“And our danger,” adds Claire, glad to see Blanche’s mind disengaged from the continual terror she endures, “when we passed the outer tents of the encampment, in our Carmelite disguise (how clever of the governor to think of it), and those soldiers asked us so rudely if we would absolve them! Oh, how I shake when I think of it. All seemed over with us; and so it would have been, if that handsome Aragonese knight had not come up, and perceived from our accent that we were French, and conducted us across the lines,” here Claire breaks off with a heavy sigh, and Blanche kisses her tenderly and inquires what ails her. “Can you ask? When you know I cannot tell if he is safe across the frontier, my valiant Raoul! Alas! alas! if he falls into Don Pedro’s hands! Oh, the noble heart!” and she puts her hands before her eyes to shut out the horrid image her fancy has called up. “When he gave his love to me, I told him he must save my queen, else I would never look at him!” “But this is a fearful place!” cries Blanche in a louder voice, peeping out into the nave, the desolation of her position coming over her. “Do you hear that noise!” as a sudden echo rebounds from aisle to aisle. “I am sure there are spirits here,” and trembling all over, she clings to Claire. “Be comforted, my queen. Some one will come. The priest who serves us is very kind, and he assured me of the favour of the chapter. Believe me, we shall not be forgotten. Collect yourself, dear princess. You know what Raoul said of Don Enrique?” “Oh, I am dead of cold and fright!” answers Blanche, bursting into tears. “I care not if I die--one stab and all is over! I dream every night of Don Pedro, a dagger in his hand, and just as I am about to escape, the point falls here,” and she lays her hand upon her neck. “I know it will end so. All die who offend Don Pedro.” “See!” cries Claire, as the darkness enveloping the lengthening lines of the gigantic pillars lifts, and a glint of light strikes like living fire on the famous statue of the Virgin, recovered from the Moors by San Fernando, seated upon an altar on a silver throne, and glittering with jewels, an exquisite canopy of fretted pinnacles of saints shrouding it, “See! the Holy Mother herself has come to comfort us.” CHAPTER XIV Don Enrique Welcomes Queen Blanche to Toledo Hours pass, struck out from the Giralda tower in many-toned bells, each bell with its own name and recognised by its tone. Figures had glided in and out, dwarfed to pigmies by the vast size. Groups had formed at distant shrines, to vanish as they came. Veiled women had knelt on the marble pavement, and a crowd had gathered round a preacher in a far-off aisle. At length, when hope seemed dead, the shrill blast of trumpets and the clatter of horses’ feet came to the ears of the ever-watchful Claire, from the direction of the Puerta de los Leones, dull at first, and low, but marvellously distinct.