s and darts,
feathered at the ends with fringes of variegated paper, and sharp as
steel at the head. These were hurled at the bull, and as each struck
through his jetty hide, fire-crackers concealed in the paper ornaments,
gave out a storm of noisy fire;--another and another darted through the
air, thicker and sharper, till the tortured animal bellowed out his
agony in pathetic helplessness, and fell upon his knees exhausted. Then
the matadore drew toward the Infanta and seemed waiting for some signal.
She smiled, lifted her hand, closing all but the delicate thumb. This
was a death signal for the poor brute, who seemed to know that his fate
was coming, and staggered up from his knees ready to fight for the last
breath of his life.

"Then commenced a fresh onset of death. The bull fought desperately,
staggering, reeling, plunging and making fierce attacks with his horns,
while the fire-crackers blazed around him, and a hundred javelins
quivered in his body. The matadore became cool and cautious as his
victim grew more and more frantic. He played with the creature's agony,
flitted here and there in the smoke of his torment, pierced his sides
with the point of his sword, and flung fresh javelins into the bleeding
wounds. The Infanta lifted her thumb again. The Matadore saw it. His
sword flashed in the sunbeams like a gleam of fire, fell on the animal's
dripping neck, and he sank to the earth, dead.

"More of this happened that day; twelve of those splendid beasts were
brought forth to slaughter and be slaughtered one after another. Some,
braver than the rest, were sent back alive; but that ornamented sledge
dragged off twelve of the finest creatures I ever saw. At last, even the
Spanish ladies became weary of this terrible work. As for me, I went
home sickened, and so nervous I could not rest."

CHAPTER XLVII.

MRS. EATON'S TRIBULATION.

"While I was lying in my room, shocked by the day I had spent, Mrs.
Eaton came in, sun-burned, excited, and panting for breath. 'Wasn't it a
terrible thing! Such an imposition. To pass himself off for a duke! I
declare I could kill him.'

"'But did he deceive you?' I asked.

"'Did he, why of course, the scamp! And poor Lucy liking him so much.
She wont believe it now, hardly. He looked so splendid taking up that
key and swinging his sword about like a Saracen, Lucy says, just to
tantalize me, when I know exactly what he is. But I come to ask a great
favor, Miss Crawford.