"Ah--yes; I remember in the adventure of Don Quixotte with the Knight of the Wood, the latter boasts, that among other deeds done in honour of his mistress, he 'had challenged the famous fighting giantess, La Giralda of Seville, who is strong and undaunted as one who is made of brass.'" "And who without changing place is the most inconstant woman in the world. Oh, Don Quixotte, he is charming! And then in Seville we have the letters of Francisco Pizzaro, of Columbus and the valiant Hernan Cortes; and more than all, we have the cathedral with its Puerta de Perdon, which was the work of a Moorish necromancer, and was all built by a spell between the night and morning. In two days you can never see all these things." "Your own presence, Donna Paulina, is more than enough to detain me here for ever." "Then why go so soon?" she asked, with her pretty Spanish lisp, while her long lashes drooped. "Go I must, señora, for, being a soldier, I have nothing to urge; but----" "But what?" "The stern necessity of obedience." "Ay de mi!" said she, gazing fully and honestly at me; "I am so sorry to hear all this." "I am full of gratitude to hear you say so, señora; but there is no remedy." "Señor," said she, smiling, "para todo hay remedio sino para la muerte." "True, there is a remedy for everything but death, it is a good old Spanish proverb," said I; "but is not absence from those we love but a living death? so when I am far from Seville I shall have but the memory of one most beautiful face, and one bright happy night." "Take this rose," said she, disengaging one from her bouquet; "it will be a memento, though a small one." "Thanks, señora; but the rose will wither and fade." "So will the memory of the beautiful face and the one happy night," said she, with a winning smile. "Never, never Paulina--you are so charming--so gentle and so good, that----" "Hush, Dios Mio! the people are observing us, and--but ave Maria purissima! what is the matter with my mother?" During this brief conversation, the servant Pedrillo had delivered a note to Donna Dominga, who, on hurriedly glancing at its contents, uttered a faint cry and fell upon the sofa, where all the ladies crowded in an excited manner round her. Don Joaquim snatched up the letter and read it with flaming eyes. "What, in Heaven's name, is the matter?" I asked, pressing forward. "A letter has come from the captain of the guarda costa, stating that the son of Donna Dominga, his lieutenant, had been killed by a shot from the garrison of Gibraltar," said Slingsby, in a rapid whisper. "The absence of the captain general at Jaen prevented the Sevillanos from learning that the person slain was a townsman. I find we are in a mess here, and think we had better be off, my boy."