A Castle in Spain. James De Mille

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СКАЧАТЬ said Ashby. "You know, when I fell ill at Valencia, where you saved my life by your tender care, I was on my way to Barcelona. When I left you I resumed my interrupted journey. Then I went to Marseilles and Leghorn, then to Cadiz, and finally to Madrid. I've been in Madrid three months."

      "And you didn't think it worth while to write to us in all that long time?" said Dolores, with a reproachfulness in her tone which was now very marked.

      "Write?" said Ashby; "why, I wrote twice—once from Marseilles, and once from Leghorn."

      "We never heard," said Dolores, sadly, "not once."

      "But I wrote," said Ashby, earnestly. "Don't you believe me, Dolores?"

      "Believe you, señor? What a question! It was the fault of the post-office in these times of trouble—that was all. And, señor, I am very glad to know all, for I did not know what to think about it."

      "And am I forgiven, Dolores?" Ashby asked.

      Dolores replied with a sweet smile, and held out her hand, which the young man took and pressed tenderly, not caring to let it go.

      "I did not know," said he, "there was anything against me to be forgiven; but this is a sign that you are the same Dolores that you were a year ago."

      "Always," said she, "always the same;" and then she withdrew her hand.

      "And now, señor," said she, with a perceptible effort, as of one who approaches a disagreeable subject, "this beautiful Inglesa—who is she?"

      Ashby's eyes fell before the fixed and profound inquiry of those of Dolores's, who watched him close, and lost nothing of his change of features.

      "This lady?" said he, and hesitated.

      "Yes," said Dolores, gently.

      "She is a—a—Miss Westlotorn."

      "And she loves you very, very, very dearly and tenderly," said Dolores, in a quick, breathless voice; "and you are going to be married to her, and she will soon be your wife."

      Ashby said nothing, but sat looking strangely embarrassed.

      "You never mentioned her to us at Valencia," continued Dolores.

      "No," said Ashby.

      "And why not?" asked Dolores, who saw his confusion, but was eager to know the truth.

      "I had not seen her," said Ashby.

      "You had not seen her," repeated Dolores. "Ah!"—she hesitated for a moment and then went on—"so you saw her afterward. And she loves you!"

      These last words were spoken with indescribable tenderness and mournfulness. "And—she—loves—you," she repeated, in a voice that had sunk almost to a whisper; "and she is to be your wife—the English girl!"

      "Well," said Ashby, making an effort to overcome his embarrassment, "it is—it is about time. The fact is, I—I did ask her to—to be my wife."

      "And she?"

      "She? Well—she said she would, I think," said Ashby, evasively.

      "You think!" exclaimed Dolores.

      "Well, you see, there's a difficulty."

      "A difficulty?"

      "Yes. Her guardian will not consent."

      "But that is nothing," said Dolores, in an animated tone. "You must take her, and run away with her."

      Ashby looked at Dolores with a strange, eager, hungry gaze.

      "But there's another objection," said he.

      "Objection? What is that?"

      "I don't want to."

      "What?" asked Dolores, in surprise.

      Ashby hesitated for a moment, and then said, with an effort,

      "I thought before we left that I loved her; but since I have seen you again—I feel—that I do not."

      These words were spoken rapidly, in a low, feverish whisper. At first Dolores started as though she had been shot. Then she averted her face, and held up her hands deprecatingly.

      "Ah," said she, in a sad voice, "that is all idle, idle, idle, foolish, foolish, foolish compliment, and nothing more. You must not say that again, or I will never forgive you—never, never!"

      At this Ashby was brought back to his senses with a sudden and wholesome shock, and said no more upon that point. In fact, he now felt afraid that he had said altogether too much.

CHAPTER III. — HOW ASHBY MEETS WITH ANOTHER FRIEND, AND HOW HE TAKES HIM INTO HIS

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CONFIDENCE.

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      That evening they arrived at Burgos, where, on account of troubles along the line, the train was to remain until ten o'clock on the following day. Dolores informed Ashby that she was going to stay with friends, and refused to allow him to accompany her to the house, in spite of his earnest entreaties. She had been in Burgos before, she said. The house was not far from the station, and she was firm in her resolve to go alone. Ashby followed her, however, and saw her pass in safety through the streets and into a large and venerable house not far from the Cathedral. He then retraced his steps, and made the best of his way to the Fonda del Norte, where he put up for the night.

      Here, after dinner, he loitered about for a time, meditating over the events of the day, and conjecturing about the morrow. His situation was growing somewhat complicated; for there was Katie, whom he had promised to see at Burgos; but on leaving the train he had followed Dolores, and now he had not the faintest idea where the Russells had gone. They were not at the Fonda del Norte. It was also too late now to hunt them up, and too late to hope to see Katie. That must be postponed till the morrow.

      Ashby was beginning to feel more melancholy than ever in his life before, when suddenly he was roused by a loud exclamation.

      "Well, by Jove! Halloo, old boy! Ashby himself, by all that's wonderful!"

      At this Ashby looked up, and the next instant he was heartily wringing the hand of the new-comer.

      "Rivers! Harry Rivers! How are you, my boy? and where in the world did you come from?"

      "By Jove! do you know, old fellow," said Harry Rivers, "I call this no end of a piece of good luck? I've been bored to death at Burgos. But come along to my rooms and give an account of yourself."

      The two friends then went off, and soon were comfortably seated in the rooms of Harry Rivers, with СКАЧАТЬ