"The noble senora was, perhaps, some relation of yours?’ "No. She is of Spain,—I of Scotland." "Your wife, possibly, senor?" "My wedded wife indeed she would have been, had she lived; but that resolve came too late!" he replied in a troubled voice, as he pressed the hand of Catalina to his lips. "But, senoritas, I must not spend longer time in childish sorrow," he added, starting up and erecting his stout and handsome figure before the eyes of the sisterhood, who, in spite of their veils and hoods knew how to admire a smart young soldier with a war-worn suit of harness. "It would not become me to do so, and my duties call me elsewhere. Every means must be taken to bring retribution on the head of the demon Narvaez, and I trust that the great Power which suffers no crime to pass unpunished, will aid me in discovering him one day before I leave Spain. Divine vengeance will again place him at my mercy as he has been twice before, when, but for my ill-timed interference, Don Alvaro had slain him, and my heart leaps within me at the thought of having his base blood upon my weapon. Yes, senoritas, his blood, shed with my own hands and streaming hot and thick upon them, can alone avenge the death of Catalina. Some fatality seems continually to throw this monster in my way, and if ever we cross each other again, most fully, amply, and fearfully shall this unfortunate be revenged; for I have sworn a secret oath—an oath which may not be broken, that wherever I meet Cifuentes within the realm of Spain—on moor or mountain, in city, camp, or field, there will I slay him, though the next moment should be my last!" His form appeared to dilate while he spoke, and his eyes sparkled with a keen and fiery expression, which attested the firmness of his determination and the bold recklessness of his heart. The excitement under which he laboured imparted a new eloquence to his tones and grace to his gesture; but he panted rather than breathed while he spoke, and the fierce glitter of his eye, together with the strange ferocity of the words which his love and sorrow prompted, caused the timid nuns of Santa Cruz to shrink back from the iron gratings. "Ah! senor," said the abbess, laying her hand upon his shoulder, "I have already said vengeance is not ours. But you have spoken gallantly!" "A noble cavalier! Viva!" cried El Pastor, in a chuckling tone; "Hernandez de Cordova could not have spoken more bravely. _Bueno como el pan_, as the old proverb tells us."