Adventure stories; British -- Spain -- Fiction; Love stories; Spain -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction
I stood staring blankly after the carriage, and then walked into the
hotel feeling much like a man in a dream, dazzled by the beauty of the
girl who had rendered me this inestimable service; and when I reached my
room I threw open my window, gazed out over the moon-lit city, and
steeped my senses in a maze of bewildering delight as I recalled the
witchery of her inspiring voice, the glances of her lustrous, wonderful
eyes, and the magnetic charm of her loveliness. At that moment the
thoughts dearer to me than all else in the world were that she was so
interested in me that she had done all this for my sake, that she was my
cousin whose future and fortune her guardian wished me to protect and,
above all, that I was to see her again on the morrow, and for many
morrows. Madrid had become, instead of a place of exile, a veritable
city of Blessed Promise.
How long I gazed out into the moonlight and rhapsodised in this fashion
I do not know; but I do know that I had a sufficient interval of lucid
commonsense to be conscious that I had fallen hopelessly in love with my
cousin at first sight, and it was a source of rarest ecstasy to picture
in fancy the great things I would achieve to serve her, and to hope that
a chance of doing some of them would come my way. And when I got into
bed and fell asleep it was to dream that I was doing them.
I am not exactly a rhapsodist by nature; and the lapse into wistful
dreaminess had all the charm of the unusual for me; but the morning
found me in a much more practical frame of mind.
I reviewed coolly the strange events which had heralded my arrival in
Madrid, and certain points began to trouble me; that there should be
someone of doubtful repute of the same name as my own, and that so
glorious a creature as Sarita Castelar should be deeply mixed up with
Carlists of such a desperate character as those who had menaced my life.
Those were the matters which needed to be cleared up first, and I would
ask her freely about them that afternoon. But in the meantime prudence
warned me to hold my tongue about everything.
I went to the Embassy to report myself, and afterwards had lunch and a
long chat with my old friend, Mayhew. His knowledge on all matters and
persons in Madrid was quite cyclopedic, and he told me a hundred and one
things that would be useful for me to know. I need only refer to two
subjects. We were speaking of Spanish politics when he mentioned a name
that kindled suddenly all my interest.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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