domestic hearth around which would not range themselves the spectres of the wretches who, at your command, have been blotted from the book of life. Count, I shudder at the thought! Holy Mother of God! is that the happy future you would compel me to share? No, no, never!—though the garrote were to encircle my neck, as it did that of the unhappy lady at Granada, who refused to betray her husband, and whom you sent to the scaffold in his stead! Has she never appeared to your Excellency, cold and pale, and with sightless eyes? For Quito’s treasures would I not behold her—her and the whole ghastly train; hundreds, ay hundreds of them, in the long, black-bordered shrouds, and the bare-footed friars with their fearful misericordia! Mercy, mercy, Excellency! with me would come the evil spirits, and a thousand——but, good-night, good-night, Excellency.”

With a graceful movement of hand and head she glided from the room. The Count attempted not to detain her. He stood motionless, his hand thrust into his breast, and followed her with his eyes in mute astonishment.

“The silly child!” he at last murmured. “But how lovely she is! I, whom all fear—even HE,” he emphatically added—“I almost quail before her mad petulance. Well, well!” he continued after a pause, “the priest first, and discipline afterwards. A man who has bowed and broken so many stubborn spirits, will hardly be vanquished by the humours of a wilful girl. Good-night, my lovely bride. ‘We shall see,’ you said; and assuredly we will see.”

He took his hat, and was about to leave the room, when, by an inadvertent movement, Federico let fall his poniard. The Count was quick of hearing, and the noise, slight as it was, drew his attention. He turned sharply towards the spot where the student was concealed.

“What was that?” he cried. “Something fell in the closet. Have we listeners here?”

For an instant he hesitated; then, taking one of the massive silver candlesticks, he stepped briskly to the closet, and was almost knocked down by the door, which Federico pushed violently open. The waxlights fell to the ground; like a winged shadow, the student sprang past the astonished Count, reached the door before the latter recovered from his alarm, and would doubtless have got clear off, had he not, in hurry and ignorance, turned the wrong handle. The Count grasped his coat-skirt, and pulled him back.

“Scoundrel!” he cried. “What do you here?”

For sole reply, Federico seized his assailant by the throat, and a struggle began, which, although speedily decided in favour of the active student, was destined to have most important results. The Count was vigorous, and defended himself well. He had little opportunity of calling out, closely grappled as he was, but he dealt his antagonist more than one heavy blow. At last Federico dashed him to the ground, and disappeared from the room, leaving behind him one of his coat-skirts, torn off in the contest. In falling, the Count’s head struck against a table, and he lay for a few seconds stunned by the shock. Recovering himself, he sprang to his feet, foaming with rage, his dark visage black with shame and anger. “Seize him!” he cried, hurrying down the corridor. Twenty servants flew to obey the order. But it was too late. The student passed like a fire-flash before the porter, and made good his escape from the house. “Follow him!” shouted the Count—“a hundred ounces for his capture!” And, stimulated by this princely reward, the eager domestics ran, like hounds after a deer, on the track of the student, who soon heard the shouts of his enemies, and the shrill whistle of the serenos, around and on all sides of him.

Although panting from his brief but violent struggle with the Count, Federico traversed with extreme swiftness several streets and squares, until want of breath at last compelled him to a moment’s pause. He looked around, and observed the locality. Before him lay the massive buildings of the royal palace, favoured by whose shadow he continued his flight, now up-hill. But the numbers of his pursuers gave them a great advantage; and, to his dismay, he found himself so closely and accurately followed, that capture appeared inevitable.

“Had I but my knife,” he exclaimed aloud, pausing in despair, “I would keep them off or die! Fool that I have been! Sentries on all sides! They have taken alarm! What can I do?”

“Go to Ciudad Real, if not too late,” said a man, wrapped in a cloak, and wearing a small three-cornered hat, who suddenly stepped from behind a massive stone column, close to where the student stood.

Federico at once recognised the speaker.

“For God’s sake, Geronimo!” he cried, “assist me in this strait. If they catch me, I am lost. And hark! yonder they come! I hear the baying of the menial pack. On all sides the way is barred!”

Geronimo seized Federico’s hand, and hurried him behind the pillar. “There is only one chance,” he said; “muffle yourself in my cloak, take my hat, assume a stoop, and walk slowly, like an old man.”

“What is your plan?” cried the student.

“Ask no questions. Do as I bid you. Do you see yonder door?”

“Of the palace?”

“Go in there.”

“Into the palace?”

“Of course. Look neither right nor left; cross the first court to the great portal. There await me. Quick, quick—they come!” And he pushed him away.

Not without doubt and disquietude did Federico obey the orders of the old man, who displayed, in this conjuncture, a promptitude and decision rare at his age. But the student had no alternative. Wrapped in Regato’s cloak, and feigning a feeble gait, he passed slowly and unquestioned before the soldiers of the royal guard. This impunity in a palace where the strictest watch and ward were usually kept, was an enigma to Federico; and he was still more puzzled, when, whilst waiting at the portal, several persons, shrouded like himself in dark cloaks, passed before him, greeting him as they went with a muttered “buenas noches” and disappeared in the corridors of the palace. At last came Geronimo. He had provided himself in the interval with another cloak. His appearance was an immense relief to the student.

“Are they gone?” said Federico. “May I venture out?”

“Thank the saints that you are here!” replied Geronimo. “And now, tell me what has happened.”

Federico told his adventures; and old Regato listened to the narrative with marks of the strongest interest. When he heard what the Count had said of him and of his probable fate, he laughed heartily. “Bah!” said he; “threatened men live long. I have had hotter broth cooked for me, and cooled it with my breath. I hope to die in my bed like a good Christian; and as for my chance of a rope, I would not change with his Excellency. The infernal schemer! I’ll pay him off now. Madre de todas gracias! had we but the list of the conspirators, what a blow might be struck!”

“The list!” repeated Federico. “Stay, let me remember!” and, plunging his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a torn paper. “When I threw the man down, this remained sticking between my waistcoat and neckcloth, where he had grappled me. I noticed it when I got outside, and thrust it into my pocket.”

Without listening to this explanation, Geronimo seized the paper, and, by the light of a lamp under the portal, examined it with eager curiosity. At sight of its contents, a savage joy sparkled in his eye.

“Ah, maldito!” he exclaimed with a laugh of triumph; “we have you now. Federico, the rose-coloured lady is ten times more