her brain, when the door of her apartment opened, and closed again
after admitting her old duenna, Margarita. The old woman approached
with a stealthy, cat-like step, and sitting down beside the maiden,
and gazing inquisitively into her dim eyes, said, in a whining voice,
intended to be very winning and persuasive,--

"What ails my pretty pet? Is she unwell?"

"I am not unwell," replied Magdalena, coldly, rousing herself to the
exertion of conversing, with an effort.

"Nay, my darling," said the old woman, in the same whining tone, "I am
sure that something is the matter with you. You look feverish."

"I am well, Margarita; let that suffice."

"And feel no regret for the false suitor, hey?"

Magdalena turned upon her quickly--almost fiercely.

"What do you know of him?"

"All! all!" cried the old woman, while her gray eyes flashed with
exultation.

"Then you know him for a false and perjured villain!" cried the
beautiful Spaniard.

"I know him for an honorable cavalier; true as the steel of his Toledo
blade!" retorted the duenna. "I speak riddles, Magdalena, but I will