on Ebro. And Dona Mirana knew then that
there was some mystery about Rodriguez' home.

She spoke kindly to Rodriguez, yet she neither gave her consent nor yet
withheld it, and he knew there was no immediate hope in her words.
Graceful as were his bows as he withdrew, he left with scarcely another
word to say. All day his castle hung over him like a cloud, not
nebulous and evanescent only, but brooding darkly, boding storms, such
as the orange blossoms dread.

He walked again in the garden with Serafina, but Dona Mirana was never
far, and the glamour of the former evening, lit by one star, was driven
from the garden by his anxieties about that castle of which he could
not speak. Serafina asked him of his home. He would not parry her
question, and yet he could not tell her that all their future hung on
the promise of a man in an old leathern jacket calling himself a king.
So the mystery of his habitation deepened, spoiling the glamour of the
evening. He spoke, instead, of the forest, hoping she might know
something of that strange monarch to whom they dwelt so near; but she
glanced uneasily towards Shadow Valley and told him that none in
Lowlight went that way. Sorrow grew heavier round Rodriguez' heart at
this: believing in the promise of a man whose eyes he trusted he had
asked Serafina to marry him, and Serafina had said Yes; and now he
found she knew nothing of such a man, which seemed somehow to Rodriguez
to weaken his promise, and, worst of all, she feared the place where he
lived. He welcomed the approach of Dona Mirana, and all three returned
to the house. For the rest of that evening he spoke little; but he had
formed his project.

When the two ladies retired Rodriguez, who had seemed tongue-tied for
many hours, turned to Don Alderon. His mother had told Don Alderon
nothing yet; for she was troubled by the mystery of Rodriguez' castle,
and would give him time to make it clear if he could; for there was
something about Rodriguez of which with many pages I have tried to
acquaint my reader but which was clear when first she saw him to Dona
Mirana. In fact she liked him at once, as I hope that perhaps by now my
reader may. He turned to Don Alderon, who was surprised to see the
vehemence with which his guest suddenly spoke after those hours of
silence, and Rodriguez told him the story of his love and the story of
both his castles, that which had vanished from the bank of the Ebro and
that which was promised him by