of the Future, thronged, indistinct and dim, upon his breast. The
unconscious and exquisite grace of her form, its touching youth, an air
of innocence diffused around it, a something helpless, and pleading to
man's protection, in the very slightness of her beautiful but fairy-like
proportions, seemed to reproach his treachery, and to awaken whatever of
pity or human softness remained in his heart.

The novice had read the letter; and turning, in the impulse of surprise
and alarm, to Calderon for explanation, for the first time she remarked
his features and his aspect; for he had then laid aside his cloak, and
the broad Spanish hat with its heavy plume. It was thus that their eyes
met, and, as they did so, Beatriz, starting from her seat, uttered a wild
cry--

"And thy name is Calderon--Don Roderigo Calderon?--is it possible? Hadst
thou never another name?" she exclaimed; and, as she spoke, she
approached him slowly and fearfully.

"Lady, Calderon is my name," replied the marquis: but his voice faltered.
"But thine--thine--is it, in truth, Beatriz Coello?"

Beatriz made no reply, but continued to advance, till her very breath
came upon his cheek; she then laid her hand upon his arm, and looked up
into his face with a gaze so earnest, so intent, so prolonged, that
Calderon, but for a strange and terrible thought--half of wonder, half of
suspicion, which had gradually crept into his soul, and now usurped
it--might have doubted whether the reason of the poor novice was not
unsettled.

Slowly Beatriz withdrew her eyes, and they fell upon a large mirror