his loss that she thought she could never conquer it; but it was
soon soothed by the belief that, for the sake of this devout child,
whose training for a religious life had already commenced, Heaven had
resigned its claims upon John, and that the boy was dwelling in the
immediate presence of the Queen of Heaven.

Thus, ere she was aware of it, her burning anguish changed into a
cheerful remembrance. Earlier still--more than two years after Wolf's
departure--tidings closely associated with the sorrow inflicted
through her John had saddened her. The ship which was to bear the loyal
companion of her youth to Spain was wrecked just before the end of the
voyage, and Wolf went down with it. Barbara learned the news only by
accident, and his death first made her realize with full distinctness
how dear he had been to her.

The letter which she had addressed to her son was lost with the man in
whom Fate had wrested from her the last friend who would have been able
and willing to show her John clearly and kindly a correct picture of his
mother's real character.

For two years she had hoped that Wolf would complete her letter in his
own person, and tell her son how her voice and her beauty had won his
father's heart. Quijada had known it; but if he spoke of her to his wife
and foster-son, it was scarcely in her favour--he cared little for music
and singing.

So the loss of this letter seemed to her, with reason, a severe
misfortune. What she now wrote to John could hardly exert much influence
upon him. Yet she did write, this time with the aid of Hannibal. But the
new letter, which began with thanks for the financial aid which the son
had conferred upon his mother through his royal brother, was distasteful
both to her pride and her maternal affection. Half prosaic, half far too
effusive, it gave a distorted idea of her real feelings, and she tore it
up before giving it to the messenger.

Yet she did not cease to hope that, in some favourable hour, the heart
of the idol of her soul would urge him to approach his mother; but year
after year elapsed without bringing her even the slightest token of
his remembrance, and this omission was the bitter drop that spoiled the
happiness which, after the death of her youngest boy, was clouded by no
outward event.

When at last she addressed herself to John in a third letter, which this
time she dictated to Hannibal as her heart prompted, she received an
answer, it is true, though not f