’Cantalejo,’ interrupted Mirelle, ’is in Segovia—in Old Castile of course. We belong to the purest of the ancient Castilian nobility. Cantalejo belonged to the family from the earliest period; it is even said that when Saint Jacques came to Spain he was the guest of my ancestor, and that is why we bear an escallop on our coat. Cantalejo belonged to us till the sixteenth century.’ ’And now?’ ’It has ceased to belong to us for three hundred years. But before that we exercised sovereign powers in the country, we coined our own money, and hung malefactors on our own gallows.’ ’Your poor father,’ began Mr. Battishill, his nervous mouth working and his eager eyes staring, ’that is, Mr. Strange—I think you said Strange—’ Mirelle bowed an affirmative. ’Your poor father, Mr. Strange, lies, I fear, in a very sad and precarious state. He has been placed in the spare bedroom upstairs, and the doctor has been sent for, but cannot well be here for an hour.’ ’I am told that my lather is dead,’ said the young lady composedly. ’I am very sorry. And what increases my desolation is that he was a heretic.’ ’You love him,’ whispered Cicely, looking pained and puzzled. ’I have always prayed for him, and I will pray for him still,’ said Mirelle. ’He did not know the truth, so his invincible ignorance may save him.’ ’You would hardly like to see him now,’ suggested Cicely. ’No, perhaps to-morrow.’ ’You love him,’ persisted Cicely. ’Of course,’ answered Mirelle. ’It is my duty. But you must understand that I have not known him except by name till last fortnight. I had not seen him at all till a fortnight ago, when he came to Paris to take me away from the Sacré Coeur.’ The young man had been watching her face intently. He had seemed more pained than Cicely at her want of feeling. Now he drew a long breath, a sigh of relief; these words of Mirelle explained her coldness. ’I am sorry that he is dead,’ she went on, ’but he ought not to have married my mother.’ ’We cannot regret that,’ said Mr. Battishill with awkward gallantry, ’since to that we are indebted for the pleasure of making your acquaintance.’ Mirelle considered for a moment, then she said simply, ’You mean that I should not have existed. True; I did not think of this.’ Mr. Battishill and the young man were unable to repress a smile. She was a curious mixture of simplicity, reserve, and frankness. The reserve was exercised over her feelings, but she was perfectly frank about her thoughts. ’Have you ever been to Cantal——? I have not quite caught the name.’ ’I have never been in Spain at all,’ answered Mirelle. ’Where, then, have you lived?’ ’In Paris. Where else should I live? One lives in Paris, one exists elsewhere.’ ’But your father?’