reproach him with a conduct which
she hoped would soon be changed. But the arguments of reason are not
always in accordance with the suggestions of feeling. Her mind
commanded her to be satisfied, but her heart, in acquiescing with those
dictates, was not entirely at ease, though she sedulously endeavoured to
conceal her emotion from Gomez Arias. Her efforts, however, were not
always successful, and the deep sighs that escaped her bosom, naturally
attracted the notice of her lover. He, therefore, artfully strove, by
bestowing some passing tokens of affection, to reassure the victim he
was leading to the sacrifice. But the art of man, though it may succeed
in imitating the various passions which agitate the human breast, is
rarely successful when he attempts to feign the more tender sentiments
of the heart; for cold must always be the language addressed to one, who
has been the object of a fervid passion, when that passion is unhappily
extinct. No powers of art--not all the force of imagination can call
into life fresh flowers on the barren waste of a heart that no longer
loves.

As they approached _El cerro de los Martires_ Theodora suddenly began to
sob aloud, and Gomez Arias foresaw the dreadful scene he should have to
sustain before he could finally disengage himself from the sorrowing
girl.

"Theodora, why do you weep?" he asked in a tender tone.

"Alas! I know not," she answered. "But my heart is heavy--I feel as
though some misfortune were impending. Whither are we going?--surely
this is not the road to my father's mansion? Lope! Lope! whither are you
leading me?" she inquired, in a thrilling voice of distress.

Steeled as it was against compassion, the heart of Gomez Arias felt
moved at the question. Roque was exceedingly affected, and a groan
escaped him as he piously ejaculated--"Heaven protect her!"

Theodora heard the exclamation; for nothing that bodes ill can evade the
acute sense of misery.

"Thank you, good Roque," she said, mournfully. "But why call on the
protection of heaven? My own Lope, are we in danger?"

Gomez Arias did not answer; for a feeling akin to remorse arose within
him, as he thought on the treacherous duplicity he was about to practice
against one whose very existence seemed to depend upon his love. They
had now crossed _El cerro de los Martires_, and were ascending a little
slope, when suddenly three or four persons sprung from their
concealment, and checked their further advance