THE LADY AND THE PAGE.

A STORY OF MOORISH SPAIN.

———

BY MARY S. PEASE.

———

Many years ago there dwelt, not far from Seville, in a castle so old it was a wonder what kept it from tumbling down, a Spanish hidalgo, remarkable for but two things—a very beautiful daughter, and the very strict manner in which he secluded her from the world. In every other respect this hidalgo was like other hidalgos, full of pride, sporting a pair of Spanish mustachios, and wearing a stiletto by his side.

The wonderful beauty of his daughter, the Doña Ysabel, had somehow—in spite of the seclusion in which she was kept—become proverbial, and the fame thereof had spread from Gibraltar to the Pyrenees. Not a caballero of that chivalric country but would have given his best steed for one glance from the eyes of the hidalgo’s daughter—eyes which shrouded under their long lashes, were like diamonds winning across the midnight. Her hair was silky and soft, darker and more glossy than the raven’s wing—and in such luxuriance did it grow that she might almost have hid herself in it, as did “the lady of the golden locks” in the fairy tale. Her face was fitful as an April day. It was the clear and faithful mirror to the warmest, purest heart in all Spain. And never did a young heart beat within a lighter and more graceful form than that of the Doña Ysabel.