She stood upon the marble steps; the May moon shone down upon her. She listened a moment to a slight murmuring within the drawing-room window. The Spanish lady, the Murillo-painted Spanish lady, had come down from her frame that bound her against the wall. Just for this one night in the year, she stepped out from the canvas to walk up and down the rooms majestically. She would not exchange a word with anybody; nobody understood her language. She could remember when Murillo looked at her, watched over her, created her with his pencil. She could have nothing to say to little paltry shepherdesses, and other articles of _virtù_, that came into grace and motion just at this moment. The Queen of the Red Chessmen turned away, down into the avenue. The May moon shone upon her. Her feet trod upon unaccustomed ground; no black or white square hemmed her in; she felt a new liberty. "My poor old father!" she exclaimed, "I will leave him behind; better let him slumber in an ignoble repose than wander over the board, a laughing-stock for his enemies. We have been conquered,--the foolish White Prince rules!" A strange inspiration stole upon her; the breath of the May night hovered over her; the May moon shone upon her. She could move without waiting for the will of another; she was free. She passed down the avenue; she had left her old prison behind. Early in the morning,--it was just after sunrise,--the kind Doctor Lester was driving home, after watching half the night out with a patient. He passed the avenue to the Willows, but drew up his horse just as he was leaving the entrance. He saw a young girl sitting under the hedge. She was without any bonnet, in a red dress, fitting closely and hanging heavily about her. She was so very beautiful, she looked so strangely lost and out of place here at this early hour, that the Doctor could not resist speaking to her. "My child, how came you here?" The young girl rose up, and looked round with uncertainty. "Where am I?" she asked. She was very tall and graceful, with an air of command, but with a strange, wild look in her eyes. "The young woman must be slightly insane," thought the Doctor; "but she cannot have wandered far." "Let me take you home," he said aloud. "Perhaps you come from the Willows?" "Oh, don't take me back there!" cried Isabella, "they will imprison me again! I had rather be a slave than a conquered queen!" "Decidedly insane!" thought the Doctor. "I must take her back to the Willows." He persuaded the young girl to let him lift her into his chaise. She did not resist him; but when he turned up the avenue, she leaned back in despair. He was fortunate enough to find one of the servants up at the house, just sweeping the steps of the hall-door. Getting out of his chaise, he said confidentially to the servant,-- "I have brought back your young lady." "Our young lady!" exclaimed the man, as the Doctor pointed out Isabella. "Yes, she is a little insane, is she not?"