--were now bending in deepest
homage. He knew nothing of all this, as he sat with bent-down head, lost
in his own bright dreamings. At length he looked up, but, instead of his
fancy being dissipated by reality, it now assumed form and substance.
There was the very scenery of that far-off land; the music was the
national air of Mexico; the dance was the haughty manolo; and, oh! was
it that his brain was wandering,--had reason, shaken by many a rude
shock, given way at last? The dancer--she on whose witching graces every
glance was bent--was Maritana! There she stood, more beautiful than he
had ever seen her before; her dark hair encircled with brilliants, her
black eyes flashing in all the animation of triumph, and her fairly
rounded limbs the perfection of symmetry.

Oh, no! this was some mind-drawn picture; this was the shadowy image
that failing intellect creates ere all is lost in chaos and confusion!
Such was the conflict in his brain as, with staring eyeballs, he tracked
her as she moved, and followed each graceful bend, each proud commanding
attitude. Nor was it till the loud thunder-roll of applause had drawn
her to the front of the stage, to acknowledge the favor by a deep
reverence, that he became assured beyond all question. Then, when he
saw the long dark lashes fall upon the rounded cheek, when he beheld the
crossed arm upon her bosom, and marked the taper fingers he had so often
held within his own, in a transport of feeling where pride and joy and
shame and sorrow had each their share. He cried aloud,--

"Oh, Maritana! Maritana! Shame! shame!" Scarcely had the wild cry
re-echoed through the house than, with a scream, whose terror pierced
every heart, the girl started from her studied attitude, and rushed
forward towards the footlights, her frighted looks and pale cheeks
seeming ghastly with emotion.

"Where?--where?" cried she. "Speak again--I know the voice!" But already
a scene of uproar and confusion had arisen in the parterre around
Cashel, whose interruption of the piece called down universal
reprobation; and cries of "Out with him!" "Away with him!" rose on every
side.

Struggling madly and fiercely against his assailants, Cashel for a
brief space seemed likely to find his way to the stage; but overcome
by numbers, he was subdued at last, and consigned to the hands of the
guard. His last look, still turned to the "scene," showed him Maritana,
as she was carried away senseless and fainting.