s only apparent; for there are two individuals in that
procession whose hearts are not a prey to grief. On the contrary, both
are at this moment in the enjoyment of the most perfect felicity which
it is permitted for mortals to experience upon earth. Both are now
assured of a mutual love, tried by long tortures, and scarce too dearly
bought, since the past anguish has resulted in such delicious ecstasy.

At nearly equal distances from the escort of Don Mariano and the
troopers forming the rearguard, these two personages appear: one borne
in her _litera_, the other mounted upon horseback, and riding alongside.
It need not be told who is the occupant of the _litera_, nor who the
tall horseman who, bending down from his saddle, whispers so softly and
gently, that no one may hear his words, save her for whom they are
intended.

Absorbed with this interchange of exquisite emotions, both are still
strangers to the sad event that has occurred within the hour. Don
Mariano, devouring his grief in silence, has left them ignorant of the
terrible misfortune. God has been merciful to him in thus fortifying
his soul against sorrow at the loss of one child, by permitting him to
behold the unspeakable happiness of the other, who is thus preserved to
him as an angel of consolation. He well knows the strong affection of
Gertrudis for her sister, and fearing in her feeble state to announce
the melancholy event, lest the shock would be too much for her, he has
carefully concealed the sad news, until some opportunity may arise of
preparing her to receive it. A few hours of the happiness she is now
enjoying may strengthen her long-tortured spirit, and enable her to bear
up against this new and unexpected sorrow.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Still riding by the side of the _litera_, his eyes fervently glancing
through the half-open curtains, his ear close to them lest he might lose
a single word that falls from the lips of Gertrudis, Don Rafael devours
the sweet speeches addressed to him, with the avidity of the thirsty
traveller who has reached the pure and limpid fountain, so eagerly
yearned for on his long and weary route.

As the moon is now low in the sky, and gleams with an uncertain light
through the curtains of the _litera_, Don Rafael can only trace
indistinctly the features of Gertrudis. This half-obscurity, however,
favours the young girl, concealing at the same time her happ