. People still wonder whether he did so
or not.--Look senor," pointing upwards. "Did you ever see such outlines,
such a vision of beauty? Is it not the very spot for such a soul as
Senor Ancora's?"

We were standing in the cloister garden, where orange trees and graceful
shrubs grew in wild profusion and exquisite contrast. In the centre of
the garden a fountain threw up its spray and plashed with cool musical
sound. Surrounding us were the wonderful cloister bays with their round
arches resting on the white marble columns, all enclosed in an outer
pointed arch. Above them rose the cathedral against the deep blue sky.
Outline above outline; Romanesque and Gothic; the lantern crowning the
whole. The shadows of the marble columns upon the ancient cloister
pavement were sharply defined.

"No wonder you love it," we said to the sacristan. "Rather we wonder you
do not apply for permission to live in the chapter-house, and take up
your abode here altogether."

"Ah, senor, like Ancora, I also have my domestic ties: a wife and
children to think about. But, alas, my wife has no soul, and cannot even
understand my love for the cathedral. That indeed ought to have been my
wife, and I should never have married commonplace flesh and blood. Here
I have been day after day for thirty years, in constant attendance, and
I grow to love it more and more, and daily discover fresh beauties.
There are no cloisters in the world like these. There is no vision on
earth to be compared with this, as we stand here and look upwards and
around. None."

As we stood listening to the sacristan's enthusiasm, a pale, refined,
grave-looking ecclesiastic passed out of the beautiful doorway leading
from the church, and with silent footstep walked through the cloister to
the chapter-house. He was dressed in a violet silk robe or cassock, over
which was a white lace alb. As he went by he bowed to us with great
gravity, but said not a word. There was a sorrowful, subdued look upon
the clear-cut features, the large grey eyes.

"That is one of our canons," said the sacristan, after he had
disappeared into the chapter-house; "the one I like best. He too loves
this wonderful building."

"He is sad-looking. One could almost imagine he had mistaken his
vocation, or gone through some great sorrow in life."

"You are right, senor: right in both instances. He was a man of noble
family, never intended for the church. Engaged to a lovely lady to whom
he was devot