“I fear, Belle,” said he, putting back the world of curls that had fallen over her brow, “thy will hath never yet been broken. Thou art but a wild one.” Count Alcaros fell into a long fit of musing. The silver breathing tones of the Doña’s soft voice broke the stillness. “What wouldst thou with thy child, papa? my birds, and young flowers, even now mourn my absence.” “And canst thou not give one hour unto thy father, Ysy? What will thy birds and flowers do when I bring thee a right noble bird, an eagle among birds, for thine own? Wilt thou then give up all others and love but only that?” “What does my papa mean?” tremblingly replied the maiden. “I mean that thou art to be a child no longer.” “But, papa, all my pretty birds and—” “Thou shalt have a bird worth the whole, a right proud gallant bird. Ysy, dost thou remember the Marquis of Talavera?” “What of him, dearest papa?” “Dost thou remember him?” “Yes, papa.” “This Marquis hath sought thee, Belle, in marriage, and I have said thou shalt be his bride.” The girl started to the ground in unfeigned surprise. “Why, papa! he is old enough to be my grandfather, and besides, he is ugly enough to—” “He is just the age of thy father, Ysabel. His years will serve to guide thy wayward ones. He is all that is brave and noble, besides being one of the richest, and most powerful lords in Spain. You may know, Belle, how well I think of him—he is almost the only one of my many _friends_, that I admit into this our wild retreat.” “But, papa—” “Nay, Belle, I will have no buts. It must be as I say.” “But, papa.” The Count’s brow darkened. “But, papa, I do not love him.” “Love—pah!” “Papa, I _cannot_ love him.” “Pah!” “Papa, I _will not_ love him!” and the Doña’s eyes grew bright and large. “Ysabel!” “Dear papa,—I mean I cannot—” and the little lady burst into tears. “Ysabel,—hear me—I have said thou shalt become the bride of the Marquis of Talavera. What I say I never unsay—that thou knowest. Two weeks from this. The day thou art seventeen—is the day decided upon. It _must, it shall be so_! Wilt thou do thy father’s bidding, Belle?” The girl answered not a word but her eye lit up and her little mouth was tightly compressed. Every line of her statue-like form expressed firmness and resolution. “Wilt thou do thy father’s bidding, Ysabel?” again demanded the Count. “Thou hast ever been an indulgent father to me, never hast thou crossed my slightest wish, and now, father, I must say firmly _no_! I never can become the bride of him thou namest.” “Girl! thou shalt not even be consulted. Thou hast had thine own way seventeen years, _now_ I will have mine. Thou shalt wed the Talavera if I have to drag thee to the altar. Nay, no fawning.” The girl had twined her soft round arms about her father’s neck—her eyes looked beseechingly into his. But he pushed her from him, saying—“Go to thy room, Ysabel, and there remain until thy reason comes to thee. Dost thou hear me?”