old captain, and, from delicacy of feeling, had never again mentioned the
subject in her presence.

While taking the oath, he had been prepared for the worst; but when his
wife, in passionate excitement, speaking so fast that the words fair
tumbled over one another, told him how she had been robbed of her boy;
how his imperial father had treated him; how she had longed for him;
what prayers she had uttered in his behalf; how miserable she had been
in her anxiety about this child; and, now, that Dona Magdalena's letter
permitted her to cherish the highest and greatest hopes for the boy,
the tall, strong man stood before her with downcast eyes, like a detected
criminal, his hand gripping the edge of the top of the table which
separated her from him.

Barbara saw his broad, arched chest rise and fall, and wondered why his
manly features were quivering; but ere she had time to utter a single
soothing word, he burst forth: "I made the vow and will be silent; but
to-morrow, or in a year or two, it will be in everybody's mouth, and
then, then My good name! Honour!"

Fierce indignation overwhelmed Barbara, and, no longer able to control
herself, she exclaimed: "What did it matter whether Death or his father
snatched the child from me? The question is, whether you knew that I am
his mother, and it was not concealed from you. Nevertheless, you came
and sought me for your wife! That is what happened! And--you know this
--you are as much or little dishonoured by me, the mother of the living
child, as of the dead one. Out upon the honour which is harmed by
gossip! What slanderous tongues say of me as a disgrace I deem the
highest honour; but if you are of a different opinion, and held it when
you wooed me, you would be wiser to prate less loudly of the proud word