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race of life, the more these two men saw of each other the stronger grow
their sympathy and friendship. Don Geronimo's visits to the student
became more and more frequent, and often, forgetful or careless of the
time, they would sit talking till far into the night. It seemed a relief
to Regato to disburden his heart and mind of their innermost secrets;
and he rejoiced to have found a man to whose honour, truth, and secresy,
he felt he could safely entrust them. Federico repaid his confidence
with one equally unlimited. He not only told his friend the history of
his short life from infancy upwards, but he made him his father
confessor, informed him of the progress of his studies, confided to him
his doubts and hopes, his religious creed and political aspirations, and
even his connexion with some of the secret orders and societies, of
which, at that period, notwithstanding the vigilance of the police, a
multitude existed in Spain.

"And can it be, my young friend," said Geronimo one evening, when a
brief pause succeeded to some of the fiery Federico's vehement political
diatribes--"can it be," he said, fixing his penetrating eye upon the
flushed and impassioned countenance of the student, "that you have
reached your present age and never loved woman?"

"Pshaw!" replied the student, "you have asked the question before, and I
have answered it."

"But 'tis incomprehensible, and out of nature," cried the old Don. "Why
have you a heart in your bosom, blood in your veins, strong limbs, and
bright eyes?"

"Was all that given me that I might love woman?" retorted Federico with
a merry laugh.

"Certainly: what is life worth, without love to sweeten it? Nothing,
worse than nothing. It is that gentle sympathy of hearts, that strange
fever of the soul, those sweet hopes and joyous transports, and tremors
scarce less pleasing, that render life endurable, and reconcile man to
the vileness of mortality. The nearest approach to paradise on earth, is
found in bright eyes that beam for us alone--in gentle lips that murmur
to our ears words of pure tenderness and unselfish affection."

"By the Virgin!" cried Federico, "I am neither of wood nor stone. Yes,
there are creatures of heavenly beauty whom I _could_ love. But I am
like the Moorish Prince of Granada, who was too proud to eat common
food, and fed on gold. The metal was over hard for his royal stomach,
and so he starved."

"Which means that what you could have, you don't li