was already low in the heavens, and neither she herself nor any
message had arrived.

He tried to paint, and finding the attempt useless, gazed into the
garden and at the distant chain of the Guadarrama mountains; but to-day
he remained unmoved by the delicate violet-blue mist that floated around
the bare, naked peaks of the chain.

It was wrath and impatience, mingled with bitter disappointment, that
roused the tumult in his soul, not merely the dread of torture and
death.

There had been hours when his heart had throbbed with gratitude to
Philip, and he had believed in his friendship. And now? The king cared
for nothing about him, except his brush.

He was still standing at the window, lost in gloomy thoughts, when
Sophonisba was finally announced.

She did not come alone, but leaning on the arm of Don Fabrizio di
Moncada. During the last hours of the ball the night before she had
voluntarily given the Sicilian her hand, and rewarded his faithful
wooing by accepting his suit.

Moor was rejoiced--yes, really glad at heart, and expressed his
pleasure; nevertheless he felt a sharp pang, and when the baron, in his
simple, aristocratic manner, thanked him for the faithful friendship
he had always shown Sophonisba and her sisters, and then related how
graciously the queen had joined their hands, he only listened with
partial attention, for many doubts and suspicions beset him.

Had Sophonisba's heart uttered the "yes," or had she made a heavy
sacrifice for him and his safety? Perhaps she would find true happiness
by the side of this worthy noble, but why had she given herself to
him now, just now? Then the thought darted through his mind, that the
widowed Marquesa Romero, the all-powerful friend of the Grand Inquisitor
was Don Fabrizio's sister.

Sophonisba had left the conversation to her betrothed husband; but when
the doors of the brightly-lighted reception-room were opened, and the
candles in the studio lighted, the girl could no longer endure
the restraint she had hitherto imposed upon herself, and whispered
hurriedly, in broken accents:

"Dismiss the servants, lock the studio, and follow us."

Moor did as he was requested, and, with the baron, obeyed her request
to search the anterooms, to see that no unbidden visitor remained. She
herself raised the curtains and looked up the chimney.

Moor had rarely seen her so pale. Unable to control the muscles of
her face, shoulders and hands, she went into the mid