o all hearts; and she executed them with
a skill, melody, and pathos, that flattered and charmed the
Portuguese. The guitar, though the cherished friend of serenading
lovers of the old Spanish school, was truly but a poor accompaniment
to such a voice; but L'Isle saw that, like the harp, it had the merit
of displaying to advantage, the roundest, fairest, and most
beautifully turned arms he had ever gazed upon.

The dancers were again upon the floor; the night sped on, and Lady
Mabel made free use of her interpreter in ingratiating herself with
the Portuguese. L'Isle, true to his pledge, taxed his powers to the
utmost to be witty and agreeable in her name; at times a little
overdoing his part. Thus, at supper, when an elaborate compliment to
Dona Carlotta Seguiera, drew a reply as if it had originated with
himself, he stripped it of part of its merit by saying that he was
merely the mouth-piece of Lady Mabel's sentiments. When Dona Carlotta
expressed her surprise that Lady Mabel's short English sentence should
make so long a speech in Portuguese, he explained it by Lady Mabel's
peculiar faculty of uttering a volume in three words.

Supper and the dance that followed were over; Mrs. Shortridge's great
night drew to a close; and many of the company asked for one more
melody from the sweet songstress before they dispersed. While turning
over her music, Lady Mabel seemed to hesitate in her choice, and
L'Isle thought that her hand trembled as she selected a sheet.

As the fruit of his musical gleanings in the peninsula, Major Lumley
had lately sent her a parcel of old Spanish songs, among which she had
found a little piece, a mere fragment, but exquisitely touching in
melody and sentiment. Her father had been much taken with it, but no
one else had heard it from her lips. Like a volatile perfume, that
escapes in the attempt to pour it from one vessel to another, such
things defy translation. How, too, Lady Mabel gave it vocal life, may
be imagined, not described. She sang it with a truthfulness of feeling
that seemed to grow with each succeeding line. For the mere words, we
can only find this slender version for the English ear:

In joyous hall, now thronged with young and fair,
Your roving eye marks every beauty here;
I harbor not one doubt or jealous fear;
Constant your heart; it beats for me alone.

In woodland glade, when armed for sylvan war,
You mark the antlered monarch from afar,
Your sportive toi