“There is a seguidilla I hear everywhere,” said the doctor; “and I never hear it without feeling the better for listening. It begins--‘So noble a Lord.’” “That, indeed!” cried Luis. “Who knows it not? It is the seguidilla to our blessed Lord, written by the daughter of Lope de Vega--the holy Marcela Carpio. You know it, Senora?” “As I know my Credo, Luis.” “And you, Isabel?” “Since I was a little one, as high as my father’s knee. Rachela taught it to me.” “And you, Lopez.” “That is sure, Luis.” “And I, too!” said Antonia, smiling. “Here is your mandolin. Strike the chords, and we will all sing with you. My father will remember also.” And the doctor smiled an assent, as the young man resigned Isabel’s hand with a kiss, and swept the strings in that sweetness and power which flows invisibly, but none the less surely, from the heart to the instrument. “It is to my blessed Lord and Redeemer, I sing,” he said, bowing his head. Then he stood up and looked at his companions, and struck the key-note, when every one joined their voices with his in the wonderful little hymn: So noble a Lord None serves in vain; For the pay of my love Is my love’s sweet pain. In the place of caresses Thou givest me woes; I kiss Thy hands, When I feel their blows. For in Thy chastening, Is joy and peace; O Master and Lord! Let thy blows not cease. I die with longing Thy face to see And sweet is the anguish Of death to me. For, because Thou lovest me, Lover of mine! Death can but make me Utterly Thine! The doctor was the first to speak after the sweet triumph of the notes had died away. “Many a soul I have seen pass whispering those verses,” he said; “men and women, and little children.” “The good Marcela in heaven has that for her joy,” answered Luis. Lopez rose while the holy influence still lingered. He kissed the hands of every one, and held the doctor’s in his own until they reached the threshold. A more than usual farewell took place there, though there were only a few whispered words. “Farewell, Lopez! I can trust you?” “Unto death.” “If we never meet again?” “Still it will be FAREWELL. Thou art in God’s care.” Very slowly the doctor sauntered back to the parlor, like a man who has a heavy duty to, do and hardly knows how to begin it. “But I will tell Maria first,” he whispered; and then he opened the door, and saw the Senora bidding her children good-night. “What a happy time we have had!” she was saying. “I shall never forget it. Indeed, my dears, you see how satisfactory it is to be religious. When we talk of the saints and angels, they come round us to listen to what we say; accordingly, we are full of peace and pleasure. I know that because I heard Fray--I heard a very good man say so.”