Chapter Twenty Eight.
Seville.
“Golden fruit fresh plucked and ripe.”
“And now, my brother, you see Seville. At last I can show you my beautiful city!”
“Why—why, you never said it was like this!”
The Lesters had finally settled to go to Cadiz by sea, and thence by rail to Seville, again breaking their journey at Xeres. The Stanforths were making the journey across country; but Cheriton was not equal to long days on horseback, nor to risking the accommodations or no accommodations of the ventas and posadas (taverns and inns) where they might have to stop. He was quite ready, however, to be excited and patriotic as they passed through the famous waters of Trafalgar, and curious to taste sherry at Xeres, where it proved exceedingly bad. They arrived at Seville in the afternoon, and were driving from the station when Alvar interrupted Cherry’s astonished contemplation of the scene with the foregoing remark.
“Ah, it pleases you!” he said in a tone of satisfaction, as they passed under the Alcazar, the Moorish palace, with its wonderful relics of a bygone faith and power—the great cathedral, said to be “a religion in itself”—and saw the gay tints of the painted buildings, the picturesque turn of the streets, the infinite variety of colour and costume, and over all the pure blue of the sky and the glorious intensity of Southern sunlight.
Cheriton had no words to express his admiration, and only repeated,—
“You never told me that it was like this.”