But Hilary’s patience itself was passed, as he waited in this little ante-room, ere the steward returned with the Donna Camilla, and, with a low bow, showed her in, and posted himself in a corner. She was dressed in pure white, which Hilary knew to be the mourning costume of the family. The hand which the young Andalusian lady offered was cold and trembling, and her aspect and manner were timid and abashed. “Begone!” she cried to the worthy steward, with a sudden indignation, which perhaps relieved her. “What now shall I do?” said the steward to himself, with one hand spread upon his silver beard; “is this one also to run away?” “Begone!” said Camilla to him once more, looking so grand that he could only go; and then quietly bolting the old gentleman out. After which she returned to Hilary. “Senhor Captain, I am very sorry to offer you any scenes of force. You have had too many from our family.” “I do not understand you, Senhorita. From your family I have received nothing but kindness, hospitality, and love.” “Alas, Senhor! and heavy blows. Our proverb is, ‘Love leads to blows;’ and this was our return to you. But she is of our family no more.” “I am at a loss. It is my stupidity. I do not know at all what is meant. “In sincerity, the cavalier has no suspicion who smote down and robbed him?” “In sincerity, the cavalier knows not: although he would be very glad to know.” “Is it possible? Oh the dark treachery! It was my cousin who struck you down; my sister who betrayed you.” “Ah, well!” said Lorraine, in a moment, seeing how she trembled for his words, and how terribly she felt the shame; “if it be so, I am still in her debt. She saved my life once, and she spared it again. Now, as you see, I am none the worse. The only loser is the British Government, which can well afford to pay.” “It is not so. The loss is ours, of honour, faith, and gratitude.” “I pray you not to take it so. Everybody knows that the fault was mine. And whatever has happened only served me right.” “It served you right for trusting us! It is too true. It is a bitter saying. My father mourns, and I mourn. She never more will be his daughter, and never more my sister.” “I pray you,” said Hilary, taking her hand, as she turned away to control herself--“I pray you, Donna Camilla, to look at this little matter sensibly. I now understand the whole of it. Your sister is of very warm and strong patriotic sentiments. She felt that this money would do more good, as the property of the _partidas_, than as the pay of the British troops. And so she exerted herself to get it. All good Spaniards would have thought the same.” “She exerted herself to disgrace herself, and to disgrace her family. The money is not among the _partidas_, but all in the bags of her Cousin Alcides, whom she has married without dispensation, and with her father’s sanction forged. Can you make the best of that, Senhor?”