h, as from the pickled shrimps, she had always
expected much. There let us hope her virtues have been rewarded, and she
rests in peace and happiness.

IV

When Don Sebastian walked from the cathedral to his house after the
burial of his wife, no one saw a trace of emotion on his face, and it
was with his wonted grave courtesy that he bowed to a friend as he
passed him. Sternly and briefly, as usual, he gave orders that no one
should disturb him, and went to the room of Dona Sodina; he knelt on the
praying-stool which Dona Sodina had daily used for so many years, and he
fixed his eyes on the crucifix hanging on the wall above it. The day
passed, and the night passed, and Don Sebastian never moved--no thought
or emotion entered him; being alive, he was like the dead; he was like
the dead that linger on the outer limits of hell, with never a hope for
the future, dull with the despair that shall last for ever and ever and
ever. But when the woman who had nursed him in his childhood lovingly
disobeyed his order and entered to give him food, she saw no tear in his
eye, no sign of weeping.

'You are right!' he said, painfully rising from his knees. 'Give me to
eat.'

Listlessly taking the food, he sank into a chair and looked at the bed
on which had lately rested the corpse of Dona Sodina; but a kindly
nature relieved his unhappiness, and he fell into a weary sleep.

When he awoke, the night was far advanced; the house, the town were
filled with silence; all round him was darkness, and the ivory crucifix
shone dimly, dimly. Outside the door a page was sleeping; he woke him
and bade him bring light.... In his sorrow, Don Sebastian began to look
at the things his wife had loved; he fingered her rosary, and turned
over the pages of the half-dozen pious books which formed her library;
he looked at the jewels which he had seen glittering on her bosom; the
brocades, the rich silks, the cloths of gold and silver that she had
delighted to wear. And at last he came across an old breviary which he
thought she had lost--how glad she would have been to find it, she had
so often regretted it! The pages were musty with their long concealment,
and only faintly could be detected the scent which Dona Sodina used
yearly to make and strew about her things. Turning over the pages
listlessly, he saw some crabbed writing; he took it to the
light--'_To-night, my beloved, I come._' And the handwriting was that of
Pablo, Archbishop of Xiormone