eyes,
the regular features, which wore that expression of national pride which
distinguishes a Castilian from any other race, and his raven-black hair
were eminently the Spanish type in all its grace and haughtiness. The
young man wore the Spanish holiday costume, the richness of which has
made travellers exclaim, more than once, that no European prince is
clothed like a simple peasant of Castile. Stephano had on a short vest
of black cloth, lined with yellow silk, ornamented with fringes and
bunches of ribbons; an embroidered shirt with open collar revealing a
waistcoat with gilt buttons, knee-breeches of black silk confined at the
knees by bunches of ribbons, shoes and gaiters of fine brown leather,
while a black felt hat with drooping plume completed his costume.

Stephano's gloomy face contrasted with his gay attire. He leant against
the open window, carelessly holding in his hand a bouquet of faded
jasmine, whilst he gazed with melancholy eyes upon the festive scene
before him, and only by a shake of the head and a sad smile replied to
the light badinage of the dancers as they passed the window. But now and
then his eyes lighted up, and he sighed deeply as a certain dancer,
prettier than the rest, approached him.

"How pretty she is!" he murmured, as he followed her retreating form.

"Stephano!" called out the old man, who had been watching his son for
some time.

"How gracefully she dances," continued the handsome dreamer, wrapt in
his thoughts.

"Stephano!" repeated the old man.

"Yes, father," cried Stephano, with a start, and coming forward. "Do you
wish to speak to me?"

"From your mysterious air and endless sighs these last few days,
Stephano, I conclude that you are in love," said his father.

"In love!" stammered the young man. "You think I am in love?"

"I do not think, my son--I am sure of it; and I have only one reproach
to make to you, and that is that you have not made me a confidant of
your secret before."

"You shall know all, father," said Stephano, drawing a chair close to
Don Pedro.

"For the last month," he continued, "I have had in my heart a love which
nothing can subdue, and the object of my passion is a young girl here, a
glance from whose eyes is worth more to me than all the world besides;
but she shuns my love, and on every occasion strives to avoid me. She
hardly permits me to speak to her for fear that the passion she reads in
my eyes will break into words."

"Bah!" said