uld never have realised. All the romance
which, if we may believe Cervantes, once transfigured the life of
Spain, and gilded the commonest acts till they seemed confident appeals
for the applause of God, feats boldly done under Heaven's thronged
barriers, is nowadays concentred in this one strange vigil which all
lovers have to keep.

Gil Perez the quick, the admirable servant, the jaunty adventurer, the
assured rogue, had vanished. Here he stood beneath the stars,
breathing prayers and praises--not a little valet sighing for a
convicted Magdalen, but a young knight keeping watch beneath his lady's
tower. And he was not alone there: at due intervals along the frowning
walls were posted other servants of the sleeping girls behind them;
other knights at watch and ward.

The prayer he breathed was the prayer breathed too for Dolores or
Mercedes in prison. "Virgin of Atocha, Virgin of the Pillar, Virgin of
Sorrow, of Divine Compassion, send happy sleep to thy handmaid Manuela,
shed the dew of thy love upon her eyelids, keep smooth her brows, keep
innocent her lips. Dignify me, thy servant, Gil Perez, more than other
men, that I may be worthy to sustain this high honour of love."

His eyes never wavered from a certain upper window. It was as blank as
all the rest, differed in no way from any other of a row of
five-and-twenty. To him if was the pride of the great building.

"O fortunate stars!" he whispered to himself, "that can look through
these and see my love upon her bed. O rays too much blessed, that can
kiss her eyelids, and touch lightly upon the scented strands of her
hair! O breath of the night, that can fan in her white neck and stroke
her arm stretched out over the coverlet! To you, night-wind, and to
you, stars, I give an errand; you shall take a message from me to
lovely Manuela of the golden tresses. Tell her that I am watching out
the dark; tell her that no harm shall come to her. Whisper in her ear,
mingle with her dreams, and tell her that she has a lover. Tell her
also that the nights in Madrid are not like those in Valencia, and that
she would do well to cover her arm and shoulder up lest she catch cold,
and suffer."

There spoke the realist, the romantic realist of Spain; for it is to be
observed that Gil Perez did not know at all whereabouts Manuela lay
asleep, and could not, naturally, know whether her arm was out of bed
or in it. He had forgotten also that her hair had been cut off--