tions unprofitable.

"Just the same as ever, senor. There was no change anywhere. The
everlasting bells chime out the hours and the quarters, and the voices
of a half a dozen watchmen take up the tale. The hotel grows rather
worse and more unpopular, if that be possible, and for want of a good
inn the town is neglected. No one ever goes there a second time. In that
respect one is better off in Lerida."

We were standing near the new cathedral in the market-place, when
suddenly we saw a quiet figure hurrying towards us. Even afar off we
knew it well. It was our Boot-cleaner in Ordinary.

At once we felt something was wrong; the figure, in spite of quick
footsteps, was tragic in its bearing. We went up to him. He grasped our
hand and his face told its own tale.

"Oh, senor! the end has come, the end of a long life. Who would have
thought it would be so sudden? My poor Nerissa! My life's partner, and
my life's blessing! Two hours ago the heart suddenly failed. The doctor
gives her until the dawn. But she is quite ready and quite resigned.
'Think what it will be, Alphonse,' she said to me just now. 'To-morrow
morning I shall see once more.' Senor, I am broken-hearted. And now that
she is being taken from me, I feel that I have not prized her half
enough."

"You have been her joy and happiness on earth, and have an eternity of
happiness to look forward to. For you and for her life is only
beginning. The end of a long and happy life is a matter for rejoicing,
not for sorrow."

We had no need to ask a reason for his presence there. He passed on to
fulfil his mission.

[Illustration: OLD CATHEDRAL: LERIDA.]

Presently a small door was opened and there issued forth in the
stillness of the night an acolyte bearing a lighted lantern, followed
by a priest carrying the Host. Alphonse had gone before, and we felt
that the greatest kindness was to let him return alone, unhindered. The
small silent procession was full of mysterious pathos and solemnity. It
told of a soul about to take its solitary and awful journey to the
unknown and the unseen. Seldom, we felt, would extreme unction have been
administered to a soul so pure as that of our little fairy-queen. El
Sereno went down on one knee as it passed, and bared and bowed his head.
With arm outstretched resting on his staff of office, he looked quite
solemn and picturesque.

"We must all come to it, senor. But I often ask myself what consolation
even extreme unction can br