soon know all."




CHAPTER V.

THE SACRIFICE.

The sun was now sinking slowly through those masses of purple cloud which
belong to Iberian skies; when, emerging from the forest, the travellers
saw before them a small and lovely plain, cultivated like a garden. Rows
of orange and citron trees were backed by the dark green foliage of
vines; and these again found a barrier in girdling copses of chestnut,
oak, and the deeper verdure of pines: while, far to the horizon, rose the
distant and dim outline of the mountain range, scarcely distinguishable
from the mellow colourings of the heaven. Through this charming spot
went a slender and sparkling torrent, that collected its waters in a
circular basin, over which the rose and orange hung their contrasted
blossoms. On a gentle eminence above this plain, or garden, rose the
spires of a convent: and, though it was still clear daylight, the long
and pointed lattices were illumined within; and, as the horsemen cast
their eyes upon the pile, the sound of the holy chorus--made more sweet
and solemn from its own indistinctness, from the quiet of the hour, from
the sudden and sequestered loveliness of that spot, suiting so well the
ideal calm of the conventual life--rolled its music through the odorous
and lucent air.

But that scene and that sound, so calculated to soothe and harmonise the
thought, seemed to arouse Almamen into agony and passion. He smote his