He was so much agitated by this display of affection and tenderness, that he could scarcely persuade himself to separate from her, and with difficulty restrained a strong inclination to make some rash and formal proposal. But, as he pressed his lip to her pale cheek, he assured her that he would in a very short time obtain leave of absence, and visit her at Idanha-a-Velha. But for some faint hopes and lingering love for Alice Lisle, Ronald would at this exciting moment have brought matters to a climax with the beautiful donna; and if it is possible for the heart to have _two_ loves at once, his was certainly in that singular predicament. His case is truly described in the words of the Scottish song,— "My heart is divided between them, I dinna ken which I wad hae; Right willingly my heart I wad gien them, But how can I gie it to twae? My heart it is rugged and tormented, I’d live wi’ or die for them baith; I’ve dune what I’ve often repented, To baith I have plighted my aith." They were reclining in the recess of the opening or window, through which the vines straggled. Poor Catalina, as the hour of departure drew nigh, no longer cared to conceal the sentiments of her heart, but hung on Ronald’s breast; while he returned her embrace with ardour, and their glossy hair mingled together in the bright sunshine. At that moment the door was opened, and Louis Lisle entered abruptly. Having delivered over his prisoners to a cavalry guard among the mountains, he had returned hastily to Almarez, anxious to see Ronald Stuart, and bring about that long-delayed reconciliation and explanation for which he so much yearned,—the few words spoken before the forts were stormed having, to use a common-place phrase, ’broken the ice between them.’ Full of this frank intention, Lisle, after searching the village, had found the cottage where Ronald was; and entering with that unceremonious freedom, which is learned by a residence in camp or quarters, found, to his no small surprise and indignation, that there was one more there than he expected. Catalina started from Ronald’s arm, and hid her blushing cheek in arranging the masses of her luxuriant hair. Ronald eyed the unwelcome intruder with a look of surprise, which he was at no pains to conceal; while the latter gave him a fierce glance of impatience, anger, and dislike; and muttering,—"Pardon me. I am, I believe, under a mistake, which will be explained when I have a fitting time and place," he withdrew as hastily as he had entered. Scarcely had he retired, when the monk of Merida brought his mule and Catalina’s horse to the door of the cottage. The lady fastened on her sombrero, with its long veil and white feather. Ronald tied the ribbons of the velvet mantilla, and leading her to the door, assisted her to mount.