umes.

As Arithelli rode in she heard her name called, and her state of frozen
misery suddenly gave way to a hot thrill of excitement.

Her head went up like a stag, and her nostrils dilated. She inhaled
again the familiar warm scent of freshly strewn tan and hay and
animals. It had intoxicated her as a child of twelve, when she had
been taken to see a travelling circus in Ireland, and it intoxicated
her now.

The seats were a packed mass of people, and in the upper places and
from the royal box, bright colours flamed, and jewels and restless fans
glittered and moved. In honour of the occasion every woman had draped
herself in the graceful mantilla, either black or white, and even the
poorest wore a scarlet or orange silk-fringed _crepe_ shawl.

The usual precautions as to detectives and a guard of soldiers had been
taken, but the buxom and amiable Infanta was popular among the lower
orders, so that no revolutionist outbreak was feared.

Her charities were famous, her diamonds and Paris toilettes equally so.
She smiled graciously at Arithelli as horse and rider bowed before her,
and pulling out a few blossoms from the bouquet that rested on the
ledge, threw them into the arena. As the girl looked up and the level
unsmiling gaze met hers, the older woman started back.

"_Santa Vierge_!" she muttered, hastily crossing herself. "She looks
in Purgatory already, with those strange eyes!"

CHAPTER X

"The nights that were days, and the days that were nights,
Griefs and glories and vain delights,
With Fame before us in fancy flights,
We mocked each other and cried 'All's well'!"
LOVE IN BOHEMIA.

Of her first act Arithelli had no fear. She knew that she was safe in
trusting to the skill and training of her horse to accomplish
successfully all the stereotyped movements of the _haute ecole_. She
had only to sit still and look graceful, and guide him through his
paces as he waltzed, turned or knelt. She carried a whip for show, but
she had never used it. A word, a caress had always been enough, and
she would have been beaten herself rather than touch the beautiful
creature that carried her.

In the next act it would be all different. Everything depended on her
own balance and accuracy. It would be all trick work then, not riding.
As she slid out of her habit and into the ugly ballet-skirts she
loathed, her courage vanished and she trembled as she faced the
audience for the