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n of thy lover, hand a pledge be left in the pn of my pres- of Islam, receive I have worn, by y interest in thy een tissue which ed it to his lips itude. ' she continued, flowering ravine the Albaycin ; at ilted bridges the Darro ; and yon- i silver winds the my beloved, be- plore with me its rt with its beauty, combat in unison, ay never possess :ver shall the un- th his miscreant tread the stronghold of our fathers, our ancient citadel." " Allah aid thy hand ! But now it wear- eth late, and I may not tarry longer. I pine and die, O Tarfe ! within these gor- geous halls and incense-perfumed cham- bers. My soul is made for freedom and a proud and high career like thine, my war- rior! I loathe the life I lead, and seem to breathe indeed the air of slavery. Farewell, beloved, the night approacheth ! " With tender words he left her to return to the royal walls of the palace, whilst he betook himself to prepare for the morrow's task. Night had withdrawn her legions, and the morn, like a vanquished foe, raised her pale face and smiled on the sleeping woods, and plains, and mountains. The birds, the feathered choristers, awoke and chanted their early notes of praise, the trees shook the dew like sleep from off their leaves, and the flowers unfolded their dreamy, odorous petals ; the streams went murmur- ing on, for even the tranquil night brings them no rest, and they heeded not that the opal Dawn had come out of the east, .J J. I j. i -'-i^j.',- -im & A LEGEND OF THE and the black-robed Night had passed away with stately step, gathering her treasures, the golden, burning stars, and the cool zephyrs, and myriad clouds. It was day upon the Vega, and from out the Alcazar gate rode a warrior of stern and stately mien. His figure was strong and firmly knit; his height, it seemed, some- what above the medium size. His visor was still raised and displayed the swarthy face and fierce, black eyes of Tarfe the Moor. Mounted on a noble steed, he rode with grave and determined air, till at length, when the morning sun was shining on the walls and battlements which surrounded the Christian camp, he gave rein to his horse, and urged it with whip and spur to its utmost speed. As he approached the Christian lines he could perceive that all were astir; pages and squires, polishing their masters' armor or sharpening their flashing swords, sat without the tent, re- gardless of the early sun. Settling himself firmly in his saddle, he rode at full gallop within the lines, aud with all his force hurled at the wooden pavilion which served as the dwelling of - ■ ,~^^-,-:.~^.: ..,^...,:»»:.^ ^-r-i^«— - Or' • 1 THE ght had passed , gathering her riling stars, and rriad clouds. It •nd from out the ior of stern and was strong and it seemed, some- ze. His visor was the swarthy face Tarfe the Moor, ed, he rode with r, till at length, as shining on the vhich surrounded gave rein to his whip and spur to 2 approached the perceive that all squires, polishing sharpening their lout the tent, re- in his saddle, he in the lines, and d at the wooden 3 the dwelling of MOORISH WARS IN SPAIN. g the Queen a dart to which was attached a scarf of greenish tissue. Then, wheeling around, he dashed from the camp with lightning speed. Scarce had he reached the plain when a hundred of the noblest knights sprang to their saddles and gal- loped forth in pursuit. They followed him to the very gates of the beleaguered city, but the Alcazar opened to receive him ere lance or sword could reach him. He scarcely slackened his steed till, pausing at one of the gates of the Alhambra, he threw his bridle to a page, and, dismounting, en- tered with proud and joyous step. In a hall adorned with barbaric splendor, golden vessels of burning incense, costly carvings, and draperies of silk and cloth of gold, he found the princess reclining on a divan. Kneeling before her, he exclaim- ed : " Beauteous Zaida, beloved of my heart, thy lover has returned, but thy token waves upon the pavilion of the unbe- liver's Queen ! " " Worthy art thou," she answered with proud exultation, " that the daughter of a hundred kings should hail thee as her lover. r""' \ 10 A LEGEND OF THK Thou, thou shalt uphold the failing fortunes of our race." " Thy words, my Zaida, are to me as the nectar of the gods, as the songs of the dark- eyed houris. Unparelleled art thou in beauty, as in undaunted courage and devo- tion to thy country. I may not utter all that gratitude and love would teach me. Bright are thine eyes as the glowing dia- mond, fair art thou as the queenly rose. O fairest of thy race ! behold at thy feet Tarfe, thy slave and servant ! " " Say, rather, my true warrioi", dear to my heart as the glory of our country. Il- lustrious art thou among the men of our race, and Zaida thanks thee for this noble proof of thy love." Continuing thus to converse in the ex- travagant style of the East, they passed on to the presence of Boabdil, the last Moorish sovereign of Granada. Prominent among the pursuers of Tarfe was Hernan Perez del Pulgar, popularly known as " Him of the mighty deeds," one of the bravest and noblest of the chivalry of Spain. Finding the pursuit vain, he presented himself before the king. ..4, T ' TH?J \e failing fortunes , are to me as the iongs of the dark- led art thou in ourage and devo- nay not utter all would teach me. the glowing dia- he queenly rose, hold at thy feet nt I •• warrioi", dear to our country. li- the men of our 2e for this noble nverse in the ex- t, they passed on , the last Moorish ursuers of Tarfe 'ulgar, popularly ghty deeds," one : of the chivalry pursuit vain, he he king. MOORISH WARS IN SPAIN. II " My liege," he said, bending the knee, " our chase hath been unsuccessful ; where- fore I have come to crave from thee a boon." «' Name it, sir knight ; we know of no boon which can be refused to ' Him of the mighty deeds.' " ♦' My King, I ask the privilege of aveng- ing, in the manner which shall seem to me most fitting, this daring and audacious in- sult." "It .shall be as thou wilt, Pulgar; but bear in mind that Granada is still in the hands of the infidels, and risk not thy life in rash encounters. We have need of arms like thine." ,, . " My sovereign, I thank thee, cned Pulgar joyously ; " thou shalt find me not unfaithful to thy trust. Permit that I with- draw, that all may be arranged." "Thou hast our leave," replied the mo- narch, "and may God speed thee in thy mission ! " Pulgar retired, but before returning to his tent he walked rapidly in the opposite direction for some distance, then paused, and seemed uncertain as to what course he .* r 12 A LEGEND OF THE Should pursue ; when forth from a tent attended by one of her maidens, came a ady of till and rather slight figure and graceful and elegant mien. Her smal Ld shapely head and welUut. beautiful Latures'we're shown to full advantage ^^ the mantilla of lace which fell in heavy folds to her very feet. Pulgar started at the sight, and advanced eagerly. " Lad^," he began, " be not offended that thou seest me here ; for Heaven ha h surely granted me the boon of this brief "^^f?hlu %litt" f near departure sir knight," replied the lady. "Whither ^°" He^ardst thou not, fair lady, that a de- fying dart was hurled from the hands of an audacious Moor at the very pavd.on o ou Queen ? At nightfall I go hence, that this outrage may be avenged." , , ^^ " Nay. the tidings had not reached me. But whirefore." she continued, 'do you valiant and redoubted knights, who have gtn to Spain such proofs of loyalty and valor, thus risk your lives in new and peril- ous encounters?" ■\ I im a tent, ens, came figure and Her small , beautiful vantage by 1 in heavy started at >t offended eaven hath ■ this brief iparture, sir " Whither r, that a de- hands of an krilion of our ice, that this reached me. id, " do you ts, who have : loyalty and lew and peril- MOORISII WARS IN SPAIN. 13 "Thou art kind, fair lady, who would thus dissuade us from our enterprise. Yet had I boldly dared to hope that from thy lips I should have heard approval of my venture." She was silent, and Pulgar continued : " Have I, indeed, been overbold in aught that I have said or done ? " " Not so, brave knight, for from the lips of woman should ever proceed the praise of valor and its inspiration. Yet do I lack the spirit which could urge to deeds of danger." " Knowest thou not, dear lady," he proceeded in a lower tone, " that knights, when riding forth to war or combat, ever seek their guerdon in the smiles of those they love ? Give me, I implore thee, some sign or token which I may bear upon my breast, the which, if, through storm and danger, I return to hear approval from thy lips, I may lay at thy dear feet ; or if, in Heaven's wise decrees, this night should be my last, shall be sent hither to thee, dyed in the crimson life-blood of this heart that beats for thee." " I know not what to say, brave knight. t^T-asiKS^SS^PS".'". '■.»■.... ,^ A LEGEND OF THE deed, thou hast them n ^ ^^^^ coward heart would fain m scenes of strife and perd Beaov. nevertheless, this "imso'i J^bon. desirest some token, -"d vvith ^^ rny J^ prayers that Heaven may ^f^'^^^^^,^ . , - For thy sweet sake, " will now go forth to batt e^n a holy ^^^ Morethanlhavesaidlda-^^ y,„, 1 return a ^'-^^^"^ ;, ^T. " dded quickly: V" TaLCt tuVn'thy Seart as r^hot:. who had been ever, thy true ^t^was gone before her lipsco^^^^^^^^^^^ ^T nTet rtt\etmb-ce of his and troubled at tne r ^^^^^ danger. Pulgar hastened oh ^^^^^^ ^""^TelTr^lledl^tLm his plan comrades, he reveai p, • ^ja^ knight, "By«->:,^°"°:,^j;em tle^ortof „ied Agu,len, deem^^^_ ^^^^^^^^ ,„y madness. What tM^ ^_^^ ^^^ ^ brain, Pulgar, to nsK tny ''?.f„c=1hln do Spanish nobles prefer I glorious alas! my lade from with thee, n, as thou t my pooi^ d thee." swered, " 1 holy cause. not say till it may not ed quickly. hy heart as ^er, thy true could frame : retired, sad ranee of his his tent, and, d and trusty 1 his plan, itian knight," little short of possessed thy e and ours so nobles prefer MOORISH WARS IN SPAIN. 15 life to honor?" answered Pulgar haughti- ly. , "We may bethink us of some other means," added an older knight ; " to ven- ture thus within the walls of the infidel stronghold were surely but a tempting of Providence." " I came not hither," cried Pulgar with flashing eyes, "to seek for counsel. To ye, my comrades, I have made known my resolve; wherefore ask I simply for your aid, and that ye bear me company unto the walls of the beleaguered city. Failing this, I go alone." _ " That shall never be, Del Pulgar, cried the knights in eager chorus. " The dan- ger that thou darest we shall also dare. ' The time was fixed for that very night, therefore they all retired to hold them- selves in readiness ; and though each one knew that the golden sunlight of the morrow might shine upon his mangled corpse, not a man drew back, but girded himself with stern determination to do or die. Having secured a Moslem deserter as their guide, the little band directed their course across the dusky plain. The ,5 A LEGEND OF THE night was bleak and stormy. The howling ^ind swept down in loud and boisterous Tsts rom the dwelling of the storm-k.ng fn the rugged fastnesses of the dark Sier- ras and over the desolate Vega. Not a star lit their way as noiselessly they sped on through the night and through the darkness. Pulgar and his thirteen compan- ions. The trees waved their dark branches as they stood silently along their path, like ghosts of midnight sentries, who ut- tered no challenge, demanded no password At leneth they reached the gates of the li:rsfcity/and it was decided that ^ four of his companions should sc=^l^ ^ ^;_ walls with Del Pulgar. Followed, there- 7ore by Bedmar. Aguilera. Montemayor and Baena, they succeeded in effecting an nuance to the city. D-^l/J;^^,^: tles closely around them and firmly grasp- , theTr swords, they advanced through t^e quiet streets of the Moorish strong- how so famed in song and story. The dim ult "the lantern showed the quain old buildings with their rare and curious «^^^ inrrc and Graceful, curving minarets, wnue Eugh the distance the clock m some \ MOORISH WARS IN SPAIN. 17 ,e howling boisterous torm-king dark Sier- . Not a tliey sped rough the n compan- k branches .heir paths s, who ut- ) password, ites of the :d that but 1 scale the wed, there- ontemayor, effecting an their man- rmly grasp- :ed through rish strong- ry. The dim e quaint old :urious carv- iiarets, while jck in some I public hall or mosque noted with solemn, warning strokes the flight of time. Be- fore the principal mosque they paused at a signal from their leader, and Pulgar drew from beneath his cloak a parchment scroll. Holding aloft the lantern, he showed to his astonished companions, to whom he had not confided the details of his plan, the words of the Ave Maria inscribed in blue letters on a dark-red ground, followed by a formal dedication of the spot to the wor- ship of God and the honor of Our Lady. With one accord they knelt and fervently repeated the old, old prayer first uttered in the dawning of the world's history by heaven-taught, angel lips. " My trusty comrades," said Del Pulgar as they rose, " Mary, Queen of the Angels, hath thus far been our shield and defence. She it was who prompted this deed, and unto her I give the glory of our enter- prise." With these words he reverently kissed the scroll and fastened it securely, using his dagger as a nail, to the wooden carving of the principal entrance ; then taking from one of his companions a package of com- ■ '^.^^^^^f^-a^ |S^:S^?ig»*!|fi«W?S^P5 a^f I l8 A LEGEND OF THE !■ 1 ill buatibles with which each had been pro- vidcd, he placed it close to the wood-work of another door, and, having ignited it, turned, followed by his comrades, from the spot. , , , " To the Alcariceria,* true and loyal knights! " he cried. " For God, Our Lady, and for Sp 'i- ! " They had almost reached it when they discovered that Montcmayor, to whom the light had been confided, had through care- lessness suffered it to become extinguished, which so enraged Del Pulgar that he aimed a blow with his sword at the unlucky youth, but Bedmar interposed. "Sparc the youth! "he cried, " and by my faith, in briefer space than thou canst think, I will bring thither fire which shall ignite a thousand cities." He rushed back to the burning mosque, already surrounded by an alarmed and J''- cited multitude, and, seizing a brand, has- tened to rejoin his comrades, whom he found engaged in a desperate encounter with the city guard. They succeeded with ♦ The Alcariceria was a district o{ Granada entirely dewt- ed tJl^he nocture of silk, and w.. cons.d«red one of lh« wealthiett portion* of the city. MOORISH WARS IN SPAIN. 19 been pro- wood-work ignited it, :s, from the and loyal Our Lady, when they 3 whom the I rough carc- (ctinguished, lat he aimed lucky youth, »d, " and by 1 thou canst : which shall ling mosque, med and ex- L brand, has- s, whom he te encounter cceeded with Ida entirely devot- isidered one of the great diRiculty in reaching the point at which they had entered, fighting their way to the very last, and leaving the ground strewn with the corpses of their opposers. Once without the walls, they mounted their steeds and soon regained the camp in safety, though much exhaust- ed and bearing many a wound. They were received with great joy, and ushered by an eager throng into the presence of their sovereigns. "Advance, sir knight," said the gracious Isabella. " * He of the mighty deed' hath this day surpassed his former feats in noble and generous daring. What guerdon can requite such an exploit as this?" " Thy favor, gracious Queen, is full and ample guerdon for all true knights." " I mind me, gallant Pulgar," said she, lowering her tone, " of a boon thou didst crave some little time ago. Perchance thou knowest how thy Queen may recom- pense thy deed of heroic valor." " Aught that I can say, my sovereign, but poorly expresses Pulgar's heartfelt gratitude," he replied, catching the import of her words. ISSSSm'iml^^^ 20 A LEGEND OF THE With one of her beaming smiles she dis- missed him to make way for his comrades in the gallant exploit. To each of them was granted a large portion of land in the newly conquered territory, and to Pulgar the additional privilege of being buried in the new cathedral which was to replace the mosque of Granada. The day passed in general rejoicing throughout the Chris- tian camp, while perchance the victor sought approval in. the smiling eyes of his gentle and beloved Beatrix. Within the walls of the beleaguered city, from gate to gate, from tower to tower, consternation and disorder prevailed. The mosque was in ashes, the city threatened, and the streets and thoroughfares strewn with the corpses o^ its hapless defenders. The story of Pulgar and his four compan- ions was at first not generally believed, but • many witnesses attested its truth. The King held council with his wisest and bra- vest warriors. Prominent , among them was Tarfe, whom he had destined as the husband of the fair Zaida, his youngest sis- ter. Suddenly the doors were thrown open and admittance craved for the youthful ^^ifc- miles she dis- his comrades :ach of them if land in the nd to Pulgar ing buried !n as to replace e day passed ut the Chris- e the victor ig eyes of his eaguered city, iver to tower, evailed. The ty threatened, [hfares strewn ess defenders, four compan- ^ believed, but ' ;s truth. The ivisest and bra- , among them lestined as the is youngest sis- re thrown open • the youthful MOORISH WARS IN SPAIN. 21 princess. Alone and unattended, arrayed in her richest robes, she advanced, and, bending profoundly before the throne, she partly drew aside her veil and spoke thus : " Most mighty lord and royal brother, this is no time for idle pomp or ceremony, and I, though a woman, dare intrude my- self upon thy councils, to ask what may be done when our very lives are threatened and the temple of our fathers laid in ashes." " Allah is Allah, and Mahomet is his prophet," replied Boabdil. " Bethink thee, sister, that it has been written in the Book of Fate such evil should befall the sons of Islam." " But have ye agreed as to how ye may avenge the wrong, and teach the insolent foe he warreth not with cravens ? " " Be calm, my sister, and hearken lo my words," replied the monarch. " We have been pleased to assemble in council the bravest of our warriors, lovers of the Mos- lem cause, and true followers of Mahomet ; therefore, I pray thee, concern not thyself with what thou canst not aid." Forth from the group of warriors stepped ■,MMiiS^U&.. 22 A LEGEND OF THE the gallant Tarfe. Prostrate before the King, he exclaimed : "Most redoubted lord, and commander of the faithful, permit that 1 sustain this day the honor of the Moslem cause. I t^fl ride forth and dare to single combat anv of their bravest Christian knights. ""JInow Allah be praised!" cried the Kincr "The council is ended. Warriors, ye may retire. Tarfe shall be the avenger If his oeople ! " The monarch then with- t'v. followed by the band of Moslems and Tarfe was left alone in the presence of '' " TlZ"'she said in a voice of t^^^^^^^^^ sweetness, " once more wouldst thou risk fw ife for my sake in the cause of our veVlo^ed country. Its glory hath not flllen? its fortunes are not lost, whilst such as thee are left unto Granada. "Even so, delight of my heart," said he ; " once more will I go forth to vent my hatred on our common foes through love of thee. If. indeed, I live to return lily of thy peop e, then may I. with proud and ::;u::o^us oy. f-^^::^:tiZ:::i hand, my loved Zaida , ana u x u , MOORISH %YAKb IN SPAhV. 23 ! before the commander sustain this m cause. I ngle combat knights." •• cried the i. Warriors, e the avenger ch then with- of Moslems, e presence of ce of thrilling Idst thou risk : cause of our lory hath not 1st, whilst such a." leart," said he ; ;h to vent my J through love to return, lily with proud and that beauteous id if I die, trust me, peerless jewel of Granada, it shall be with honor." "And the Koran promises thee, my war- rior, a paradise of lasting delights, where I will rejoin thee when the appointed hour hath come. But if thou returnest, this hand, this heart which loves thee e'en as it burns with hatred of our foes, shall be thine own, and together we shall recall the ancient glories of our race, and seek to in- spire each Islamite with fiery courage and » undying hate of the Christian name. Go ! I can send thee forth in such a cause with- out one tear." " But now, Zaida," resumed her lover mournfully, " now hath come the moment of farewell. It may, indeed, be written in the book of doom that I shall look upon thy face no more. O beauteous maiden, pearl of the dawn ! remember how I loved thee, should these lips ne'er speak again the eager tale of hope and passion. Fare- well I Thy lover goeth forth ; victory or death is now before him." He rushed from the room, and, hastening to the mosque, removed the scroll which had been placed there by the heroic Pul- i I 1 « A LEGEND OF THE aar In the broad glare of noon he rode irt'h aVain from the Alcazar gateway. The sunas^himng down with fierce and withering beams; not a npple wa upon the waters, nor a shiver among the trees. The dusty ar.d ""P'^f "^^.^/^f, was a toilsome path on such a day, yet Tarfe seemed unconscious of the heat an4 dust. He wended his way slowly, and turn ed now and again ^ backward glance on the dark walls and towers of the Alhamb^a the gloomy fortress of the Mbayan or fix ed his gaze upon the waters of the Darro as he passed beside its flowering banks^ Did some foreshadowings of his fate gleam Uke a prophecy from beyond the b-'^^J^ that divides thought from matter Were it so there was none to whom he m.gnt communicate his thoughts, and he passed on across the sun-scorched Vega till once more he reached the Christian lines. He Tde slowly up and down before the walls, ut norfamoL scroll of ^^^/^^[^^Z affixed to his horse's tail, and boldly de fied any Christian knight to single comba. 5:?ense^xcitement prevailed -ithin tl^ camp. Pulgar was absent, but every knight oon he rode ;ar gateway. with fierce a ripple was r among the atected Vega h a day, yet the heat and ,wly, and turn- glance on the he Alhambva, Ibaycin, or fix- of the Darro wering banks. his fate gleam i the boundary natter? Were ^hom he might and he passed Vega, till once tian lines. He )efore the walls, the Ave Maria and boldly de- single combat, iled within the but every knight MOORISH WARS IN SPAIN. 25 Lut was eager to accept the challenge and sa ly forth to combat with the Moor the King was deaf to all their entreaties. *' Spain has need of ye, my nobles," he declared—" has need of stout hearts and strong arms in the final struggle. I forbid ye, one and all, to expose your lives in a quarrel so vain ; for well have ye proved your dauntless valor on many a hard-fou"ht field." From the group which surrounded the throne rushed forth a youth of slender and fragile form. " My sovereign," he cried imploringly, " let me ride forth, and in Our Lady's cause win my spurs of knighthood. I pray thee pardon my temerity; but these brave knights, my liege, have fought and bled for Spain, and I — " " It may not be, brave youth— the boon I denied to stronger arms may not be thine ; but in thy request thou hast shown the warlike and undaunted spirit of thy house. Content thee, boy ; a fitting occa- sion shall be given thee ere long to win thy spurs." Reluctantly rising, the youth withdrew, Ill ll l l ll f ' I 26 A LEGEND OF THE but, in place of submitting to the King's command, he slipped away, and, donning his armor,rode hastily forth from the camp. •' Now Heaven forgive me ! " he exclaim- ed, " for my disobedience to our royal mas- ter, and aid me in the coming contest." When Tarfe beheld the boyish figure of his adversary, he was at first inclined to refuse his challenge. " Return, rash youth," he said, " and know that Tarfe maketh war on men." " Dost thou refuse my challenge, Moor ? Then will I brand thee as a coward and a braggart. Seize thy lance and stand upon thy guard, or, by my faith, I'll charge upon thee." Seeing that the boy was determined to encounter him, the Moor put his lance in rest, and soon the struggle began, and in the first course the Moor tottered in his saddle. The combat was long and severe. Lances were shivered, shields broken, and at length horses and riders rolled to- gether in the dust. Meanwhile, from the walls of the encampment its progress was watched with eager interest by the Chris- tian host. MOORISH WARS IN SPAIN. 27 ) the King's nd, donning )m the camp. ' he exclaim- ur royal mas- contest." nsh figure of t inclined to i said, " and on men." lenge, Moor? oward and a d stand upon 1, I'll charge letermined to t his lance in Degan, and in altered in his ig and severe, s broken, and :rs rolled to- hile, from the > progress was by the Chris- " St. lago to the rescue ! . . . Holy Vir- gin ! he is wavering. ... By my halidome, the Moor totters ! . . . Their blood flows fast ! . . . Queen of Heaven assist him ! . . . They fall ! they are unhorsed ! " These and such like exclamations broke from the Christian lines, till the comba- tants rolled to the ground and were lost in a thick cloud of dust. A moment of sus- pense ensued, and then the youth was seen holding aloft the severed head of the Moor- ish warrior. A deafening cheer arose from the beholders, while the victor, holding the blreding head and the scroll, which he had unfastened from the horse, rode slow- ly towards the lines. In the rejoicing which followed the King forgot his resent- ment at the disobedience of the youth. " Forgive him," urged the Queen — " for- give the unknown knight who hath this day, in Our Lady's honor, braved even the displeasure of his king." " He is forgiven," replied the monarch ; " such deed as his had wiped away a hun- dred faults. Advance, brave champion," he continued, as the youth appeared amid the enthusiastic plaudits of the crowd. 28 A LEGEND OF THE "Permit us to behold the conqueror in a noble fray." , , . He raised his visor and disclosed the boyish features of De la Vega, the King s favorite page. Then burst from the multi- tude a thunder of applause— .. The stormy cheer man gives to Glory on her high career," that loud, continuous, and tumultuous ap- plause which thrills the heart and stirs the blood ; sounds which the treacherous wind Rafted over the Vega's plain to the walls of the Moorish city. ,^„rM " Pardon, my liege, pardon ! f^^^^'ll the youth, kneeling at the feet of the Kmg with the trophies of his victory. „ .' Thou art pardoned, gallant youth! replied the King. '* ^1- blood of yonde Moor hath washed away even fault so grave as disobedienc to our royal ^o^^ ^o morrow, after sunrise, thou shalt receive "'^ReSve.bravede.cendan.ofava.ian. race the thanks of thy Queen ; and she add;d unfastening a jewelled brooch from t t\ m MOORISH WARS IN SPAIN. 29 iqueror in a sclosed the , the King's n the multi- her high career," nultuous ap- and stirs the :herous wind to the walls ! " murmured t of the King •y. lant youth!" »od of yonder fault so grave il word. To-. shalt receive her hand for ,nt of a valiant :en" ; and she :d brooch from her robe : " Wear this poor bauble in re- membrance of thy first combat in a glo- rious cause." He kissed her hand, murmuring some broken words of gratitude. " Tell me, fair youth," she continued, smiling, " what damsel in our Uain may boast allegiance from so true a knight as thou hast proved thyself?" '• Thus far, my sovereign," he replied, " I combat in the cause of Mary, Mother of God ; none other claims my devoirs." " A high and holy cause is thine," said Isabella, deeply touched ; " may she re- quite thee for thy heroic espousal of her cause to-day ! " Scarcely had the early morning sun ap- peared above the horizon when a vast as- semblage of bishops and clergy, knights and ladies, pages and esquires, were gath- ered together to witness the investiture of the Christian champion with the order of knighthood. Amid a breathless silence, he advanced to the foot of the throne, and when Ferdinand, proclaiming him a knight, exclaimed, " Arise, Sir Garcilaso de la Vega ! the faithful, brave, and fortunate," \ 30 A LEGEND OF THE renewed acclamations rent the air ^vV|Ue nobles and ladies pressed eagerly forwanl to preet him unde.' his new and well-won title 'Tt wirnight again in the Moorish c.ty; the wind was murmuring and ^'g^ "^ ;" the trees, the plain was still and cold, the pkcd rv rs flowed black and drear, and £ ewels in Night's royal mantle appeared slowly, one by one. as the wan twi ight fadid Afar o'er the dark fortress of the Albavcin the moon was slowly rising to her chair of regal state, just one faint por- tfon visible from' behind the envious c^ud- -;:^;s^=-ti:^e^^^^^ ^--1T^Si-St At last she heard, through t'^%'**"."'\_ • t\.^ tiamoine of horses, and with an :age^e rUh'^m^patience she waited wh^ :S?:ugh the dense darkness she co Id he the sound come nearer ^"d nearer knew not that they were bearing to er anxTous. hoping heart the tidu^gs J^-t should bid it hope no more. Througn wmm MOORISH WARS IN SPAIN. 31 air, while forward to l-won title, lorish city; sighing in id cold, the drear, and Xt appeared ran twilight tress of the fly rising to ne faint per- vious clouds. the flowers, evening air, irn of her va- ome through r that he for ne no more? he still night and with an waited, while she could hear nearer. She )earing to her ; tidings that ,re. Through the quiet streets they bore her lover, who liad gone forth at noon with the fiery heart of youth burning with hatred towards the people of God, enshrouded in more than Egyptian darkness, and had perished thus in an unholy cause. As they passed within the encircling battlements of the Alhambra, the moon emerged through the affrighted clouds, from behind the buttressed tower, and climbed, with majestic step, to her throne of sovereignty over the marshalled legions of the purple night. Zaida hastily- entered the palace, and stood awaiting her lover at the head of the broad, marble staircase, leading to the great hall .of the Alhambra. She paused in the shadow of an oriel window, through which the moon, unfettered by the latticed bars, shed its pale beams on her expectant face, on the dark stairway, the mail-clad forms advancing, and on the heavy velvet pall which covered a funeral bier. With one wild cry of anguish she sprang forward. " Who bear ye with such pomp and hon- or?" cried she, addressing the chief of the band. " What hero has fallen ? What prince is no more? " IP 32 A LEGEND OF THE The moonbeams fell softly, pityingly around her as the chief replied : " We bear to the presence of Uie King the body of the illustrious Tarfe." They passed on, not recognizing the Princess; but she detained them not, re- maining silent and motionless as a statue. After a moment she followed them mto the presence of the King, and, when the corpse was laid at his feet, she threw her- self upon it and broke into a storm of pas- sionate wailing. " Star of thy race, thou art set ; thy licht is quenched in the darkness of death, and woe is me that I, thy beloved, may not follow thee beyond the grave ! This, then, is our meeting, Tarfe, my beloved . Thy Zaida, who would have been thy bride, mourns thee in anguish and desola- tion. Dost thou not hear ? Zaida speaks But, alas! the ears that had heard vv.th such joy her words of love were c bsed to all earthly sounds, and the lips that had breathed such passionate devotion would open no more on earth. She might not even gaze on the familiar features, even when Death, the sternest of conquerors, MOORISH WARS IN SPAIN. 33 , pityingly ;d : *' We ig the body ;nizing the em not, rc- as a statue. them into I, when the : threw her- ;orm of pas- irt set ; thy ess of death, eloved, may rave ! This, my beloved ! e been thy I and desola- ida speaks'." d heard with ere closed to lips that had i^otion would le might not eatures, even f conquerors, had chained them to fixed and absolute repose. She dared not draw aside the pall which mercifully concealed the headless trunk of her hapless lover. They drew her gently away from the corpse of him who had passed for ever out of her life • into the unbroken silence of the grave. Thus were these two hearts, which a bond of love, of passionate hatred for their common foe, and of deep devotion to their country, had united so closely, part- ed now for ever " far as death severs life." Love and hatred, and the thousand mys- teries of the human heart, were over for him, and his arm of might would strike no more its potent blow in an unholy cause. Henceforward Zaida appeared not in coun- cil or at festival. Sometimes in the dim hour of twilight she was seen, in heavy robes of mourning, wandering through the flowering paths of her favorite gardens, re- calling, perchance, his words of passionate tenderness and unholy resentment; re- flecting, it may be, with remorseful pity, that her indomitable pride and fiery ha- tred of the Christian cause had urged him to his doom. Communing thus with the w ''SHB^SBf''™'*''*'''^'' ;^^K^',i 34 A LEGEND OF THE past, gazing on the towers and streams of her beloved Granada, only as links which bound her to departed joys, she mourned no more the downfall of her country, nor dreamed bright dreams of the regeneration of her race. Her thoughts, her hopes, ever pointed onward through the misty, uncer- tain years to what her vague and shadowy belief showed her as the sunrise land of infinite joy, v/here, on the flowering plains of the Prophet's Paradise, the lover of her youth awaited her, the warrior to whom the Koran promised that immortal bliss. Alas ! when even the visions of the world above are phantoms like unto the pale, brief joys that lure our hearts while here below. Alas ! when 'tis but the Koran's fancied Paradise of sensual delights that deludes the weary watcher. On the same night that witnessed Zai- da's passionate grief Del Pulgar breathed his vows of love in the tender moonlight with the waving shadows of the trees be- neath the lovers' feet. "Sweet lady," he whispered, "thou who hast cheered me through the stormy path of war, hear the prayer of thine un- MOORISH WARS IN SPAIN. 35 streams of links which e mourned juntry, nor ^generation hopes, ever isty, uncer- id shadowy ise land of ering plains over of her r to whom lortal bliss, f the world ) the pale, while here he Koran's flights that messed Zai- ir breathed r moonlight ae trees red, " thou the stormy )f thine un- n worthy knight. Bind thyself to me, ! pray thee, by true and lasting ties, that when thy soldier goes forth again to battle the thought of thee may cheer him through its perils. Say, what shall be his fate, gentle lady of my heart ? " She answered not, and he continued: "The King and Queen consent that I should urge my suit ; therefore, wilt thou deny me ? Speak but a word, beloved ! Tell me, wilt thou share my fate and be a warrior's bride ? " *• Ay," she replied with sudden courage. " I will be thy bride — thine, through joy and sorrow, till death do us part." Then even the attendant maiden who stood apart perceived by the bright moon- light the glow of joy which lit the war- rior's face. Bending low, he touched her fingers with his lips, as he answered sol- emnly : " O thou to whom my vows are paid, may Heaven aid me to prove worthy of thy faith and love ! " The moon smiled and cast a flood of glory round them like the joy which fill ed their hearts ; the night-wind whispered 36 A LEGEND OF '.HE through the trees, as the greetings of long- lost dear ones, and the stars seemed to glow and burn in the night's purple mantle, as the lovers lingered, exchanging vows which bound them in endless union. . Even thus shone the radiant moon on the Moorish maiden's solemn tryst with her cold, dead lover, as on the glowing looks and sunny smiles of the Christian damsel's glad betro- thai; gleaming down with equal hght on parting and meeting, on the hope ess, de- spairing grief of the one, and the hopeful, loving joy of the other. ^ One month later the nuptials of Her- nan Perez del Pulgar with the fair and gentle lady of his choice were celebra ed ^ith great splendor and ^'f -f' ^" ^^^ ^^^ pomp and magnificence of the olden time ^ . " ,v- : f tl,A hour was forgotten, j^aW^f-^nrU. final, hard^ought struggle which was to wrest for ever the k n?dom of Granada from the power of the Moors, and crown the Spanish arms with lasting honor. • 1,4. „f the Down through the long night of the ages tradition has preserved the legend of the Ave Maria, and in the cabins of MOORISH WARS IN SPAIN. 37 s of long- d to glow nantle, as jws which Lven thus I Moorish :olcl, dead .nd sunny lad betro- 1 light on jeless, de- e hopeful, s of Her- ; fair aind celebrated T, in all the Iden time ; forgotten, ard-fought r ever the jwer of the arms with jht of the the legend cabins of the peasantry, or by the midnight watch- fires of the muleteers, is told or chanted in rude verse the tale of how the gal- lant Pulgar fired by night the ancient Moorish mosque, and affixed thereto the parchment scroll with the ever-blessed words of the Ave Maria. In those days of chivalry and great exploit each manly heart delighted in proclaiming as his no- blest boast his unwavering loyalty to the grand old Church, to its Master and Foun- der, Jesus Christ, and his Virgin Mother, the Queen of men and angels. In the battle's fiercest storm, or in presence of their most redoubted foe, the thought of the loved Madonna would nerve their hearts and arms, while from the bearded lips of war-worn soldiers would fall the gentle accents of the Ave Maria. O glorious chivalry of Spain! across the dark and tempestuous waves of the centuries, could ye behold how Infidel and unbelievers, less earnest and less knightly than your ancient Moslem foe, seek to banish from Spanish hearts and Spanish lips the name ye once revered of Mary, Queen of Heaven, and few advance, as ye had done, to break a 36 A LEGEND OF "iHE ! through the trees, as the greetings of long- lost dear ones, and the stars seemed to glow and burn in the night's purple mantle, as the lovers lingered, exchanging vows which bound them in endless union. . Even thus shone the radiant moon on the Moorish maiden's solemn tryst with her cold, dead lover, as on the glowing looks and sunny smiles of the Christian damsel's glad betro- thal ; gleaming down with equal light on parting and meeting, on the hope ess, de- spairing grief of the one, and the hopeful, loving joy of the other. One month later the nuptials of Her- nan Perez del Pulgar with the air and eentle lady of his choice were celebrated w1"h great Vndor and rejoicing in al the ^^mp'and magnificence of the olden time ; ?nd in the joy of the hour was forgo ^^^^ for a brief season, the final, hard-fought struggle which was to wrest for ever he k ngdom of Granada from the power of t_he Moors, and crown the Spanish arms with lasting honor. • u*. r.r the Down through the long night of the ages tradition has preserved the legend of the Ave 3faria, and in the cabins of MOORISH WARS IN SPAIN. 37 of long- to glow mtle, as fs which :en thus Moorish Id, dead d sunny d betro- light on less, de- hopeful, of Her- fair and ilebrated in all the en time ; orgotten, rd-fought ever the /er of the irms with t of the e legend cabins of the peasantry, or by the midnight watch- fires of the muleteers, is told or chanted in rude verse the tale of how the gal- lant Pulgar fired by night the ancient Moorish mosque, and affixed thereto the parchment scroll with the ever-blessed words of the Ave Maria. In those days of chivalry and great exploit each manly heart delighted in proclaiming as his no- blest boast his unwavering loyalty to the grand old Church, to its Master and Foun- der, Jesus Christ, and his Virgin Mother, the Queen of men and angels. In the battle's fiercest storm, or in presence of their most redoubted foe, the thought of the loved Madonna would nerve their hearts and arms, while from the bearded lips of war-worn soldiers would fall the gentle accents of the Ave Maria. O glorious chivalry of Spain! across the dark and tempestuous waves of the centuries, could ye behold how Infidel and unbelievers, less earnest and less knightly than your ancient Moslem foe, seek to banish from Spanish hearts and Spanish lips the name ye once revered of Mary, Queen of Heaven, and few advance, as ye had done, to break a 38 A LEGEND OF SPAIN. lance in cause so holy. May other tongues and pens, as we do now, record in centu- ries to come the triumphs of the Ave Maria ! ler tongues I in centu- f the Ave % DONNA DOLORES. '-*WKit5W««iif!i»wiwpr>!""^»fl DONNA DOLORES. It is morning at Cordova, and the old town is all alive with the bustle and excite- ment which, in those bygone ages, was al- ways so picturesque ; for hither and thither in the commerce of daily life passed men and women whom now, indeed, we see in galleries of old paintings, but meet no more, with their graceful and poetic cos- tumes, in the broad glare of commonplace existence. On this morning in the past the city was aglow with the warmth and exhilaration of a sunny day in early summer, dreaming not of a later time when upon its principal square would rise, as a trophy of victory, the great mosque of Abderahman, with its countless minarets, its wonderful architec- ture, and its forest of columns and light 4 DONNA DOLORES. shafts of Greco-Arabic mould, composed of jasper, porphyry, various colored breccia, and other precious marbles ; its mosaics of tinted crystal, its verses of the Koran, its arches and arabesques and innumerable Moorish devices, and above all the glitter- ing crescent. But in this early part of the eighth cen- tury there was no trace of that marvellous pile, in later years the pride of the caliphs. The streets were, however, narrow and ir- regular, winding away into dim and sha- dowy nooks, or branching out into broad squares or esplanades.upon which churches or convents stood, with their dim cloisters and /fl/wj perfumed with the white blos- soms of countless orange-trees. Morning was softly resting on all things, having opened every flower-cup, watered it with pearly dew-drops, smoothed out the dark-green leaves, despatched the zephyrs to awaken the grassef and blow gentle breaths among them ; while the trees, in their efforts to shake off the oppressiveness of night and sleep, had scattered over the earth aromatic showers of orange and cit- ron and other Oriental blossoms. DONNA DOLORES. 5 composed ed breccia, mosaics of Koran, its inumerable the glitter- iighth cen- marvellous the caliphs, •ow and ir- n and sha- into broad ch churches im cloisters white blos- n all things, }, watered it led out the the zephyrs )low gentle he trees, in pressiveness red over the nge and cit- is. The sun, too, was abroad, that far-famed and oft-quoted driver in the chariot of gold, who passes round the world among the re- gions of the upper air, and, at his mounting and descending, pours forth recklessly the treasures which he bears with him, purple and crimson, opal and violet, amber and pink, which fall among the clouds and re- flect beautiful hues on the world beneath. At morning, indeed, he issues first in man- tle of gray, which presently throwing aside, he displays his brightness. Thus over the Moorish town mist-shadowed dawn had passed, and the lavish gold was every- where predominant. On the bridge leading over the Guadal- quivir to Ecija was a young Spanish girl richly dowered with the famous beauty of her race. Her eyes were large and dark, soft and liquid, with that lustrous languor, if we may use the term, which is peculiar to the Castilian face, and owes, perhaps, something of its brilliancy to the Moor- ish and Oriental admixture in the various races of Spain. Her forehead was rather broad than high, her face oval, save that the chin, though delicately curved, was iWiiMMIiJi SffiBsfi 11^ 1: I 6 DONNA DOLORES. slightly pointed, marring the perfect con- tour. Her expression was quick, spark- ling, and intelligent, flashing a moment, in true Spanish fashion, on the object of its regard, and as speedily withdrawn. Her hair was fair where the mantilla shows it, of the bright golden shade usual in that rare phenomenon, a Spanish blonde. In the grace and pliancy of her figure, the exceeding smallness of her feet and hands, no less than in the perfection of feature we h?ve described, she was a fine type of that national beauty which poet and troubadour alike have sung, and with which, notwithstanding, we so rarely meet in the streets of the various Spanish cities. The costume of her day was particularly adapted to bring out the beauty of her Castilian face. She wore a loose robe or flowing garment of amber-colored taffeta, of which the rich draperies mingled grace- fully with the long lace mantilla covering her head and falling softly to her feet. Her neck was adorned with a circlet of twisted pearls and gold ; her hair beneath the man- tilla was fastened with a similar one, which DONNA DOT-ORES. perfect con- [uick, spark- i moment, in object of its Jrawn. Her ntilla shows de usual in nish blonde. : her figure, lier feet and lerfection of e was a fine which poet sung, and we so rarely rious Spanish s particularly sauty of her oose robe or lored taffeta, ingled grace- tilla covering her feet. Her et of twisted eath the man- ar one, which peeped through the lace and caught the sunlight. She leaned over an arch of the bridge and gazed upon the water, as if counting the golden ripples on the Guadalquivir's smooth breast. Thoughtfully her eyes wan- dered afar off, following into the distance its sinuous windings, and seeming to ponder on its destination. Turning to her atten- dant, a bright-eyed, sunburnt Andalusian peasant, she said in a low, musical voice : " See yon bark, my Sancha ; it riseth on the wave and again dippeth down into the cool water, and on and away past many goodly shores." " It seemeth heavily laden," replied the maid, " and, I would suppose, bears mer- chandise from distant lands." " Sancha," said Donna Lola, half dreamily, already forgetting the bark and its trackless course, " what mournful doom hath fallen on our country that from end to end the Moslems devastate her fields and vineyards ! " " May God deliver us from their rage," replied the attendant, " and devote them to the dark fate they merit ! " --iBmi iPiP 8 DONNA DOLOKES. •• And yet," said Donna Lola softly, " T doubt me not, among them arc loyal and knightly hearts, and 1 confess to thee, good Sancha, I do pity them in their unbelief." " Whom dost thou pity, fair sefiorita?" asked a voice beside her. " It were well worth suffering hardship were such com- passion its guerdon." " Nay, Don Ruy, thou didst fright me," said the lady, perceiving that a knight in arms stood before her, while at the same time she offered him her hand, to which, after the fashion of the times, he lightly pressed his lips. " Fright thee, fair lady ? Nay, what fur- ther Trom my thoughts than to cause thee terror ! Wherefore didst thou fear ? " " I bethought me," said the lady, draw- ing her mantilla rather coquettishly over the greater portion of her face, " of the wandering Moors, whom, we are told, are ever on the watch for Christian captives. But whence art thou come, sir knight, and wherefore ?" " Whence ? From the palace, lady. Wherefore, dost thou ask ? I have come thither to hold speech with Donna Dolores, u , softly, " T : loyal and i thee, good unbelief." sefiorita?" t were well such corn- fright me," t a knight hile at the :r hand, to le times, he y, what fur- ) cause thee fear?" lady, draw- ttishly over ce, " of the are told, are in captives. sir knight, alaco, lady. [ have come ma Dolores, DONNA DOLORES. g if, indeed, in her scorn or trifling, she send me not hence." " Donna Lola's thoughts are not of thee," she answered carelessly, "but dwell rather on the fortunes of the Moors." "And wilt thou now, sweet dreamer, rest them an instant on the fortunes of a Christian, the which, as thou knowest, lie at thy dainty feet ? It is thine to raise or crush them in the dust, and this the place and hour." "Bethink thee, sir knight, that the place and hour may, in my humble esteem, be unseasonable; wherefore I will pray thee to urge not upon me thy fortunes." •' Forgive the unseemly haste, but I be- seech thee hear me; for to-night, it is whispered, the Moslems will assail the town, and each warrior in his place must be the rampart that shall hold them back. This feeble portion of that bulwark, then, most humbly craves that thou inspire a needed strength." " Thou goest to face the enemy ! " cried the lady, turning to him with blanched face and tear-moistened eyes. " The foe are at our walls, and thou wilt be in peril ! " 1 I ! i 10 DONNA DOLORES. .. Ay. each warrior shall be in peril," said the knight, watching her keen y^ - but is this aught to thee ? Carest thou for my danger?" , She turned her head away to concea a tear or two that stained her cheeks, and he continued his suit. " If thou fearest for me, lady— if thou wouldst grieve for my fail, I pray thee g°e me courage. One boon thou cans lestow which will inspire -y^^f ^"^^ strength and valor worthy of our cause Wik thou grant it. lady?" he sajd, lower. inc his voice and bending forward. ?. I possess not the necromancers art : 1 --.i^f •• <;aid Lola, with downcast Wwctnottheboonl crave ?_ A hear,, tlren, lady, and that h=art"^'"=;„.„„dest tt\ra::asteredyedwith_cr™- .„ a°„d her head turned from h.m _ Hast aught else (or which thou crave t? "Ay," cried the warrior, " the heart IB DONNA DOLORES. II in peril," ;r keenly ; arest thou to conceal ;heeks, and iy— if thou pray thee thou canst heart with ' our cause. said, lower- ard. lancer's art, th downcast leaning. If ; name it." :aning — thou e ? A heart, ae. over-modest coquettishly, d with crim- him. "Hast vest? " ' the heart I lain would have should not be empty, but filled, I would e'en hope, with love, and accompanied by another gift— that of thy hand, O lady of my heart !" The Guadalquivir flowed on calmly, the morning sun gilded the fair panorama of the quaint old city and the noiseless river, while the Donna Dolores, famed for her beauty throughout the land, plighted her faith to Don Ruy Garcia de Salas, who was likewise much lauded for valor and courtly bearing. But the great business of the hour drove the consideration of private loves and hopes and hates out of every mind, and hearts were trampled under the iron car of the conqueror Duty. At the palace of the Christian governor bands of armed men hastened in and out, hither and thither. The clank of arms and the tread of mail- clad knights resounded on the marble stairs or in the halls where high council was held as to the city's defence Full of pride in their own prowess, and dreading naught from the foes without, the warriors gathered round their chief, Pelistes, who, waary and worn with his long struggle. J 2 DONNA DOLORES. had returned from fields of high emprise to de'end the Christian cause in Cordova. Magued, who was besie^ng the c.ty ap- parently dismayed by the height of the Sand the strength of the towers and fortresses, had towards evenmg dtawn If h?s troops. Elated.by this wonderful deliverance, the night was spent m joy ^1t';ttwever. deemed advisable to keep In ^rmed band of warriors within the See and with them, after a short inter- ??ew witH his betrothed, Don Ruy took ^'\f rr^mewhat retired street stood one of the most beautiful mansions or palaces of the Town, of which the /./.. was fil d VI the choicest and most fragrant flowers, r^dthgate^^^^^ with s In and brocaded velvet and opened In gilded balconies. Fo- mome ^ ^ ^ na Lola appeared to f^i^'^'^^^^^^ freeze then, re-entermg, betook i^erseu o aver' A i^ameless foreboding a haunt- prayer, i^ prevented her from sleep- r„|;:n7sh:reLned keeping her vi„. alone. ili jh emprise 1 Cordova, le city, ap- ight of the towers and ling drawn IS wonderful pent in joy idvisable to rs within the short inter- ,n Ruy took :t stood one ns or palaces !/wwas filled grant flowers, >eavily draped ;t and opened noment Don- tie fresh night ook herself to ing, a haunt- er from sleep- ping her vigil DONNA DOLORES. '3 Some time after midnight a fearful tu- mult rose in the streets without, and Don- na Lolo's heart beat high with fear and anxiety. The tumult increased ; the noise of armed men came nearer and nearer; the streets seemed crowded with throngs of excited people. The sound of combat, too, could be heard in the public squares and thoroughfares, and in the moments of awful suspense that followed Donna Lola prayed a voiceless prayer, her heart im- ploring protection of her God and of the Madonna. Treachery had been at work, and the Moors had entered the city by an unprotected passage. Panting with rage and hatred for the Christians, Magued and his fierce crew came rushing through the dark, ueserted streets of this quiet quarter of the town. Into the houses they burst like a wild tor- nado, pillaging, sacking, burning. As one in an awful dream. Donna Lola remained with clasped hands awaiting her fate. It had seemed to come upon her suddenly; and suddenly now, too, the room was filled with Moorish warriors. Sancha clung trem.bling to her mistress' side, with tears UMH j^ DONNA DOLORES. Streaming from her eyes, while she buned her face in her lady's mantle. Like asta tue of marble, frozen by terror, stood Don- na Lola, no tears falling on her cheeks n^ words of prayer or entreaty commg from Zt^JJy^s fixed with a stony stare of horror upon the conquerors of her native Cordova, at whose fierce beck was now her ^^\°M^::wUh a gentler and more noble fact complexion little darker than the oi v;-color^f the Spaniards and w»th an ! r of stern command about him, had fixed companionate eyes upon the poor young rreature SO utterly at their mercy. Catch- es eye. Donna Lola seemed to awake f?fm her stupor, and with a hasty move- l^rtth^e^^^lf sobbing athi^^^^^ -tenLrgrcr«7Ln at JX..\ e/instant Hfe ^n^ -^Sl ness faded from her lace, aim ness idu supported her senseless. He raisea .xi rr •with one arm, while with the otn grasped his cimeter as if m defiance. ^ C fiercer and <^arker than most of h^, companions now approached, and demana 1 i she buried :^ike a sta- tood Don- cheeks, no ming from 5tony stare • her native as now her nore noble : than the nd with an 1, had fixed poor young cy. Catch- cd to awake hasty move- his feet, one 111 jly down at d conscious- and she fell ipported her the other he defiance. A most of his and demand- DONNA DOLORES. 15 ed by what right Yusef had claimed the cap- tive. As their dispute waxed higlier and higher, a man suddenly appeared at the door. His presence produced a marked effect; the soldiers ceased from their plunder and Yusef and his comrade from their dispute. The cause of the latter was briefly ex- plained to him, and after a few moments* talk, Magued — for it was, indeed, the rene- gade general— reluctantly decided in favor of Yusef, who was no favorite with him. Moreover, the beauty of the lady had at- tracted his attention, and he might have claimed her for himself; but Yusef was too high in favor with the caliph and too valuable a supporter of the Moorish cause to be offended ; so, with as good grace as possible, Magued granted him the prize he desired, and, furthermore, the permission to withdraw from the city and bring his captive to a place of safety far from the present scenes of strife and bloodshed. Hastily did Yusef mount his horse and hasten towards the city's gates, bearing Donna Lola, still senseless, before him on his steed. When they had reached the plain outside the walls, he placed her in ^6 DONNA DOLORES. a gorgeously-ornamented Utter winch he caused to be prepared, and followed by a train of horsemen, began his course to- ^vards Granada. In profound silence they rode over the gray and sandy sod, with its scanty vegetation and solitary palm-trees, and beside the swift and silent river, whose windings Donna Lola had watched on that mornin'g. that seemed so far offnow. when her faith was plighted. . From time to time Yusef rode up to the litter, and, drawing the curtains, en- quired after the comfort of h.s fa.r cap- ?ive. who sat. pale, listless, and despond- ent seeming to pay little heed to h'^ courteous speeches. He strove to allay ^erfrars. t^onsole her in her s^^^^^^^^^^ but to her the fact remamed, she was a captive in the hands of her country s foe and "hat availed it 'that he whispered ^tlllli^'again the sterile Pla^^^^ Guadalquivir was brightened »nto wha might be called oases, where luxuriant vegetation, clusters of pomegranate, fig. i:f orange trees made the succeeding dreariness more barren and desolate. , ^^--jaaamg^mntfX'' LMJJll-J..-j!l. | .iy 1 1,1 1 II which he )wed by a course to- lence they il, with its palm-trees, iver, whose led on that now, when rode up to irtains, en- is fair cap- d despond- =:ed to his ,ve to allay ler sadness, , she was a luntry's foe, ; whispered plain of the into what re luxuriant igranate, fig. ; succeeding :solace. DONNA DOLORES. 17 Meantime, within Cordova's walls a handful of Christian knights, with their brave leader, Pelistes, had retired to the Convent of St. George, where they en- trenched themselves, defying the foe, who remained masters of the town. When night of the second day , me, lights shone out from every window of the old abbey, presenting thus to the st=!' midnight of the Spanish town a beautiful and impos- ing picture. The enemy had desisted from their fierce assault upon the convent, and were sleeping with the stars keeping watch over them, and above their heads, as a canopy, the deep, blue sky, which had beheld unmoved their dreadful carnage. Turbaned sentinels, with gleaming cime- ters, walked upon the walls, or pursued their dreary march up and down the silent streets, or across the bridge that divided the two portions of the town, and under the arches of which the Guadalquivir was rushing on, as cold and dark as that gulf which alike swallows up the brave and fair, the great and good. _ Within the convent many of the Chris- tian soldiers were at rest, lying upon their DONNA DOLORES. arms dreaming of blood-red battle-fields or homes of peace. But amongst those who kept stern vigil for the day that dawned was Don Ruy Garcia de Salas, who had wandered all day long, notwithstand- ing the deadly peril, from street to street, from house to house, from square to square, seeking the one whom he loved and had lost. He had returned weary and dejected when hope had fled and he had been convinced that she had either perished or been carried off by the Moors, an opinion in which he was confirmed by the account given of the capture of her mistress by Sancha, who had escaped, she knew not how, and found refuge in the convent. His dream of joy, which, with delusive light, had lured him on to strug- crle so bravely for life, had faded, and drearily Don Ruy kept his watch alone and silent. Grief availed not, hope was dead, despair had grasped the sceptre, and the soldier wept. Burning tears fell upon the blade he wielded so nobly for Spain, tears which that brave heart could no lon- ger control. , , . 4.i,„ The cold dawn began to break in the. ■ iiia BBBl W battle-fields ongst those 2 day that : Salas, who (twithstand- :t to street, square to m he loved rned weary fled and he had either r the Moors, onfirmed by pture of her escaped, she efuge in the which, with on to strug- 1 faded, and watch alone 3t, hope was ; sceptre, and 2ars fell upon ly for Spain, could no Ion- break in the DONNA DOLORES. 19 east, casting faint shimmering brightness over the swift-flowing Guadalquivir, dimly lighting the streets and houses, and wak- ing the Moors who slept without from their deep slumber. But of what avail to him was the light of another day? True, he must fight— fight to defend the grand old city that had given him birth— but happiness was a vanished dream, joy the phantom of a phantom. One thing re- mained—glory, the thirst for high emprise which death alone can quench in the heart of a Spanish noble; and if his years of search should prove unavailing, he would live to avenge her death and deal out justice to his lady's murderer. The day grew apace, and stern work, unceasing toil, might well have driven haunting thoughts from the warrior's troubled breast. But not so, stronger and stronger grew his craving, fiercer and fiercer his longing to discover the fate of his gentle Dolores ; but danger threatened the noble Pelistes, threatened every faith- ful Christian knight who remained true to his colors; and where danger was. there Don Ruy must remain. 3Q DONNA DOLORES. Meantime, the lady of hSs love was borne past the region of the Guadalqmv.r and on to the Vega de Granada, tl^^t Jajr- est and most charming of plains, which the dark sierras guard so protectingly, and the Darro and Xenil water into such luxu- riance. Suddenly the whole "magnificent panorama burst upon Lola's sight, ine Antequeruela, and Alhambra, w.th its Torres Bermujas; the Albaydn, standing in stern grandeur on its rocky heights . the city of Granada, with its quaint AraJc "Character, and without the whole ran-e of the Sierra Nevada overtopped by the^eak of Mulhacen, glowing now with nnumerable colors, which the sunset lends to the mountain-crests in these re- gTons, producing a rare and marvellous '^ As' they approached Granada, Yusef rode up and ordered the litter-bearers to Tet down their burden. Drawingt^.e cur- tains, he addressed Donna Lola once mo e. " Fair sultana, whose peers among he lovliest maidens of thy race I have not seen, Yusef is thy slave and servant ..Thou mockest me with thy idle DONNA DOLORES. a I love was dalquivir, that fair- which the igly, and iuch luxu- lagnificent ght. The with its 1, standing f heights ; its quaint the whole rtopped by ; now with he sunset in these re- marvellous ada, Yusef f-bearers to ing the cur- , once more : among the I have not :rvant." h thy idle speech, proud Moslem," answered Lola, in a sad and gentle voice. " I am thy help- less captive." " Nay, lady, say not so. Brighter arc thine eyes than the jewels from the mine ; paler thy cheek than the foam of the wave ; sweeter thy smile than that of the houri ; and Yusef repeats he is thy slave." Tears flowed down the maiden's cheeks as she replied : " Forbear, O warrior ! thy flattering words. Hope hach abandoned me, and despair hath seized upon my soul." "Cease thy tears, sultana," said the Moor ; " Yusef loves thee and will harm thee not." Silently the captive bowed her head and answered not a word. •'O lady!" cried the warrior, in a voice as musical as the courtliest of Christian 'knights, " raise thy fair head, which droop- eth now in anguish ; gaze upon this scene of glory. Behold the deep gold and crim- son of the sunset ; see its light abroad upon these beauteous streams, crowning the glo- rious palace of our kings, brightening the dark Albaycin, resting upon the city, of iMiliMi iiiii^r*' S3 DONNA DOLORES. which fame hath loudly spoken. Without there is deadly peril, strife and anarchy prevail ; within there is peace and safety. He paused, and continued in a lower tone : " Before thee, lady, Yusef pleads, bee, he kneels and sues for thy hand. He can give thee towers and fortresses, protect thee from evil and harm. Thy brow shall be bound with circlets of the finest gold and rarest jewels ; the snow-white pearl, the sea-green emerald, the blood-red ruby, the pale opal, the yellow topaz, and the sovereign diamond-all shall be thine own. Rare aromatics, sweet-breathed incense shall perfume the air around thee. Costly tissues from far-off shores, cloth of gold and sil- ver, purple Tyrian stuffs, velvet, and b 'o- cade, shall be thy garments. Gardens sha stretch before thee, wherein thy path shall lie among the gorgeous plants and bWns of our fervid sky. In lordly halls thou shalt be the queen, with countless slaves to wait upon thy steps, and Yusef first among them. Thou shalt reign alone, thy empire undisputed, and he thy devoted servant. " Nay, Moor, thy speech is wild and K^ Hf«W»F« '!a»«^«»-M»'F= DONNA DOLORES. 23 Without d anarchy nd safety." n a lower :ads. See, 1. He can ies, protect brow shall finest gold vhite pearl, d-red ruby, iz, and the i thine own. incense shall ostly tissues old and sil- et, and b^o- Jardens shall >y path shall ind bloss'^'^s Us thou shalt laves to wait first among , thy empire :d servant." is wild and ' mmmmsf vain," said Lola wearily. " Wherefore apeak to me of gold and gems and pearl, when I mourn for homes and loves in fair and sad Leon ? Why tell me of Granada's joys, when my heart hath sped over the plains to where Cordova lieth under the foeman's cruel sway? " •' But bethink thee, sultana," urged the Moor ; " Granada boasts of gardens, walks, and sparkling fountains, gorgeous magnifi- cence, to which Cordova hath ever been a stranger. Wherefore wilt thou return where war and danger lurk? Here peace and safety, joy and love, shall be thy portion." " But if I tell thee, warrior," cried Donna Lola, bending eagerly forward with a sud- den gleam of hope, " that love hath bright- ened sad Cordova into splendor beyond that of the fairest cities— into a region of delight surpassing.the Elysian Fields of the Koran's paradise ? " "Thou lovest, lady," said the Moor wist- fully — •• lovest one without thy household band — lovest a Christian warrior?" •• Even so, O Moslem! " cried the lady earnestly; "and yet thou wouldst retain me here, far from that light which heaven 24 DONNA DOLORES. vouchsafes us here below; wouldst offer me Granada and its towers and streets of beauty, gold, and the cheerless sparkle of the ocean gems, for a hegtrt and the warm light of eyes most dear." " Then my love and hope, indeed, are vain," said the Moor mournfully. " Oh ! wherefore, lady of the lustrous eyes, hath the Moslem's evil star brought him within their radiance— wherefore thus in vain hath the beauty of thy face stricken the heart of Islam's son ? Thou shouldst have been my queen, followed as thou wouldst thine own belief, and I-but these are dreams ! My evil star is in the zenith of its baleful light," he continued, rismg and eazing upon the stars with a wild and half- inspired glance. "O Allah! look upon me ; guide from the sky of my existence that star of my sad destiny, and permit that the light of happiness may yet illumine my pathway." . He stood thus absorbed, muttering strange, weird lamentations to the far-off- stars, coming out one by one. like dia- monds of pure gold in the blue pavement of the heavenly courts. Granada had fad- ouldst offer I streets of i sparkle of id the warm indeed, are uUy. "Oh! as eyes, hath t him within in vain hath ;n the heart St have been lou wouldst ut these are he zenith of :d, rising and vild and half- ! look upon my existence , and permit / yet illumine d, muttering to the far-off )ne, like dia- ilue pavement lada had fad- DONNA DOLORES. 25 I t ed from their sight, save the lights that from countless windows shone out resplen- dent from the huge pile of the Alhambra, and rested like a crown of glory upon the dark hill-top. The Albaycin alone was wrapped in gloom, and silent as the night itself. In the streets bwlow the lights from innumerable dwellings appeared also through the dusk. The Moor rem led for some moments still consulting the stars as they sailed across the firmament ; for he firmly believed that the/ must guide his course over the great world of light and shadow, along the path that leads to the Elysian Fields of paradise, where the bearded Prophet, beside the throne of Allah, receives his followers. Meanwhile, Donna Lola watched him in breathless suspense. At length he turned to her. "O star! " he cried, clasping his hands and addressing her with the same in- spired glance he had bestowed upon the , heavens—" star which hath risen for a mo- ment of great joy upon Yusefs stormy life, depart and join thy kindred lights within those walls where thy sweet spirit fain would be. Fair Christian, here thou 26 DONNA DOLORES. i Shalt not stay in mourning and despair when the bright vision of thy love allures thee hence. And yet until the troubled night of Yusef s destiny hath ended in a dawn of infinite joy within the paradise of Allah, he shall not for an instant lose thy memory nor forget the joy of having known thee. O sweet sultana I when the light of a beloved presence shines upon thee, give one thought to the hapless Moor who loved thee only less than honor. To-night thou Shalt depart for Cordova, and mayst thou revel in the bright sunlight of love s happy morning." "Believe me," said Lola earnestiy, O noble Moslem ! it shall b.e niy pride to re^ member that so generous a heart has loved ^e My own is full of gratitude to thee, Tnd yet'l cannot thank thee for Heaven alone can worthily requite thee. Yet a word: I grieve that I have caused thee '°"°Nay. grieve not, lady," answered the Moorr-l shall seek forgetfulness where warrioVsbestcanfindit,ontheredfidd of war. And now for thee ; twenty of my travest warriors shall attend and speed ' \ ■^\ '^»wWSfc".*iK.Ti#w*-li^*Ji!5'^ ;,'..;fe^,4'-*i-V%Xilt««K ,mm»^md^,ii^iMm DONNA DOLORES. 27 id despair ove allures e troubled ;nded in a aaradise of nt lose thy vingknown 1 the light upon thee, Moor who •. To-night and mayst It of love's rnestiy, " O pride to re- ,rt has loved ude to thee, for Heaven lee. Yet a caused thee nswered the Iness where he red field iventy of my I and speed thee safe into the very heart of the be- leaguered town, to the stronghold of thy Christian kindred. But Yusef says thee here farewell. From thy too sadly sweet presence he must hasten, lest his malignant star should urge him to repent that he has set thee free." With some parting words of gratitude, and eyes bedewed with tears, Lola drew the curtains of her litter, and Yusef, hav- ing given crd-rs to the chief of his Gomel horsemen, turned slowly and sadly to the Puerta del Granada, while Lola and her retinue slowly resumed their way across the silent, starlit Vega, on either side of which the gold of the Darro and the silver of the Xenil were alike dark and cold in the shadows of night. Yusef remained alone, having dismissed his remaining horsemen', and gazed after the departing train, over the silent Vega, over the mournful rivers, over the bleak pile of the sierras, and up at the burning " O evil planet ! " he cried, stretching his hands towards the heavens, "O u.a- lignant star of my hapless fate ! wherefore 28 DONNA DOLORES. hast thou pursued me ? O queen of my heart, bright empress of Yusef's love ! thou wilt find within thy native Leon the joy and gladness that I, among Granada's beauteous scenes and gorgeous palaces, shall never know again." Covering his face with his hands, the Moor remained a moment in mournful meditation. " Wherefore," he cried suddenly, " did I permit her to depart ? Time would have softened her grief, the beauty of Granada gladdened her spirit, and Yusef's love, per- chance, gained her heart. But no, I could not be her jailer ; nay, I would not b? her tyrant. Better is it now that I remain en- shrined in her gentle thoughts as the re- storer of her joy, the bestower of her hap- piness, though Yusef is alone." Mournfully he turned, and passed through the city's gates, in all the gran- deur and the beauty of the scene, alone. No heart to cheer him, no voice to greet him, all alone, the deep silence of the place and time seeming to harmonize with his thoughts. Poor follower of Islam, true thy courage, unsullied thy devotion, ...4WMyaafe uiimMJiJi'-'Jn DONNA DOLORES. 29 en of my >ve ! thou n the joy [iranada's > palaces, ands, the mournful nly, " did ould have ' Granada I love, per- no, I cou/d not bp her remain en- as the re- f her hap- id passed the gran- ;ne, alone. :e to greet ce of the onize with of Islam, • devotion, t • noble thy generous heart ! Perchance the future holds some compensation for thy present pain, some guerdon for thy sacri- fice. Meanwhile, Lola, as she pursued her way with the train of Gomel horsemen over the Vega, drew aside the curtains of her litter to gaze out upon the landscape. The dark figures of the swarthy Moslems were mo- tionless upon their horses as marble sta- tues. No sound, save the swift tread of the litter-bearers, broke in upon her reverie; for the Vega was very quiet, the night air very still. Lola was lost in admiration of che Moor's astonishing generosity and great nobility, and could not restrain a sort of regret for the loss her gain had been to him. The journey was long and tedious, but the Vega was soon past, and before her eyes stretched out once more the Hispalis, or plain of the Guadalquivir, the distant walls and towers of Seville, prominent amongst which were the Torre d'Oro, made golden as their name by the bright morn- ing sun. During Lola's absence the Christians 30 DONNA DOLORES. had been gallantly defending their strong- hold. Magued retained possession of the town, and still besieged the old convent. Don Ruy Garcia de Salas was always to be found among its foremost defenders ; but he had grown stern and grave, seldom smiling, and constantly bewailing his lost love and her mysterious disappearance. During the silent hours of the night he paced the lonely halls looking out over Cordova and its flowing river. In those old cloisters, where of yore the monks had hastened at Matin bell, or come to sing their Vesper anthoms. Don Ruy saw many a midnight fall and many a pale, white dawn break in upon the darkness. Men marvelled at the change that had come in the gay and genial warrior transforming him into a quiet man, scant of speech and scanter yet of smiles. But tlic mists were soon to melt, the bright light of a beauti- ful dawn was about to break over the dark- ness of the warrior's deep sorrow. One morning he descried, from the high towers of the convent, a train of Moorish horsemen wending their way slowly and softly over the plain. He watched them DONNA DOLORES. 31 :ir strong- ion of the I convent, vays to be iders; but e, seldom ig his lost ppearance. ; night he out over In those lie monks )me to sing saw many jale, white less. Men id come in ansforming jpeech and mists were if a beauti- ;r the dark- w. m the high 3f Moorish slowly and xhed them enter the gate, but his eyes were sad and listless, um:onscious of their burden, un- conscious what they brought to him. The troop drew nearer; challenged by the Moorish guards, they made themselves known to their comrades, and havmg given Yusef? name, were permitted to proceed on their way. At the convent gates the commander rode forward and claimed admittance for his Christian captive. After some mo- ments' parley, the warder absolutely re- fused to receive her, suspecting some snare. The Gomel leader paused irresolute, and the warder had finally consented to sum- mon Pelistes, when the clank of a sword and the quick tread of a warrior was heard upon the marble hall. Don Ruy advanced, and having learned from the warder the cause of the loud dispute, proceeded him- self to question the Moorish envoy. He was soon convinced that the lady was really a Christian captive, although he was at a loss to imagine what the Moor's motive could be in thus returning her to her kindred. Cautiously the gate was opened, the ' ' ^ 3{»»U.>UMAIIJWU4»M r'"~ 32 DONNA DOLORES. lady passed within, and it clanked again on its great hinges. The lady, perceiving the knight, stretched out her hands. " Don Ruy, knowest thou not thy Lola ?" "Know thee, thou dead alive," cried the warrior in amazement, " thou star of my night ! nay, mock me not, whoever thou mayst be. I implore thee, lady, counter- feit not the sweet light of a soldier's life." When she threw back her veil, and he saw that Lola indeed was before him, his joy was past description. The stern fea- tures were brightened again, the old' joy came back to his face, the old happiness to his heart, and together they tasted once more the brimming measure of gladness which had been so suddenly dashed from their lips. The tidings of her return were broken gently to her gray-haired father, who received her as one returned from the dead. He had been in his day a famous warrior, but was now so chille,^ with the frosts of old age that joy was slow in reach- ing his heart, or taking a hold upon his life. Throughout the garrison the marvel- lous tale spread fast of the Moslem war- rior who had generously released his IH, DONNA DOLORES. 33 I again on eiving the liyLola?" ' cried the star of my >ever thou ', counter- iier's life." sil, and he re him, his : stern fea- hie old' joy ippiness to asted once if gladness ished from eturn were red father, :d from the y a famous .i with the ,w in reach- d upon his the marvel- [oslem war- ileased his Christian captive and restored her safe, through danger and through strife, to the very centre of her Christian brethren. In the little chapel of the Convent of St. George, Don Ruy and Donna Lola were to be solemnly betrothed. Wherefore, a day or two after her return, the chapel was de- corated as well as the position of affairs permitted. Thither, one quiet afternoon, came Pelistes and the other officers of the garrison, and after a momentary pause the youthful lovers entered. Donna Lola was most fair and beautiful, though her gar- ments were not what in happier times would have adorned the occasion. The strange solemnity of the time and place had marked her soft and girlish features with a deep, unwonted gravity, and her eyes, when raised an instant to the altar, shone with an inspired light. The chapel was full of knights in martial array, and ladies in the simple and sombre gar- ments to which necessity had reduced them, and which seemed to comport well with the gray, mildewed walls and solemn aspect of the old convent. After the ceremony of betrothal had taken place, 34 DONNA DOLORES. congratulations and good wishes poured in upon them on all sides. But no time this for idle mirth nor prolonged festivity, and b ore evening the garrison had re- turned to its ordinary silence and watch- fulnesj. Yet the young couple were hap- py, with a grave, subdued happiness, the brave followers of Pelistes rejoiced in their comrade's good fortune, and Donna Lola's venerable father was full of delight in having thus secured a protector for his daughter from among the bravest of Spain's chivalry. It was agreed that when the fortunes of the Spaniards at Cordova should seem brighter their nuptials would be celebrated with fitting pomp, ;'nd the ceremony of marriage succeed that of be- trothal. The weeks glided by, and a terrible ally of the Moorish cause appeared within the fortress— want and famine were making sad havoc among the Christian troops and speedily reducing their number. It be- came evident that something must be done, and that speedily, either to capitu- late and obtain what terms they could from the Moors, or make a bold effort to >>Au.i.aitoaj::.aa'rrf«fl:;ifei^ifi''i^iagiaffiiiaa^^ ' ihcs poured lut no time ;ed festivity, ion had re- and watch- ie were hap- ppiness, the rejoiced in and Donna 11 of delight rotector for ; bravest of d that when at Cordova ptials would mp, ;'nd the i that of be- terrible ally :d within the vere making 1 troops and 3er. It be- ng must be r to capitu- they could old effort to DONNA DOLORES. 3S secure provisions. The former course of action was rejected with disdain, and yet no plan could be devised by which the second might be carried into effect. Pe- listes at length declared that he would sally forth alone, and in disguise, to obtain, if possible, a supply of provisions, and send tidings of their dire distress to the other Christian towns. We need not here repeat the oft-told tale of how Pelistes issued from the town and was followed by the renegade, Magued ; of their bloody encounter, and the d' ^eat of the half-exhausted Christian leader. Pheir combat took place beside the swiftly-flowing river, among the gray- ish sands and scanty shrubbery of the shore. Meanwhile, the anxious warriors watched from their Convent of St. George, and gazed out upon the plain for traces of their leader. A troop of Moslems entered the gate, and the Christians perceivec! Pelistes bon e, pale as death and bleeding, on a bier. Then died their hopes ; then faded their dream of conquest; but re- venge remained. Besides, it was not yet too late; Pelistes might be saved. Out r- 36 DONNA DOLORES. rushed the gallant few in a vain effort' to save their leader. The Moors were, of course, in an overwhelming majority, and drove them back, entering their last stronghold with them. Hand to hand, foot to foot, they fought ; into the clois- ters, into the church, into the council halls, the brave cavaliers fighting with desperate courage. But courage availed them not, their doom was sealed, and we pass over in silence the short struggle, which, when evening came, left scarce a Christian warrior on the scene of carnage. In one corner of the chapel Donna Lola crouched in mortal terror, white and rigid with deadly despair. Her !"ather had been carried off before her eyes. She had remained unnoticed, as one by one the Moslems rushed out in pursuit of a few straggling remnants of the Christian host. All at once she heard a step approach. Trembling, her strained eyes sought to pierce the darkness. A warrior, torch in hand, advanced and stood before her. She clasped her hands in a mute appeal, and the warrior spoke. "Lady," he said softly, "a star of ■diajij r i. g ii ^'tM'rA/.iW -4fcdte *e .ia iaA ^ atW ' it » iAt ia . r . tw i< gB . -, «wyiiir'ii;fi^^iBi-lfl¥.iv vain effort to ors were, of majority, and g their last md to hand, ito the clois- the council fighting with urage availed ealed, and we lort struggle, left scarce a e of carnage. :1 Donna Lola hite and rigid r tather had yes. She had ; by one the rsuit of a few Christian host, tep approach, es sought to Trior, torch in before her. I rnute appeal, . "a star of DONNA DOLORES. 37 bright portent hath brought me hither to thy side. Once more thou art my cap- tive ; but Yusef hath never ceased to be thy slave." •' Yusef! " she cried, starting to her feet, roused from her apathy ; " thy captive again, O kind preserver! But hearken," she wispered eagerly, " one favor, generous Moslem ; my lover guards the gats ; haste, that we may seek him and he, too, become thy captive." The Moor remained for a moment si- lent, as if weighing the cost of a new sac- rifice. This knight whom he was called upon to save stood between him and hap- piness ; he had lost again the chance that fate threw in his way, and now— but the Moslem was true, not one hollow ring in the pure gold of his nature. " Follow me, lady," he cried, " and Yusef shall save thy lover." On they went in silence through the old monastic halls, through the dim cloisters, where awful sights revealed the fierceness of the struggle. Mangled corpses lay in ghastly piles upon their path, and Yusef vainly sought to screen them from his 38 DONNA DOLORES. companion's eyes. Cautiously he guided her, that her feet might avoid the pools of crimson gore. By the light of the torch, they finally gained the en- trance to the convent, now thrown wide open. The city was lying calm enough without ; lights were gleaming through the dusk ; but the evening wind entered and moaned and whistled in the cloister halls. Just beside the gate, in the dark shadow of the wall, they discovered a body. A wild scream from Lola pro- claimed to the Moor that their mission was accomplished. Stark and lifeless, with visor raised, disclosing the features, Don Ruy lay. On his face was a look of stern determination ; in his right hand was his sword, still firmly grasped, and his left arm lay outstretched upon the floor in the stiffness and helplessness of death. The evening wind stirred the hair upon his temples ; the sightless eyes were still wide open, seeming to gaze out upon the distant rushing river, beside which h!s troth, was plighted. Swifter and darker than that water had come the tidal wave of eternity, bearing him away darkly and noiselessly J^isfiiiSii,,:^ii-:>iML^ii^ia^^lir^!f:^.»^^ ily he guided avoid the 3y the light ined the en- thrown wide calm enough ling through wind entered I the cloister , in the dark discovered a m Lola pro- r mission was lifeless, with features, Don look of stern hand was his and his left le floor in the " death. The lair upon his ^ere still wide )n the distant Ills troth, was cer than that re of eternity, id noiselessly / . . I I II. Wti I V DONNA DOLORES. 39 upon its surging billows, out into the great hereafter. Again the obstrusive stars were shining down from the distant firmament, down from the Heaven whither the soul of the Christian warrior had flown. Piercing were the cries, heartrending the sobs and lamentations of the maiden for her lover. Yusef stood by, half-be- wildered, but sympathizing with her sor- row. He had promised to save her lover, but a grim warrior whom he might not defy had been beforehand with him. Death, the ice-mantled conqueror, had frozen him to repose. A rush of thought came over the Mos- lem's mind. Fate had again interposed, and the bright star of his happier destiny seemed at last in the ascendant. But jea- lousy of the dead, of the grief thus lavished on the senseless form, was struggling with compassion for Donna Lola and pity for the gallant defender of the fortress, whose tree of life was thus cut down at noon, when the sun of hope was bright in the firmament of love. Lola, too, began to realize her fearful situation. She was alone, her lover dead, f 40 DONNA DOLORES. her father taken captive, perhaps slain by the foe, and she, helpless and unprotected, in the power of the Moor. She knew his generosity, and had experienced his cour- tesy; but still she was alone, without a meet protector. By Yusefs diligent ef- forts, her faithful attendant, Sancha, was found, and the Moor then began to make preparations for their escape from the town. He treated them as he had before treated Donna Lola, .vith the utmost courtesy and consideration. He brought them, with a strong guard, to one of the nearest cities still in possession of the Christians, and there left them in secu- rity, bidding Lola farewell at the city's gate. Years passed on, and the autumn's bur- den of golden grain was mingled many a time among the Spanish hills with the red harvesting of war's blood-stained scythe. The Moors had gained possession of some of the fairest portions of Spain, and the struggle still raged fiercely, though some provinces had settled down to a peaceful calm. In one of these dwelt the beautiful Lola, who since her lover's death had aps slain by inprotected, he knew his ed his couT- :, without a diligent ef- Sancha, was jan to make >e from the e had before the utmost He brought » one of the sion of the em in secu- it the city's tumn's bur- gled many a kvith the red ined scythe, ion of some lin, and the hough some o a peaceful he beautiful death had DONNA DOLORES. 41 never ceased to array herself in robes of mourning, and to lead a most retired life. Nearly ten years had passed since the mas- sacre at the Convent of St. George, and left few traces on her lovely face, which we saw on the morning of her betrothal mirrored in the Guadalquivir's smooth waters. Her face was graver, more sub- dued, and seldom lit now by the smiles that in the happy summers of her six- teenth year were wont to chase each other like ripples on the surface of a rivulet. She lived, as we have said, retired from the world. An elderly duenna, or companion, accompanied her everywhere. Sancha, too, was with her, married to a soldier to whom she had been betrothed in Cordova. With several other servants and retainers, they composed her household. Here she de- voted herself to works of piety, hearing the early Masses every morning, giving to the poor, tending the sick, laboring for the conversion of the Moors. And thus, the spring-time of her young life changed into a sort of premature summer, she worked for the distant heaven that seemed daily growing nearer to her. 42 DONNA DOLORES. One evening she went as usual to the church, and was kneeling, calm and serene, before the altar, her heart ascending on the wings of prayer to the throne of God. As she knelt she observed a figure which in some vague way seemed familiar. It passed and knelt for a few moments just where the red light of the sanctuary lamps fell upon it. She soon forgot the momen- tary impression of familiarity, and became again absorbed in her devotions. At last she rose, and, followed by her duenna, passed out of the church. Just as she had come into the open air a step sounded on the marble esplanade of the cathedral, and the figure of a warrior issuing thence ap- proached her. '• Lady of the radiant eyes, that long ago enchained my heart, I salute thee ! " said the warrior in a low, deep voice. "Yusef!" cried the lady, "or do I dream ? O Moslem ! I rejoice to meet thee again." " Didst thou observe the place of our meeting?" asked the Moor, pointing to the cathedral, "Was it thou, then," asked the lady MiM usual to the 1 and serene, .scending on rone of God. figure which familiar. It loments just ctuary lamps the momen- and became )ns. At last her duenna, st as she had sounded on athedral, and g thence ap- that long ago thee ! " said ce. , "or do I ice to meet place of our pointing to :ed the lady DONNA DOLORES. 43 eagerly, " whom a moment since I ob- served in prayer before the tabernacle?" " Ay, lady, even so. I too adore thy ' God, the God of the Christians, and for the Koran have now the Gospel." " For this, O Yusef ! " cried Dolores, " I have prayed at morning and at eve— prayed that, in recompense for thy charity to me, thou shouldst one day adore the living God I worship." " Hence was it," answered Yusef, "that his grace came stealing o'er my soul like the pale moon over the dark Guadelete. To thee I owe my new-found faith." " Heaven be praised ! God and the Mother of God be glorified ! " cried Lola fervently. " But when and where was the blessed change wrought ? " " Not now the hour or place to tell a tale both long and wearisome ; but, oh ! believe, bright star, that since thou first didst rise upon the darkness of my life the clouds dispersed, slowly, indeed, but surely, till the dawn of true belief broke through and lit up all my sky." He accompanied her to her door, and 44 DONNA DOLORES. when she had disappeared remained a mo- ment alone without. '• O Heaven ! grant," cried he, gazing upon the firmament, " that the malignant star of evil omen hath vanished for ever from my path. But nay," he added, checking himself, " O heathen soul ! there are no stars of evil portent in the sky of faith ; the constellations that illume it are all resplendent with bright hope and joy." Wrapping his long, dark cloak around him, he vanished through the gloom of the surrounding streets. The months began to glide by, till stern winter had taken flight on its wings of frost to its far dominions in the frozen North- land, with its brilliant constellations, Orion, and the Boreal Crown, and the stars which form the circlet once resting on the head of mournful Ariadne. Spring came forth in all the beauty of a child, with the win- ning smiles of that time of life when the soul is still marked with the new, unsullied image of its Creator, and with the vernal beauty wl ich makes youth seem fresh from the hand of its Maker. One by one DONNA DOLORES. 45 ined a mo- he, gazing malignant ;d for ever he added, hen soul ! :ent in the that illume t hope and )ak around oom of the y, till stern ngs of frost zen North- ions, Orion, stars which n the head came forth th the win- e when the V, unsullied the vernal 3eem fresh One by one the little blossoms stole out from their leafy caverns ; one by one the tiny blades of grass thrust their heads above the earth, rejoicing once more in the sunshine ; one by one the trees stood in garments of pale green ; one by one the breezes grew soft and balmy, and the heart of man was glad- dened. A new spring had come for Lola. Bit- terly she had mourned the dead, and long she had believed another love impossible ; but the maiden was only in her sixteenth year when death had claimed her lover, and nine long years had worn away the first absorbing sorrow. Yusef was all de- votion ; Yusef was now united to her by the bond of a common religion ; Yusef had shown unparalleled magnanimity when fate had thrown her into his hands ; and Yusef merited the heart which had been the load- star o,f his r :istence since the hour of their first meeting. Dolores at last opened her ears to the music of a voice whose me- lodious tones had soothed her pain long years ago upon the Vega de Granada. When he asked her to be his bride, that scene rose before her again— the Mulhacen 4« DONNA DOLORES, in its evening robe of marvellous light; the Alhambra in its veil of twilight gold; the Albaycin in its sombre grandeur ; the Darro and the Xenil, running their swift race, each to pour out its treasures into the great ocean. At that time Yusef had laid at her feet all material goods, which united could not give her happiness. Now he of- fered her far less, but showed her a future of possible joy, and gladly she accepted the offer; wherefore the setting sun of that happy day took with him a reflection caught from her second betrothal-ring. At the court it began to be whispered about that the noble recluse, Donna Lola, was about to bestow her hand upon a Moorish warrior whose high distinction and unsullied fame among his country- men had been little lessened even by his conversion to Christianity. Not averse to these matches, which considerably strength- ened the Christian cause, the reigning monarch willed that the nuptials should be celebrated at the court with all due pomp and splendor. On the appoin«:ed day tHe heavens, as if in celebration of the event, were cloudless, llous light; ilight gold ; indeur ; the ; their swift ires into the sefhad laid vhich united Now he of- her a future he accepted r sun of that ction caught »e whispered Donna Lola, and upon a I distinction his country- even by his lot averse to ,bly strength- the reigning als should be lU due pomp eavens, as if sre cloudless, DONNA DOLORES. 47 only flecked here and there by white clouds, like foam on the blue surface of the ocean. As the bridal train passed through the halls, the sun, despising the pallor of the marble, laid a cloth of gold beneath their feet, and, seeming to have taken upon himself the decoration busily wreathed the pillars, freshly gilded the carving, and, hastening in through the open door, sent a flood of molten gold to light the chapel and bring out the colors in the porphyry and breccia pillars. Over the altar he threw a golden haze like a veil, polished the stained-glass windows, and cast a hasty, disapproving glance at the grim-looking stalls, as he turned to the door, again, to await the bridal tram and lead it up the principal nave to the chan- cel-rails, where solemn vows were to be pronounced. Loud swelled the music's victorious sound, for in joyful strains of that time martial triumph was always mingled ; deep harmonies rushed through the vaulted naves, and bore up the hearts of the wor- shippers in swelling chords to the very throne of the Most High. The bridal m^- fsifip^fp 48 DONNA DOLORES. train entered ; the Moor's dark olive face bespoke such nobility and generosity of soul, and was withal so handsome, that many a maiden heart smothered a sigh and many a manly eye looked upon him with approval ; yet the courtiers, glancing from him to the bride, felt involuntary regret that some noble Spaniard had not held the place this son of Islam so nobly graced. The ceremony was performed by the archbishop ; the bride's fair head bowed low to receive the benediction, and at that mo- ment the sun placed his bridal gift, a crown of gold, upon her hair. The king gave her away, taking the place of her dead siie, the ceremony ended, and T^ola was the bride of Yusef. Louder and louder pealed the notes of triumph, brighter and brighter shone the royal sun, as the bridal pair turned to pass down the nave, and thence out into the portico. The courtiers pressed around them with acclamation. The queen, as Lola advanced to kiss her hand, took the fair bride straight to her heart. The clergy prayed their prayers for her, and begged her through the future to remain true to herself, true to God, as she DONNA DOLORES. 49 k olive face inerosity of dsome, that :d a sigh and )n him with lancing from ntary regret not held the ly graced, med by the ,d bowed low 1 at that mo- gift, a crown e king gave of her dead id I.ola was ■ and louder brighter and as the bridal c nave, and rhe courtiers acclamation. , to kiss her aight to Her r prayers for :he future to > God, as she hitherto had been, rejoicing with her, like the angels of God, for the one soul that had doiiC penance. " I rejoice, most reverend sir," said Lola, addressing a venerable priest, " that by no human means hath this great good been wrought. The grace of God alone hath worked it." •' It is the answer to thy patient prayers," answered the priest. " The most high God hath done great things for thy husband and thee, blessed be his name for ever and ever." " Yea, reverend sir, blessed, thrice bless- ed," answered Lola reverently. Then they proceeded to the banquet- hall, where magnificence worthy of the occasion was displayed. Spain and her nobles did them honor, the Spanish sove- reigns graced the banquet-hall. Glitter- ing coats of mail were side by side with garments of the softest and finest tissues, from countries just upon the limits of the then known world. Banners and swords and costly draperies, gems and jewels of fabulous price, fair faces, bright smiles, knightly forms, alike gave lustre to the ■ ~'fWt wmmrnm. mfS'JtBM^.-^:sf.':\x FlaW^.Y^ai lisf^ mmwmsssi^smm $0 DONNA DOLORES. wedding-day, while among the guests were some whose names the voice of fame had caught up and borne away with her on her long and tireless errand, which should last when those who bore them were mould- ering for generations — names of which the bearers had often, with their dauntless blades, turned war's red tide for Spain. Glorious was the pageant, glorious were the actors in it, glorious was the magni- ficence which that most royal sovereign displayed for her, the daughter of a valiant knight. Long afterwards, when the court and those who composed it had faded from the scene, like a drama at the theatre, was it told to wondering ears how unrivalled the splendor of the nuptial feast of Donna Dolores with the noble Moslem warrior, who had become heir to a mighty king- dom, where reigns eternally God the Creator and his innumerable servants and courtiers, the saints and angels. THE END. r«£i guests were f fame had ith her on lich should veremould- ; of which ir dauntless for Spain. Drious were the magni- .1 sovereign of a valiant !n the court 1 faded from :heatre, was r unrivalled st of Donna em warrior, lighty king- God the ervants and ^J\%^ K% IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) / €// / o %^ L<9 L^'. •«?/ fA 1.0 u 1.25 12.8 1^ IIM 36 1^ I: li: m M 2.0 U 11.6 y Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (71A) 872-4503 ,\ 4^ o % V '^ o'^ m % ' %^ €^ te CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut canadieri de microreproductions historiques ^^^^-^i^SLmm PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. w pr PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. Spain was not precisely at the zenith of her national glory in the famous days when the Treaty of Partition threw all Eu- rope into an intense excitement, which ended only with the equally celebrated Treaty of Ryswick. Spain had fallen into a decline ; her prowess in arms and the might of her armadas seemed almost as far off now as the times of the Spanish cavaliers and the heroic ages of their con- quests over the Moor. Her people, too, had degenerated; her kings only resem- bled the mighty monarchs ot the past as did the pale train of Scottish rulers whom the witches summoned from their royal tombs before the affrighted gaze of the murderous Macbeth. King Charles had fallen into a hopeless 4 PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. melancholy, his mind the prey of morbid fancies and wild imaginings. Famine had come down upon the land and grasped it in a vice of iron. The people rose at length and fiercely rushed to the king's palace in Madrid, where their sovereign lay in a restless and troubled slumber, which seemed to bring no relief to his tortured brain. Within the palace fear and confusion reigned supreme, and none durst make a movement towards conciliating the clamor- ous mob. At last the queen, who was of haughty and resolute character, came forth from her apartments and demanded the cause of the tumult. She was answered that the populace, craving for food, had besieged the palace. " And ye, my Spanish nobles," she said scornfully, " stand here irresolute. An im- partial observer might use harsh terms in your regard." Sweeping past them, she gave her or- ders: " Let the windows be thrown open. I will speak with this clamorous multitude." Her tall and stately figure appeared m i ER. rey of morbid Famine had md grasped it eople rose at to the king's r sovereign lay lumber, which 3 his tortured ind confusion durst make a ng the clamor- n, who was of :er, came forth demanded the was answered for food, had bias," she said )lute. An im- larsh terms in gave her or- rown open. I js multitude." jure appeared PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. s upon the balcony, her velvet robes and ermine mantle showing off her graceful and dignified bearing to the best advantage. «' What do you demand, my subjects?" said the queen in a clear, rich voice. " Food ! food ! " cried the mob tumultu- ously. •' Your demand shall be met, said the queen ; " only have patience." " Our patience is exhausted !" cried the mob ; " we must speak with the king ! " " The king is ill, my friends," said the queen, " and hath sent me as his envoy." " We want the king himself ! Charles ! Charles I you must show yourself ! " "What is this, my people," said the queen courageously ; " would you insult your queen? I tell you Charles is ill, perhaps dying. Disperse quietly, return to your homes, and bread shall be pro- vided." A yell of rage broke from the crowd, so that the voice of the queen was complete- ly drowned, and she was forced to retire, full of indignation at this daring insult offered her. The violence of the mob be- came such that it was clear the king must 6 PEDRO S DAUGHTER. be induced to appear. The queen herself stepped softly to his side. •' Charles," she said, " arise ; our very lives are threatened. Thy subjects clamor at the doors for bread, and demand your instant appearance." " What, the people have risen ! " cried the king, starting up : " besiege the palace ! what must be done ? " " You must appear," replied the queen, " and make an effort to conciliate them." '• Cursed be those who have roused them to this pitch of fury," said the king ; "and oh ! I have had such fearful dreams, which chill my blood even now to recall them." "Leave dreams aside," said the queen sternly, " or the realities may be worse." Supported by the French ambassador, ,Harcourt, who was extremely popular with the people, Charles appeared on the bal- cony, deathly pale and scarcely able to stand. He was forced to make several concessions to the people, amongst which was that of dismissing the unpopular min- isters, to whose neglect the present calami- ties were principally due. The queen was ™ R. ueen herself e ; our very ajects clamor lemand your isen ! " cried e the palace ! d the queen, iate them." roused them i the king; irful dreams, ow to recall d the queen be worse." ambassador, popular with on the bal- cely able to nake several longst which popular min- esent calami- le queen was PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. 7 much displeased ; for most of the members of the administration favored the Austrian cause, to which the queen, being of the house of Austria, naturally inclmed. bhe held a stormy interview with Harcourt, who smiled, and bowed, and made every effort to conciliate her. ^^ •' The king, indeed, looked ill, said a plump matron to her husband, " and I hope the mob will not have his death upon their souls, bringing him out into the chill air." "Oh, no fear, Josefa," said the good man cheerily ; " death and the king are stran- gers for some time yet. Why, I vow he was in a similar strait long before I mar- ried you. So come home in peace; we citizens have got what we want, and let that suffice." Home they went, though the good wo- man on her way took occasion to remark the queen's haughty deportment, not for- getting the magnificence of the trailing robe of velvet, and the brightness of the jewels in her crown. This worthy couple occupied a quaint-looking dwelling in a retired street. The walls were of bluish Hi 8 PEDRO S DAUGHTER. granite, the windows protected by Vene- tian blinds, which, drawn do\Vn during the heat of the day, kept the rooms cool and fresh ; the floors were paved with brick, the stiff-backed, rush-bottomed chairs placed neatly against the wall, and the whole house a model of order and cleanliness. In the little parlor their daughter Annunziata awaited them, clad in petticoat of fine red cloth, beautifully wrought ; a velvet bod- ice, embroidered in seed-pearls; and a jacket of bottle-green, bound with gold braid. She rushed forward clasping her hands. " Madre mia, what have they done to the poor king ? Have they killed him ? " " No, my Nunnita ; he lives and is well," replied the mother. " What ideas get into your little mind 1 " cried the father, laughing boisterously. " The king is well enough, but where's my evening kiss ? " " I forgot, padre," said the girl, stepping forward and laughing lightly — " forgot you, in my fear for the poor king." " Hear that, good wife," said the portly citizen, shaking his sides with laughter. :r. PEDRO S DAUGHTER. ed by Vene- m during the )ms cool and 'ith brick, the :hairs placed d the whole eanliness. In r Annunziata at of fine red a velvet bod- earls ; and a id with gold clasping her ;hey done to illedhim?" and is well," little mind!" boisterously, t Where's my girl, stepping -" forgot you id the portly ith laughter. " Hoity toity, what notions have got into the girl's head ! " Annunziata now bustled round, and soon served their evening meal, good substan- tial fare for the father, and daintier trifles for the women folk. The meal was en- livened by cheerful conversation and plea- sant bandying of words. The fond parents gazed admiringly at their daughter's beau- tiful face ; her complexion was very pale and fair, her lips bright red, her features piquant in their slight irregularity, her eyes very large and dark, her hair deep chest- nut, confined by a gold ornament. She had a charming face, and an equally charm- ing manner, sprightly and cheerful, gay and animated. A little treat, of which more hereafter, was devised during the evening meal. On the next day, or that which followed, there was to be a public celebration of the king's concessions to the people; it being, besides, a festival day. It chanced to be remarka- bly bright and sunny, and the good citizen, Pedro Alvarez, hired a calesin, of which the bright-painted sides, adorned with pic- tures of a bull-fight, flaunted then.selves in 10 PEDRO'S DAUGHTER, the sun, while the mules which drew it shook their long ears in displeasure at their load. Pretty Annunziata fastened her handker- chief of bright-colored silk around her head, and seized her tortoise-shell fan, on which the painted birds were so very large that there seemed to be imminent danger of the whole concern taking flight to the clouds. She took her seat beside her mother in the low carriage, and her father, placing himself opposite, complacently regarded his maroon smalls, black silk stockings, and dark cloth cloak, which partly concealed the somewhat gaudy lining of the calesin, with its fringe of tarnished gold. They drove to the Prado, where every class of Spaniards were represented in the cease- less stream of human beings that crowded the narrow alleys bordering on either side the broad drive, which stretched between the Puerta d'Alcala and the Carrerra de San Geronimo. The venders of various confections were hastening hither and thither calling their wares; the water-sellers, in their snuff- colored breeches and jackets, black gaiters, conical hats, and little kegs, wreathed round ■liliiiilii .- R. PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. II Irew it shook it their load, icr handkcr- ind her head, un, on which ry large that Janger of the the clouds. er mother in ther, placing tly regarded tockings, and ly concealed f the colcsin, gold. They very class of in the cease- that crowded n either side :hcd between xrrerradeSan fections were calling their their snuff- black gaiters, rcathed round with green, slung over their shoulders, plyed their trade, and dealt out clear water to the thirsty multitudes. Ladies, with white or black lace mantillaa, caught upon high combs at the back of their heads, and enlivened with a flower or two, walked under the trees, or drove in their bright- colored vehicles ; while young gallants, in plumed hats and short velvet cloaks, rode their superb An^ ..usian chargers, makmg them curvet and prance, to the delight of the lookers on. As our little party of citi- zens reached the Puerta del Sol, so con- spicuous from its rose-colored fagade, adorned with the great round sun, whence it took its name, groups of idlers were, as usual, collected upon the steps, making vari- ous remarks about the passers-by. A hand- some young gallant not more than twenty years of age was slowly walking his horse in front of the Puerta. His attention \ya3 at once arrested by Annunziata's beautiful face. He rode slowly beside the calesin, and when it had passed, turned his horse in order to meet it returning. «' So charming a face I have never seen," Ue said to himself, in a tone of conviction. m PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. "And of the citizen class, too, as I know by her silken head-gear." The clock in the Fuerta struck the hour of five with a deep, vibrating sound, as if it would warn the pleasure-seekers how swift the flight of time. Still the young man rode restlessly about, waiting for another ghmpse of the lovely face he admired. Frequently he doffed his hat, adorned with a snow-white ostrich plume, and bowed to his saddle-girths, as he met the carriages of the various court ladies, or returned in a jovial and off-hand manner the greetings of the young cavaliers who passed him on horseback. Occasionally, too, he bent with graceful condescension to acknowledge the salute of some peasant or mechanic, with which class he was a considerable favorite. Just as he reached the Cybele fountain, he again perceived Annunzicta, and had leisure to observe her animated face, bright and sparkling with the enjoy- ment of the day. Unconsciously he stared at her, reflecting, meanwhile, how a lace mantilla would improve her. Meeting his earnest gaze, the girl looked at him for a moment in surprise, then drooped her eyes • » PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. 13 00, as I know ruck the hour sound, as if it cers how swift e young man g for another he admired. adorned with and bowed to the carriages or returned in • the greetings 3 passed him , too, he bent acknowledge or mechanic, L considerable :d the Cybele i Annunzicta, her animated ith the enjoy- )usly he stared e, how a lace Meeting his , at him for a )oped her eyes,* ' and blushed, nor glanced again at the spot where he stood till their vehicle had passed. By diligent enquiries, the young cavalier, Don Rodrigo Guzman, discovered the fair Annunziata's dwelling, and to the street before her house so frequently repaired that she was fain to notice him. Truth to tell, his was a face and figure that could not well escape the notice of any feminine eyes; and his cloak of mulberry velvet and doublet of lemon-colored satin suited vastly well his dark, Spanish face, shaded by the cavalier's hat. He was usually called, indeed, the handsome Spaniard ; so had the merry circle at the court nick- named him; and Annunziata was fain to smother a sigh now and then, fci' well she knew the line that divided him from her grade of society. But her eyes were not the only ones upon the premises that quickly discovered the cavalier's frequent visits to their modest portion of the town. Good Josefa readily surmised their import, and in deep perplexity adopted the very wisest course the circumstances permitted, going straight to her lord and master. Worthy Pedro was in no wise perplexed, 14 PEDRO'S DAUGHTER, but, upon the cavalier's next appearance, boldly approached and addressed him. " No offence, my lord," he said, with honest bluntness; " but, whatsoever your purpose, I like not your frequent visits to our portion of the town, and the large share of attention you bestow upon our humble abode." The cavalier looked at him a moment, reddening deeply and drawing himself up somewhat haughtily, but, as if recognizing the citizen's right to question him, replied frankly : " No offence is taken where none is meant, though at first it did somewhat annoy me that you should thus question my movements." " Knowing my motives, my lord," said the citizen, " you surely cannot blame me. I have a daughter upon whom I would not that the wind of heaven should blow too freely." " I do not in truth find fault with you, good sir," said the nobleman. " You have reason to guard her well, for her beauty is most rare." "As Heaven made her," said Pedro PEDRO'S DAUGHTER- IS appearance, ed him. said, with >oever your nt visits to I the large V upon our a moment, himself up recognizing liim, replied :re none is somewhat us question lord," said L blame me. I would not Id blow too It with you, " You have ;r beauty is said Pedro bluntly ; " but I see in your face that you understand me." " Perhaps you also see in my face that I am an idiot," said the young lord warmly, " having lost my head, and, I suppose, my heart, over your beautiful daughter." " This is indeed the height of folly, my lord," said the citizen sternly, " and there is but one remedy— that is, not to see her again; but, above all things, I warn you not to venture to address her. " You need not warn me," said the lord dejectedly ; " I shall not speak to her, Heaven forbid ; for what could I say, if I did? But you are right, I am an egregious fool to dog her steps and feed my infatua- tion by the sight of her face." " End it at once, like a man, my lord," said Pedro ; " I am older than you, and you are only preparing sorrow for your- self." " Here is my hand upon it," said the cavalier suddenly. " Believe me, I respect your motives and shall take your counL,el ; but do me a favor. Take this seal, and, if ever you should need me, Rodrigo Guzman will be at your service. Addios." i6 TEDRO S DAUGHTER. And the cavalier had vanished before Pedro could reply. He gazed after him a moment. " A fine fellow," he soliloquized, " and i'faith of a proper figure. There might be mischief there had my little girl met with him. Broken hearts and other fooleries ! " Satisfied with the result of his mission, Pedro went contentedly home, setting Jo- sefa's fears at rest and dismissing the sub- ject from his mind. Meantime, Don Rodrigcf appeared that night at a conxt f^tc. The scene was most brilliant ; the principal families of Spain were there represented ; the ladies were fair and gracious, and the cavaliers hand- some and courteous. Magnificent robes of velvet, taffeta, and brocade ; jewels which caught the light at every turn ; coronets sparkHng with precious stones; tiaras of pearls and diamonds ; circlets for the neck and arms ; gold clasps of Genoese work- manship ; laces that, in their almost in- visible fineness, gave softness to fair faces and white hands — all combined to adorn the scene. Cavaliers, in their doublets and hose of satin and velvet, embroidered in ER. PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. 17 lished before :d after him a quized, " and lere might be girl met with er fooleries ! " f his mission, e, setting Jo- ising the sub- ippeared that :ene was most ilies of Spain e ladies were ivaliers hand- nificent robes ; jewels which urn ; coronets les; tiaras of s for the neck renoese work- er almost in- is to fair faces ned to adorn doublets and nbroidered in gold, fairly glittered with the orders of Calatrava, the Golden Fleece, and San Jago de Compostella. When all the good- ly company had assembled, the doors were thrown wide open and ushers announced their majesties. Ranged in groups around the hall, the courtiers waited with bowed heads while the king, in full robes of state, entered, preceded by pages and lackeys and gentlemen-in-waiting, and accompanied by the queen in a robe of faint-blue Lyons velvet, embroidered in diamond stars, and an ermine-trimmed mantle of royal purple fastened with a diamond clasp ; on her head, sparkling with jewels of immense size and of the first water, was the crown. She was followed by her ladies of honor and by the grand chamberlain. When they had taken their places, the various lords and ladies advanced to offer their homage. Amongst them, bland and cour- teous, came the Sieur Harcourt, paying some graceful compliments to the queen, and passing on to exchange gay badinage with various groups of ladies, with whom he was exceedingly popular. At no great distance from the throne, conversing with m tifMi; i8 PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. a little knot of men, was a man whose im- posing aspect, no less than his dress, made him conspicuous. His eyes were piercing, his forehead high, his glance keen and ques- tioning; his ecclesiastical robe of scarlet, with surplice of fine lace, and the berretta, at once suggested his name and dignity — the Cardinal Porto Carrero, Archbishop of Toledo, who held the post once occupied by the great Ximenes, and took so promi- nent a part in the public affairs of Spain during that important crisis. Don Rodrigo, handsomer even than usual, but somewhat quieter, approached his sovereigns and bent the knee grace- fully, kissing the queen's outstretched hand. She rallied him a little on his sober mood, and jestingly recommended certain remedies from divers fair physicians among the court beauties. Don Rodrigo wittily and happily parried her playful attacks, and passed on to make room for new comers. He followed Harcourt's example, and devoted a few moments to each of the prominent groups, but before the evening was over had fully convinced himself that he had allowed his folly in Annunziata's W JR. an whose im- s dress, made vere piercing, een and ques- be of scarlet, 1 the berretta, and dignity — Archbishop of )nce occupied Dok so promi- fairs of Spain r even than :r, approached J knee grace- outstretched le on his sober lended certain ,'sicians among .odrigo wittily ayful attacks, ■oom for new urt's example, to each of the e the evening d himself that 1 Annunziata's PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. J9 regard to carry him too far, and was now in the position of the moth in the fable. Bitterly he repented his indul- gence of a fancy which could only dis- satisfy him with the scenes and people amongst whom his lot was cast. However, the/^/^ passed off, and morn- ing brought him various occupations. Still he could not shake oft" the spell cast upon him by the face of an humble bourgeotse. But stirring times were at hand. VVhile he was thus bemoaning his fate, and long- ing for one more glimpse of Annunziata s bright eyes, the king had retired to the Escurial, that mighty palace of the sove- reigns of Spain which, with the church attached to it, was founded by Philip II. in accordance with a vow. However, the appearance thereof is not very attractive It is in the form of a gridiron, in honor of St. Laurence, and in the Doric style of architecture. Its walls are of a yellowish clay color, the whole being surmounted by a dome. The church is fine, adorned with some beautiful specimens of Spanish art, and with the heavily-gilt retablo, and rows of austere-looking stalls, usual in ancient W 20 PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. ill Spanish cathedrals. Thither Charles pro- ceeded, and became gradually worse in mind and body. Seized with a strange, morbid desire to visit the bones of his pre- decessors, he descended into the Pantheon, or vault under the church, where in niches, lit by funereal lamps, stand the coffins of the dead sovereigns who once ruled the land. He caused each bronze chest to be opened, and gravely and listlessly gazed upon its contents, till, coming to that of his first wife, he uttered a piercing shriek. In all the beauty he had known and loved in life she lay before him, the body having been embalmed. " She is in heaven, and I shall soon be with her," cried he, rushing out of the vault, with drops of sweat, like the mildew on the walls, standing out upon his fore- head. It was soon found that the Escurial proved no more beneficial to his failing health than the palace in Madrid ; hence he was removed to the gardens of Aran- juez, hoping in their tranquil delights to restore his jaded spirit. The royal resi- dence there was a white and red building, of a light French style of architecture, and P" R. Charles pro- lly worse in h a strange, es of his pre- he Pantheon, ere in niches, he coffins of ce ruled the e chest to be tlessly gazed ig to that of :rcing shriek, wn and loved body having shall soon be rr out of the e the mildew pon his fore- : the Escurial to his failing adrid ; hence ens of Aran- il delights to he royal resi- red building, hitecture, and PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. 21 of which the principal charm lay in the luxuriance of the surroundings, watered by the Tagus, that beautiful river, crossed at this point by a bridge, said in the legends of the country to be the same over which passed Godoy, called the Prince of Peace. The palace stood amid a mmi- ature forest of cachuchas, castanets, lemon and orange trees, intermingled with ash, elms, and lindens, which were not, however, indigenous to the soil. Gently-slopmg hills" rose from the level plains, giving variety to the landscape, and bringing cool airs to lessen the scorching heat of the day. Charles did not, however, im- prove even in this genial and bracing atmo- sphere, and, after signing the famous treaty which gave Spain to Philip of Anjou, died one quiet evening, his feeble, indolent ex- istence coming thus early to a close. His body was conveyed to the Escurial and laid out in royal state, while gaping crowds cast wondering looks upon the pinched and prematurely aged features, thin and scant white hair, which made him seem, though scarcely in his prime, an old and feeble man. The curious crowds went out W rfMt^SM^¥^ aa PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. to speculate upon his successor's corning, crying, " Le Rot est mori ! Vive le Roi ! " Perchance it was the air of fair Cas- tile that, hurrying over the plains, bore the words or their import to the court of France. Speedily did the answer come, in the person of Philip, who was shortly after united to the young and beautiful Maria Louisa of Savoy, then in her thir- teenth year. Grand were the festivities that succeeded their nuptials, but the fire-brand had been kindled throughout Europe, and Spain was suddenly roused from its dreams of pageants and of court festivals. William of Orange, indeed, was dead, but not before he had urged England to com- bine with Holland and Austria against France and Spain. Portugal also deserted the cause of Philip, and formed an alliance with the Archduke Charles of Austria. Thus were all the mightiest powers of Europe involved in a fierce and destructive struggle, which was ever afterwards to be known throughout the world as the " War of the Austrian Succession. Spain was at her lowest ebb. Philip, it is true, was popular, from the grave, atimtiH^imeiitiMfi W i PEDRO'S UAUUIHEU. a$ )r'3 coming, :lc Rot!" of fair Cas- )lains, bore he court of iswer come, was shortly id beautiful in her thir- stivitiesthat le fire-brand ut Europe, led from its art festivals, as dead, but and to com- itria against ilso deserted d an alliance of Austria, powers of d destructive rwards to be irld as the Succession." ebb. Philip, m the grave, gentle affability of his manner; but he lacked the force which this great cns.s required. The Queen Dowager openly espoused the cause of Austria and lef the court in disgust. England had sent over Marlborough and another general, deservedly great by his military talent and courage, Charles Mordaunt, Earl of Peterborough. On the other hand, Louis sent a large army to the aid of his grand- son Philip, and at its head was that able soldier, the Duke of Berwick, son of James the Second, a melancholy, disappointed man, with every day-dream vanished but that of military glory. The Earl of Peterborough signalized his march through Spain by a series of bril- liant and astounding victories. Barcelona was taken with a handful of men, solely by the genius and ability of this great general. Fortress after fortress, town after town, city after city yielded to the enemy, and the English leader marched straight upon Madrid. When the capital seemed really in the enemy's hands, the towns- people would have fled thence in affright, but many of them found escape impossi- W 1 j g pm'-T -:^^-'' ■PW fill 34 PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. blc. The Austrian and English troops guarded evrrj' entrance to the town. Tiie palacr was bc;ie ;od. Philip and Maria of Suvoy narrowly escaped being made prisoaers, iheir flight being entirely due to the efforts of their faithful nobles, amongst whom was Don Rodrigo Guz- man, When ^'is sovereigns were safely out of the town, the young cavalier be- thought him of a certain humble home where dwelt a worthy couple with their handsome daughter. Enveloping himself entirely in a dark cloth cloak, and drawing his hat oyer his eyes, he wended his way by unfrequented streets to the citizen's house. When he appeared at the door Annunziata and her mother uttered a piercing cry, and Pedro, starting to his feet, seemed about to put himself upon the defensive. The visitor removed his hat, and placing his finger upon his lips enjoined silence. Pedro at once recog- nized and saluted Don Rodrigo, who, after a few courteous, reassuring words to the frightened women, communicated to the citizen a plan by which he hoped to re- move them in safety from the city. Pedro ii W ;r. gUsh troops : town. The ) and Maria being made entirely due tliful nobles, Lodrigo Guz- were safely ; cavalier be- lumble home le with their »ping himself , and drawing nded his way the citizen's at the door ;r uttered a tarting to his himself upon removed his upon his lips t once recog- go, who, after words to the licated to the i hoped to re- le city. Pedro PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. 85 then pointed out to him another occupant of the room, a venerable pr.est, who. hav- inanish mantle was so often irt circles on any high-born nd who looked in a hunting- 1 with scarlet. PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. 29 In the long evenings they all sat round the blazing fire in the hut telling old legends, of which the priest especially had an abundant store, or making each other s hair stand on end with stories of the mountain brigands who infested forests or ruined castles, or of coiners who pursued their unlawful calling in the bowels of the earth. To add effect to these tales of hor- ror, the winter wind without swept in fierce blasts over the mountains, wrestling with the giant crags, their ancient ene- mies since the creation of the universe, or shrieking in uncanny gusts around the hut, vainly seeking entrance through its time-worn walls. , , ... During these weeks of familiar inter- course, we cannot vouch that .'^ nnunziata's bright eyes were not making still greater havoc in Rodrigo's heart, nor yet that the maiden had not learned to appreciate the goodness, the gentleness, the piety concealed under that handsome and grace- ful exterior, which had long ago captivat- ed her fancy. Pedro watched the course of things with secret uneasiness, and many a time the worthy citizen shook his head 30 PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. and sighed if he chanced to perceive the young couple together, as when, for in- stance, the cavalier assisted Annunziata to prepare their meals, or to lift the pot of boiling water from the fire, all of which was plainly a labor of love for him. At such times Josefa, with a placid resigna- tion, urged her Pedro to remember the all- disposing intervention of Heaven, saying : "Heaven has a care over all these things, good husband, and our poor judg- ment cannot penetrate its ways." To which Pedro readily assented, little suspecting that certain ambitious hopes, of which she herself was perhaps uncon- scious, were springing up in his worthy helpmate's mind. Affairs were at this critical juncture when one evening the soldier who had gone down to procure provisions was tracked by a band of disaffected Spaniards and Portugese, and the little party seated at supper in the hut were suddenly dis- turbed by the sound of approaching feet. Bravely then did Rodrigo and his follow- ers seek to maintain their position. Sta- tioning themselves at the head of the nar- ITER. to perceive the 5 when, for in- 1 Annunziata to lift the pot of re, all of which ^e for him. At placid resigna- member the all- Heaven, saying : over all these our poor judg- ways." r assented, little mbitious hopes, perhaps uncon- in his worthy Titical juncture oldier who had provisions was fected Spaniards ttle party seated re suddenly dis- pproaching feet. I and his follow- r position. Sta- head of the nar- TEDRO'S DAUGHTER. 31 row defile, Rodrigo asked of the leader, who approached by the light of a torch : " Whom seek ye ? " «« Traitors," cried the soldier fiercely. ■ •' There are no traitors here, except it be yourselves," cried Rodrigo, at the same time discharging a volley from his cara- bine, which was a signal for the begmning of hostilities. Like Leonidas of old, the little band defended itself against an over- whelming majority of its foes, till the enemy, assuming their forces to be consid- erable, fled in confusion. What was Rod- rigo's consternation when he then discov- ered that Pedro was slain, a ball having pierced his heart. His wife, who had im- prudently rushed forth to throw herself on his breast, had been wounded in the left lung by a bullet, and lay within the hut stricken unto death, while the padre, after endeavoring, as best he could, to staunch her wound, was seeking to revive Annun- ziata, who had fallen into a death-like swoon. The girl, however, soon recover- ed, and devoted herself to the care of her mpther, whose last hours were harrassed by anxiety for her daughter, whom she 32 PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. was leaving alone and unprotected. The priest after hearing her confession and preparing her for death, endeavored to console her by dwelling upon the mercy of God, and promising that he himself would watch over her daughter as far as possible. But, alas I he was only less perplexed than herself. How could he foresee what In the casualties of life might hereafter occur? The chill of old age already warned him that his own death could not be far dis- tant, and even for the present Annunzi- ata's position alone amongst a number of men would be most painfui and em- barrassing. Hence he found it difficult to administer any solid consolation to his dying penitent, whose touching com- plaint still rang in his ears : . " God forgive me, but, O padre ! I can- not die in peace. Who, who shall be my child's protector ? " " God," replied the priest, pointing so- lemnly upwards, as he saw the gray shadow of speedy dissolution creeping over her face. "And I, under God," said Rodrigo, who had entered suddenly, and who stood ill ! i w tected. The nfession and deavored to the mercy of imself would ir as possible, trplexed than e what in the iafter occur? warned him >t be far dis- ;nt Annunzj- a number of ul and era- it difficult to lation to his 4ching com- padre ! I can- 3 shall be my pointing so- gray shadow ing over her lid Rodrigo, id who stood PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. 33 with folded arms gazing at the dying woman. " You ? " said the priest in amazement, while Josefa, whose faculties were already chilled by death, fixed her eyes upon him wonderingly. A struggle had been gomg on for some moments in the young cava- lier's breast. Pride and some voices from the old brilliant life at the Spanish court were calling on him to draw back. before it was too late. On the other hand, the dying woman's anxiety for her daughter, .the presence of death, which showed him the worthlessness of earthly honor, the consideration that to him, a homeless wanderer, rank, was of little import, the innate chivalry of his soul, which urged him to deliver the poor girl from her er barrassing position, and, more than all, his great, strong love for Annunziata, drowned the voice of pride, which had spoken very loudly in his soul, all the old prejudices of a long line of hidalgoes welling up. within him; but they melted like the mists at dawn, and he answered firmly and unhesi- tatingly : "Father, the need is very great, time fmmff^SI MM@EE~ 34 PEDRO S DAUGHTER. presses; wherefore I pray you, before this good soul departs to the presence of her God, unite Annunziata to me in marriage, and once having the right to protect her, none shall dare gainsay it." The priest could scarcely believe his ears ; the heir of that proud race desiring to wed a bourgeoise ! but he knew the young man's truth and honor, and re- joiced. Josefa, too, raised her hands and eyes to heaven in thanksgiving, the shadow on her face rendering it most solemn. Annunziata was summoned. Don Rod- rigo took her hand, asking her to trust him implicitly, and henceforth regard him as her dearest friend and only protector, ex- plaining to her the hasty ceremony which the occasion demanded. The girl stood as one struck by a thunderbolt ; her father dead, her mother dying, and, face to face with this overpov ering sorrow, a great happiness to which her wildest hopes had never pointed. But just then she was too bewildered to understand it in its true light, and, covering her face with her hands, as if to collect her thoughts, she stood silent and motionless. But Don Rodrigo P ER. )u, before this esence of her e in marriage, ) protect her, yr believe his race desiring he knew the jnor, and re- [ler hands and ig, the shadow t solemn, d. Don Rod- ;r to trust him egard him as protector, ex- remony which fhe girl stood )lt ; her father I, face to face rrow, a great est hopes had ;n she was too It in its true irith her hands, its, she stood : Don Rodrigo PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. 35 urged upon her the great reason for haste. The priest, too, uttered words of advice and encouragement, and the mother wept for joy, and in broken words expressed her gratitude and delight at Don Rodrigo s generosity. , . " But youy asked Annunziata in a low, troubled voice, " are you to bind yourself to me for ever through pity ? I will not allow it. I will rather seek the foe and ask for mercy. Are you to blight your whole life by your generosity ? " «' Annunziata dearest," said the cavalier softly, •' some time I will tell you how little generosity there is in this action. It springs from a feeling that awoke within me that sunny day upon the Prado. I will not ask you to guess what I mean, but never name pity again where Jove would be the only appropriate word." Annunziata looked at him for a moment, as if reading his very soul, and he went on : " But is the sacrifice too great to ask of you? If so, I shall try and devise some other means for your protection. Only, I beg of you, reflect, and if you love me ever so little, try to consent, for it will be the ^ -m Ifet 36 PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. best means of ensuring your future, as well as your present, welfare." He managed to satisfy himself upon this point, and when she had really consented, led her over to her mother's bedside, and there they knelt down. " Your blessing, mother," cried Annun- ziata, choking back a sob. The mother turned her stiffening features towards them, and murmured the words of benediction with her failing breath. " Here I swear," cried the cavalier so- lemnly, " in the presence of Heaven, to be faithful to the trust God has given me to- day as long as he vouchsafes me the power." Then the soldiers were called in to wit- ness the marriage contract in that solemn chamber of death, away from all human associations, among the mighty peaks and glaciers of a vast mountain range, far above the level of the earth, where the shrieking storm-winds howled their loudest. The fire on the hearth burned low, the dim light of the candle fell on the rigid iace and figure of the dead Pedro, on the pinched features of the dying Josefa, on whom P. H^K ^^^ PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. 37 uture, as well self upon this ly consented, bedside, and cried Annun- :ning features 1 the words of »reath. e cavalier so- Heaven, to be given me to- safes me the lied in to wit- n that solemn )m all human ity peaks and mge, far above : the shrieking oudest. The ■, the dim light rigid iace and n the pinched efa, on whom death's messengers were setting the seal of mortality. The priest stood vested with surplice and stole, Rodrigo and Annunziata before him, with faces deathly pale from the solemnity of the moment. The mo- ther's wedding-ring was used, the marriage ceremony speedily performed, and as the priest pronounced them man and wife till death did them part, the mother, support- ing herself upon the pillow, raised her hand for a last benediction, and fell back dead; the bars of the prison-house had burst, and the immortal soul was free. The fire burn- ed down so low that it almost seemed ex- tinguished, and at the moment the door was bu^st open and a fierce blast swept through the hut. The candle flickered and went out, the fire leaped into a blaze, and by the light of a torch held in the leader's hand the inmates of the hut recognized the enemy, who had noiselessly surround- ed the hut, and, attracted by the curious ceremony within, had stood gazing in at the little window till its conclusion. By the same lurid glare the enemy discovered tiie presence of the dead, and involuntarily removed their hats. ^ l'^ 38 PEDRO S DAUGHTER. " More witnesses to our marriage con- tract," said Don Rodrigo with a melan- choly smile. " Are ye come, good sirs, to celebrate our wedding?" " We have come," said the leader of the band, " to arrest the traitorous nobleman Rodrigo Guzman in the name of Charles the Third. If you are he, give up your sword." " I will not here dispute Duke Charles's claim to the title you give him," said Rod- rigo, unbuckling his sword, " and I think there is none to dispute the latter half of the title you have given me. There is my sword, sir ; it used to be deemed a good one." Hilt first he gave it to the officer, and begged an instant's grace to say farewell. He held his wife a moment in his arms, then shook hands warmly with the padre. " Behold, good father," he said, " ano- ther instance of human foresight ; the protector iu himself helpless." " Another one remains," replied the priest, " the first and best — God." One more duty remained. Reverently the young man bent the knee in a hurried lip 51 w ER. PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. 39 marriage con- I'ith a melan- , good sirs, to * leader of the 0U3 nobleman me of Charles give up your Duke Charles's m," said Rod- "and I think latter half of There is my remed a good [le officer, and ) say farewell. t in his arms, th the padre, e said, " ano- jresight ; the ' replied the }od." . Reverently :e in a hurried prayer for the dead, and, turning to the soldiers, declared himself at their service. The warrant did not permit his wife to ac- company him, nor did not include the padre or the attendants in the order of arrest. After he had departed, Annunziata checked her grief with wonderful fortitude, and assisted in paying the last rites to the dead, who were buried side by side m a corner of the cavern, where a rude wooden cross was placed to point out their graves. Then Annunziata, bidding farewell to the old priest, to the rough but kindly soldiers, who had been a part of their lives during the past eventful weeks, departed alone, wearing the disguise of an Andalus.an peasant. Journeying by isolated paths, she wended her way towards Madrid, where she gained admittance as a vender of fruit, and, currying favor with guards, found her way into the presence of the English general, whom current report had highly lauded for his acts of benevoL-nce. Charles Mordaunt, Earl of Peterborough, was then in the full pride of manhood. Handsome, brave, and chivalrous to the last degree, he had won the epithet of the w UipHSWiJ-lJlUSWll" " ' 40 PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. i tl I " last of the knight-errants " from liis con- stant craving for adventure. When Annunziata was ushered into his presence he was sitting in a large easy- chair, amusing himself by attempting a pen portrait of the beautiful Duchess of Popoli, whose life he had saved at the taking of Barcelona. The portrait was in- tended for a friend in England. When Annunziata entered he looked up in sur- prise, but she threw herself at his feet cry- ing: " Pardon, great general, pardon ! " " Pardon for whom, fairest of petition- ers? " said the earl. " I beg you to arise." And so saying, he raised her gently. " Do not be afraid, child," he continued ; "tell me your story. Is it father, or brother, or perhaps some boy-lover for whom you have come to plead ? " The color mounted a little to her face as she answered : " I have come, my lord, to beg you to set free my husband." " K;«r husband, child?" said the general in astonishment. " Why, I should not have supposed you were married. But what is his name ? " om "his con- red into his I large easy ttempting a Duchess of ived at the trait was in- md. When 1 up in sur- his feet cry- aardon ! " of petition- ou to arise." r gently, e continued ; t father, or oy-lover for 1?" to her face I beg you to d the general )uld not have But what is PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. 41 "Don Rodrigo Guzman," she replied promptly. " Ah ! " said Lord Peterborough, glanc- ing at her sharply, "that is an affair of different color. So the peasant's dress, as I suspected, is not your natural garb. I am sorry, but your husband, it seems, is accused of grave offences." ^, " Fidelity to his sovereigns, my lord, said Annunziata, flushing warmly, " love of his country, and generosity to the un- fortunate—these are his only crimes.''^ " He has a most lovely pleader," said the earl courteously, " and is so far fortu- nate. But he has not been brought mto Madrid as yet, and I doubt if I have the power to assist you in procuring his re- " Save him, save him ! " cried the girl, clasping her hands in her ardor, as fhe proceeded to pour out the story of Rodn- go's generosity into the earl's sympathetic ear. It was a tale that powerfully appealed to the reckless nobility and chivalrous in- stincts of the great leader, and was not without its effect upon him, when united with the loveliness of the narrator, for 42 PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. Peterborough was never known to remain insensible to the power of beauty. " A knightly deed, upon the honor of a soldier," he said, striking the hilt of his sword. " If my influence be worth anything here, this young cavalier shall be saved, and moreover, I hope when this unlucky war is over, to have an opportunity of meeting face to face a Spaniard capable of such an act." Peterborough then called an orderly and gave the necessary commands, after which he rose, and himself conducted An- nunzlata to the door of the apartment. " Pardon our rough soldier ways, fair lady," he said gallantly; "and if that brave little heart, which dared so much to save your husband, has a prayer or a thought to spare, give it to Charles Mor- daunt of Peterborough, of whom I dare say " he added with a half sigh, " you will hear many a sad tale, for, truth to tell, I fear there is little of the saint about him, and that little no one will take the trouble to repeat." , i • r Gratefully Annunziata bid htm tare- well ; and long after, when fate was hard Jj^^ ER. )wn to remain ;auty. he honor of a ;he hilt of his worth anything hall be saved, 1 this unlucky jpportunity of iard capable of ed an orderly )mmands, after conducted An- apartment. dier ways, fair "and if tlvat red so much to a prayer or a to Charles Mor- f whom I dare sigh, "you will uth to tell, I fear about him, and : the trouble to bid him fare- n fate was hard PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. 43 upon the gallant earl, and he had returned, after years of wandering, to his native England, she dropped a quiet tear at his undeserved misfortunes. But Providence had not, after all, de- creed that Rodrigo should owe his escape to the generous Englishman. Gold, which was all-powerful with the wild guerilla warriors who had captured him, easily tempted one of them to set him free. Driven by necessity and the fear of being recaptured, he spent the night succeeding his release in a gipsy encampment, where the uncouth Bohemians stared at him with all their might and chatted in an un- known tongue, but, nevertheless, willingly offered him a share of their rude repast. Meantime Annunziata, having passed without the walls of Madrid, was filled with fear and uneasiness. When the gene- ral had sent his orders for Rodrigo's re- lease, he also promised to apprise him of the place where he should join Annunziata. But how was she to reach it, already ex- hausted and worn out by fatigue and ex- citement ? After wandering a whole day, she came to a little hamlet, to the wretched 44 PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. inn of which she directed her steps in hopes of obtaining food. Its humble parlor was occupied by two or three rough-looking men, clinking their glasses and throwing dice, all of whom greeted her by a bolster- ous shout. , . J " There's a jaunty little manola, criea one, whose voice was hoarse and husky from his deep potations. "Trips as light as a cachuca girl, shouted another. " Come over, pretty one, and tell us whence you come." Annunziata trembled and made no re^ ply, but addressed herself to the landlord, as jolly and red-nosed as most of his class, asking for food. " No food you shall have," said the re- veller, bringing his fist down "Pon^ the table and making the glasses ring, till you answer my questions." . , , , , " Now, now, gentlemen," cried the land- lord, "consider the peaceful character ot my house, where such brawls are unknown. I pray you desist." „ " Good vintner, attend to your wares, said the man in the same unsteady voice. " I say, sweetheart, are you deaf:- ER. Steps in hopes ble parlor was rough-looking and throwing r by a boister- manola" cried se and husky cachuca girl," \j&x, pretty one, e." d made no re- o the landlord, 3st of his class, ;," said the re- own upon the PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. 4S sses ring, till ' cried the land- "ul character of Is are unknown. to your wares," unsteady voice, u deaf? " •• Take that for your insolence, master winebibber," said a young cavalier who entered at the moment, dealing him a blow with the flat part of his sword. " Go your way, for a poltroon, who is not ashamed to frighten women." The man seemed on the pomt of resent- ing the words and the blow, and his com- rades rose to their feet ; but, seemg the determined aspect of the cavaher, sttll holding his drawn sword in his hand, tUey slunk out, one by one, scowling at him as they passed. Rodrigo then put up bis blade, and turned to reassure the supposed stranger, when Annunwata, venturing at last to recognize her husband, ran over to where he stood, laying her hand on h.s arm with a childish and most natural move- ment. ... " My own Nunnita," he cried m sur- prise and delight, "what good fortune brought me hither, and how is it you are here? Did I not leave you in the moun- tain hut?" „- «« Whence," she said a httle shyly, I have been to Madrid, and begged the Eng- lish general tb set you free. I told him i 46 PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. how good you were, and he promised, but this is not where he spoke of sending you." " No ; because I had probably escaped before his order of release arrived, and it is as well, for I should then have been upon parole. But what did you do next, bravest of little wives?" "When I was outside the city's gates. It seemed so far to where he told me to meet you, and I had no money, so I wept ; and then I wandered on and on till I came here." "Where the hand of God has surely brought me," said Rodrigo, deeply touched by her simple narrative. Thus reunited with his wife, he brought her to a place of security near the camp of the Duke of Berwick, where he was again obliged to leave her occasionally, when military duty required his presence in the camp. One evening the duke had assem- bled his officers in council, when a veiled maiden suddenly entered, and stood before him. "Whom seek you," asked the duke sternly, " and wherefore do you thus enter our presence ? " PEDRO'S DAUGHTER 47 •omised, but inding you." ibly escaped rived, and it i have been /o\i do next, city's gates, told me to /, so I wept ; n till I came d has surely eply touched , he brought the camp of he was again )nally, when :sence in the e had assem- hen a veiled stood before d the duke 3U thus enter " I seek Don Rodrigo Guzman," she an- swered timidly. " Unveil, then, that we may see who speaks," said the duke in the same cold tone. Reluctantly she threw back her veil, and a murmur of admiration went through the assembly, mingled with some openly-ex- pressed remarks upon her personal appear- ance, which the duke checked by a glance. As he was about to question her more closely, Don Rodrigo entered. " How now, my Lord Guzman," said the duke sternly, " what mean such unseemly messengers? " Before he could answer, Annunziata, seeing her husband, flew to his side, and whispered : " Fly, beloved, there is danger." "You interrupted me, girl," said the duke still more sternly. " I pray you let me be heard." Meanwhile the officers looked on in sur- prise, the duke in evident disapproval, till Rodrigo, drawing Annunziata's arm within his own, drew himself up slightly as he said : 48 PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. " Before we proceed, your grace and gentlemen, let me present my wife, who, it seems, has come to warn me of impend- ing danger." Much surprise was manifested, enquiring whispers passed from mouth to mouth, but the duke with stately courtesy saluted her, touched her. forehead with his lips, and gave her the place of honor beside him. Then Annuntiata warned them of danger. A large force under the Prince of Hesse was advancing, and but for this timely in- formation the camp would have been sur- prised and the forces probably slaughtered. Loud was the applause of the heroic action of the girl, who had come some miles on foot to save the army. Even the melan- choly duke smiled upon her, and when the danger was passed and an important vic- tory gained through her means, listened with much interest to the story of her ro- mantic marriage and her subsequent brave effort for her husband's freedom. The simple narrative strangely moved this stern and reticent man, striking some chord long silent in his heart, and which now vibrated to the touch as, perchance, mmn grace and wife, who, of Jmpend- 1, enquiring mouth, but saluted her, s lips, and >eside him. of danger, e of Hesse s timely in- e been sur- ilaughtered. eroic action \e miles on the melan- id when the portant vic- ,ns, listened y of her ro- quent brave dom. The moved this iking some , and which I, perchance PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. 49 it had done in days when fortune seemed to smile upon him, and the highest offices and proudest positions in England had been at his command. Life had proved one long disappointment ; the years had dealt hardly with him ; glory was now his mistress, the laurel wreath upon h.s brow his only pride. But throughout Spain and France he was regarded as a man ol unsullied honor, of stern integrity, of unre- lenting justice, and of unstained reputa- *'°And here we leave him, having dwelt but a moment on the two great leaders tn whose subsequent History so ma^rked a change was speedily produced. The gal- lant, warm-hearted Earl of Peterborough, as esteemed for bravery as for knowledge, for wit as for learning, for great general- ship as for magnanimity, provoked the jealousy of his associates in Spam, and especially that of the Archduke Charles, and, as we have before hinted was re- called in disgrace to England though he had in reality done more for the Austrian cause than almost any other leader. He seemed to have bequeathed his good for- 50 PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. tune to Berwick, who now {gained a series of rapid, decisive victories, supported by the peasantry, who had arisen at the last moment and succeeded in restoring Philip to the capital, where we leave him and Spain, being unable to follow that unhappy country through the further mazes of this long war. We shall take one more glance at our hero and heroine, who thenceforth resided in Madrid, happy in each other's society, often dwelling with greatful hearts upon their narrow escape from death, and recalling their marriage in that early dawn, when the fire burned low upon the hearth, the bride's dead father lay a solemn wit- ness to the contract, a dying mother blessed their union with her failing breath, and their very enemies attested it within that humble hut among the giant crags and rugged defiles of the Sierra Morena. Frequently did the good padre who had united them drop in to chat over the past, and, rubbing his hands softly together, de- clare he was instrumental in their present happiness. Often did the young couple visit the little granite house in the quiet street, and more often still repair to pray PEDRO'S DAUGHTER. 5» led a series ipported by at the last oring Philip ve him and lat unhappy lazes of this more glance thenceforth each other's :atful hearts 1 death, and : early dawn, I the hearth, solemn wit- nng mother iling breath, ed it within giant crags rra Morena, ire who had ver the past, together, de- heir present 3ung couple in the quiet ;pair to pray beside a cosily tomb in the cemetery of Madrid. It bore the names of two who had slept side by side for many a month upon the snow-whitened summit of the moun- tain, little recking that a simple cross had been their only monument. So pious and exemplary were the lives of Don Rod- rigo and his lovely wife, that neighbors, pointing to them, held them up as models, while the fame of their romantic lives caused them to be looked upon with inte- rest, and spoken of as the noble and his bourgeoise wife, whom he had married among the storm-swept peaks of the Sierra Morena. THE END. iDt^' vifiii^ V^ ..^1,