was as sweet a savor in the nostrils of
the faithful, as that of Quakers done remarkably brown was to our
godly Puritan ancestors,--there dwelt in the royal city of Madrid a
wealthy goldsmith by the name of Antonio Perez, whose family--having
lost his wife--consisted of a lovely daughter, named Magdalena, and a
less beautiful but still charming niece, Juanita. The housekeeping and
the care of the girls were committed to a starched old duenna, Donna
Margarita, whose vinegar aspect and sharp tongue might well keep at a
distance the boldest gallants of the court and camp. For the rest,
some half dozen workmen and servitors, and a couple of stout Asturian
serving wenches made up the establishment of the wealthy artisan. As
the chief care of the latter was to accumulate treasure, his family,
while they were denied no comfort, were debarred from luxury, and,
perhaps, fared the better from this very frugality of the master. Yet
in the stable, which occupied a portion of the basement story of his
residence,--the other half being devoted to the _almacen_, or
store,--there were a couple of long-tailed Flemish mares, and a
heavy, lumbering chariot; and in the rear of the house a garden,
enclosed on three sides with a stone wall, and comprising arbors, a
fountain, and a choice variety of fruits and flowers.

One evening, the goldsmith's daughter and her cousin sat in their
apartment, on the second story, peeping out through the closed
"jalousies," or blinds, into the twilight street, haply on the watch
for some gallant cavalier, whose horsemanship and costume they might
admire or criticize. Seeing nothing there, however, to attract their
attention, they turned to each other.

"Juanita," said the goldsmith's daughter, "I believe I have secured an
admirer."

"An admirer!" exclaimed the pretty cousin. "If your father and dame
Margarita didn't keep us cooped here like a pair of pigeons, we should
have, at least, twenty apiece. But what manner of man is this
phoenix of yours? Is he tall? Has he black eyes, or blue? Is he
courtier or soldier?"

"He is tall," replied Magdalena, smiling; "but for his favor, or the
color of his eyes, or quality, I cannot answer. His face and figure
shrouded in a cloak, his _sombrero_ pulled down over his eyes, he
takes up his station against a pillar of the church whenever I go to
San Ildefonso with my duenna, and watches me till mass is ended. I
have caught him following our footsteps. But be he gent