ry stiffly, and, saying, "Senor, I am
satisfied," stalked off with all the rigidity of one in whose veins
flows the sangre azul of Old Castile. Freeman smiled superior upon his
retreat, and then, producing a cigar-case, proceeded to light up with
the professor. In this fragrant and friendly cloud we will leave them,
and return for a few minutes to the house of General Trednoke.

It will be remembered that something was said of Grace being privy to
the nocturnal advances of Senor de Mendoza. We are not to suppose
that this implies in her anything worse than an aptness to indulge in
romantic adventure: the young lady enjoyed the mystery of romance,
and knew that serenades, and whisperings over star-lit balconies, were
proper to this latitude. It may be open to question whether she really
was much interested in De Mendoza, save as he was a type of the adoring
Spaniard. That the scene required: she could imagine him (for the
time-being) to be the Cid of ancient legend, and she herself would enact
a role of corresponding elevation. Grace would doubtless have prospered
better had she been content with one adorer at a time; but, while
turning to a new love, she was by no means disposed to loosen the chains
of a former one; and, though herself as jealous as is a tiger-cat of her
young, she could never recognize the propriety of a similar passion on
the part of her victims. She had been indignant at Freeman's apparent
infidelity with Miriam; but when she had (as she imagined) discovered
her mistake, she had listened with a heart at ease to the protestations
of Don Miguel. She had parted from him that evening with a half
expressed understanding that he was to reappear beneath her window
before day-light; and she had pictured to herself a charming
balcony-scene, such as she had beheld in Italian opera. Accordingly, she
had attired herself in a becoming negligee, and had spent the fore part
of the night somewhat restlessly, occasionally emerging on the veranda
and gazing down into the perfumed gloom of the garden. At length she
fancied that she heard footsteps. Whose could they be, unless Don
Miguel's? Grace retreated within her window to await developments. Don
Miguel did not appear; but presently she descried a phantom-like figure
ascending the flight of steps to the veranda. Could that be he? If so,
he was bolder in his wooing than Grace had been prepared for. But surely
that was a strange costume that he wore; nor did the uncons