"Ah, you are in paradise," cried the old priest with a sigh; "in paradise. Try to remain there. Do not summon the angel with the flaming sword. Be ever true and tender to each other. Talk not of cloven feet. Let it ever be the velvet hand, the glance of love, the gentle accents of forbearance. You have every good gift that heaven and earth can give you. Be worthy of your fate."
We interpreted as gently as possible to H. C. the sad news of the engagement of the beauty of Gerona, the lovely Señorita de Costello. It was a great shock. He turned deathly pale and remained for a time staring at vacancy. Then with a profound sigh he tore up his half-finished sonnet, "To Eve in Paradise," and began another self-dedicated, "To Adam in Hades." He keeps it in a sacred drawer, enshrined in lavender and pot-pourri.
"All this rencontre is very à propos," said the old priest. "Again the world is smaller than it seems. And we are getting on. Here is Castellon de la Plana already, with its fine fruit and flower gardens and picturesque peasants. Alas, we see less costume everywhere than of old. The taste of the world is not improving."
Very pleasantly passed the remainder of the journey, through a country beautiful and fertile. Everywhere we saw traces of vineyards and cultivated lands. Here and there oxen were ploughing. Often we saw them thrashing out the rice. Many an old and picturesque well stood out surrounded by trellis-work covered with vine-leaves. But the vines were not festooned after the picturesque manner of North Italy, where you walk under the trellis and pluck the grapes that hang in rich clusters. Here the vines are trained on sticks or grow like currant bushes, and as in Germany, lose their beauty.
A single field will produce at the same time fruit-trees, almond or olive, corn and grapes, all mingling their beauty and perfume. We passed a multitude of orange and lemon groves with all their deep, rich, sheeny verdure. Nuts and olives, almonds and carobs abounded. Many a palm-tree added its Oriental grace to the landscape. The whole country seemed to revel in sunshine and blue skies. At Saguntum, that town of the ancients, the heights were crowned by walls, fortresses and castles, imperishable outlines grey with the lapse of centuries.
As it chanced we were all bound for Valencia. Our interesting bride and bridegroom were staying there one night and continuing their journey the next day. The priest was to spend a week there.
"I have a proposal to make," said de la Torre, as we neared the capital. "We telegraphed for rooms and ordered dinner in our sitting-room. You three gentlemen must join us. It will only be adding three covers—an effort the chef will be equal to."
"Let me add my persuasions," added Countess de la Torre graciously and gracefully. "Remember we have been united a whole week and are quite an old married couple. You would give us great pleasure."
But this, strongly supported by de Nevada the priest, we felt bound to decline. It would have been cruel to intrude so long upon a tête-à-tête which just now must form the delight of their existence.
"I must be obdurate," said the priest. "In the first place your delicate paradise food—which no doubt consists of crystallised fruits and butterflies' wings—would be wasted upon three hungry travellers dwelling without the enchanted gates. But let us compromise. We are all staying at the same hotel. We three unappropriated blessings will dine together, and after that we will come and take our coffee and Chartreuse with you, remaining exactly one hour by the clock: not a moment more."