gardens and farm. In the former, the fruits I have already described were growing in profusion, besides vegetables of all sorts. In one direction spread out fields of Indian corn of luxuriant growth. In the meadows were cattle and sheep with beautiful white fleeces and long tails, while numbers of horses were seen galloping about at liberty.
“I sincerely hope the Spaniards will not pay a visit to this place,” observed Mr Laffan to me, as Uncle Richard and Juan were walking on ahead; “they would soon make a clean sweep of these cattle and the corn-fields.”
This estate was only one of many others of a similar character scattered over the country, but probably Egido benefited by the energy and perseverance of its owner. My father used to remark, that Dona Maria was twice as rich as she would have been had she married a countryman with an estate double the size of her own. The people also were well looked after, having nice cottages, well thatched, and kept clean and tidy. Uncle Richard’s plan was to go about giving prizes to those who had the best-kept huts. He had a school for the children, too, where they were taught to read the Bible, notwithstanding the objection at first raised by the parish priest—who was, however, at length induced to read it himself. He one day came to Uncle Richard and acknowledged it to be the best book for all who could read. Although the honest padre at first sided with the oppressors of his country, he now became an earnest Liberal, but avoided taking any open part in politics, and confined himself to instructing the people. Uncle Richard was no theologian, and had never had an argument in his life with Padre Vincente. His custom was simply to open the Bible and point to certain parts, and say, “Read that; if this book was written by God’s command—and I am sure it was—that’s what he says, not I.” Padre Vincente might not have called himself a Protestant, but he certainly preached the gospel, and the people under his charge were the best conducted and happiest in the neighbourhood.
On our return to the house, we found dinner ready. Dona Maria, during our absence, had been busy superintending its preparation; and if the table did not groan with delicacies, the feast was as good a one as we could have desired to eat. Mr Laffan, Hugh, and I showed, at all events, that we enjoyed it, though Juan was unusually silent, and ate but little. There was something on his mind, which came out after dinner.
“Duncan,” he said, “I want you and Señor Laffan to assist me in giving Dona Dolores a serenade, as soon as the shades of evening come on. You sing, and he plays the guitar. I understand that Dona Dolores is fond of music, although she tells me that I trifle away my time by practising it.”
Uncle Richard laughed when Juan told him what he was going to do. “If I were a bachelor I would accompany you, although such kind of singing as yours is somewhat out of my way. I don’t think, however, that the young lady would be charmed by ‘Cease, rude Boreas,’ ‘One night it blew a hurricane,’ ‘On board of the Arethusa,’ or such other songs as I used to sing afloat.”
We had no difficulty in procuring a couple of guitars. Juan took one, Mr Laffan the other, and as soon as it began to grow dark we set out. We soon approached the front of Dona Dolores’ residence. It was a two-storied building, with a balcony on one side overhanging the road some little way from the entrance-gate.
Juan and I were walking together, Mr Laffan bringing up the rear, when suddenly the former stopped and grasped my arm. “I see some one on the balcony,” he whispered. “It must be she—how fortunate! She would consider it rude to go away when once we begin; let us lose no time.”
We cautiously approached.
“Suppose it is only her old duenna, Señora Ortes!”