ad prepared to rejoin
him at any risk, and share the perils to which he might be exposed.

Her resolution was no sooner formed than it was promptly carried into
effect: she summoned to her aid the trusty Pedro Sese; and, protected by
a small escort under his command, bade adieu to Navarre, and commenced
her long and perilous journey toward the theatre of war.

The little cavalcade had reached Najarra, when, to their surprise and
joy, they beheld a gallant band of horsemen rapidly approaching: the
united banner of Arragon, Castile, and Navarre, floating proudly before
them, announced to all beholders that Sancho the Fourth led his knights
in person.

Nuna's heart beat fast and tumultuously; in a few moments, and the long
absent one would clasp her closely to his breast. She looked up to the
master of the horse who rode by her side, and urged him to increased
speed. They moved briskly forward; and the advancing knights who formed
the king's body-guard became more distinctly visible. Sancho, as we have
said, headed them; but as soon as they had arrived within a short
distance of the queen's followers, the monarch advanced a few paces, and
in tones of thunder called on them to halt. His brow was darkened with
evil passions, his countenance flushed with anger.

"On the peril of your allegiance!" he shouted, rather than spoke, "seize
the traitress, I command ye! My heart refused to hearken to the tale of
her guilt, even when spoken by the lips of her son; but mine eyes have
seen it. I have lived--wretched that I am--to witness her infamy. But
the adulteress, and the companion of her crime, shall not escape my
righteous vengeance. See to it, that the queen and Pedro Sese remain
your prisoners."

If a thunderbolt had fallen at the feet of the miserable Nuna, she could
not have been more horror-struck, or more confounded. Her life-long
dream of happiness was dissipated; the husband of her youth had recoiled
from her as from the veriest reptile that crawls on the face of God's
earth; and the worker of her woe and ruin was her own child--her own
flesh and blood--her son Garcia! Who would believe her to be pure and
innocent when such lips pronounced the tale of her guilt? Unhappy wife;
still more unhappy mother! In the deepest dungeon of the castle of
Najarra she was left to mourn over her unparalleled misery. Alone,
unfriended, and solitary, Nuna--who so lately had seen herself a beloved
and cherished wife, a fond mother, and