and consequently he bestowed on the apparently unconscious padre a stern look of scrutiny and distrust. At a little square opening, that served the purpose of a window, and around which the clustering grapes and roses formed a rural curtain, Catalina was seated with her soft pale cheek resting on her hand, which was almost hidden among the heavy curls, the hue of which contrasted with its whiteness. Her dark eyes were intently fixed on the green mountains of the Lina, where the British bivouac was visible. The scabbard of Stuart’s claymore jarring on the tiles of the floor, roused her from her reverie, and a rich blush suffused her face, from her temples to her dimpled chin, as she advanced towards him in her usual confiding and frank manner, and passed her arm through his. "The reverend father will perhaps retire, and keep the old patrona at the door company in her devotions," said Ronald after some conversation and the monk immediately withdrew. "_Ah! senor mio_," said Catalina in a gentle tone of deprecation, "why do you treat the poor priest so haughtily?" "I do not like him, Catalina—on my honour I do not; and I believe there is no love lost between us. I could have sworn I saw the cross hilt of a dagger glitter under the cope of his cassock, as he withdrew just now." "His crucifix, perhaps." "He told me he carried a dagger, when I confronted him in the wood of Jarciejo." "Well, ’tis very probable he bears it in these sad times for protection; he can scarcely gain any from cross or cope now. He says he is Father Jerome, of the convent of All Saints at Merida. I think I have heard his voice before: he has not shown his face, as he says a vow compels him to conceal it. But indeed you _must_ be respectful to him. The noblest hidalgos and cavaliers in my country respect the poorest Franciscan." "The meanest clown in mine, Catalina, cares not a rush for the Pope and all his cardinals." "_Madre-Maria_! I will not listen to you," said she, placing her hand on his mouth. "You must not talk thus; ’tis very sinful. But, alas! you know not the sin of it. Ah! senor, if you love me," she added, blushing deeply, "if you love me as you have said you do, speak not so again." "Love you, Catalina!" replied the young man, intoxicated with the tenderness of the expression, while he drew her towards him. "Oh, stay,—what—who is that?" said the lady hurriedly, as the room became suddenly darkened. "’Tis only that cursed priest." "Surely it was a British officer; his epaulets glittered among the vine leaves." "Was I to find the padre eaves-dropping, his cassock would scarcely save him from a good caning."