a jewel without price. Tender delusions of youth! alas! why should fate shatter them?
One moonlight night they had wandered together on the battlements of the castle into a pleasaunce of ancient elms, interlacing in thick arches overhead; the dueña, who never left them, disposing of herself apart at a discreet distance.
Below the sea lay calm and still, wrapped in deep shadow, save where wave followed wave, gently catching the moonbeams for an instant, then falling back into an endless rotation.
“Oh, love, how fair is the night,” says the Infanta, with a happy sigh, casting her eyes round on earth and heaven. “Methinks I have nothing more to wish.”
But Fernan answers not. His gaze is fixed on her; the pale tresses of her golden hair shining through the meshes of a jewelled veil, her eyes melting with fondness, the soft outline of her face and that adorable dimple—from the first sight of which he dates his present transports—intoxicate his sense, and forgetting that she is an Infanta, daughter of a king, in a moment of passion he clasps her in his arms.
“See, sweetheart,” says he, still holding her in his embrace, “how the moonlight flickers on yonder trees.”
“Yes,” is her answer. “Yet, did I not know we were safe, I could almost believe some one was watching behind the trees. Let us go back to the castle.”
“I can see nothing but you,” he answers, looking down at her. “You are the very goddess of the night!”
“But it is late,” she urges, rising to her feet; “if I stay longer I shall have bad dreams. Let us go.”
“Oh, Ava, my Infanta!” he murmurs pressing her in his arms, “I could stay here for ever! Tell me again you love me! Repeat it a thousand times!”