sieges. And yet, strong as it was, and built, as
it appeared, for eternity, a portion of this noble structure was going
to decay; one wing had been very much battered in the last siege it had
sustained, and the cannon-balls had done the work of centuries; but the
main building looked very imposing, as if able to resist the lapse of
ages, and appeared, from its elevation, to frown down upon intruders,
and to scorn the very idea of danger. It was exactly such a place as was
calculated to fire the imaginations and to win the hearts of young
girls, brought up in a gay metropolis, from the very contrast to all
they had ever seen before; there was a romance about its very gloom
that was attractive to them. Associated as it was with much historic
interest, and with many family traditions, they had ardently longed to
behold it, and now that they saw it rise, in its dark grandeur, before
them, they acknowledged that their expectations were more than realized.

There were no signs of life to be seen about the castle, and it was long
before the loud, imperious knocking at the gate-way brought any one to
open it; and then a man appeared, whose hesitating manner and vacant
countenance plainly showed that he had never been gifted with a large
share of mother-wit. With some difficulty he was made to understand that
the party had a right to admittance, and the carriages entered within
the courtyard. The rest of the household was by this time aware of an
unusual arrival, and came forward to receive them; but it was very
evident that their visit was not only unexpected, but undesired,
although the castellan and his wife strove very hard to throw into their
hard, dark countenances, an expression of welcome. Senor Don Juan
Baptista--so was the castellan called--was a man of most repellant
countenance; his eye had a sinister, cunning look, and there was
something in his large, shaggy, overhanging brow, that was really
appalling; it was to be supposed that he had now put on his most amiable
expression, but unless his face greatly belied him, fierce, ungoverned
passions were accustomed to rule his being. His wife, Francisca, had one
of those countenances that appear to dare you to find them out: hard,
silent, and sullen, she looked as if the rack itself could not force her
to speak unless she willed it; and her face reminded you constantly of a
_wooden mask_, which not even the strongest emotions could make
transparent, and allow you to catch