The "senora" lifted her long, curled lashes until they touched her brows, and opened wide her large, soft, dark eyes in childish wonder. "An affair of great moment!" What could it be? A masked ball? a parlor concert? private theatricals? a--what? She could not imagine. Dropping her eyelids demurely, she answered softly: "Proceed, senor." Ishmael then briefly explained to her the business upon which they had come. The senora was as sensible as she was beautiful, and as benevolent as she was sensible. She listened to the story of the negroes' abduction with as much sympathy as curiosity, and at the end of the narrative she exclaimed: "What villains there are in this world!" Ishmael then delicately referred to their wish to purchase the girl Sally. The senora promptly assented to the implied desire. "It was my steward, Miguel Manello, who bought her for me. I did not particularly want her. And I find her of very little use to me. She cannot understand one word that is said to her. And she does nothing from morning until night but weep, weep, weep tears enough to float away the house." "Poor girl!" muttered Ishmael. "So if the senor wishes to recover her he can take her now, or at any time." Ishmael delicately hinted at the purchase money. "Oh, I know nothing about such matters. I will send my steward to wait on the senor at his hotel this evening. The senor can then arrange the matter with him." Ishmael expressed his thanks, arose, and bowed as if to take leave. But the lady waved her hand, and said in a sweet but peremptory manner: "Be seated, senor." With another inclination of the head, Ishmael resumed his seat. The lady rang a silver bell that stood on a stand at his right hand and brought to her presence the gorgeous, sable footman. "Serve the senors with refreshments," was the order given and promptly obeyed. An elegant little repast was set before them, consisting of delicious coffee, chocolate, fresh fruits, cakes, and sweetmeats. And only when they had done full justice to these delicacies would their hostess permit them to retire. Again Ishmael bowed with profound deference, expressed his thanks on the part of himself and his friends, and finally took leave. On going from the room they noticed a person, who, from the extreme quietness of her manner, had escaped their observation until this moment. She was a woman of about sixty years of age, clad in the habit of a lay-sister of the Benedictine Order, and seated within a curtained recess, and engaged in reading her "office." She was probably doing duty as duenna to the beautiful widow. CHAPTER XXXVII. STILL ON THE TRACK. One sole desire, one passion now remains, To keep life's fever still within his veins,-- Vengeance! Dire vengeance on the wretch who cast On him and all he loved that ruinous blast. --_Moore_.