for the cattle fair must commence. By mid-day bipeds and quadrupeds
would rule the town, our beautiful palace find itself desecrated. In its
present half-deserted condition an air of refinement and antiquity hung
over it. One felt, almost saw and heard, the great crowd of cavaliers
and dames, besacked and besworded, that had passed up and down the broad
marble staircase in the picturesque and romantic Middle Ages. All the
ghosts and ghostly sighs and shadows lurking in secret corners, halls
and corridors, would vanish before the vulgar herd. Under this influence
Gerona the beautiful would become intolerable; better leave with
impressions and sweet illusions undisturbed.

And little remained. Everything had been seen, everything done. We had
said farewell to Anselmo, then plunged into the vortex of the fair,
where noise, crowd and confusion fought with each other. Sunshine and
blue skies were having their usual effect upon the Spanish people. Every
one was in high spirits, inclined to patronise booths, monkeys, and
fortune-tellers.

[Illustration: A GERONA PATIO.]

Every hour spent in the ancient town strengthened our devotion. This
old-world atmosphere, these marvellous outlines lost nothing by
familiarity. Standing once more on the bridge we confessed how difficult
it would be to look upon such a scene again. To-day, under the sunshine
the chestnut-roasters appeared less demon-like, the bed of the river
less a bottomless pit. A little of the weird element had departed. The
sense of mystery so strongly felt last night could not live in this
brilliant atmosphere.

By way of compensation the deep lights and shadows appealed to the
imagination quite as strongly as any sense of mystery. They filled the
air with life and motion. The trees rustled and gleamed and glinted and
drew moving pictures upon the white houses. Arcades lost their gloom,
but not their charm, and these apart from all else raise Gerona far
above the rank of any ordinary town. As we left the fair and turned into
the quieter streets, it seemed almost a natural consequence that from
one of the deep round arches there glided the quiet, graceful form of
Rosalie. She had foretold that we should meet again.

"But for the last time, Rosalie," as she greeted us with her rare sweet
smile. "We leave this evening. Time presses, and we would avoid
to-morrow's ceremony."

"They are terrible days," returned Rosalie. "No wonder you escape them.
Until they are ove