you, my dear.' And then, instantly changing his language to Spanish,
he added, appealing to his wife, that had they guessed she was on
board, they would have come to meet her.

Rosita replied earnestly to that effect, and warmly embraced Mary,
pitying her for such an arrival, and hoping that Dolores had made her
comfortable. The rest of the conversation was carried on in the same
tongue. Rosita was much what Mary had expected--of a beautiful
figure, with fine eyes, and splendid raven hair, but without much
feature or expression. She looked almost like a dream to-night,
however, with her snowy robes, and the diamonds sparkling with their
dewdrop flashes in her hair and on her arms, with the fitful light
caught from the insufficient candles. All she ventured to say had a
timid gracefulness and simplicity that were very winning; and her
husband glanced more than once to see if she were not gaining upon
his daughter; and so in truth she was, personally, though it was
exceedingly painful to see her where Mary had been used to see that
dear suffering face; and it was impossible not to feel the contrast
with her father as painfully incongruous. Mr. Ponsonby was a large
man, with the jovial manner of one never accustomed to self-
restraint; good birth and breeding making him still a gentleman, in
spite of his loud voice and the traces of self-indulgence. He was
ruddy and bronzed, and his eyebrows and hair looked as if touched by
hoar frost; altogether as dissimilar a partner as could be devised
for the slender girlish being by his side.

After a little Spanish conversation, all kind on his aide, and thus
infinitely relieving Mary, they parted for the night. She laid
before him the packet of letters, which she had held all this time as
the last link to Louis, and sought his eye as she did so with a look