The other guests were grouped around, chatting, smoking, and taking refreshment from sideboards.
Don Benito saw, and perhaps in a measure comprehended, the reproving, or, at least, pained look in the eyes of both the European and the American shocked at such a scene when they were so full of perturbation for the impending conflict.
"Conduct the reverend Father Serafino hither," he said to a servant.
A handsome and haughty youth, whom Mr. Gladsden recognised at once by his resemblance to his father, came up to the newcomer, and affectionately threw himself into his arms. It was don Jorge, the bereaved father, though quite a boy in Mr. Gladsden's opinion.
"Caballero," said he; "nothing but your coming, the dearest, oldest friend of my father, could have given me this moment's distraction in my grief over my firstborn. Yours was the kindness that united my father and mother. However can we repay the obligation we, their children, lie beneath?"
"By showing me as much affection as I shall do to you, Jorge, my boy. Upon my word, if I required any reward, I have it now amply, by shaking the hand of so promising a namesake."
The young mother made an effort, smiled dolefully, and let her burning hand rest in Mr. Gladsden's, while he kissed her equally heated forehead, and then threw a few of the already wilting spring flowerets upon the lap of the little corpse.
During this, Father Serafino had come into the hall. Instantly on seeing him all chatter ceased, and on every side the ladies and gentlemen respectfully saluted him.
Meanwhile, Gladsden turned sorrowfully to a lady in black and rose satin, covered with jewelry, in whom he well knew again, spite of a loss of slenderness, the graceful Dolores who had been his passenger on the Little Joker.
Her emotion was too full for words as she clasped his proffered hand in both hers, shining with rings, among which emeralds and pearls gleamed, due to that hoard he had inherited and shared with this noble family.