be mine!"

"What means this?" said the prince, falteringly. "What delusion do thy
wiles practise upon me?"

Calderon made no answer; and at that instant Beatriz sighed heavily, and
her eyes opened.

"My child! my child!--thou art my child! Speak--let me hear thy voice
--again let it call me 'father!'"

And Calderon dropped on his knees, and, clasping his hands fervently,
looked up imploringly in her face. The novice, now slowly returning to
life and consciousness, strove to speak: her voice failed her, but her
lips smiled arms fell feebly but endearingly upon Calderon, and her round
his neck.

"Bless thee! bless thee!" exclaimed Calderon. "Bless thee in thy sweet
mother's name!"

While he spoke, the eyes of Beatriz caught the form of Philip, who stood
by, leaning on his sword; his face working with various passions, and his
lip curling with stern and intense disdain. Accustomed to know human
life but in its worst shapes, and Calderon only by his vices and his
arts, the voice of nature uttered no language intelligible to the prince.
He regarded the whole as some well got-up device--some trick of the
stage; and waited, with impatience and scorn, the denouement of the
imposture.

At the sight of that mocking face, Beatriz shuddered, and fell back; but