Some days after this we were walking in the streets of Barcelona. We had said good-bye to Valencia and our present sojourn in Spain was drawing to a close. With sorrow and sighing we remembered the motto of the wise king: This also shall pass away. Oft quoted before, it is ever present with us and we quote it once more. We had gone through many experiences, made many acquaintances who had become friends. In imagination a small crowd of companions surrounded us, every one of them with a special niche in our heart and memory. Sauntering through the now long familiar streets, we had wandered instinctively into the neighbourhood of the cathedral. As we stood in the courtyard of the Audiencia, admiring for the fiftieth time its pointed arches, clustered columns and fine old staircase, two people entered, breaking upon our solitude. Their faces were radiant with happiness. At the first moment we hardly recognised them; the next we saw that it was Loretta and Lorenzo.
"Still in Barcelona! How is this, Loretta?"
"Señor, we have prolonged our stay. There was no special reason why we should not do so. Work is provided for, and the donkeys are in good keeping. We shall never again have such a holiday. It comes only once in our lives."
"It is quite unnecessary to remark that you are happy, both of you."
"Señor, I ask what I have done that heaven should have bestowed such favour upon me," returned Loretta, her face glowing with fervour. "I feel as though I could take the whole creation under my wing and love it for the sake of the love that is mine. I tell myself that I have not half cared for my dumb animals, though harsh word to them never passed my lips."
"Loretta, we have found your clock," passing from the sublime to the commonplace. "Come both of you and see it."
It was in the adjoining Calle de Fernando, not many yards from where we stood. We were just in time: the clockmaker was about to pack up and despatch it. Its design might have been made to order. A clock of white alabaster, pure as the heart of Loretta. Cupid with bow and arrows slung behind him struck the hours on a silver bell. The hour-glass was missing, it is true, but the sands of Loretta and Lorenzo were none the less golden. So the clock instead of being forwarded to Espluga, was sent to their address in Barcelona.
"My happiness is now complete," cried Loretta. "Yet one thing is still wanting. I would that you, señor, should come as speedily as possible and ride Caro to Poblet, and that Lorenzo and I should wait upon you. Ah, do not delay."
"One of the most romantic episodes I ever heard of," cried H. C., as Loretta and Lorenzo walked away arm in arm in their great happiness, and we turned to contemplate once more the magic interior of the cathedral that has no rival.
"It is indeed. And if these dream-churches and ancient towns are her glories, does Spain not possess yet other glories in the exalted lives of Rosalie and Anselmo, the simple hearts and annals of yonder couple, and all who resemble them? May their shadows never grow less and their faces never be pale!"