where the gathering shadows of evening
might expose them to intrusion and insult. On their way down the hill,
as they passed through the wood of elms, mingled with poplars and
oleanders, that skirts the road leading from the Alhambra, he again
saw these men apparently following at a distance; and he afterwards
caught sight of them among the trees on the banks of the Darro. He
said nothing on the subject to Inez, nor her father, for he would not
awaken unnecessary alarm; but he felt at a loss how to ascertain or to
avert any machinations that might be devising against the helpless
inhabitants of the tower.

He took his leave of them late at night, full of this perplexity. As
he left the dreary old pile, he saw some one lurking in the shadow of
the wall, apparently watching his movements. He hastened after the
figure, but it glided away, and disappeared among some ruins. Shortly
after he heard a low whistle, which was answered from a little
distance. He had no longer a doubt but that some mischief was on foot,
and turned to hasten back to the tower, and put its inmates on their
guard. He had scarcely turned, however, before he found himself
suddenly seized from behind by some one of Herculean strength. His
struggles were in vain; he was surrounded by armed men. One threw a
mantle over him that stifled his cries, and enveloped him in its
folds; and he was hurried off with irresistible rapidity.

The next day passed without the appearance of Antonio at the
alchymist's. Another, and another day succeeded, and yet he did not
come; nor had any thing been heard of him at his lodgings. His absence
caused, at first, surprise and conjecture, and at length alarm. Inez
recollected the singular intimations of the ballad-singer upon the
mountain, which seemed to warn her of impending danger, and her mind
was full of vague forebodings. She sat listening to every sound at the
gate, or footstep on the stairs. She would take up her guitar and
strike a few notes, but it would not do; her heart was sickening with
suspense and anxiety. She had never before felt what it was to be
really lonely. She now was conscious of the force of that attachment
which had taken possession of her breast; for never do we know how
much we love, never do we know how necessary the object of our love is
to our happiness, until we experience the weary void of separation.

The philosopher, too, felt the absence of his disciple almost as
sensibly as did his daugh