, as if I was seeing him now, poor man--I remember Maese Perez'sface, nights like this, when he came down from the organ-loft, afterhaving entranced the audience with his splendors. What a gracious smile!What a happy glow on his face! Old as he was, he seemed like an angel. Butthis creature came plunging down as if a dog were barking at him on thelanding, and all the color of a dead man, while his--come, dear DonaBaltasara, believe me, and believe what I say: there is some great mysteryabout this. "

Thus conversing, the two women turned the corner of the alley, anddisappeared. There is no need of saying who one of them was. 

IV. 

Another year had gone by. The abbess of the Convent of Santa Ines andMaese Perez's daughter were talking in a low voice, half hidden in theshadows of the church choir. The penetrating voice of the bell wassummoning the faithful. A very few people were passing through theportico, silent and deserted, this year, and after taking holy water atthe door, were choosing seats in a corner of the nave, where a handful ofresidents of the neighborhood were quietly waiting for the Christmas Evemass to begin. 

"There, you see, " the mother superior was saying, "your fear is entirelychildish; there is no one in the church. All Seville is trooping to thecathedral to-night. Play the organ, and do it without any distrustwhatever. We are only a sisterhood here. But why don't you speak? What hashappened? What is the matter with you?"

"I am afraid, " replied the girl, in a tone of the deepest agitation. 

"Afraid! Of what?"

"I do not know--something supernatural. Listen to what happened lastnight. I had heard you say that you were anxious for me to play the organfor the mass. I was proud of the honor, and I thought I would arrange thestops and get the organ in good tune so as to give you a surprise to-day. Alone I went into the choir and opened the door leading to the organ-loft. The cathedral clock was striking just then, I do not know what hour; butthe strokes of the bell were very mournful, and they were very numerous--going on sounding for a century, as it seemed to me, while I stood as ifnailed to the threshold. 

"The church was empty and dark. Far away there gleamed a feeble light, like a faint star in the sky; it was the lamp burning on the high altar. By its flickering light, which only helped to make the deep horror of theshadows the more intense, I saw--I saw--mother, do not disbelieve it--aman. In perfect silence, and with his back turned towards me, he wasrunning over the organ-keys with one hand while managing the stops withthe other. And the organ sounded, but in an indescribable manner. Itseemed as if each note were a sob smothered in the metal tube, whichvibrated under the pressure of the air compressed within it, and gaveforth a low, almost imperceptible tone, yet exact and true. 

"The cathedral clock kept on striking, and that man kept on running overthe keys. I could hear his very breathing. 

"Fright had frozen the blood in my veins. My body was as cold as ice, except my head, and that was burning. I tried to cry out, but I could not. That man turned his face and looked at me--no, he did not look at me, forhe was blind. It was my father!"

"Nonsense, sister! Banish these fancies with which the adversary endeavorsto overturn weak imaginations. Address a Paternoster and an Ave Maria tothe archangel, Saint Michael, the captain of the celestial hosts, that hemay aid you in opposing evil spirits. Wear on your neck a scapulary whichhas been pressed to the relics of Saint Pacomio, the counsellor againsttemptations, and go, go quickly, and sit at the organ. The mass is goingto begin, and the faithful are growing impatient. Your father is inheaven, and thence, instead of giving you a fright, will descend toinspire his daughter in the solemn service. "

The prioress went to occupy her seat in the choir in the midst of thesisterhood. Maese Perez's daughter opened the door of the organ-loft withtrembling hand, sat down at the organ, and the mass began. 

The mass began, and went on without anything unusual happening until thetime of consecration came. Then the organ sounded. At the same time came ascream from Maese Perez's daughter. 

The mother superior, the nuns, and some of the faithful rushed up to theorgan-loft. 

"Look at him!--look at him!" cried the girl, fixing her eyes, startingfrom their sockets, upon the seat, from which she had risen in terror. Shewas clinging with convulsed hands to the railing of the organ-loft. 

Everybody looked intently at the spot to which she directed her gaze. Noone was at the organ, yet it went on sounding--sounding like the songs ofthe archangels in their bursts of mystic ecstasy. 

"Didn't I tell you a thousand times, if I did once, dear Dona Baltasara--didn't I tell you? There is some great mystery about this. What! didn'tyou go last night to the Christmas Eve mass? Well, you must know, anyhow, what happened. Nothing else is talked about in the whole city. Thearchbishop is furious, and no wonder. Not to have gone to Santa Ines, notto have been present at the miracle--and all to hear a wretched clatter!That's all the inspired organist of San Bartolome made in the cathedral, so persons who heard him tell me. Yes, I said so all the time. Thesquint-eye never could have played that. It was all a lie. There is somegreat mystery here. What do I think it was? Why, it was the soul of MaesePerez. "

MOORS AND CHRISTIANSBy Pedro Antonio De AlarconFrom "Moors and Christians, ", by Pedro Antonio de Alarcon. Translated by Mary J. Serrano. 

 MOORS AND CHRISTIANS

I. 

The once famous but now little known town of Aldeire is situated in theMarquisate of El Cenet, or, let us say, on the eastern slope of theAlpujarra, and partly hangs over a ledge, partly hides itself in a ravineof the giant central ridge of Sierra Nevada, five or six thousand feetabove the level of the sea, and seven or eight thousand below the eternalsnows of the Mulhacem. 

Aldeire, be it said with all respect to its reverend pastor, is a Moorishtown. That it was formerly Moorish is clearly proved by its name, itssituation, and its architecture, and that it is not yet completelyChristianized, although it figures among the towns of reconquered Spain, and has its little Catholic church and its confraternities of the Virgin, of Jesus, and of several of the saints, is proved by the character and thecustoms of its inhabitants; by the perpetual feuds, as terrible as theyare causeless, which unite or separate them; and by the gloomy black eyes, pale complexions, laconic speech, and infrequent laughter of men, women, and children. 

But it may be well to remind our readers, in order that neither theaforesaid pastor nor any one else may question the justice of thisreasoning, that the Moors of the Marquisate of El Cenet were not expelledin a body, like those of the Alpujarra, but that many of them succeeded inremaining in the country, living in concealment, thanks to the prudence--or the cowardice--which made them turn a deaf ear to the rash and theheroic appeal of their unfortunate Prince, Aben Humcya; whence I inferthat Uncle Juan Gomez, nicknamed Hormiga [The Ant], in the year of grace1821 Constitutional Alcalde of Aldeire, might very well be the descendantof some Mustapha, Mohammed, or the like. 

It is related, then, that the aforesaid Juan Gomez--a man at the time ofour story about fifty years of age, very shrewd, although he knew neitherhow to read nor write, and grasping and industrious to some purpose, asmight be inferred not only from his sobriquet, but also from his wealth, acquired honestly or otherwise, and invested in the most fertile lands ofthe district--leased, at a nominal rent, by means of a present to thesecretary of the corporation of some hens which had left off laying, apiece of arid town land, on which stood an old ruin, formerly a Moorishwatch-tower or hermitage, and still called the Moor's Tower. 

Needless to say that Uncle Hormiga did not stop to consider for an instantwho this Moor might be, nor what might have been the original purpose ofthe ruined building; the one thing which he saw at once, clear as water, was, that with the stones which had already fallen from the ruin and thosewhich he should remove from it, he might make a secure and commodious yardfor his cattle; consequently, on the very day after it came into hispossession, and as a suitable pastime for a man of his thrifty habits, hebegan to devote his leisure hours to the task of pulling down what stillremained standing of the ruin. 

"You will kill yourself, " said his wife, seeing him come home in theevening, covered with dust and sweat and carrying his crowbar hidden underhis cloak. 

"On the contrary, " he answered, "this exercise is good for me; it will putmy blood in motion and keep me from being like our sons, the students who, according to what the storekeeper tells me, were at the theatre in Granadathe other night looking so yellow that it was enough to make one sick tosee them. "

"Poor boys! From studying so much! But you ought to be ashamed to worklike a laborer, when you are the richest man in the town, and Alcalde intothe bargain. "

"That is why I take no one with me. Here, hand me that salad!"

"It would be well to have some one to help you, however. You will spend anage in pulling down the tower by yourself, and besides, you may not beable to manage it. "

"Don't talk nonsense, Torcuata. When I begin to build the wall of thecattle yard, I shall hire workmen, and even employ a master-builder. Butany one can pull down. And it is such fun to destroy! Come, clear away thetable and let us go to bed. "

"You speak that way because you are a man. As for me, it disturbs andsaddens me to see things destroyed. "

"Old women's notions. If you only knew how many things there are in theworld that ought to be destroyed!"

"Hold your tongue, you free-mason! It was a misfortune they ever electedyou Alcalde. You will see when the Royalists come into power again thatthe king will have you hanged!"

"Yes, we shall see! Bigot! Hypocrite! Owl! Come, I am sleepy; stopblessing yourself and put out that light. "

And thus they would argue until one or the other of the consorts fellasleep. 

II. 

One evening Uncle Hormiga returned from his work every thoughtful andpreoccupied, and earlier than usual. 

His wife waited until after he had dismissed the laborers to ask him whatwas the matter, when he responded by showing her a leaden tube with acover, somewhat like the tube in which a soldier on furlough keeps hisleave, from which he drew a yellow parchment covered with crabbedhandwriting, and carefully unrolling it said, with imposing gravity:

"I don't know how to read, even in Spanish, which is the easiest languagein the world, but the devil take me if this was not written by a Moor. "

"That is to say that you found it in the tower?"

"I don't say it on that account alone, but because these spider's legsdon't look like anything I ever saw written by a Christian. "

The wife of Juan Gomez looked at the parchment, smelled it, and exclaimed, with a confidence as amusing as it was ill-founded:

"By a Moor it was written!"

After a while she added, with a melancholy air:

"Although I am but a poor hand myself at reading writing, I would swearthat we hold in our hands the discharge of some soldier of Mohammed who isnow in the bottomless pit. "

"You say that on account of the tube. "

"On account of the tube I say it. "

"Well, then, you are altogether wrong, my dear Torcuata, for such a thingas conscription was not known among the Moors, nor is this a discharge. This is a--a--"

Uncle Hormiga glanced around him cautiously, lowered his voice, and saidwith air of absolute certainty:

"This paper contains directions where to find a treasure!"

"You are right!" cried his wife, suddenly inspired with the same belief;"and have you already found it? Is it very big? Did you cover it upcarefully again? Are the coins gold or silver? Do you think they will passcurrent now? What a happiness for our boys! How they will spend money andenjoy themselves in Granada and Madrid! I want to have a look at it. Letus go there. There is a moon to-night!"

"Silly woman! Be quiet! How do you suppose that I could find the treasureby these directions, when I don't know how to read, either in Moorish orin Christian?"

"That's true! Well, then, I'll tell you what to do. As soon as it isdaylight, saddle a good mule, cross the Sierra through the Puerto de laLaguna, which they say is safe now, and go to Ugijar, to the house of ourgossip, Don Matias Quesada. Who knows something of everything. He willexplain what is in the paper and give you good advice, as he always does. "

"And money enough his advice has cost me, notwithstanding our gossipred!But I was thinking of doing that myself. In the morning I will start forUgijar and be back by nightfall; I can do that easily by putting the muleto his speed. "

"But be sure and explain everything to him clearly. "

"I have very little to explain. The tube was hidden in a hollow, or niche, in the wall, and covered with tiles, like those at Valencia. I tore downthe whole of the wall, but I found nothing else. At the surface of theground begin the foundation walls, built of immense stones, more than ayard square, any one of which it would take two or three men as strong asI am to move. Consequently, it is necessary to know exactly where thetreasure is hidden, unless we want to tear up all the foundation walls ofthe tower, which could not be done without outside help. "

"No no; set out for Ugijar as soon as it is daybreak. Offer our gossip apart--not a large one--of what we may find, and as soon as we know wherewe must dig, I will help you myself to tear up the foundation stones. Mydarling boys! It is all for them! For my part, the only thing thattroubles me is lest there be some sin in this business that we arewhispering about. "

"What sin can there be in it, you great fool?"

"I can't explain what I mean, but treasures have always seemed to me tohave something to do with the devil, or the fairies. And then, you gotthat ground for so low a rent! The whole town says there was some trickeryin the business!"

"That concerns the secretary and councillors. They drew up the documents. "

"Besides, as I understand, when a treasure is discovered, a part of itmust be given to the king. "

"That is when it is found on ground that is not one's own, like mine!"

"One's own! One's own! Who knows to whom that tower the Council sold youbelonged!"

"Why, to the Moor, of course!"

"And who knows who that Moor may have been? It seems to me, Juan, whatevermoney the Moor may have hidden in his house should belong to him, or tohis heirs, not to you or to me. "

"You are talking nonsense. According to that, it is not I who ought to bethe Alcalde of Aldeire, but the man who was Alcalde a year ago, at thetime of the proclamation of Riego. According to that, we should have tosend the rents of the lands of Granada and Guadix, and hundreds of othertowns, every year to the descendants of the Moors in Africa. "

"It may be that you are right. At any rate, go to Ugijar, and our gossipwill tell you what is best to be done in the matter. "

III. 

Ugijar is distant from Aldeire some four leagues, and the road between thetwo towns is a very bad one. Before nine o'clock on the following morning, however, Uncle Juan Gomez, wearing his blue stockinet knee-breeches andhis embroidered white Sunday boots, was in the office of Don Matias deQuesada, a vigorous old man, a doctor in civil and criminal jurisprudence, the most noted criminal lawyer in that part of the country. He had alwaysbeen a promoter of lawsuits, and was very wealthy, and had a large circleof influential acquaintances in Granada and Madrid. 

When he had heard his worthy gossip's story and had carefully examined thepaper, he gave it as his opinion that the document had nothing whatever todo with the treasure; that the hole in which the tube had been found was asort of closet, and the writing one of the prayers which the Moors readevery Friday morning. But notwithstanding this, as he was not thoroughlyversed in the Arabic language, he added that he would send the document toa college companion of his who was employed in the Commission of the HolyPlaces, in Madrid, in order that he might send it to Jerusalem, where itcould be translated into Spanish, for which purpose it would be well toinclose to his friend in Madrid a draft for a couple of ounces in gold, for a cup of chocolate. 

Uncle Juan Gomez considered seriously before he made up his mind to pay sohigh a price for a cup of chocolate (which would be paying for the articleat the rate of 10, 240 reals a pound), but he was so certain in regard tothe treasure (and in truth he was not mistaken, as we shall see later on), that he took from his belt eight gold pieces of four dollars each anddelivered them to Don Matias, who weighed them one by one before puttingthem into his purse, after which Hormiga took the road back to Aldeire, resolving in his own mind to continue his excavations under the Moor'stower while the document went to the Holy Land and came back translated;proceedings which, according to the lawyer, would occupy something like ayear and a half. 

IV. 

Uncle Juan had no sooner turned his back upon his gossip and counsellorthan the latter took his pen and wrote the following letter:

"Don Bonifacio Tudela y Gonzalez, Chapel-master of the Cathedral of Ceuta. 

"MY DEAR NEPHEW-IN-LAW, --To no one but a man of your piety would I confidethe important secret contained in the accompanying document. I sayimportant, because without a doubt in it are directions for finding thehiding-place of a TREASURE, of which I will give you a part if I shouldsucceed in discovering it with your help. To this end you must get a Moorto translate the document for you and send me the translation in acertified letter, mentioning the matter to no one, unless it be your wife, whom I know to be a person of discretion. 

"Forgive my not having written to you in all these years, but you know howbusy a life I lead. Your aunt continues to remember you in her prayersevery night. I hope you are better of the affection of the stomach fromwhich you were suffering in 1806, and remain your affectionateuncle-in-law, "MATIAS DE QUESADA. 

"UGIJAR, January 15, 1821. 

"P. S. --Regards to Pepa, and tell me when you write if you have anychildren. "

Having written this letter, the distinguished jurisconsult bent his stepstoward the kitchen, where his wife was engaged in knitting and mindingthe olla, and throwing into her lap the four golden coins he had receivedfrom Juan Gomez, he said to her, in a harsh, cross voice:

"There, Encarnacion, buy more wheat; it is going to rise in price duringthe dear months; and see to it that you get good measure. Get my breakfastready while I go post this letter for Seville, inquiring the price ofbarley. Let the egg be well done and don't let the chocolate be muddy, asit usually is. "

The lawyer's wife answered not a word, but went on with her knitting, likean automaton. 

V. 

Two weeks later, on a beautiful day in January, a day such as is to beseen only in the north of Africa and the south of Europe, theChapel-master of the cathedral of Ceuta was enjoying the sunshine on theroof of his two-story house, with the tranquillity of mind proper to onewho had played the organ at high mass and had afterward eaten a pound ofanchovies, another of meat, and another of bread, and drank thecorresponding quantity of Tarifa wine. 

The worthy musician, who was as fat as a hog and as red as a beet, wasslowly digesting his breakfast, while his lethargic gaze slowly wanderedover the magnificent panorama of the Mediterranean, --the Straits ofGibraltar, the accursed rock from which they take their name, theneighboring peaks of Anghera and Benzu, and the distant snows of theLesser Atlas--when he heard hasty steps on the stairs and his wife'ssilvery voice crying joyfully:

"Bonifacio! Bonifacio! A letter from your uncle! And a heavy letter, too!"

"Well, " answered the Chapel-master, turning around like a geographicalsphere or globe on the point on which his rotund personality rested on theseat, "what saint can have put it into my uncle's head to remember me? Ihave been living for fifteen years in this country usurped from Mohammed, and this is the first time that Abencerrage has written to me, although Ihave written to him a hundred times. Doubtless he wants me to render himsome service. "

So saying, he opened the epistle, contriving so that the Pepa of thepostscript should not be able to read its contents, and the yellowparchment, noisily unfolding itself, greeted their eyes. 

"What has he sent us?" asked his wife, a native of Cadiz, and a blonde, attractive and fresh-looking, notwithstanding her forty summers. 

"Don't be inquisitive, Pepita. I will tell you what is in the letter, if Ithink you ought to know, as soon as I have read it. I have warned you athousand times to respect my letters. "

"A proper precaution for a libertine like you! At any rate be quick, andlet us see if I may know what that large paper is that your uncle has sentyou. It looks like a bank-note from the other world. "

While his wife was making these and other observations, the musicianfinished reading the letter, whose contents surprised him so greatly thathe rose to his feet without the slightest effort. 

Dissimulation was so habitual with him, however, that he was able to say, in a natural tone of voice:

"What nonsense! The wretched man is no doubt already in his dotage! Wouldyou believe that he sends me this leaf from a Hebrew Bible, in order thatI may look for some Jew who will buy it, the foolish creature supposingthat he will get a fortune for it. At the same time, " he added, to changethe conversation, putting the letter and the parchment into his pocket, --"at the same time, he asks me with much interest if we have any children. "

"He has none himself, " cried Pepita quickly. "No doubt he intends to leaveus something. "

"It is more likely the miserly fellow thinks of our leaving him something. But hark, it is striking eleven. It is time for me to go tune the organfor vespers. I must go now. Listen, my treasure; let dinner be ready byone, and don't forget to put a couple of good potatoes into the pot. Havewe any children! I am ashamed to tell him we have none. See, Pepa, " saidthe musician, after a moment, having in mind, no doubt, the Arabicdocument, "if my uncle should make me his heir, or if I should ever growrich by any other means, I swear that I will take you to the Plaza of SanAntonio in Cadiz to live, and I will buy you more jewels than Our Lady ofSorrows of Granada has. So good-bye for a while, my pigeon. "

And, pinching his wife's dimpled chin, he took his hat and turned hissteps--not in the direction of the cathedral, but in that of the poorquarter of the town in which the Moorish citizens of Ceuta for the mostpart live. 

VI. 

In one of the narrowest streets of this quarter, seated on the floor orrather on his heels, at the door of a very modest but very neatwhitewashed house, smoking a clay pipe, was a Moor of some thirty-five orforty years of age, a dealer in eggs and chickens, which the free peasantsof Sierra Bullones and Sierra Bermeja brought to him to the gates ofCeuta, and which he sold either in his own house or at the market, with aprofit of a hundred per cent. He wore a white woollen chivala and a blackwoollen, hooded Arab cloak, and was called by the Spaniards, Manos-gordas, and by the Moors, Admet-Ben-Carime-el-Abdoun. 

When the Moor saw the Chapel-master approaching, he rose and advanced tomeet him, making deep salaams at every step, and when they were closetogether, he said cautiously:

"You want a little Moorish girl? I bring to-morrow little dark girl oftwelve--"

"My wife wants no more Moorish servants, " answered the musician stiffly. 

Manos-gordas began to laugh. 

"Besides, " continued Don Bonifacio, "your infernal little Moorish girlsare very dirty. "

"Wash!" responded the Moor, extending his arms crosswise and inclining hishead to one side. 

"I tell you I want no Moorish girls, " said Don Bonifacio. "What I wantto-day is that you, who know so much that you are Interpreter of theFortress, should translate this document into Spanish for me. "

Manos-gordas took the document, and at the first glance murmured:

"It is Moor--"

"Of course, it is in Arabic. But I want to know what it says, and if youdo not deceive me I will give you a handsome present--when the businesswhich I am about to entrust you with is concluded. "

Meantime Admet-Ben-Carime glanced his eye over the document, turning verypale as he did so. 

"You see that it concerns a great treasure?" the Chapel-masterhalf-affirmed, half-asked. 

"Me think so, " stammered the Mohammedan. 

"What do you mean by saying you think so? Your very confusion tellsplainly that it is so. "

"Pardon, " replied Manos-gordas, a cold sweat breaking out over his body. "Here words modern Arabic--I understand. Here words ancient, or classicArabic--I no understand. "

"What do the words that you understand signify?"

"They signify GOLD, they signify PEARLS, they signify CURSE OF ALA. But Ino understand meaning, explanations, or signs. Must see the Dervish ofAnghera--wise man and translate all. I take parchment to day and bringparchment to-morrow, and deceive not nor rob Senor Tudela. Moor swear. "

Saying which he clasped his hands together, and, raising them to his lips, kissed them fervently. 

Don Bonifacio reflected; he knew that in order to decipher the meaning ofthis document he should be obliged to take some Moor into his confidence, and there was none with whom he was so well acquainted and who was so welldisposed to him as Manos-gordas; he consented, therefore, to confide themanuscript to him, making him swear repeatedly that he would return on thefollowing day from Anghera with the translation, and swearing to the Mooron his side that he would give him at least a hundred dollars when thetreasure should be discovered. 

The Mussulman and the Christian then separated, and the latter directedhis steps, not to his own house, nor to the cathedral, but to the officeof a friend of his, where he wrote the following letter:

"Senor Don Matias de Quesada y Sanchez, Alpujarra, Ugijar. 

"MY DEAREST UNCLE, --Thanks be to God that we have at last received newsof you and of Aunt Encarnacion, and as good news as Josefa and I coulddesire. We, my dear uncle, although younger than you and my aunt, are fullof ailments and burdened with children, who will soon be left orphans andcompelled to beg for their bread. 

"Whoever told you that the document you sent me bore any reference to atreasure deceived you. I have had it translated by a competent person, andit turns out to be a string of blasphemies against our Lord Jesus Christ, the Holy Virgin, and the Saints, written in Arabic verses, by a Moorishdog of the Marquisate of El Cenet, during the rebellion of Aben-Humeya. In view of its sacrilegious nature, and by the advice of the SenorPenitentiary, I have just burned this impious testimony to Mohammedanperversity. 

"Remembrances to my aunt; Josefa desires to be remembered to you both; sheis now for the tenth time in an interesting condition, and your nephew, who is reduced to skin and bone by the wretched affection of the stomach, which you will remember, begs that you will send him some assistance. 

"BONIFACIO. 

"CEUTA, January 29, 1821. "

VII. 

While the Chapel-master was writing and posting this letter, Admet-el-Abdoun was gathering together in a bundle all his wearing appareland household belongings, consisting of three old hooded mantles, twocloaks of goat's wool, a mortar for grinding alcazuz, an iron lamp, and acopper skillet full of pesetas, which he dug up from a corner of thelittle yard of his house. He loaded with all this his one wife, slave, odalisque, or whatever she might be, a woman uglier than an unexpectedpiece of bad news, and filthier than her husband's conscience, and issuedforth from Ceuta, telling the soldier on guard at the gate opening on theMoorish country that they were going to Fez for change of air, by theadvice of a veterinary; and as from that day--now more than sixty yearsago--to this no one in Ceuta or its neighborhood has ever again seenManos-gordas, it is obvious that Don Bonifacio Tudela y Gonzalez had notthe satisfaction of receiving from his hands the translation of thedocument, either on the following, or on any other day during theremainder of his existence; which, indeed, cannot have been very long, since, according to reliable information, it appears that his adoredPepita took to herself, after his death, another husband, an Asturiandrum-major residing in Marbella, whom she presented with four children, beautiful as the sun, and that she was again a widow at the time of thedeath of the king, at which epoch she gained, by competition in Malaga, the title of gossip and the position of matron in the custom-house. 

And now let us follow Manos-gordas and learn what became of him and of themysterious document. 

VIII. 

Admet-ben-Carime-el-Abdoun breathed freely, and even danced a few stepsfor joy, without dancing off his ill-fastened slippers, however, as soonas he found himself outside the massive walls of the Spanish fortress andwith all Africa before him. 

For Africa, for a true African like Manos-gordas, is the land of absoluteliberty; of a liberty anterior and superior to all human constitutions andinstitutions; of a liberty resembling that enjoyed by the wild rabbits andother wild animals of the mountain, the valley, or the desert. 

By this I mean to say that Africa is the paradise of evil-doers, the safeasylum, the neutral ground of both men and beasts, protected here by theintense heat and the vast extent of the deserts. As for the sultans, kings, and beys who fancy they rule here, and the authorities and soldierswho represent them, it may be said that they are for such subjects whatthe hunter is for the hare or for the stag--a misadventure which one in ahundred may chance to meet with, and which may or may not result fatally;if he who meets it dies, he is remembered on the anniversary of his death;and if he does not die, he takes himself off to a sufficient distance fromthe scene of his mishap--and no more is thought about the matter. Withthis digression we will now resume the thread of our story. 

"This way, Zama!" cried the Moor to his weary consort, as if he werecalling to a beast of burden. 

And instead of turning eastward, that is to say toward the gap of Anghera, in quest of the holy sage, in accordance with his promise to DonBonifacio, he proceeded southward along a ravine overgrown with wildbrambles and forest trees which soon brought him to the Tetuan road; thatis to say, to the indistinct footpath which, following the indentations ofthe coast, leads to Cape Negro by the valley of the Tarajar, the valley ofthe Castillejos, Mount Negro, and the lakes of Azmir River, names whichare now heard by every true Spaniard with love and veneration, but whichat the time of our story had not yet been pronounced either in Spain or inany other part of the civilized world. 

When Ben-Carime and Zama had reached the little valley of the Tarajar, they sat down to rest for a while at the edge of the rivulet which, risingin the heights of Sierra Bullones, runs through it, and in this wild andsecluded spot, that seemed as if it had come fresh from the Creator's handand had never yet been trod by the foot of man, looking out on thesolitary ocean, whose waters were untracked save, on an occasionalmoonlight night, by some pirate caravel or government vessel sent fromEurope in pursuit of it, the Moorish woman proceeded to make her toilet, performing her ablutions in the stream, and the Moor unfolded themanuscript and read it again, manifesting no less emotion than he hadshown on the previous occasion. 

The contents of the Arabian manuscript were as follows:

"May the benediction of Allah rest on all good men who read these lines!

"There is no glory but the glory of Allah, whose prophet and messengerMohammed was and is, in the hearts of the faithful. 

"May those who rob the house of him who is at the wars, or in exile, beaccursed of Allah and of Mohammed, and die eaten up by beetles andcockroaches!

"Blessed be Allah, who created these and other vermin to devour thewicked!

"I am the _caid_ Hassan-ben-Jussef, the servant of Allah, although I ammiscalled Don Rodrigo de Acuna by the successors of the Christian dogswho, by force and in violation of solemn compact, baptized, with a broomof hyssop, my ill-fated ancestors, together with many other Islamites ofthese kingdoms. 

"I am a captain, serving under the banner of him whose lawful title, since the death of Aben-Humaya, is King of Andalusia, Muley-Abdallah-Mahamud-Aben-Aboo, who does not now sit on the throne ofGranada because of the treachery and cowardice with which the Moors ofValencia broke their oaths and compacts, failing to rise with the Moors ofGranada against the common enemy: but they will receive their reward fromAllah, and if we are conquered, they, too, will be conquered and in theend expelled from Spain, without the merit of having fought to the last onthe field of honor in defence of their rights; and if we are theconquerors we will cut off their heads and throw them to the swine. 

"I am, in conclusion, the lord of this tower and of all the landsurrounding it, westward to the ravine of the Fox and eastward to theravine of the Asparagus, so called from the luxuriant growth andexquisite flavor of the asparagus cultivated there by my grandfather, Sidi-Jussef-ben-Jussuf. 

"Things are going badly with us. Since the coming of the base-born DonJuan of Austria (whom may Allah confound!) to fight against the faithful, we have foreseen that, for the present, we shall be defeated, although inthe course of years or of centuries another Prince of the blood of theProphet may recover the throne of Granada which for seven hundred yearswas in the possession of the Moors, and which will be theirs again whenAllah wills it, by the same right by which it was formerly possessed bythe Goths and Vandals, and before that by the Romans, and before that bythose other Africans, the Carthaginians--by the right of conquest. ButI know, as I have said, that, for the present, things are going badly withus, and that I must very soon depart for Morocco, taking with me myforty-three sons; that is to say, unless the Austrians capture me in thecoming battle and hang me on a tree, as I would hang all of them, if itwere in my power to do so. 

"Well, then, when I depart from this tower to engage in the last and thedecisive campaign, I leave hidden here, in a place which no one candiscover without coming across this manuscript, all my gold, all mysilver, all my pearls, my family treasures, the possessions of my fathers, of myself, and of my heirs; the fortune of which I am lord and master byhuman and divine right, as the bird is of its feathers, or the child ofthe teeth he cuts with suffering, or as every mortal is of the bad humors, cancerous or leprous, which he may inherit from his ancestors. 

"Stay thy hand, then, oh thou, Moor, Christian, or Jew, who, in tearingdown this, my dwelling, mayest discover and read these lines which Iam now writing! Stay thy hand and respect the treasure-house of thyfellow-mortal! Touch not his estate! Take not possession of that whichbelongs to another! Here there is none of the public wealth, nothingbelonging to the exchequer, nothing belonging to the state. The gold inthe mine may belong of right to him who discovers it, and a part of it tothe king of the country; but gold melted down and stamped--money, coin--belongs to its owner and to no one but its owner. Rob me not, therefore, evil man! Rob not my descendants who will come, on the day appointed, totake possession of their inheritance. And if thou shouldst, without evilintent, and by chance discover my treasure, I counsel thee to make publicproclamation, calling on and notifying the circumstance to the heirs ofHassan-ben-Jussef; for it is not just to keep that which has been foundwhen it has a lawful owner. 

"If thou doest not this, be accursed, with the curse of Allah, and with mycurse! And mayest thou be struck dead by lightning! And may each coin ofmy money and each pearl of my treasure become a scorpion in thy hands! Andmay thy children die of leprosy, may their fingers rot and drop off, sothat they may not have even the pleasure of scratching themselves! And maythe woman thou lovest love thy slave and betray thee for him. And may thyeldest daughter leave thy house secretly with a Jew! And mayest thou beimpaled upon a stake, and suspended on high, exposed to the public gaze, until by the weight of thy body the stake pierce thy crown and thou fallparted asunder on the ground like a loathsome toad cut in twain by thehoe!

"Now thou knowest what I would have thee know, and let all men know it, and blessed be Allah who is Allah!

"Tower of Zoraya, in Aldeire, in El Cenet, On the fifteenth day of themonth of Saphar, Of the year of the Hegira 968. 

"HASSEN-BEN-JUSSEF. "

IX. 

Manos-gordas was profoundly impressed by a second reading of thisdocument; not because of the moral maxims or the terrible curses itcontained, for the rascal had lost his faith both in Allah and inMohammed, through his frequent intercourse with the Christians and theJews of Tetuan and Ceuta, who naturally scoffed at the Koran, but becausehe believed that his face, his accent, and some other personalpeculiarities of his forbade his going to Spain, where he would findhimself exposed to certain death should any Christian man or womandiscover him to be an enemy to the Virgin Mary. 

"Besides, what aid" (in the opinion of Manos-gordas) "could a foreigner, aMohammedan, a semi-barbarian, expect from the laws or the authorities ofSpain, in acquiring possession of the Tower of Zoraya for the purpose ofmaking excavations there, or what protection in retaining possession ofthe treasure when he should have discovered it, or even of his life? Thereis no help for it, " was the conclusion to which he came, after muchreflection. "I must trust the secret to the renegade Ben-Munuza. He is aSpaniard, and his companionship will protect me from danger in thatcountry. But as there does not exist under the canopy of heaven a wickederman than this same renegade, it will not be amiss to take someprecautions. "

And, as a result of his reflections, he took from his pocket writingmaterials, wrote a letter, and inclosed it in an envelope, which he sealedwith a bit of moistened bread, and this done, he burst into a sardoniclaugh. 

He then looked at his wife, who was still engaged in removing the filth ofan entire year from her person, at the expense of the material and moralcleanliness of the poor rivulet, and having attracted her attention by awhistle, he deigned to address her in these terms:

"Sit down here beside me, fig-face, and listen to what I am going to say. You can afterward finish washing yourself--and well you need it--andperhaps I may then think you worthy of something better than the dailydrubbing by which I show my affection for you. But for the present, brazenface, leave off your grimaces, and listen well to what I am going totell you. "

The Moorish woman, who after her toilet looked younger and more artistic, though no less ugly than before, licked her lips like a cat, fixed the twocarbuncles that served her for eyes on Manos-gordas, and said, showing herbroad white teeth, that bore no resemblance to those of a human being:

"Speak, my lord, your slave desires only to serve you. "

Manos-gordas continued:

"If, in the future, any misfortune should happen to me, or if I shouldsuddenly disappear without taking leave of you, or if, after taking leaveof you, you should hear nothing from me within six weeks' time, make yourway back to Ceuta and put this letter in the post. Do you understand fullywhat I have said, monkey-face?"

Zama burst into tears and exclaimed:

"Admet, do you intend to abandon me?"

"Don't be an ass, woman!" answered the Moor. "Who is talking of such athing now? You know very well that you please me and that you are usefulto me. The question now is whether you have understood my chargeperfectly. "

"Give it here!" said the Moorish woman, taking the letter and placing itin her dark-skinned bosom, next her heart. "If any evil should happen toyou, this letter shall be placed in the post at Ceuta, though I shoulddrop dead the moment after. "

Aben-Carime smiled with a human smile when he heard these words, anddeigned to let his eyes rest upon his wife as if she were a human being. 

X. 

The Moorish couple must have slept soundly and sweetly among the thicketson the roadside that night, for it was fully nine o'clock on the followingmorning when they reached the foot of Cape Negro. 

At that place there is a village of Arab shepherds and husbandmen, calledMedick, consisting of a few huts, a morabito or Mohammedan hermitage, anda well of fresh water, with its curb-stone and its copper bucket, like thewells we see represented in certain biblical scenes. 

At this hour the village was completely deserted, its inhabitants havingbetaken themselves, with their cattle and their implements of labor, tothe neighboring hills and glens. 

"Wait for me here, " said Manos-gordas to his wife. "I am going in quest ofBen-Munuza, who at this hour is probably ploughing his fields on the otherside of yonder hill. "

"Ben-Munuza!" exclaimed Zama, with a look of terror; "the renegade of whomyou spoke to me?"

"Make your mind easy, " returned Manos-gordas. "I have the upper hand now. In a few hours I shall be back and you will see him following me like adog. This is his cabin. Wait for us inside, and make us a good mess ofalcazus, with the maize and the butter you will find at hand. You know Ilike it well cooked. Ah, I forgot. If I should not be back beforenightfall, ascend the hill, crossover to the other side, and if you do notfind me there, or if you should find my dead body, return to Ceuta andpost this letter. --Another thing: if you should find me dead, search myclothing for this parchment; if you do not find it upon me, you will knowthat Ben-Munuza has robbed me of it; in which case proceed from Ceuta toTetuan and denounce him as a thief and an assassin to the authorities. That is all I have to tell you. Farewell!"

The Moorish woman wept bitterly as Manos-gordas took the path that led tothe summit of the neighboring hill. 

XI. 

On reaching the other side of the hill Manos-gordas descried in a glen, ashort distance off, a corpulent Moor dressed in white, ploughing the blackearth with the help of a fine yoke of oxen, in patriarchal fashion. Thisman, who seemed a statue of Peace carved in marble, was the morose anddreaded renegade, Ben-Munuza, the details of whose story would make thereader shudder with horror, if he were to hear them. 

Suffice it for the present to say that he was some forty years old, thathe was active, vigorous, and robust, and that he was of a gloomy cast ofcountenance, although his eyes were blue as the sky, and his beard yellowas the African sunlight, which had bronzed his originally fair complexion. 

"Good-morning, Manos-gordas!" cried the renegade, as soon as he perceivedthe Moor. 

And his voice expressed the melancholy pleasure the exile feels in aforeign land when he meets some one with whom he can converse in hisnative tongue. 

"Good-morning, Juan Falgueira!" responded Ben-Carime, in ironical accents. 

As he heard this name the renegade trembled from head to foot, and seizingthe iron bar of the plough prepared to defend himself. 

"What name is that you have just pronounced?" he said, advancingthreateningly toward Manos-gordas. 

The latter awaited his approach, laughing, and answered in Arabic, with acourage which no one would have supposed him to possess:

"I have pronounced your real name; the name you bore in Spain when youwere a Christian, and which I learned when I was in Oran three years ago. "

"In Oran?"

"Yes, in Oran. What is there extraordinary in that? You had come from Oranto Morocco; I went to Oran to buy hens. I inquired there concerning yourhistory, describing your appearance, and some Spaniards living thererelated it to me. I learned that you were a Galician, that your name wasJuan Falgueira, and that you had escaped from the prison of Granada, onthe eve of the day appointed for your execution, for having robbed andmurdered, fifteen years ago, a party of gentlemen, whom you were servingin the capacity of muleteer. Do you still doubt that I know who you are?"

"Tell me, my soul, " responded the renegade, in a hollow voice, lookingcautiously around, "have you related this story to any of the Moors? Doesany one but yourself in this accursed land know it? Because the fact is, Iwant to live in peace, without having any one or anything to remind me ofthat fatal deed which I have well expiated. I am a poor man. I haveneither family, nor country, nor language, nor even the God who made meleft to me. I live among enemies, with no other wealth than these oxen andthese fields, bought by the fruit of ten years' sweat and toil. Consequently, you do very wrong to come and tell me--"

"Hold!" cried Manos-gordas, greatly alarmed. "Don't cast those wolfishglances at me, for I come to do you a great service, and not to vex youneedlessly. I have told your unfortunate story to no one. What for? Anysecret may be a treasure, which he who tells gives away. There are, however, occasions in which an EXCHANGE OF SECRETS may be made withprofit. For instance, I am going to tell you an important secret of mine, which will serve as security for yours, and which will oblige us to befriends for the rest of our lives. "

"I am listening; go on, " responded the renegade quietly. 

Aben-Carime then read aloud the Arabic document, which Juan Falgueiralistened to without moving a muscle of his still angry countenance. The Moor seeing this, in order to dispel his distrust, disclosed to himthe fact that he had stolen the paper he had just read from a Christian inCeuta. 

The Spaniard smiled slightly to think how great must be the huckster'sfear of him to cause him voluntarily to reveal to him his theft, and poorManos-gordas, encouraged by Ben-Munuza's smile, proceeded to disclose hisplans, in the following terms:

"I take it for granted that you understand perfectly well the importanceof this document and the reason of my reading it to you. I know not wherethe Tower of Zoraya, nor Aldeire, nor El Cenet is, nor do I know how to goto Spain, nor should I be able to find my way through that country if Iwere there; besides which, the people would kill me for not being aChristian, or at least they would despoil me of the treasure after I hadfound it, if not before. For all these reasons, I require that a trustyand loyal Spaniard should accompany me, a man whose life shall be in mypower, and whom I can send to the gallows with half a word; a man, inshort like you, Juan Falgueira, who, after all, have gained nothing byrobbing and murdering, since you are now toiling here like a donkey, whenwith the millions I am going to procure you, you can go to America, toFrance, or to India, and enjoy yourself, and live in luxury, and rise intime perhaps to be king. What do you think of my plan?"

"That it is well put together, like the work of a Moor, " respondedBen-Munuza, in whose nervous hands, clasped behind his back, the iron barswung back and forth like a tiger's tail. 

Manos-gordas smiled with satisfaction, thinking that his proposition wasalready accepted. 

"But, " added the sombre Galician, "there is one thing you have notconsidered. "

"And what is that?" asked Ben-Carime, throwing back his head with acomical expression, and fixing his eyes on vacancy, like one who isprepared to hear some trivial and easily answered objection. 

"You have not considered that I should be an unmitigated fool if I were toaccompany you to Spain to put you in possession of half a treasure, relying upon your putting me in possession of the other half. I say thisbecause you would only have to say half a word the day we arrived atAldeire, and you thought yourself free from danger, to rid yourself of mycompany and avoid giving me my half of the treasure, after it was found. In truth, you are not the clever man you imagine yourself to be, but onlya simpleton deserving of pity, who have deliberately walked into a trapfrom which there is no escape, in telling me where this great treasure isto be found, and telling me at the same time that you know my history, andthat if I were to accompany you to Spain you would there be absolutemaster of my life. And what need, then, have I of you? What need have I ofyour help to go and take possession of the entire treasure myself? Whatneed have I of you in the world at all? Who are you, now that you haveread me that document, now that I can take it from you?"

"What are you saying?" cried Manos-gordas, who all at once felt a chill, like that of death, strike to the marrow of his bones. 

"I am saying--nothing. Take that!" replied Juan Falgueira, dealingBen-Carime a tremendous blow on the head with the iron bar. The Moorrolled over on the ground, the blood gushing from his eyes, nose, andmouth, without uttering a single sound. 

The unfortunate man was dead. 

XII. 

Three or four weeks after the death of Manos-gordas, somewhere about the20th of February, 1821, it was snowing, if it ever were to snow, in thetown of Aldeire, and throughout the beautiful Andalusian sierra to whichthe snow gives existence, as it were, and a name. 

It was Carnival Sunday, and the church bell was for the fourth timesummoning to mass with its thin, clear tones, like those of a child, theshivering Christians of this parish (too near to heaven for theircomfort), who found it difficult, on so raw and inclement a day, to bringthemselves to leave their beds or to move away from the fire, saying, perhaps, in excuse for their not doing so, that on the three days beforeAsh-Wednesday worship should be rendered not to God, but to the devil. 

Some such excuse as this, at least, was given by Uncle Juan Gomez inanswer to the arguments with which his pious wife, our friend, DameTorcuata, tried to persuade him to give up drinking brandy and eatingbiscuits, and accompany her, instead, to mass, like a good Christian, regardless of the criticisms of the schoolmaster or the other electors ofthe liberal party. And the dispute was beginning to grow warm, whensuddenly Genaro, his honor's head shepherd, entered the kitchen, andtaking off his hat, and scratching his head with the same movement, said:

"God give us good-day, Senor Juan and Senora Torcuata! You must haveguessed already that something has happened up above to bring me down hereon a day like this, it not being my Sunday for going to hear mass. I hopeyou are both well!"

"There! there! I'll wait no longer!" cried the Alcalde's wife, impatiently, folding her mantilla over her breast. "It was decreed thatyou were not to hear mass to-day. You have drink enough there, andconversation enough for the whole day, discussing the question as towhether the goats are with kid or whether the young rams are beginning toget their horns. You will go to perdition, Juan, you will go to perdition, if you don't soon make your peace with the church and give up the accursedalcaldeship!"

When Dame Torcuata had departed, the Alcalde handed a biscuit and a glassof brandy to the head shepherd, saying:

"Women's nonsense, Uncle Genaro! Draw your chair up to the fire and tellme what you have to say. What is going on up above there?"

"Oh, a mere nothing! Yesterday, Francisco, the goat-keeper, saw a mandressed like a native of Malaga, with long trousers and a linen jacket, and wrapped in a blanket, go into the cattle-yard you are making, from theopen side, and walk around the Moor's Tower, examining it and measuringit, as if he were a master-builder. Francisco asked him what he was doing, to which the stranger answered by asking in his turn who was the owner ofthe tower, and Francisco saying that he was no less a person than theAlcalde of the town, the stranger replied that he would speak with hishonor and explain his plans to him. Night soon fell, and as the manpretended to be going away, the goat-herd went to his hut, which, as youknow, is but a short distance from the tower. Some two hours later thesame Francisco noticed that strange noises proceeded from the tower, inwhich he also observed a light burning, all which terrified him sogreatly, that he did not even venture to go to my hut to tell me of whathe had seen and heard. This he did as soon as it was daylight, saying inaddition that the noises he had heard in the tower were kept up all night. As I am an old man and have served my king and am not easily frightened, Iwent at once to the Moor's Tower, accompanied by Francisco, who trembledat every step he took, and we discovered the stranger, wrapped up in hisblanket, asleep in a little room on the ground floor where the plasterstill remains on the ceiling. I wakened the mysterious stranger andreproved him for spending the night in a strange house without its owner'spermission, to which he answered that the building was not a house, but aheap of ruins, where a poor wayfarer might very well take shelter on asnowy night, and that he was ready to present himself before you and tellyou who he was and what his business and his plans were. I have broughthim with me, therefore, and he is now out in the yard with the goatherd, waiting for your permission to enter. "

"Let him come in, " answered Uncle Hormiga, rising to his feet, greatlydisturbed, for the thought had presented itself to his mind at the headshepherd's first words, that all this was closely connected with thecelebrated treasure, the hope of discovering which, by his own unaidedexertions, he had abandoned, a week before, after he had removed, withoutresult, several of the heaviest of the foundation stones. 

XIII. 

Here, then, we have, face to face and alone, Uncle Juan Gomez and thestranger. 

"What is your name?" the former asked the latter, with all theimperiousness warranted by his exalted office, and without inviting him tobe seated. 

"My name is Jaime Olot, " responded the mysterious stranger. 

"You do not speak like a native of this country. Are you English?"

"I am a Catalan. "

"Ah, a Catalan! That may be. And what brings you to these parts? And, above all, what the devil were you doing yesterday measuring my tower?"

"I will tell you. I am a miner by profession, and I have come to thiscountry, which is famous for its copper and silver mines, in search ofwork. Yesterday afternoon, passing by the Moor's Tower, I saw that a wallwas being built with the stones that had been taken from it, and that itwould be necessary to tear down a great deal more of the building in orderto finish the wall. There is no one who can equal me in pulling downbuildings, whether by the use of tools or with hands only, for I have thestrength of an ox, and the idea occurred to me that I might be able tomake a contract with the owner of the tower to pull it down and dig up thefoundation stones. "

Uncle Hormiga, with a wink of his little gray eyes, responded, dwellingupon every word:

"Well, that arrangement does not suit me. "

"I would do the work for very little--almost nothing. "

"Now it would suit me less than before. "

The so-called Jaime Olot was puzzled not a little by the mysteriousanswers of Uncle Juan Gomez, and he tried to get some clue to theirmeaning from the expression of his face; but as he was unsuccessful in hisefforts to read the fox-like countenance of his honor, he added, withfeigned naturalness:

"It would not displease me, either, to repair a part of the old buildingand to live there, cultivating the ground that you had intended for acattle-yard. I will buy from you, then, the Moor's Tower with the groundaround it. "

"I do not wish to sell it, " responded Uncle Hormiga. 

"But I will pay you double what it is worth!" said the self-styled Catalanemphatically. 

"It would suit me now less than ever to sell it, " replied the Andalusian, with so crafty and insulting a look that his interlocutor took a stepbackward, suddenly becoming conscious that he was treading on falseground. 

He reflected for a moment, therefore, and then raising his head with adetermined air, and clasping his hands behind his back, he said, with acynical laugh:

"So, then, you know that there is a TREASURE on that ground!"

Uncle Juan Gomez leaned over in his seat, and scanning the Catalan fromhead to foot, exclaimed with a comical air:

"What vexes me is that you, too, should know it!"

"And it would vex you much more if I should tell you that I am the onlyperson who knows it with certainty. "

"That is to say, that you know the precise spot in which the treasure isburied?"

"I know the precise spot, and it would not take me twenty-four hours todisinter all the wealth that lies hidden there. "

"According to that you have in your possession a certain document--"

"Yes; I have a document of the time of the Moors, half a yard square, inwhich all the necessary directions to find the treasure are given. "

"And tell me--this document--"

"I do not carry it about with me, nor is there any reason why I should doso, since I know it word for word by heart, both in Spanish and in Arabic. Oh, I am not such a fool as ever to deliver myself up, bag and baggage, to the enemy! So that before coming to this country I concealed thedocument--where no one but myself will ever be able to find it. "

"In that case there is no more to be said. Senor Jaime Olot, let us cometo an understanding, like two good friends, " exclaimed the Alcalde, at thesame time pouring out a glass of brandy for the stranger. 

"Let us come to an understanding!" repeated the stranger, taking a seatwithout waiting for further permission, and drinking his brandy withgusto. 

"Tell me, " continued Uncle Hormiga, "and tell me without lying, so that Imay learn to put faith in you--"

"Ask what you wish; when it does not suit me to speak I shall be silent. "

"Do you come from Madrid?"

"No. It is twenty-five years since I was in the capital, for the first andlast time. "

"Do you come from the Holy Land?"

"No; that is not in my line. "

"Are you acquainted with a lawyer of Ugijar, called Don Matias deQuesada?"

"No; I hate lawyers and all people who live by the pen. "

"Well, then, how did this document fall into your possession?"

Jaime Olcot was silent. 

"I like that! I see you don't want to lie!" exclaimed the Alcalde. "Butthere cannot be a doubt that Don Matias de Quesada cheated me as if I werea Chinese, stealing from me two ounces in gold, and then selling thatdocument to some one in Melilla or Ceuta. And the fact is, although youare not a Moor, you look as if you had lived in those countries. "

"Don't fatigue yourself, or lose your time guessing further. I will setyour doubts at rest. This lawyer you speak of must have sent themanuscript to a Spaniard in Ceuta, from whom it was stolen three weeks agoby the Moor from whose possession it passed into mine. "

"Ah! now I see. He must have sent it to a nephew of his who is a musicianin the cathedral of that city--one Bonafacio de Tudela. "

"It is very likely. "

"What a wretch that Don Matias is! To cheat his gossip in this way! Butsee how chance has brought the document back to my hands again!"

"To mine, you would say, " observed the stranger. 

"To ours!" returned the Alcalde, again filling the glasses. "Why, then, weare millionaires. We will divide the treasure equally between us, sinceyou cannot dig in that ground without my permission, nor can I find thetreasure without the help of the document which has fallen into yourpossession. That is to say, that chance has made us brothers. From thisday forth you shall live in my house--another glass--and the instant wehave finished breakfast, we will begin to dig. "

The conference had reached this point when Dame Torcuata returned frommass. Her husband told her all that had passed, and presented to her DonJaime Olot. The good woman heard with as much fear as joy the news thatthe treasure was on the eve of discovery, crossing herself repeatedly onlearning of the treachery and baseness of her gossip, Don Matias deQuesada, and she looked with terror at the stranger, whose countenancefilled her with a presentiment of coming misfortune. 

Knowing, however, that she must give this man his breakfast, she went intothe pantry to take from it the choicest articles it contained--that is tosay, a tenderloin with pickle sauce, and a sausage of the last killing, saying to herself, however, as she uncovered the jars:

"Time it is that the treasure should be discovered, for whether it is tobe found or not, it has already cost us the thirty-two dollars for thefamous cup of chocolate, the long-standing friendship of our gossip, DonMatias, these fine slices of meat, that would have made so rich a dish, dressed with peppers and tomatoes, in the month of August, and the havingso forbidding-looking a stranger as a guest. Accursed be treasures, andmines, and the devils, and everything that is underground, excepting onlywater and the faithful departed!"

XIV. 

While Dame Torcuata was making these reflections to herself, as she went, with a pan in either hand, toward the fire, cries and hisses of women andchildren resounded in the street, mingled with other voices in a lowerkey, saying:

"Senor Alcalde! Open the door! The city authorities are entering the townwith a troop of soldiers!"

Jaime Olot became yellower than wax when he heard these words, andclasping his hands together, he said:

"Hide me, Senor Alcalde! Otherwise we shall not find the treasure! Theauthorities have come in search of me!"

"In search of you? And why so? Are you a criminal?"

"I knew it!" cried Aunt Torcuata. "From that gloomy face no good couldcome. All this is the doing of Lucifer!"

"Quick! quick!" resumed the stranger. Take me out by the back door!"

"Very good, but first give me directions where to find the treasure, " saidUncle Hormiga. 

"Senor Alcalde!" the cry was repeated outside the door, "open! The town issurrounded! It seems it is that man who has been shut up with you for thelast hour they are in search of!"

"Open to the authorities!" an imperious voice now cried, accompanied by aloud knocking at the door. 

"There is no help for it!" said the Alcalde, going to open the door, whilethe stranger tried to escape into the yard by the other door. 

But the head shepherd and the goat-herd, who were on the alert, cut offhis egress, and they and the soldiers, who had now also entered the room, seized and bound him securely, although the renegade displayed in thestruggle the strength and agility of a tiger. 

The constable of the court, who had under his command a clerk and twentyfoot-soldiers, meantime told the Alcalde the causes of and reasons forthis noisy arrest. 

"This man, " he said, "with whom you have been shut up I don't know why--talking of I don't know what--is the famous Galician, Juan Falgueira, who, fifteen years ago, robbed and murdered a party of gentlemen, whosemuleteer he was, in a certain hamlet of Granada, and who escaped from thechapel on the eve of the day appointed for his execution, dressed in thehabit of the friar who was administering to him the consolations ofreligion, and whom he left there half-strangled. The king himself--whomHeaven preserve--received, a fortnight ago, a letter from Ceuta, signed bya Moor named Manos-gordas, saying that Juan Falgueira, after longresidence in Oran and other points in Africa, was about to embark forSpain, and that it would be an easy matter to seize him in Aldeire in ElCenet, where it was his intention to purchase a Moorish tower and todevote himself to mining. At the same time a communication was received bythe government from the Spanish Consul in Tetuan, stating that a Moorishwoman called Zama had presented herself before him to make complaintagainst the Spanish renegade, Ben-Manuza, formerly called Juan Falgueira, who had just sailed for Spain, after having assassinated the Moor, Manos-gordas, the complainant's husband, and robbed him of a certainprecious document. For all which reasons, and chiefly on account of theattempt against the life of the friar in the chapel, His Majesty the Kingstrongly urged upon the authorities of Granada the arrest of the criminaland his immediate execution in that city. "

Let the reader picture to himself the terror and astonishment with whichthis narration was listened to by all present, as well as the despair ofUncle Hormiga, who could not now doubt that the document was in thepossession of this man condemned to death. 

The avaricious Alcalde, then, at the risk of compromising himself stillfurther, called aside Juan Falgueira and held a whispered conversationwith him, having previously informed the assemblage that he was going totry to prevail upon the renegade to confess his crime before God and men. What passed between the two PARTNERS, however, was really what follows:

"Gossip!" said Uncle Hormiga, "not Heaven itself could now save you! Butyou must feel that it would be a pity that that document should be lost. Tell me where you have hidden it. "

"Gossip!" responded the Galician, "with that document, or, in other words, with the treasure it represents, I intend to purchase my pardon. Procurefor me the royal favor, and I will deliver the document to you; but forthe present I shall offer it to the judges to bribe them to declare mysentence null and void by prescription. "

"Gossip!" replied Uncle Hormiga, "you are a wise man, and I shall be gladif you succeed in your purpose. But if you fail, for God's sake do notcarry to the tomb a secret which will profit no one!"

"Be certain, I shall take it with me!" answered Juan Falgueira. "I musthave my revenge upon the world in some way. "

"Let us proceed!" here cried the constable, putting an end to this strangeconference. 

And the condemned man, being chained and handcuffed, the officers ofjustice and the soldiers proceeded with him in the direction of the cityof Guadix, whence they were to conduct him to Granada. 

"The devil! the devil!" the wife of Uncle Hormiga Juan Gomez keptrepeating to herself for an hour afterward, as she returned thetenderloin and the sausage to their respective jars. "My curse uponall treasures--past, present, and to come!"

XV. 

Needless to say that Uncle Hormiga found no means of procuring JuanFalgueira's pardon, nor did the judges condescend to listen seriously tothe offers which the latter made them of delivering to them a treasure oncondition that they should relinquish the prosecution against him; nor didthe terrible Galician consent to disclose the hiding-place of the documentnor the whereabouts of the treasure to the bold Alcalde of Aldeire--who, with this hope, had the face to visit him in the chapel in the prison ofGranada. 

Juan Falgueira, then, was hanged on the Friday preceding Good Friday, inthe Paseo del Triumfo, and Uncle Hormiga, on his return to Aldeire, onPalm Sunday, fell ill with typhoid fever, the disease running its courseso quickly that on Wednesday of Holy Week he confessed himself and madehis will and expired on the morning of Easter Saturday. 

But before his death he wrote a letter to Don Matias de Quesada, reproaching him with his treachery and dishonesty (which had caused thedeaths of three persons), and forgiving him like a Christian, on conditionthat he should return to Dame Torcuata the thirty-two dollars for the cupof chocolate. 

This dreadful letter reached Ugijar simultaneously with the news of thedeath of Uncle Juan Gomez, both which events, coming together, affectedthe old lawyer to such a degree that he never recovered his spirits again, and he died shortly afterward, having written in his last hour a terribleletter, full of reproaches and maledictions, to his nephew, theChapel-master of Ceuta, accusing him of having deceived and robbed him, and of being the cause of his death. 

To the reading of this just and tremendous accusation was due, it is said, the stroke of apoplexy that sent Don Bonifacio to the tomb. 

So that the suspicion, merely, of the existence of a hidden treasure wasthe cause of five deaths, and of many other misfortunes, matters remainingin the end as hidden and mysterious as they were in the beginning, sinceDame Torcuata, who was the only person in the world who knew the historyof the fatal document, took good care never to mention it thereafter inthe whole course of her life, thinking, as she did, that it had all beenthe work of the devil, and the necessary consequence of her husband'sdealings with the enemies of the Church and the Throne. 

BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERSBy Fernan CaballeroTranslated by Mary J. Serrano. 

 BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS

CHAPTER I. 

Although the villages of the sierras of Andalusia, owing to theirelevation, enjoy in summer a milder temperature than those of the plains, during the middle hours of the day the sun reflected from the rocks thatabound in this mountainous region, produces a dry and ardent heat, whichis more transitory, indeed, but also more irritating than that of theplains. The chief sufferers from its ardors are the wandering reapers, who, after finishing the labors of the harvest in their own province, goin search of work to the provinces where the harvest has not yet beengathered in. The greater number of the reapers of the province of Granadago to the sierra of Ronda, where they are welcomed, and where theirtoilsome labors are well rewarded, so that they are able to lay by somemoney, unless indeed sickness, that scourge of the poor, prostrates themand consumes their earnings or terminates their existence. 

In a more pious age a small hospital for poor strangers was established inBornos, which is one of the villages that, like a fringe, border the slopeof the sierra; an hospital which remained closed in winter, but which insummer received many of the poor reapers who were prostrated by theintense heat, and who had no home or family in the village. 

On a hot summer day, early in the thirties, a woman with a kind and gentlecountenance was seated at the door of her cottage, in the village abovementioned, engaged in chopping the tomatoes and peppers and crumbling thebread for the wholesome, nutritious, and savory gazpacho which was toserve for the family supper; her two children, a boy of seven and a girlof five, were playing not far from her in the street. 

As Bornos is almost entirely surrounded by orchards and orange groves, planted on the slopes of the tableland on which the village is seated, andwhich at this hour are irrigated by the clear and abundant waters of itssprings, every breeze brought with it the perfume of the leaves and themelodious strains of the birds singing their evening hymn to the sun, filling the air with coolness, as if kind Mother Nature made of her treesa fan to cool the brow of her favorite child, man. The front of the housewas already steeped in shadow, while the sun still gilded the irregularcrests of the mountains on the opposite side of the valley that, likepatient camels, supported the load of vines, olive groves, and cornfieldsconfided to them by man. 

The mother, occupied with her task, had not observed that a poorly cladlittle boy had joined her children and that they were talking together. 

"Who are you?" said the Bornos boy to the stranger; "I have never seen youbefore. What is your name?"

"Michael; and yours?"

"Gaspar. "

"And my name is Catherine, " said the little girl, who desired also to makethe strange boy's acquaintance. 

"I know the story of St. Catherine, " said the latter. 

"Oh, do you? Tell it to us. "

The boy recited the following verses:

 "To-morrow will be St. Catherine's day, When to heaven she will ascend and St. Peter will say, 'What woman is that who asks to be let in?' 'I am Catherine, ' she will answer, 'and I want to come in. ' 'Enter, little dove, in your dove-cote, then. '"

"What a lovely story!" exclaimed the girl. "Don't you know another?"

"Look, Catherine, " cried her brother, who was eating roasted beans; "thereis a little dead snail in this bean, a roasted snail. "

"Will you give me some beans?" begged the strange child. 

"Yes, here are some. Are you very, very fond of roasted beans?"

"Yes, very; but I asked you for them because I am very hungry. "

"Why, have you had no dinner?"

"No. "

"Nor any breakfast, either?"

"No. "

"Mother, mother, " cried both the children together, running to theirmother; "this poor little boy hasn't had any dinner or any breakfast, andhe is very hungry; give us some bread for him. "

"He has had no dinner, you say?" said the good woman, giving the child apiece of bread with that compassionate tenderness which seems innate inwomen toward children; "have you no parents, then, my child?"

"Yes, but they have no bread to give me. "

"Poor little boy! And where are your parents?"

"Over there, " answered the boy, pointing in the direction of a lane thatran between garden walls, at right angles with the street. 

The good woman, followed by the children, went to the lane. 

On the dry grass, with his face turned to the wall, lay a man, miserablyclad and apparently lifeless; a handkerchief was tied round his head; nearhim lay a sickle that had fallen from his nerveless grasp; seated on theground beside him was a woman, who, with her thin cheek resting on heremaciated hand, was gazing fixedly at him through the tears that rolleddown her sad face, as on a rainy day the water trickles down the walls ofa deserted ruin. The last rays of the setting sun, lingering in the lane, illumined the melancholy group with a light tender and sorrowful as afarewell glance. 

Approaching the stranger, the good woman, whose name was Maria, said toher:

"Senora, what is the matter with your husband?"

"He has a fever that is killing him, " answered the stranger, bursting intosobs. 

"Holy Mary!" cried the mother of the children compassionately. "And whydon't you let people know about it and ask them to help you? Are we livingin a heathen land, then?"

"I don't know any one in the place. "

"No matter; for a neighborly act, acquaintance isn't necessary. What! Isthis poor man to be left alone to die, as if he were among the Moors? Notif I can prevent it. "

At this moment a man with a strong, calm, and kind face approached thegroup. 

"Father, father, " cried the children, "this man is dying, and this littleboy, who is his son, says he has no bread to give him. "

"John Joseph, " added the mother of the children, "this poor man is lyingshelterless here; this is pitiful. If you are willing, let us carry himinto the house and send for the doctor. "

"Willing? Of course I am willing, " answered her husband. "I have never yetrefused my help to any one in need of it, God be praised! There has alwaysbeen a corner in my kitchen for the poor, and especially for those who arelooking for a shelter for the night, who are on a journey, or who aresick; and such food as I had, I have always shared with them! Don't youknow that, wife?"

"Come, then, " said the latter; "let us lift him up, John Joseph; I 'lltake hold of him by one arm and his wife can take him by the other. "

They did as she said. One of the children took the sickle, another thehat, the third a small shabby bundle of clothes, and all went toward thehouse. 

A sheepskin and a pair of sheets were spread over one of the thick reedmattings which serve the laborers in the farms and vineyards as beds, andthe sick man, who remained sunk in a profound stupor, was placed on it, while Gasparito, who was told to fly, ran for the doctor. When the lattercame, he pronounced the patient to be dangerously ill, and prescribedvarious medicines, which were administered to him with that zeal andintelligence in caring for the sick that is one of the many prerogativesof the sex called the fair, but which might with much more propriety becalled the pious sex. 

After the medicines had been administered and he had been bled freely, thepatient seemed somewhat better, and sank into what seemed a natural andbeneficent sleep; and then, and not until then, did the family think oftheir supper, the refreshing and nutritious gaspacho, and the fruits, soabundant in the country, and of which the people, frugal, refined, andelegant, even in their material appetites, are so fond. 

CHAPTER II. 

It is needless to say that those first called to partake of the mess, asthe master of the house, who had been a soldier, called it, were thestrange woman and her son. 

"And what part of the country are you from?" said John Joseph to hisguest, as he offered her a slice of a magnificent watermelon, whichsparkled like a garnet in the light. 

"From Treveles, in the Alpujarras, " she answered. 

"I was there when I served the king, " responded John Joseph. "Those arepoor villages. Treveles is a village overhanging the ravine of Poqueira. "

"That is true, " replied the poor woman, whose sorrowful face brightened alittle at the recollection, so dear to the heart, of the place where shewas born and where her home was. 

"And by the same token, " continued John Joseph, "you can see from therethe peaks of Mulha Hasem and Veleta, that don't reach the sky because theAlmighty wouldn't let them, and not because they didn't try. "

"And why do they call that peak the Veleta, [a weather-vane. ] John Joseph?Is it because it has one on it?"

"If it has, I never saw it. "

"It has none now, " said the stranger, "but it had one in former times, when Moors and Christians went fighting one another through the mountains. It was guarded by an angel who kept it pointed toward Spain, and then theChristians conquered; but if he neglected his task, the devil came andmade it point toward Barbary, and then the Moors conquered. "

"But, in spite of all the devil could do, we drove them out; yes, and wewould have done it if there had been ten times as many of them!" said theex-soldier. 

"And were you ever on those peaks?" said the mistress of the house to herguest. 

"I was never there myself, " answered the latter; "but my Manuel has beenthere a hundred times. Once he went there with an Englishman who wanted tosee them. Between the two peaks there is a ravine that is full of water;and that is a cauldron that the demons made. From the middle of it comestrange sounds that are caused by the hammering of the demons mending thecauldron. The whole place is a desert, full of naked rocks, and so awesomeand solitary that the Englishman said it was like the Dead Sea--a sea thatit seems there is in some of those far-off countries. "

"Oh, mother! and why did it die?" asked the girl. 

"How should I know?" answered the mother. 

"Father, " said the girl, repeating her question: "why did that sea die?Did the Moors kill it?"

"What a question!" returned the father, who did not wish to confess hisignorance of the matter, as his wife had done: "it died because everythingin the world dies, even the seas. "

"And is the whole mountain like that?" asked Maria. 

"No, for lower down there are trees, --chestnuts, oaks and shrubs, and somefine apple trees planted by the Moors, whose fruit is sent to Granada tobe sold. "

"And I was told, " continued John Joseph, "that there are wild goats therethat run faster than water down a hill, that leap like grasshoppers, andthat are so sagacious that they always station one of their number on aheight to keep watch, and when danger is approaching he strikes the rockwith his foot, and then the others scamper off and disappear like a flightof partridges. "

"That is all true, " responded the guest; "and there are owls there, too, akind of birds with wings and a human face. "

"What is that you are saying, Senora?" cried John Joseph, "who ever sawsuch birds as those?"

"My Manuel has seen them, and every one who has ever climbed up thoseheights; and you must know that the owls and the mountain-goats have beenthere ever since the time when Jesus was in the world. He came to thosesolitudes, that were then shady meadows in which tame and handsome goatsbrowsed, watched by their shepherds. The Lord, who was tired, entered agoat-herd's hut, and asked the goat-herds to prepare a kid for supper forHimself and St. John and St. Peter, who were with Him. The goat-herds, whowere wicked Moors, said that they had none; but the Lord insisted, andthen what did those heartless wretches do? They killed a cat, cooked it, and set it on the table. But the Lord, as you may suppose, who sees intoall hearts and knows everything that is going on, however secret it may bethought, knew perfectly well what the goat-herds had done, and sittingdown at the table He said:

 'If you are a kid, Remain fried. But if you are a cat, Jump from the plate. '

"Instantly the animal straightened itself up and ran off. The Lord, topunish the goat-herds, turned them into owls and their flocks into wildgoats. "

At this moment a moan was heard; they all hurried to the sick man'sbedside. His improvement had been only momentary; the fever, caused by acerebral attack, had reached its height, and in a few hours terminated hislife, without his having returned to consciousness for a single instant. 

It is an easy matter to describe a violent and noisy grief which rebelsagainst misfortune; but it is not easy to describe a profound, silent, humble, and resigned grief. The poor widow who had lost everything, eventhe strength to work, raised her eyes to heaven, clasped her hands andbowed her head, while her life, which her chilled heart was unable tomaintain, slowly ebbed away. 

She was not sent away by the kind and charitable people who had shelteredher; but she knew that she would be a heavy burden upon them; and althoughshe was submissive to the will of the Lord, she prayed to Him to grant hera speedy and contrite end, as a release from all her sufferings; and theLord granted her prayer. 

One night she saw with ineffable joy the bed on which she lay surroundedby kind, devout, and compassionate souls; the house was lighted up; analtar stood in front of her humble cot, on which she saw the image of ourLord, to whom she had prayed, with arms opened to those who call upon Him. Every one brought flowers, those universal interpreters of human feeling, which enhance the splendor of the most august solemnities and lend poetryand beauty to the gayest festival; and which, as if they were angels'gifts, are found, like these, in the hut and in the palace, in royalgardens and in the fields. 

A bell sounded in the distance that with its silvery voice seemed to say:"Here cometh the Lord, who giveth a peaceful death. "

And thus it was; for when the solemn act of receiving the Last Sacramentwas ended, the sick woman raised her eyes, in which a gleam of her losthappiness shone. 

"I am leaving this valley of tears, " she said, in a faint voice, "andthrough the mercy of God I am going to His presence to ask Him to watchover this poor boy, this poor orphan--"

"Orphan, did you say?" cried John Joseph. "Don't you know, then, that heis our son?"

The dying woman leaned her pale face against her son's forehead, on whicha tear fell, and said to him, "Child of my heart, pay to our benefactorsyour own debt and that of your parents; as for me, I can only pray to Godthat He will bless them as I bless them. "

"John Joseph, " said the priest, "the blessing of the dying is the mostprecious legacy they can leave to those who survive them. "

CHAPTER III. 

In 1853, Gaspar and Michael, who had grown up together like two brothers, had arrived at the age of manhood; and they were as honest and industriousas the father who had guided them. Catherine was a beautiful girl, asmodest and as diligent as the mother at whose side she had grown up. Michael, who had a noble and affectionate, and consequently a gratefulheart, loved the family who had adopted him with ardent affection; butespecially did he love Catherine, for whom he felt all the affection of abrother, joined to all the tenderness of a lover toward her whom hedesired to make the companion of his life. 

Many days of tranquil happiness were enjoyed by these united and worthypeople; but as happiness, like the blue of the sky, cannot be lasting, forthe earth, to yield its fruits, requires the rain, and man, to estimate attheir true value this life and the next, has need of tears, a time came inwhich many were shed in this house, to prove to its inmates that Godbestows this blessing, almost preferably, on the poor and the righteous. 

The draft was proclaimed and both sons were enrolled for the drawing. 

Those who know how passionate is the affection which the mothers of thepeople have for their children can understand Maria's inconsolable grief. She believed that she loved both sons equally; she feared for both withthe same anguish; with the same fervor she prayed to God and to the Virginthat both might escape the draft; but when they returned from the drawingand she learned that the soldier's lot had fallen on her own son, the crywhich this intelligence drew from her mother's heart--"Child of my soul, Iknew that it must fall upon you!"--showed that a mother's love can beequalled by no other. 

Michael saw Maria's grief with a breaking heart, a grief which not all hisown efforts nor those of her husband could diminish or soothe. 

On the following day John Joseph took his son to the barrack, but what wasthe astonishment of both when the commandant told Gaspar that he was freeand that he might return home. 

"Free!" cried Gaspar in amazement. "And why?"

"Because you have a substitute, " answered the officer. 

"'I!" said Gaspar, with ever-increasing astonishment; "why, that can't beso!"

"Why do you say it can't be so? If the substitute is already accepted andenrolled it is so. "

"But who is he?" asked Gaspar, amazed. 

"That young man, there, " answered the officer, pointing to the man whomhis parents, in their beneficence, had brought up as a son. 

"Michael, what have you done?" exclaimed Gaspar, strongly moved. 

"What my mother charged me on her death-bed to do, " answered Michael; "Ihave paid a debt. '

"You owed me nothing, " answered Gaspar; "but I now owe you a debt; and Godgrant me the opportunity to pay it, brother; if the occasion presentsitself, you may be sure I will not let it pass; that I will not. "

CHAPTER IV. 

Two years after the events just recorded, a still greater sorrow befellthis worthy family, so united and so affectionate, as the families of thepeasantry usually are. Michael drew the lot in a second conscription, asGaspar had done before; and as he was thus obliged to serve on his ownaccount, the son of his adopted parents, whom he could not now serve as asubstitute, was once more called to the ranks. Four years more passed; andjust when they were expecting Michael home, his time of service havingexpired, and while Catherine was preparing her wedding garments, a cry, uttered by the Queen of Spain, resounded through the country, electrifyingthe people and producing a universal outburst of patriotic enthusiasm--Long live Spain! Death to the Moor who has insulted her! This cry wasre-echoed throughout the length and breadth of he Peninsula, accompaniedby the clash of the warrior's sword and the chink of the rich man's gold, offered on the altar of the country's honor; it was repeated by thepeople, who gave their blood; by the sacred episcopate, who blessed thecause of the country and of Christianity, and whose words powerfullyinfluenced not only timid and pious consciences, but all by their wisdom, prudence, and judgment. The Sisters of Charity offered their devotedservices; the nuns made lint and sacred scapulars of the Virgin; theladies also made lint and bandages which they moistened with their tears;and even schoolboys, fired with enthusiasm, asked to be allowed to go tothe popular war against the Moors. [Note: This assertion might be proved by many examples; but it willsuffice to transcribe here a letter written by a nephew of mine, the sonof Marquis C----. "SENOR GOVERNOR: Although I am only a boy of eight I am moved to say toyou that I would like to die for the country, and that, being fond ofmilitary things, I wish you would permit me to go fight the Moors. --Written by P---- P----. "It is to be observed that this boy is docile, and gentle and modest indisposition, rather than daring or arrogant. --Note of the Author]

Michael, who shared in the general enthusiasm for the war, on receivinghis discharge, enlisted again, refusing to accept the premium forre-enlisting, for such time as the war in Africa should last. 

John Joseph, who in winter followed the occupation of a muleteer, broughthome this news on his return from one of his trips, in which he had seenhis sons, who were both serving in the King's regiment, in Africa. Maria, on hearing it, burst into tears. 

"They were right in saying last year, when the saddle-shaped cometappeared, that it came to foretell a war with the Moors!" she exclaimeddisconsolately. 

"The comet had no resemblance to a saddle, " answered her husband, withmartial ardor; "you know very well that what they said was that it was thesame star that had guided the kings who went to Bethlehem to declare thatChrist was the true Messiah; very well, our people will go to the Moorishcountry now to tell them that Spanish Christians are tired of putting upwith the atrocities and the insults of the accursed Moors. "

"But a great many people will be killed in this war, John Joseph, and thatis heartbreaking to think of; yes heartbreaking, although you with yourwarlike notions say it is not. "

"Oh, yes, you would like this war to be like a war between women; a war tothe knife, but without any one killed; well, war with those who use abeard, and especially if they wear the King's uniform and have the flag ofSpain, under which they are fighting, to defend, is another matter; withthem, the question is to conquer or die. "

"For that very reason, " replied Maria disconsolately, "couldn't he havecome back and stayed quietly at home, after he had fulfilled his duty?"

"Yes, like you, at the spinning-wheel; but you must know that no newsailing vessel ever yet wanted to be a pontoon. Don't you know that?"

Maria and Catherine kept on crying. 

"If you had even told me that you were going to see them, " said theformer, "I would have given you some scapulars to take them. "

"They have them already, they have them already, and blessed by the bishopof Malaga. I told you before, wife, that this war is a holy war, whichwill rejoice St. Ferdinand in heaven. But you are in a crying humor, itseems, " he added impatiently, seeing that his wife and daughter were stillshedding tears. "Why, what would you have? That they should remain herelike women, instead of going to throttle those accursed Moors who don'tbelieve in Christ, who deny His Holy Mother, and who call the Spaniards'hens' and 'Christian dogs'? But let them wait a bit, and I'll warrantthey won't want a second taste of the broth those hens will make them!They never catch a Spaniard, even in time of peace, that they don'tquarter or impale him; you see that makes every Spaniard's blood boil! Idon't know how I can contain myself that I don't go too, for I tell youthat the soles of my feet are itching to go, and the day you least expectit, I'll take my gun and my blanket and join the camp. "

"John Joseph! In the Virgin's name! Isn't it enough to have your sonsthere? Would you leave us entirely alone?"

"It wouldn't be for long. "

"Hush, hush! God only knows how long it might be, for those people are intheir own country, defending their homes, and you know that they areferocious, savage, fearless, and valiant. "

"That they are, but as far as being fearless and valiant is concerned, weSpaniards are more so. "

"And God knows what hunger and privation they are going to suffer!"

"Don't imagine it, but even if it should be so, give the Spanish soldierplenty of water to drink and he has all he needs. Why, the joy of thatregiment as they went on board was plain to be seen! And to think that Icouldn't have gone with them!"

"John Joseph, in the Virgin's name, don't indulge in those boyishexplosions; remember, you are sixty-five years old. "

"To-day I am twenty, wife, I am twenty; do you hear?"

"Your fiery spirit deceives you; and I won't hear you talk about going tothe war, when you have two sons in it already. "

"And if I had more sons they should be in it, too. Do you think that Ishould be behind the father of the first soldier killed at the taking ofthe Serrallo, who when he heard of his son's death called another son, took him to the alcalde of his village, and said: 'My son has been killedin the war in Africa; here is another to take his place'?"

"From what you say, I shouldn't wonder if you had urged Michael to go tothe war?"

"Michael didn't need any urging, Michael has done well, and so I told him. 'Go without fear, ' I cried to him, as I came away, 'the weather-vane inyour village points for Spain; and don't lose heart, if there should besome reverse, for reverses there must be in war, unless it be by a miracleof God; but many there won't be; and the devil will have little chance toget at the weather-vane of the peak of the Alpujarras, for the one who hascharge of it now is an archangel, your patron saint, Michael, and thepatron saint of Spain, and he won't neglect his business, and he knows howto keep the devil at a respectful distance!"

CHAPTER V. 

Not long afterward, John Joseph went with his mule for a load of pears toRonda. He found that from there he could go without much difficulty to theChristian camp in Africa. "Why, then, " he said to himself, "I can sell mypears there as well as in Jerez or Malaga; there I will go, then; in thatway I shall see my boys and the fighting that is going on, which will besomething worth seeing. " And so he went. 

Catherine and Maria were far from suspecting anything of this when, six oreight days later, John Joseph returned home. After he had taken the muleto the stable and put away his things with much deliberation, he sat downand said to his wife and daughter:

"The boys send many remembrances, and hope that when you receive them youwill be enjoying as good health as they are enjoying at present. "

"Why, what are you saying, John Joseph?"

"I am saying that the boys have sent you many remembrances. "

"Have you had a letter from them?"

"No, I am the letter myself. "

"You! Why, what do you mean by that?"

"That I went to Morocco and have come back again without losing my way, with my mule Orejero, who showed little surprise when, on arriving in thatstrange country, we found ourselves in the midst of noise and confusion--Moors everywhere, bands playing, guns firing. "

"Holy Mary! And what did you go there for, rash man?"

"To sell some pears that I got an excellent price for; to see the boys, whom I found in good health and as gay as larks; and to kill three Moorswho will never again call any Spaniard 'Christian dog. ' So you see, wife, that I have not lost my journey. "

"And you did that? God help us! God help us!" cried the good woman, crossing herself. "You killed three Moors, did you say? You would not havebeen able to do that unless they had been unarmed, or had been takenprisoners, or had surrendered; and you did that?"

"Maria, what are you saying?" responded her husband. "Don't you know thatto kill an unarmed man would be contrary to the laws of honor and the workof an executioner? Don't you know that to kill a man who had surrenderedwould be a vile deed and would be to make one's self a butcher of men?Don't you know that to kill a man who asks quarter would be the deed of amiscreant and a coward, and would disgrace the name of Christian anddishonor the name of Spaniard? In honorable combat I killed them, Maria, when with arms in their hands they tried to kill me and my companions. Iknow well that the glory is not in killing but in conquering the enemy, and I wouldn't want at the hour of my death to have to remember killingany man by treachery. I tell you, so help me God, that I killed themhonorably, like a brave man, and may they all die thus, for they won'tsurrender, not even with the bayonet at their breasts. "

"Mercy!" cried Maria, "and why not?"

"Because their holy men have made them believe that the Spaniards are asferocious as themselves, and that we burn alive the wounded and theprisoners we take. You thought that only young chaps were good for thewar, and that I, with my sixty-five years, would be of no use in it; well, you were mistaken, you see, you were mistaken, for I am of good quality, and although the steel is worn off, the non remains. Do you understand?And I am a brave soldier, but not an assassin, do you understand?"

"Forgive me, John Joseph, I didn't stop to think--"

"It is plain you didn't stop to think; and you didn't remember, either, that your husband is a Christian of the old stock, and a well-bornSpaniard, and that he knows how to fight the enemies of his faith, of hiscountry, and of his queen; but that he will never dishonor himself bykilling a defenceless man, nor debase himself by putting to death a manwho has surrendered, nor make a tiger of himself by refusing his life to aman who asks it, not even if he were Barabbas himself. "

"Were ours winning, John Joseph?"

"To be sure they were. Winning all the time, past, present, and future. "

"But I have heard them say that a great many more Moors are coming, with abrother of their king, whom they call Muley Abbas. "

"Let them come! That is just what we want; but don't imagine that thoseMoors that are with the king are like the Riff Moors, who are the mostsavage and the fiercest of all the Moors. But all of them together coulddo nothing against the division of Echague, which has covered itself withglory in the war. Queen Isabel may well be proud of her soldiers. But as Iwas telling you, when I arrived at Algeciras I embarked with my mule andmy pears; and you know that I have no fancy for travelling by sea; for themule that falls on that road doesn't get up again. I landed at Ceuta andfrom there I went with my mule and my pears to the camp; and when I sawthe flag of Spain floating over the Serrallo, my heart swelled so that mybreast could hardly contain it. I reached the camp and sold my pears likelightning, for there is no want of money there, nor of the will to spendit. What a hubbub, Maria! It seemed like the gayest kind of a fair;nothing was to be heard but the twang of guitars, singing, and hurrahs forthe queen. I need only tell you that the commander-in-chief has had toforbid so much singing and guitar playing at night, because it served as aguide to the accursed Moors. I was just inquiring for the King's regiment, when the bugle sounded, our soldiers seized their guns, crying, 'Long liveSpain!' and advanced to the attack. I left my mule there and followedthem; and you may believe me that the sight was worth seeing, and one thatwould have set the blood coursing in a dead man's veins. Each of oursoldiers was a Bernardo, every officer a Pizarro, every general a Cid. Onemight have thought that Santiago himself, on his white horse, was at thehead of the army, so completely did they rout the Moors, who are allwarriors, and who were three times as many as we. I could not tell you allI saw, not if I had a hundred tongues. I saw General Quesada seize a gunand lead the bayonet charge himself. 'Ah, brave son of a brave father!' Isaid to myself; for I had served under his father, and he was another ofthe right kind. But why do I say another, when they are all of the rightkind! I saw the bullets flying over the head of the commander-in-chief, asthick as comfits in Carnival. I saw the regiment of Granada, with itsvaliant commander, Colonel Trillo, at its head, make a bayonet chargecrying, 'Long live the Queen!' that made the Moors fly in terror from thefield; and I heard the commander-in-chief say to the colonel, that thatexploit deserved a decoration; to which the generous colonel replied:'Nothing for me, General, the credit belongs to my battalion. ' I heard thecommander-in-chief say to a group of soldiers of the Granada regiment, 'How goes it, boys? Have you received your baptism yet?' 'Yes, General, 'answered the soldiers, 'and the Moors have paid dear for the christening. 'In short, Maria, if I was to tell you of all I saw there, I should keep ontalking till the Day of Judgment. But the ones I never lost sight of, Maria, were our two boys; and you may imagine how well they must havefought when the commander-in-chief, who was nearby, observed them, andgoing up to Michael, he said, 'You have fought well. Now tell me, what doyou wish?' 'To keep on fighting, General, ' answered Michael; and on theinstant the general gave him the cross of St. Ferdinand. I cannot tell youhow I felt; but I thought I should go out of my wits with joy; I could notcontain myself, and I was running to embrace him, when I saw one of thosecrazy howlers stab one of our soldiers, who fell down beside me. 'So?' Isaid, seizing the wounded man's gun; 'you won't have a chance to killanother brave Christian;' and with that I despatched him; and as I hadjoined the dance, I despatched two others, and I made a bayonet chargewith the boys that put wings to the feet of the Moors, for if they have aheavy hand for the fight they have a light foot for flight. Then, nightcoming on, I gave up the gun and went to look for my mule, who evidentlyhad not found that dance of Moors and Christians to his liking, and who, Ilearned on inquiry, had gone, like a mule of peace, to the shelter of thewalls of Ceuta. 

"That night a storm arose that I don't believe had its equal since theworld began. I thought the sea, the wind, and the rain together wouldbring the world to an end. But the next morning we were all as if nothinghad happened, and if the devil had sent that, and others like it, at theinstance of his friend, Mahoma, to terrify his enemies, they might bothhave been convinced that Spaniards are not to be terrified either by theroaring of the elements or the howling of their ferocious Moors. 

"Well, as I was saying, next morning I got up and walked to the camp tohave a chat with the boys; for, as I have told you, the Moors hadprevented me from doing so the day before. When I arrived I found theKing's regiment drawn up in line, with its band and all! 'What may this befor?' I said to myself. The sentry on guard was as mute and as motionlessas a statue, so that it isn't because there are Moors in sight. And why isthis regiment drawn up and not the others? This was beginning to excite mycuriosity. I drew near. The band was playing away when the colonel, takinghis place in front of the regiment, commanded silence, and said in a loudvoice, so that all might hear him:

"'The commander-in-chief has learned with great satisfaction that on theafternoon of the 24th of November, a soldier of the King's regiment, whichI have the honor to command, seeing his companion and friend wounded andin the hands of the Moors, and animated by the noblest sentiments, fixedhis bayonet, and throwing himself heroically upon the Moors, and strikingdown those who attempted to stop him, seized his wounded friend, threw himover his shoulder, more regardful of his friend's life than of his own, and, snatching him from certain death, carried him back to the ranks; anddesiring to recompense, in view of the whole regiment, the soldier who, inso admirable a manner, unites in himself the gallantry of the soldier andthe piety of the Christian, transmits to him this gold medal, which theCadiz Athenaeum has provided and caused to be engraved, with the object ofmaking it an honorable reward for an act of surpassing merit, to be givento him before his regiment drawn up in line, so that it may serve as astimulus to the brave and generous soldier referred to--'"

The old man's voice, up to this time so animated, here failed him, and hewas unable to proceed. 

"Well, " said his wife, deeply moved by the story she had been listeningto, "why do you stop, John Joseph? Go on. "

"I can't get the words out, there's a lump in my throat; for the soldierwhose name was called and who stepped from the ranks to receive the goldmedal was--"

"Was who? Why do you stop?"

"He was--my son. He was Gaspar!"

"Child of my heart! And the Virgin has kept him safe for me!" cried Maria. 

"My darling brother! And he saved Michael's life!" murmured Catherine. 

"And he killed three Moors! Ah, good son, honor of my gray hairs!" addedJohn Joseph, with enthusiastic tenderness. 

There was a moment's silence during which tears choked the utterance ofthese simple people, and they could only clasp their hands and raise theireyes to heaven. 

When he had somewhat recovered from his emotion, John Joseph continued hisrecital in these words:

"When the ceremony was over I went in search of my boys. I cannotdescribe, Maria, what I felt when I saw them, the one with his gold medaland the other with his cross of St. Ferdinand. But what I can say is thatthe queen herself can't feel prouder, with her crown and sceptre, than Ifelt with my Gaspar and my Michael! If Gaspar was happy, Michael washappier still; his eyes danced with joy; the other seemed dazed. 'Good, myson, good, ' I said to him, 'that's the way Spaniards behave when they arefighting for their country, their queen, and their faith, remembering thatthe soldier who is brave and not humane is brave only as the brutes are. You have deserved the medal, son, and your father's blessing with it. '"

"'Why, what did I do?' said Gaspar, who like all really brave men isneither proud nor boastful, and holds himself for less, not more than heis really worth. 

"'You saved your brother's life, ' I replied. 

"'And by so heroic an act that it will be written in letters of gold, 'added Michael. 

"'Why, nonsense, " answered Gaspar, putting his arm around his brother'sneck; 'I have done nothing but pay a debt I owed. '

"'And Spain has paid the debt she owed to the Moors, and with interest, ' Isaid; and I fancy they won't be likely to try their tricks again. So yousee, wife, all the advantages the war has brought us. Hurrah for the war!"

"John Joseph, " returned his wife, "we mustn't forget, because it has beenfavorable to us--and that, perhaps, owing to that poor mother's dyingblessing--the many evils to which war gives rise: the unhappy people whosuffer, those who are left disabled, those who die, and all the familieswho are at this moment weeping and in mourning; for war is a calamity, andtherefore we ought to pray to God with all our hearts and souls for peace, for the song of the angels is: 'Glory to God in the highest; and peace onearth, to men of goodwill!'"

CHAPTER VI

Two months later, that is to say, toward the middle of January, JohnJoseph, his wife, and his daughter were seated one evening around thebrazier. The sky had been covered for several days with heavy clouds thatsent down their rain with a steadiness not usual in storms. The wind thatcame from the Levant roared as if it brought with it, to terrify Spain, the menacing howls of the savage children of Africa and the growling ofits lions. 

"Who knows what they may be going through now!" said Catherine, in a voicechoked with emotion. 

"Ah, merciful God, " answered her mother, "with swamps for a floor, tentsthat let the water through for shelter, and the cholera killing them byhundreds, and the Moors lying in ambush for them or treacherouslyfollowing them, and those eternal nights that swallow up the days! Thereis no strength nor courage that could bear up against so many ills. "

"And that is not the worst, " said John Joseph, with the thoughtlessfrankness of the peasant, bringing his foot heavily down on the floor andraising his eyes to heaven. 

"What! There are worse things yet?" said Maria, anxious and surprised. "Why, what else is there, John Joseph? What else? Speak out. "

"Hunger!" answered her husband in a funereal voice. 

"Holy Mary!" cried the poor mother in terror. "What is that you say, man?And the provisions, then?"

"Provisions they cannot get there; they must be sent by sea from Spain;and although they took plenty with them, when they get used up more mustbe sent, and with these storms, to which there is neither stop nor stay, not even the birds could cross the Strait. Those are the chances of war, Maria; and if it has pleased God to send His storms precisely in thesedays it must be to put our courage and our constancy to the proof, Maria, so that we may go to Him and ask His help, and so that the victory, beingmore dearly bought, may be the more brilliant and the more prized. "

"Or the sufferings and the death of our soldiers the more deeply felt andbitterly lamented, " returned his wife. "Merciful God! Tempestuous weather, an epidemic, fierce and treacherous enemies around them, and hunger! Whowould not lose heart with all this?"

"The Spanish soldier, Maria. "

"And will the generals and the great people come back?"

"Neither the one nor the other, Maria. And if any of them should beobliged to come back because they are sick or wounded, it will be in griefand rage, and only because they can't help themselves; I know them, Maria, I know them. "

"What, are they all going to perish, then?"

"Don't imagine it, for God and the Holy Virgin will bring them safelythrough; hold that for an article of faith. "

"Let us ask them to do it, then, " groaned the unhappy mother. "Mother ofthe forsaken! where are my sons? What has become of them? Are they alive?If they are, what will they not be suffering, and what will they notsuffer in the future, if thou dost not protect them? How their hearts willbe filled with anguish and their minds with despair! Holy Mother! if Ionly had news of them, even. Let us pray to the Virgin to intercede forthem. "

The family began to recite the rosary with that fervor which changesanguish to hope, and sorrow to resignation; and scarcely had they endedwhen a little boy called out from the door:

"Uncle John Joseph, my father says there is a letter in the post-officefor you, and that it is from the Christian's camp over yonder. "

John Joseph, with the activity of twenty years, hurried out of the house, while Maria and her daughter, falling on their knees before an image ofthe Virgin, raised their clasped hands in prayer. 

John Joseph soon returned, bringing with him one of his cronies who knewhow to read and who proceeded to read aloud the letter which the formerhad carried in his trembling hand. 

"MY DEAR PARENTS: I hope that when you receive this you will be enjoyingas good health as I desire for myself. Michael and I are well, and at yourservice. The cholera is raging again, but we laugh at it. Every day ofaction is a day of pleasure and enjoyment for us; for it is happinessenough for us to win glory for our country and to see the enthusiasm ofeverybody; for this increases every day, as well among us of the ranks asamong the officers and generals, and which shows most it would be hard tosay. The mess has been a little scanty in these last days, because the seawas fiercer than the Moors themselves, and the boats were unable to reachus with the supplies; but what matter? The worst of it was that we had notobacco. And so it happened that the commander-in-chief, who came among usencouraging us, like a greatly respected but very careful father, came upto me and said: 'Well, my boy, are you very hungry?' And I answered him:'The hunger is nothing, General; if I only had--if I only had acigarette. '--And what do you think he did? He went to his tent and broughtfrom it an enormous box of cigars that the Queen had presented to him forthe campaign; and saying that Her Majesty would be glad that they shouldserve to lighten the labors of her faithful soldiers, he distributed themamong us. We have received provisions, thanks to the navy, that on thisoccasion did not seem the sister but the mother of the army; and as forthat brave General Bustillo, a hundred lives, if we had them, wouldn't beenough to pay him for all he has done for us. Hurrah for the navy, father, notwithstanding that your worship doesn't like the sea. 

"You must know, father, that a prince of the royal house of France hasarrived here. Although tall and of handsome presence, he is but a boy--only seventeen. If your worship had seen him, you would have said that hewas only a stripling, and not fit for such hard service, but you wouldhave changed your mind if you had seen how he attacked the Moors. On myfaith I had always believed that, from Santiago down, only the Spaniardsattacked the Moors in that way. We believe here that what he wanted to dowas to perform another exploit like the one related by Michael's mother ofHernando del Pulgar in her native Granada, and to fasten the Ave-Maria onthe tent of Don Manuel Habas, and that he would have done it, too, if hehadn't been held back. And mind you, father, it is a very noble thing, andone worthy of admiration, to come, without anything obliging him to it, tothis war, which is no child's play, just for the sake of proving himselfbrave. True it is that to have that name is worth more than all the goldin the world, and lifts one a foot above the ground. 

"We have made more than half a dozen charges with the bayonet, father, like the one in which your worship took part. These charges are not, asone might say, greatly to the taste of the Moors, who, when they hear thecall to the charge, to which we have given the name of General Prim'sPolka, tremble and turn pale and fall back. [Note: It may properly berelated here that this same division, with its leader, General Prim, reconnoitring at a few leagues distance from Tetuan, came upon a poor oldMoorish woman, sick and abandoned by her people; and that putting her on astretcher, they carried her on their shoulders to Tetuan with all thegentleness of sisters of charity. (Note of the Author. )]

"Michael gives me many remembrances for you, and bids me tell Catherinethat he does not forget her, and he bids me tell you, father, that youwere right when you said that his saint would not neglect the weather-vanethat has always pointed for Spain, for we have never once been defeated, and mind you that the Moors are valiant men, and that they fight withdesperate courage. With this I say good-bye, asking your blessing for yourson, GASPAR. 

"Mother: I never enter action without commending myself to the Virgin, asyou told me to do. "

It will be easy to understand the delight of the parents on reading thischeering and animated letter, which was read many times over, for as soonas it was known in the village that a letter had arrived from Africa, thehouse was besieged with people eager to hear the news of the most nationaland popular war which Spain has had since the Independence. 

CHAPTER VII. 

Several days passed, and the loving mother's heart was once more a prey toanxiety. 

"John Joseph, " she said to her husband, "we have heard nothing, and thatmeans that they can't take Tetuan. "

"Hold your tongue, you foolish woman, " answered her husband; "wherever thesun enters the Spaniards can enter. And don't you know that Zamora wasn'ttaken in an hour, and that the artillery can't cross over swamps, and thata causeway has to be built? Women, who know nothing about war, think thatto take a fortress in an enemy's country is as easy as to toss apan-cake. "

But on the 5th of February a muleteer, who came from Xerez, brought thenews to Bornos, which had been transmitted to Xerez by telegraph, that ahard-fought battle had taken place the preceding day before Tetuan, inwhich, as in all the previous ones, the Spaniards had come off victorious, having made themselves masters of five encampments of the enemy, althoughat the cost of many lives. 

His patriotic ardor, added to a feeling of deep anxiety, made itimpossible for John Joseph to remain in the village, and he set out forXerez. There he learned that the wounded of that memorable day were to betaken to Seville, and as a train of materials for the railroad was justleaving for that city, he begged to be taken on board. 

The 7th of February dawned--a day memorable for ever in the annals ofSpain. Day had scarcely broken when the sonorous and soul-stirring bellsof the Cathedral of Seville, diffusing, authorizing, and solemnizing joy, announced to the sleeping people the great and auspicious event of thetaking of Tetuan. It would be impossible to give an idea of the impressioncaused by those sounds, for who can describe the apogee of the mostunanimous, ardent, and national enthusiasm? But let a few facts speak forthemselves. 

The priests who repaired to the churches to say mass recited it solemnlyin chorus, and afterward chanted the Te Deum, that august hymn of thanksto the Lord. 

The venerable Generals Guajardo and Hernandez, military authorities of thedistrict, and both veterans, in whose laurels there is not a leaf thattime can wither, when they met fell into each other's arms, unable toutter a word; the sight of this noble spectacle drawing tears from theeyes of the officers who were present. When the alcalde presented himselfbefore the archbishop to ask his consent to take in procession the imageof the Immaculate Virgin, the patroness of Spain, and the standard andsword of St. Ferdinand, the venerable Prince of the Church burst intotears, causing the alcalde to shed tears also; seeing which, a man of thepeople rushed to the latter, saying: "Senor Alcalde, let me embrace yourworship!" The people called for their venerable pastor, and the latter, showing himself on the balcony, blessed his flock, who cheered himenthusiastically. The various sodalities of women entered theirmagnificent chapel in procession, giving thanks aloud to the Virgin. Musicians paraded the streets, followed by a multitude intoxicated withjoy, who cheered the Queen, Spain, the army, and the generals who had ledit to victory, and who stopped before the houses where the commanders andofficers wounded in this glorious war were lodged, to cheer them also. 

In the public square, a vender of oranges abandoned his stall and hismerchandise, leaving behind him a notice which said: "The owner of thisstall has turned crazy with joy, and here he leaves this trash. " Othersbroke the jars of a water-seller (the value of which they gave himpromptly), saying, "What is this? Water? Today nothing but wine is to bedrunk in Seville. " Further on, another group shouted, "No one sleepsto-night; whoever sleeps to-night is an Englishman!" Flags on the towers, hangings on the houses, the pleasing noise of joy everywhere. 

"A telegraphic despatch, " shouted the blind men, beside themselves withjoy, "announcing the entrance of our valiant troops into the great city ofTetuan, and the utter annihilation of the Moors. Long live Spain! Longlive the Queen! Long live the army! Long live the Moors!" "What is thatyou are saying, man? Long live the Moors?" "Yes, so that we may kill themagain!"

Such is the enthusiasm of the Spanish people when it is unanimous, legitimate, and genuine; they go to their churches, take out in processionthe Immaculate Virgin, cheer their queen, their prelates, theirauthorities, their country, applaud their army, which gives them power andgreatness, its commander and the generals who lead it, and those who bringback from the war glorious wounds; and not even for its most ferociousenemies does it find the odious "Death!"

And that you, brave soldiers who remain in Africa, who have bestowed sogreat a joy upon your country, should be unable to witness the gratitudewith which it repays you!

Perhaps the universal and frantic enthusiasm inspired by the taking of aMoorish city, however heroic the exploit which had put it in the power ofthe Spaniards, may seem disproportioned to the occasion; but this is notthe case, for in the first place, the people, with their admirableinstinct, know that the result is, in everything, what gives it its value;they feel, besides, that it is not only a Moorish city and the advantagesits capture may bring, which its army has gained for Spain, but also thatfrom the Moorish fire the Spanish phoenix has arisen, directing its flightto a glorious future; and in the second place, because in these publicdemonstrations, in this ardent expansion, the country gives expression tothree months of admiration, of interest, and of sympathy. This was owed tothe army for its constancy, for its unequalled valor, for its boundlesshumanity. This debt the country owed, and it paid it in love, inadmiration, and enthusiasm. 

On the 8th, the same rejoicings were continued; processions, salvos, andso much firing of guns everywhere, that it was said as much powder wasexpended in it as in the taking of Tetuan. On the 9th, one of theprincipal streets of the city was named the street of Tetuan; the ceremonytaking place at eight o'clock in the evening, when the municipal councilwent in procession to the street, carrying the Queen's likeness. 

But meantime Maria had had no news of John Joseph. Exaggerated reports ofthe losses by which the victory had been gained were spread. Maria wasunable to control her anxiety, and she set out, as many other mothers ofthe peasantry did, for the capital, where the wounded, who might perhapsbe able to give her some news of her sons, were to be brought. 

Mother and daughter reached Seville on the evening of the 9th, and afterresting for a few moments at an inn, went out to inquire where thewounded, who had been recently brought to the city, had been taken. 

A vast crowd of people and enthusiastic cheering announced to them theapproach of the procession. They stood on a bench in a porch to watch itas it passed. Five mounted pioneers and a numerous band headed theprocession; the municipal guard followed on foot; then came four mencarrying flags, followed by a number of men bearing torches; and then thesoldiers who had been wounded in Africa, wearing laurel wreaths andcarrying ensigns with the names, in silver letters, of the principalvictories gained by the army. After these came the municipal councilheaded by the civil governor and two councillors carrying the likeness ofthe Queen, and the procession was closed by a detachment of infantry withanother band of music at its head. 

"Here come the wounded soldiers!" cried the crowd, and the cheering becamemore enthusiastic, and tears ran down the cheeks of the women as theystopped to look admiringly at the wounded heroes, and then joined theprocession. "Look at that one! Look at that poor fellow; he isn't able towalk alone; they are supporting him, " some one said close beside Maria, pointing to a young man, who with his arm in a sling, his pale foreheadcrowned with laurel, and carrying in his hand an ensign bearing on it theword "Tetuan, " walked with a modest expression on his thin but pleasingface, leaning on the arm of a robust old man whose proud and enrapturedexpression seemed to say to every one, "This brave man is my son!" Maria, whose heart had for many days past been agitated alternately by fear, hope, enthusiasm, and anguish, uttered a cry drawn from her by all thesemingled feelings, as she recognized in the emaciated and glory-coveredwounded soldier her son, and fell into Catherine's arms. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

A few months later a happy wedding, the wedding of Catherine andMichael, was celebrated in Bornos. Gaspar, whose health was entirelyre-established, but who had lost his right arm, was present. But if he hadlost an arm he had in return received a gold medal, a cross with a pensionattached to it, and an annuity; the last, as having been disabled in thewar in Africa; the cross for bravery; and the medal for humane and gallantconduct. 

"Every day is a day of thanksgiving! There is not a happier father in theworld than I!" exclaimed John Joseph gayly. "My only grief is to see youcrippled, my boy. But that can't be helped. You have paid your debt to thecountry like an honest man, Gaspar. "

"And the country, father, " answered Gaspar, pointing proudly to his crossand medal, "has acquitted herself fully of hers to me. "

"You are right, my son: and so, sirs, a toast. Long live the Queen, andlong live all the generous and patriotic Spaniards who, like Her Majestyand the Royal Family, have aided in taking care of the wounded anddisabled soldiers of the African war!"

THE END