ideal stronger in the warrior's mind than even creed--he could not and
would not believe that her secret was to her sacred as his honor to
him, and that she could no more turn renegade from the fidelity which
that secret comprised, than he could from his honor. She had spoken
of but one relation, an aged father; and he felt in his strong
hopefulness, that it was only for that father's sake she had striven
to conquer her love, and had told him they might never wed, and that
when that link was broken he might win her yet.

Loving and believing thus, his anguish in beholding her the wife of
another may be imagined. The more he tried to think, the more confused
and mystifying his thoughts became. Every interview which he had with
her, and more especially that in the Vale of Cedars, was written in
indelible characters on his heart and brain; and while beholding her
as the wife of Morales contradicted their every word, still it could
not blot them from his memory; and he would think, and think, in the
vain search for but one imaginary reason, however faint, however
unsatisfactory, for her conduct, till his brain turned, and his senses
reeled. It was not the mere suffering of unrequited love; it was the
misery of having been deceived; and then, when racked and tortured
by the impossibility of discovering some cause for this deceit, her
secret would flash across him, and the wild thought arise that both he
and Don Ferdinand were victims to the magic and the sorcery, by means
of which alone her hated race could ever make themselves beloved.

Compelled as he was to mingle with the Court as usual, these powerful
emotions were of course always under strong restraint, except when in
the solitude of his own quarters. That when there he should give them
vent, neither conscious of, nor caring for the remarks they excited
from his host and hostess, was not very remarkable; perhaps he was