I could take the whole creation under my wing and love it
for the sake of the love that is mine. I tell myself that I have not
half cared for my dumb animals, though harsh word to them never passed
my lips."

"Loretta, we have found your clock," passing from the sublime to the
commonplace. "Come both of you and see it."

It was in the adjoining Calle de Fernando, not many yards from where we
stood. We were just in time: the clockmaker was about to pack up and
despatch it. Its design might have been made to order. A clock of white
alabaster, pure as the heart of Loretta. Cupid with bow and arrows slung
behind him struck the hours on a silver bell. The hour-glass was
missing, it is true, but the sands of Loretta and Lorenzo were none the
less golden. So the clock instead of being forwarded to Espluga, was
sent to their address in Barcelona.

"My happiness is now complete," cried Loretta. "Yet one thing is still
wanting. I would that you, senor, should come as speedily as possible
and ride Caro to Poblet, and that Lorenzo and I should wait upon you.
Ah, do not delay."

* * * * *

"One of the most romantic episodes I ever heard of," cried H. C., as
Loretta and Lorenzo walked away arm in arm in their great happiness, and
we turned to contemplate once more the magic interior of the cathedral
that has no rival.

"It is indeed. And if these dream-churches and ancient towns are her
glories, does Spain not possess yet other glories in the exalted lives
of Rosalie and Anselmo, the simple hearts and annals of yonder couple,
and all who resemble them? May their shadows never grow less and their
faces never be pale!"

"Amen," answered H. C., as the happy pair in question turned a corner
and "passed in music out of sight."

LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] The rose.

[B] If the reader feels any interest in Sebastien, he will be glad to
hear that a petition sent to the landlord in the form of a letter proved
as effective as the proposed deputation. He was promoted to the dignity
(and fees) of second waiter in the dining-room: and on the first of last
May was united to his beloved Anita. The sun shone and the skies were
blue; the world smiled upon the young couple. The bride in her white
veil and pale silk dress (the gift of her late employer, Madame la
Modiste) must have appeared ravishing; and few bridegrooms in Ma