crime had been committed, but how was it to be explained--
since the assassin had left no traces of his guilt? The devoted Don
Juan looked with a sad eye upon that desolate chamber--upon the dresses
of his beloved mistress scattered over the floor; upon the cradle of the
young Count, where he had so lately slept, rosy and smiling, under the
vigil of his mother.

Suddenly struck with an idea, the steward advanced towards the iron
balcony that fronted upon the sea--that where the window had been found
open. With inquiring eye he looked to the ground below, which was
neither more nor less than the beach of the sea itself. It was at no
great depth below; and he could easily have seen from the balcony any
traces that might have been there. But there were none. The tide had
been in and out again. No trace was left on the sand or pebbles that
had the slightest signification in regard to the mysterious event. The
wind sighed, the waves murmured as always; but amid the voices of nature
none raised itself to proclaim the guilty.

On the fair horizon only were descried the white sails of a ship,
gradually passing outwards and fading away into the azure of the sea.

While the old steward watched the disappearance of the ship with a sort
of dreamy regard, he sent up a silent prayer that his mistress might
still be safe. The others, with the exception of the alcalde and his
clerk, stood listening to the mournful howling of the wind against the
cliffs, which seemed alternately to weep and sigh as if lamenting the
sad event that had just transpired.

As regards the alcalde and his assistant, they were under the same
conviction as Don Juan--both believing that a crime had been committed--
though they did not care to avow their belief, for reasons known to
themselves. The absence of any striking evidence that might lead to the
discovery of the delinquents, but more especially the difficulty of
finding some interested individual able to pay the expenses of justice
(the principal object of criminal prosecutions in Spain), damped the
zeal of Don Ramon and the scribe. Both were satisfied to leave things
as they stood--the one contented with having gained the recompense so
much coveted--the other with the twelve years of rents which he felt
sure of gaining.

"_Valga me Dios_! my children," said the alcalde, turning toward the
witnesses, "I cannot explain what fancy the Countess may have had in
going out by the window--for the d