where his
very look betokened some confidential mission of the heart. Yes, there was
no doubt of it, he loved Lucy Dashwood! Alas, there seemed to be no end to
the complication of my misfortunes; one by one I appeared fated to lose
whatever had a hold upon my affections, and to stand alone, unloved and
uncared for in the world. My thoughts turned towards the senhora, but
I could not deceive myself into any hope there. My own feelings were
untouched, and hers I felt to be equally so. Young as I was, there was no
mistaking the easy smile of coquetry, the merry laugh of flattered vanity,
for a deeper and holier feeling. And then I did not wish it otherwise. One
only had taught me to feel how ennobling, how elevating in all its impulses
can be a deep-rooted passion for a young and beautiful girl! From her
eyes alone had I caught the inspiration that made me pant for glory and
distinction. I could not transfer the allegiance of my heart, since it had
taught that very heart to beat high and proudly. Lucy, lost to me forever
as she must be, was still more than any other woman ever could be; all the
past clung to her memory, all the prestige of the future must point to it
also.

And Power, why had he not trusted, why had he not confided in me? Was this
like my old and tried friend? Alas! I was forgetting that in his eye I was
the favored rival, and not the despised, rejected suitor.

"It is past now," thought I, as I rose and walked into the garden; "the
dream that made life a fairy tale is dispelled; the cold reality of the
world is before me, and my path lies a lonely and solitary one." My first
resolution was to see Power, and relieve his mind of any uneasiness as
regarded my pretentions; they existed no longer. As for me, I was no
obstacle to his happiness; it was, then, but fair and honorable that I
should tell him so; this done, I should leave Lisbon at once. The cavalry
had for the most part been ordered to the rear; still there was always
something going forward at the outposts.

The idea of active service, the excitement of a campaigning life, cheered
me, and I advanced along the dark alley of the garden with a lighter and a
freer heart. My resolves were not destined to meet delay; as I turned the
angle of a walk, Power was before me. He was leaning against a tree, his
hands crossed upon his bosom, his head bowed forward, and his whole air and
attitude betokening deep reflection.

He started as I came up, and seeme