awhile to admire the reflection of its dark battlements in the Tagus, he saw two men, with swords in their hands, evidently on the point of engaging in mortal combat. The quickest-tempered gentleman can be pacific in a quarrel which is not his own, and Don Juan dismounted from his mule with the intention of preventing the threatened encounter. But he reached the scene of action a moment too late. Not only had swords been drawn, but one of the combatants had fallen to the ground, stricken by a mortal blow, before the intending peace-maker could put in so much as a conciliatory word. As for the victor, he was no sooner aware of the death of his adversary, than he retired hastily, and finding Don Juan's mule without a rider, jumped on the back of the animal, and trotted off with all speed. Truly a pleasant situation for an honest Andalusian gentleman, who had come all the way from the Guadalquiver to the Tagus on purpose to fight a duel on account of his sister, to find himself standing alone by a recently slain corpse, with every chance of being implicated in the results of an encounter with which he had nothing to do! Even an Andalusian mind in the seventeenth century was capable of suspicion, that the duel, though an admirable institution in the eyes of every true hidalgo, might not be exactly the right thing in the view of Heaven; and in the miserable predicament in which he found himself, Don Juan fancied that he saw something like a divine warning against the pursuit of his own scheme of vengeance.

He was just resolving to make his best way back to Seville, when a body of alguazils came up to him, and rendered all chance of escape impossible. The man, dead on the ground, was no less a person than Don Pedro de Ramirez, and, though Don Juan protested that he was only there as a peace-maker, adding that he would have been a long way off had not his mule been stolen with the whole of his baggage, the alguazils declared that further investigation was necessary, and the Andalusian was accordingly conducted to the prison of Toledo, together with his valet, who, mounted on an unruly beast, had lagged far behind, and only came up with his master in time to be made his fellowcaptive.

Leaving Don Juan in his place of safety, we proceed to narrate the causes of the duel which he had unfortunately witnessed. On the morning of the day when the en

counter took place, and after the conclusion of mass, a number of young gentlemen loitered about the nave of the cathedral to gossip, in compliance with a custom which was more honoured in the breach than in the observance, and against which there is, at Seville, an express prohibition. Among others were Don Pedro de Ramirez, always given to chattering, and Don Fernando de Saavedra, both of whom were enamoured of a fair widow resident in the city. The dialogue between these two, which had begun innocently enough, increased in acerbity as it proceeded, and when Don Fernando, in answer to the boasts of Don Pedro, declared that they were mendacious, only one result was possible. The insulted gentleman invited his rival to follow him to the Castel de San Cervantes, a most convenient place for affairs of honour, and the invitation being accepted, they walked on in gloomy mood, crossed the ancient bridge, said to be the work of the Gothic King Wamba, struck into the Seville road, and reached the appointed spot.

That the combat ended with the death of Don Pedro we have already recorded, likewise that the victor, Don Fernando, escaped on Don Juan's mule. What we have not recorded is the fact, that after a while, finding that he was not pursued, Don Fernando, who at first intended to seek refuge in the monastery of Santiago, began to take things easily, and even got rid of the mule, which he left in a certain hostelry. Greatly, however, was he shocked when on his way he saw Don Juan conducted to prison by six alguazils, and followed by a mob, shouting out that he was the murderer of Don Pedro.

Now the best friend whom Don Fernando had in the world was his lovely sister, Leonarda, and to her, when he reached home, did he describe all that had occurred. The death of Don Pedro had not grazed his conscience at all; but the fact that an innocent stranger lay in prison on account of a deed which he himself had perpetrated, weighed heavily on his heart. The straightforward course would have been an open avowal that Don Pedro had died by his hand, but that was an extreme measure, not to be too hastily adopted. It was therefore agreed between brother and sister that, as the prisoner could not be released without some personal risk, they should do all they could to render his imprisonment as comfortable as possible. A round sum of money was to be sent to

him, and, lest this munificence should bring suspicion upon the donors, the presents were to be accompanied by an anonymous note, informing the captive that a lady had seen him pass on his way to prison, and had chosen this substantial manner of showing her compassion.

No arrangement could be more satisfactory. Brother and sister were alike convinced that this plan most happily combined magnanimity with prudence. But no sooner had Leonarda retired to her private room to write the proposed note, than some alguazils waited upon Don Fernando, and respectfully asked him to accompany them to the prison. The death of Don Pedro had, they confessed, something to do with this invitation; but so clear was the innocence of Don Fernando, that they did not so much as ask for his sword. Some sort of rumour had rendered it necessary that he should be confronted with the prisoner, merely as a matter of form, and the ceremony over, he would doubtless be allowed to return home withcut further molestation. Feeling that his situation was by no means improved, Don Fernando accompanied the alguazils.

Ines, the confidential servant who was charged by Leonarda to carry the letter and the cash to the prisoner, was a shrewd, active damsel, and, as she was aided by the wings of curiosity, it is no wonder that she reached the prison long before Don Fernando's escort, which executed its movements in a very stately and official manner. Veiled in her mantilla she was duly introduced by the captive valet to the captive master, whom she found in very low spirits, but who cheered up amazingly when he had read the letter, the writer whereof assured him that his good looks had won her heart as he passed by her window, and that the aforesaid heart would be in chains as long as he was a prisoner. He had some delicate scruples about taking the money, but these were overcome by the reflection that if he refused it he would go without his dinner; so thanking his stars for his good fortune, he wrote a handsome letter to his unknown benefactress, and gave it to Ines, together with a diamond ring, which she was to present to her mistress, and a few doubloons, which she was to appropriate to her own use, at the same time informing her that he was Don Juan de Aguilar.

Good spirits often give rise to happy thoughts. After the departure of the fair messenger, Don Juan recalled to mind that

his family was in some way connected with Don Luis de Ribera, a grandee of great weight, whose father was corregidor of Toledo, and who was, moreover, related to the Duke of Alcala. Don Luis was just the man to help him out of his scrape, so decidedly Don Luis must have a letter. Whilst Don Juan was thus meditating what he ought to write, the door of his cell was opened; Don Fernando and the attendant alguazils stood before him, and he was officially asked if he recognised in the former the murderer of Don Pedro. Now, during the few moments that had elapsed between the fall of the luckless babbler and Don Fernando's escape on the mule, the two gentlemen had taken measure of each other's countenances, and Don Fernando, who perfectly recognised Don Juan, felt, with much uneasiness, that he was recognised in turn. But to the lofty spirit of the Andalusian, it seemed base to purchase freedom by betraying even a criminal, so, after deliberately eyeing Don Fernando from head to foot, he declared, with splendid mendacity, that the gentleman who had killed Don Pedro was much older than the person who stood before him, and, indeed, was not in the least like him. Touched by a generosity which far surpassed his own, Don Fernando was on the point of avowing his guilt, but he was checked by Don Juan, and was thus compelled, almost against his will, to leave the prison, a free and blameless man. While he was walking home, expatiating to himself on the virtues of his new friend, Ines, in rapturous terms, was describing the personal appearance of the same gentleman to her mistress, who thought the letter brought by her attendant was the finest that ever was penned. Catching up Leonarda's notion of captivity, Don Juan had replied that he was her prisoner, inasmuch as no fetters were so strong as the chains of gratitude, adding that it was hard that he who had killed nobody should be arrested, while she, who had slain him, was allowed to go scot-free. Nothing could be prettier or in better taste. Indeed, what with her messenger's glowing description, what with the letter, and last, not least, the diamond ring, Leonarda was deeply enamoured of her yet unseen adorer, and nothing would serve her but to send her portrait to Don Juan by the trusty hands of Ines.

Don Juan was always lucky with his letters. The success of the epistle which he sent to Don Luis surpassed his expectations, for not only did that gallant gentle

man, whom he had scarcely seen before, come at once to the prison, but so charmed was he with the manners of the captive, that he resolved to share his captivity, ordering a bed to be brought from his home, and paying a hurried visit to his father, the corregidor, in order to inform him that he had two prisoners to release instead of one. While he was absent, Ines dropped in upon Don Juan with Leonarda's portrait, intending just to show it, and then to take it back to her mistress; but so earnest were his entreaties, that when she went away she left it in his hands, on the understanding that it was to be returned on the following day. Of course it was worshipped with the most fervent idolatry by Don Juan, who marvelled that so much beauty could be represented within so small a compass. In the intensity of his delight he showed it to Don Fernando, who had called to pay him a friendly visit, and asked him if he was happy enough to know the orignal. Don Fernando answered dryly in the negative, and took himself off with a displeased air, according little with the debt of gratitude which he owed to Don Juan. The magnanimous prisoner felt not only hurt, but uneasy. Strange things sometimes happened in Spanish cities. Could it be possible that the fair unknown was Don Fernando's wife?

A good night's rest dissipated uneasy thoughts, and on the following morning Don Juan was in cheerful mood. Don Luis had assured him that his release from prison was near at hand, and had also promised to take him about Toledo that very evening, the favour of a short respite having been obtained from the corregidor. While he was indulging in agreeable anticipations, he was informed that two veiled ladies wished to see him, and these, of course, were Leonarda and Ines. Here was an opportnity for courtly oratory not to be lost. Don Juan asked Leonarda why she concealed the sun of her countenance under the cloud of her mantilla, and when the lady, in reply to this brilliant question, uncovered one of her eyes, he took occasion to observe that one sun had set him on fire, and two would surely reduce him to ashes. But he wished to be so reduced, and he implored the obdurate fair one to consume him entirely, that she might have full evidence of her power. Coyness did not prevent Leonarda from answering Don Juan in similar style. Although she now saw him for the first time, she nevertheless, as she candidly avowed,

was desperately in love with him. The description of him by Ines had, indeed, given her a very high notion of his personal appearance, but she owned that her imagination was altogether surpassed by the noble reality before her, and that she felt in the humiliating position of a painter who can never make his portraits come up to the originals.

This straightforward and elaborate confession of love, made by a young lady in her teens to a gentleman she had never seen before, scarcely accords with modern views of propriety. But Leonarda was by no means oblivious of decorum. In spite of the solicitations of Don Juan, she refused to unveil her face, and though she allowed him to kiss her hand, she would not take off her glove. Nevertheless, when the prisoner, bearing in mind his expected holiday, asked for her address, and expressed a wish to call on her in the evening, she told him the situation of her house, and added that though she could not admit him, she would speak with him through the grating of the ground-floor window, and even denote the fitting time for his proach by tying a handkerchief to one of the balconies. Thus the lovers parted on the best of terms.

ap

Evening arrived; Don Juan, released for awhile from prison, and accompanied by his valet, was led about the town by Don Luis, who, as a crowning treat, promised to show him the most beautiful lady in the world. What was his surprise to find himself at nightfall conducted to the front of the very house indicated by Leonarda. There it stood distinguished from the rest by its balconies, and to one of these was attached the promised handkerchief. The signal was intended for him, no doubt, but Don Luis saying that he desired to speak with the wondrous beauty he had previously extolled, requested him to step a little aside, and give warning if any intruder made his appearance. Don Juan's mortification was great, and when Leonarda appeared at the window of the ground-floor, and his friend began to accost her as a lover, his situation became so intolerable, that his valet, who understood his feelings, ran off shouting "murder" at the top of his voice, that he might allure Don Luis from the spot. The stratagem succeeded, and Don Juan, in his turn, was before the ground-floor window. He was gratified enough to hear from Leonarda's lips, that she had thought she was accosting him, while she was speaking to Don Luis, and that she hoped to call

on him next day. At the same time he begged her not to treat Don Luis with undue harshness, since he was too valuable a person to be heedlessly offended. The conversation was brought to a close by the return of Don Luis, who had found nothing to justify the cry of murder, and presently both retired on the appearance of Don Fernando, who entered the house, Don Luis explaining to Don Juan that this was the lady's brother. So with a heavy heart Don Juan went back to his prison, reflecting on the kindness with which he had been treated by Don Luis, and feeling that he was repaying that kindness with abominable ingratitude.

Don Fernando, it will be remembered, was by no means well pleased when he saw his sister's portrait in the hands of Don Juan. Neither was he gratified when, on returning home, he saw Don Luis slinking away with somebody, who looked marvellously like the same Don Juan, as his companion. Some sort of intrigue appeared to be going on, of which he knew nothing, and like a true Spanish brother of the old stamp, who was even more jealous than the old Spanish husband, he determined to know what it all meant, the circumstance that he had found Leonarda sitting up when she ought to have been in bed for hours, increasing his suspicions not a little. Sharply questioned by her irate brother, the lady showed herself perfectly equal to the occasion. The friends of Don Pedro, she argued, vaguely suspected that Don Fernando was concerned in his death, and when the latter wandered about the streets unattended, a ready mark for some vengeful blow, could a devoted sister do less than sit up to await his return, and was it more than natural that she should stand anxiously at the window? Don Fernando thanked Leonarda somewhat dryly for her tender solicitude, and then bluntly avowed that he was uneasy as to the relations between her and Don Juan. With an admirable assumption of naïveté, Leonarda asked him how he could possibly be suspicious of a person whom she had never seen? Don Fernando had never suspected her of seeing Don Juan, but he had found her portrait in his hands, and that, he thought, was very odd. Odd? Not in the least. Had not the brother and sister both agreed that a present ought to be sent to Don Juan ? Well, Leonarda had found herself short of cash, and, as the first available article that came to hand, had sent her portrait, which if not worth much in itself, was valuable for its setting. Such

was Leonarda's courageous explanation, and, strange to say, it so completely satisfied Don Fernando, that he humbly begged his sister to pardon his unjust suspicions.

Day had now dawned, and no sooner did Leonarda find herself alone than she summoned her faithful Ines, and they both, good creatures, went together to the prison. The lady cautiously observed to the happy prisoner that, as their conversation had been interrupted on that evening, she thought they could not do better than resume it now, and when, grown more confident, Don Juan requested her to remove her veil, she did not indeed comply, but she allowed him to remove it with his own hand, thus occasioning much discourse about radiant suns and dispersed clouds (Don Juan was not very varied in his imagery), which it was gratifying to hear, but which it would be tedious to repeat. The lovers were, however, soon brought down to the region of mere prose by the sound of an approaching footstep, and mistress and maid were both veiled, when Don Luis entered with the joyful news that he had obtained the release of Don Juan. He was somewhat surprised to find two ladies with his friend, but being too discreet a gentleman to make impertinent inquiries, he was content to ask them to present him with some small token as the bearer of good tidings. Aware that if she spoke Don Luis would at once recognise her voice, Leonarda, without opening her lips, presented him with a ring, and retired with her attendant. Don Luis looked at the gift; but he was not pleased. He wondered who the lady could be who treated him with such suspicious coolness, and Don Juan could only say that he did not even know her name, as indeed he did not, this avowal being one of the few truths uttered by any of the personages concerned in this eventful history. The subject was dropped, and the two friends left the prison arm-in-arm, followed by the valet; Don Juan having first, according to custom, dropped a purse into the jailer's hand.

After dining with Don Luis, Don Juan was passing the house of Don Fernando when that courteous gentleman stepped out and represented to him that he was grievously wounding his sense of hospitality. Don Juan, by his handsome conduct in the prison, had imposed upon him a lasting obligation, and the least he could do was to throw open his doors to so signal a benefactor, and implore him to sojourn in his house for ever. With his usual

regard for veracity, he excused himself by declaring that he was not aware that the princely residence before him belonged to Don Fernando, but the excuse was not very happy; for the arms of the Saavedra were blazoned over the door, and of that noble escutcheon no Spanish gentleman could possibly be ignorant. However, they were both in excellent temper, and after a fencing-bout of compliments, Don Fernando took Don Juan into his house, and introducing him to his sister as the man to whom he owed his very life, requested her to honour him with every attention. Leonarda was amazed, but only too happy to comply with her brother's request, and it was arranged that, during his sojourn at Toledo, Don Juan should reside under the roof of the Saavedra.

In the course of the day, Don Juan, standing alone at one of the windows of his new residence, observed Don Luis in the street, looking intently at the house. Their eyes met; Don Juan stepped out and told Don Luis how comfortably he was situated. Thus informed, Don Luis declared that the hospitality of Don Fernando to Don Juan was an unexpected boon to himself. Don Juan could only say that he was very happy to hear this, but had not the slightest notion what Don Luis meant. Nothing could be more simple or less agreeable than the explanation which he received. Gently reminding him that he had just released him from prison, Don Luis told him, at length, that he was deeply enamoured of Leonarda, and that his suit had been but coldly received. Now if Don Juan, taking advantage of his position as a guest of Don Fernando, could only use his noted power of language in pleading the cause of the discarded adviser to the obdurate Leonarda, he would handsomely repay a heavy debt of gratitude.

Don Juan was not more miserable when he stood by the body of Don Pedro on the heights of San Cervantes than he was now, when he heard the discourse of his benefactor. What could he say? If he had been released from prison through the intercessions of Don Luis with the corregidor, how could he refuse to intercede for his friend with Leonarda? When he eagerly declared that the extent of his gratitude would one day be fully proved, Don Luis was rather disappointed; but was soon consoled by Don Juan's promises to aid him in obtaining an interview with Leonarda, whenever he came to the house. As Don

Luis could always call on the pretext of visiting Don Juan, such interviews promised to be very frequent.

Don Luis departed in the highest spirits; while Don Juan, charged with the office of giving Leonarda notice of his friend's first visit, felt that he had tumbled from the topmost pinnacle of happiness to an abyss of the blackest despair. His old acquaintances, the sun and the clouds, rose vividly before him, and on this occasion the clouds had the best of it. Then he thought of a ship wrecked in port, of a storm that destroys the crops just before harvest time, and was convinced that these enduring symbols of calamity but faintly pictured his own deplorable condition. After a long and painful struggle between the claims of gratitude and the impulses of love, the former prevailed, and on the opportune appearance of Leonarda he resolved, like an honest Andalusian gentleman, to do his duty. He told her all his story; how he had come from Seville to Toledo to avenge a family affront; how he had witnessed the duel between Don Fernando and Don Pedro; how he had been imprisoned; how he owed his present liberty to the generous exertions of Don Luis; and he wound up by begging her to bestow her affections on the son of the corregidor, and avowing his intention to leave Toledo for ever. In vain did Leonarda implore him to abandon his resolution, in vain did she protest that his conduct savoured more of cruelty to her than of gratitude to Don Luis; his mind was made up, and without further ado he started with his valet for Madrid.

Of all this Don Luis knew nothing. Thinking that the way had been prepared for him, after the manner proposed, he after awhile called at Don Fernando's house, on the pretext of a visit to Don Juan, and found himself in the presence of Leonarda. The lady told him that he was the person, of all others, whom she desired to see; but the hopes inspired by this candid avowal were of short duration, for she proceeded to inform him that she merely wished to set his mind at ease as to the state of her affections, and to let him know that she did not love him in the slightest degree, her heart having been given to Don Juan beyond power of revocation. The noble conduct of Don Juan in sacrificing his happiness she described in glowing colours, showing that she had appreciated it far more than she had cared to avow in the presence of the Andalusian. Don Luis, she admitted, was