Clasping her hand in his, and drawing it under his arm, Hildebrand first proceeded to thank his mistress, in a few passionate words, for the distinguished favour which she had bestowed upon him, in the concession of an interview. They moved onward while he spoke, and presently, turning a sweep in the walk, came in view of the lady’s dwelling. Here Hildebrand would have paused; but his mistress, though she had till now been almost a passive agent, and had hardly seemed to exercise volition, continued to move on, and, of course, drew him with her. A few paces brought them to a flight of steps, which, after a moment’s hesitation, they ascended, and passed over the landing to an adjacent door. Raising the latch, the lady pushed the door open, and disclosed a lighted hall within. “Follow, and say not a word!” she said. She passed into the hall, and Hildebrand, pursuant to her injunction, followed her in silence. They crossed the hall on tiptoe, and halted at the foot of a staircase, which, dividing in the middle, ascended in two distinct flights, and opened into a sort of gallery, or continuation of the landing, which ran round three sides of the hall above. The lady looked anxiously up the stairs, on either side, and round the whole range of the hall, to see if any one was about, but everything was still as death, and the hall seemed to have no other inmates but themselves. Apparently satisfied on this point, the lady moved forward again, and, with a light but quick step, ascended to the gallery, followed by her silent gallant. At the summit of the stairs, a few feet from the landing, was a narrow door, which the lady opened. A flood of light poured through the aperture, and, looking in, Hildebrand discovered a well-lighted and elegant room, furnished as a sitting-chamber. The lady held the door open, and Hildebrand, perceiving that she wished him to enter first, passed in. His companion followed in his wake, and shut the door behind them. Up to this moment, Donna Inez--for such was the name of the fair Spaniard--had spoken but once, and then only to request Hildebrand to be silent. But the effects of Hildebrand’s first approach had now worn off, and the excitement of her progress from the garden, through a part of the house which might have exposed her to unfriendly observation, and which, therefore, involved some degree of peril, had re-nerved her, and her features had lost all trace of confusion or embarrassment. As she closed the chamber-door, she turned round, and fixed her eyes full on the face of her gallant. “Thou art not an Andalusian,” she said, wistfully surveying his features, “nor art thou from Catalonia: wast born in Spain at all?” “No, lady,” answered Hildebrand: “I am from the North.” “Ah, methought thou hadst not our accent,” returned Donna Inez; “and yet, though they be foreign, thine accents are good, and become thee right well. Be the Northerns true?” “Thou wilt find me true, lady,” replied Hildebrand.