"How beautiful it all is," said Anselmo. "On such days how thin the veil separating the seen from the unseen. Our vision seems only just withholden. What an awakening it will be to the higher life!"

With him, also, we had to part; a yet more reluctant farewell than that lately gone through at the barracks. But we hoped to meet again. This must not be our only visit to Gerona; and here Anselmo wished to live and die. He had no ambition for a higher destiny, though even this, it has lately been whispered to us, may one day come to him without change of scene.

We parted as friends part, not mere acquaintances of a day. There is, we have said, a magnetic power that bridges over time and conventionality.

As in dreams we sometimes live a lifetime in a moment, so in friendship an hour may do the work of years. Again the clock struck twelve; Anselmo's signal. History repeats itself. To-day he went alone, leaving us standing amidst the ruins. We watched him as he climbed the rugged heights of the cathedral, a tall, dark, graceful figure upon the landscape. At the north doorway he turned, gazed steadily at us for a few moments, raised his hands as though in benediction, and the next moment was lost to sight.

A glory appeared to depart; the spot seemed emptier without him; there was less brightness in the sunshine. We hastened to change the scene, and in the lively streets of the fair, to disperse the sad current of our thoughts. For our hours in Gerona the beautiful were numbered.

CHAPTER XII.

A MINISTERING SPIRIT.

Sweet illusions--Everything seen and done--True devotion--In the vortex--Sunshine and blue skies--Less demon-like pit--Lights and shadows--Arcades lose their gloom--Rosalie--Charm of Anselmo--Romance not dead--H. C. in ecstasy--Escorting an angel--Cathedral steps--San Filiu--A lovely spot--Ancient house--Mullions and latticed windows--Pa.s.sing away--Rosalie's ministrations--Resignation--Rosalie's farewell--"Consuelo"--Taken from the evil to come--The door closed--Ernesto's world topsy-turvy--Ernesto turns business-like--The catapult again--Up the broad staircase--Not the ghostly hour--Madame in her bureau--Posting ledger--Balance on right side--Madame philosophises--Shrieks to the rescue--"My dear daughter"--Our host and the nightingales--Waiting for next year's leaves--The Senorita Costello--Delormais on the wing--Another vigil--Promise given--Departure--Inspector quails--H. C. collapses--The susceptible age--Lady Maria alters her will--Possession nine-tenths of the law.

It was not an unmixed sorrow. At sunrise the next morning preparations for the cattle fair must commence. By mid-day bipeds and quadrupeds would rule the town, our beautiful palace find itself desecrated. In its present half-deserted condition an air of refinement and antiquity hung over it. One felt, almost saw and heard, the great crowd of cavaliers and dames, besacked and besworded, that had pa.s.sed up and down the broad marble staircase in the picturesque and romantic Middle Ages. All the ghosts and ghostly sighs and shadows lurking in secret corners, halls and corridors, would vanish before the vulgar herd. Under this influence Gerona the beautiful would become intolerable; better leave with impressions and sweet illusions undisturbed.

And little remained. Everything had been seen, everything done. We had said farewell to Anselmo, then plunged into the vortex of the fair, where noise, crowd and confusion fought with each other. Sunshine and blue skies were having their usual effect upon the Spanish people. Every one was in high spirits, inclined to patronise booths, monkeys, and fortune-tellers.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A GERONA PATIO.]

Every hour spent in the ancient town strengthened our devotion. This old-world atmosphere, these marvellous outlines lost nothing by familiarity. Standing once more on the bridge we confessed how difficult it would be to look upon such a scene again. To-day, under the sunshine the chestnut-roasters appeared less demon-like, the bed of the river less a bottomless pit. A little of the weird element had departed. The sense of mystery so strongly felt last night could not live in this brilliant atmosphere.

By way of compensation the deep lights and shadows appealed to the imagination quite as strongly as any sense of mystery. They filled the air with life and motion. The trees rustled and gleamed and glinted and drew moving pictures upon the white houses. Arcades lost their gloom, but not their charm, and these apart from all else raise Gerona far above the rank of any ordinary town. As we left the fair and turned into the quieter streets, it seemed almost a natural consequence that from one of the deep round arches there glided the quiet, graceful form of Rosalie. She had foretold that we should meet again.

"But for the last time, Rosalie," as she greeted us with her rare sweet smile. "We leave this evening. Time presses, and we would avoid to-morrow's ceremony."

"They are terrible days," returned Rosalie. "No wonder you escape them.

Until they are over we keep as far as possible out of sight. You have seen Anselmo to-day, senor?"

"Yes, and wished him farewell. It was a sad moment. He alone has repaid us for our visit to Gerona. We should like to spend many days here and know him more intimately."

"Days of profit, if I may venture to say so, senor. The more you saw Anselmo, the more you would love him. It is every one's experience.

Apart from his saintliness, you cannot tell on a slight acquaintance how much there is in him. His is not the goodness of a weak but of a strong nature; intellectually strong; but so refined and unambitious that to an ordinary observer it may seem pa.s.sive. He is of a different order from Pere Delormais, who is full of action and energy, and does so much and does all well. But Delormais was born to great things; they are his of inheritance. Anselmo had not these privileges."

"The greater merit, Rosalie; but we think you count for very much in his life. He has kept you before him, and your image has inspired him to deeper holiness."

"Ah, no, senor. Rather is it the other way. He has been my guide and king, as I told you yesterday. Anselmo is above all earthly mortals, all human aid. But you will meet him again and know him better. This your first visit to Gerona will not be your last. Few people come here, but those who do always return. I think of it as a place apart, possessing ideal beauties, a separate atmosphere. And for me," she smiled, "everything seems imbued with the charm of Anselmo. The bells ring out his name; I hear it in the song of the birds, the whispering of the trees. Romance is not dead within me because I am Sister Anastasia."

Here H. C. struck in, unable to contain himself any longer.

"If I were here very long," he cried excitedly, "I should fall madly in love with you myself, and write reams of poetry to your lovely eyes. I have never seen such eyes. They have all the light of heaven in them, and--and--all the beauty of earth."

Rosalie laughed.

"You are very outspoken, senor. I could have told you were a poet from your look. But you must exercise your genius on a worthier theme. On me it would be wasted; my life, all I have, all I am, is dedicated to Heaven. Time is pa.s.sing. Will you not go with me on my way that I may show you one of the loveliest spots in Gerona?"

So Rosalie walked through the quiet old-world streets with an escort on either side. We felt we were attending an angel. H. C. did not attempt to conceal his rapture. It is a weakness of which he seems unconscious.

Rosalie pointed out many a house in which she had ministered; here soothing the pillow of the dying, there rescuing one from the grasp of death. Under her guidance the streets seemed more beautiful than ever; a holier atmosphere surrounded them.

At length we reached the wonderful steps leading to the cathedral. They were flooded with sunlight and gave dignity to the ugly west front, so unworthy of the splendid interior. Pa.s.sing under the fine old gateway and turning to the left, we found ourselves close to the old church of San Filiu. In days gone by, when the Moors captured Gerona and changed its cathedral into a mosque, the Christians had worshipped here.

Whatever its interior at that time, it is now dark, gloomy and depressing.

Rosalie entered a quiet street beyond, a short narrow turning of only a few yards, then halted.

It was, as she had said, one of the loveliest spots in Gerona; so hidden that few would find it by chance. A small house of great antiquity but perfectly preserved. An exquisite Gothic archway over which the house was built led into a small quadrangle. Beside this archway was a mullioned window with latticed panes. We imagined the quaint old room within and longed to enter. Above this was another latticed window with Gothic mullions and ornaments. It was open, and sweet-scented flowers threw their perfume upon the air. This was crowned by a sloping roof with red tiles bearing all the tone and beauty of age. At least three centuries must have rolled over them unmolested. Even H. C. forgot the charms of Rosalie and became enthusiastic in favour of still life.

"It is my destination," said Rosalie. "I was hastening here yesterday when you saw me crossing the square of San Pedro. Where those lovely flowers are scenting the air, a lovelier earthly flower is pa.s.sing away.

Consumption is doing its work. The only child of a mother who will soon have no tie left on earth. So Heaven sometimes sees well to draw our souls upwards. There are those who need this discipline. Trouble, like everything else, enters into the wise economy of G.o.d's purposes. I doubt if a single unnecessary care or pain is dealt out to us. But here the hand of affliction is charged with a heavy burden. The invalid is a fair maiden of seventeen, pure and beautiful. Her resignation is a gift from heaven, a lesson to us all. But for that I don't know what would become of the mother."

As she spoke a face appeared at the window above the flowers; the sweet gentle face of a middle-aged woman, pale and pathetic, to which the mantilla added grace and charm. There was a look of patient sorrow in the dark eyes, lightened by a momentary gleam as they caught sight of Rosalie.

"Sister Anastasia," said the subdued woman, "the sun is not more true to its course than you to your hour. My child hungers for you. Next to her mother you are her only consolation."

"I come, I come," replied Sister Anastasia. "Tell Rosita that in my bag I bring her refreshment for the mind and food for the soul. Ah, senor, this is indeed farewell, since you tell me your moments in Gerona are numbered. The sun shines, the skies are blue, let these be an omen of your life until we meet again. For by the love you bear Anselmo--you must love him; we all love him--you must return. He will be here and so shall I. We shall probably see no change until Heaven calls us to the great change of all. This fair child above will have pa.s.sed away, and the mother's heart will be desolate. But Heaven that brings the sorrow will heal the wound. Adieu senor. Adieu."

[Ill.u.s.tration: OLD HOUSES ON THE RIVER: GERONA.]

She glided through the archway and on the other side gained admittance to the house. The door opened to receive her, a quiet voice was heard in greeting. "You are an angel of light," it said. "Your new name should have been Consuelo. But, oh, Anastasia, my child is worse. I fear me a few days will see the ending, and I shall be lonely and desolate upon earth. Why did Heaven take the child and spare the mother?"

"G.o.d knows best," returned Anastasia. "Let His will be done. Be sure He who deals the blow will not forsake you. Your child is spared the sorrows of earth. You will think of her as in safe keeping; taken from the evil to come."

We heard no more. The door was closed. Let us leave Rosalie in her true element, a ministering spirit shedding abroad more happiness and consolation, more holy influence, than she at all realised; doing all with that unconscious modesty which was one of her greatest gifts. The picture of that last interview remains vividly in our memory. A little mediaeval old house that has scarce its equal in Gerona; the flowers behind the latticed panes and the sad, subdued face appearing above them; Rosalie's eyes looking up in all their loveliness with an expression of almost divine sympathy.

We went our way, richer for having known her. It was our last look upon these cathedral precincts. The afternoon shadows were lengthening as we went back through the quiet streets to the hotel. All the brilliant glory of the day had departed. These repeated farewells were depressing, yet not quite over, for as we approached the Fonda who should be standing at their own door but Ernesto and his mother. We had not met them since the previous day when they had disappeared within the lion's den, and we had gone round to the reeds and the river.

"Ernesto! how is this? Why are you not at school?"

"School, senor!" opening very wide eyes. "Fair week is holiday. We should have a revolution if they attempted school upon us. For this one week in the year we change places with our fathers and mothers, pastors and teachers. They obey and we command."

"We congratulate you on this topsy-turvy state of things. But as you are strong be merciful. Remember that Black Monday comes. Cinderella went back to her rags at midnight; you must go back to school and good work.

And the monkeys? You are still at large; we feared the opposite, as you had not brought us your report."

"Oh! I brought it, senor; but it was rather late, and Senor Lasoli said you were at the opera. You should have seen the monkeys!" And here he went off into convulsions at the recollection of the performance. "They couldn't understand what was inside the lozenges to bite their tongues so! First they would take a nibble, then rub the lozenge on the arm; then another nibble; then a whole torrent of monkey-swearing and lozenge-rubbing because it kept on biting and burning. I quite thought I should die with laughing."

From the way he laughed now, it seemed doubtful whether all danger was over.

"But that is not the worst, senor," said the mother, at length making herself heard. "Will you believe that the boy has a wretched catapult in his pocket, and there will be any number of broken windows and a.s.sa.s.sinated cats in the town. I don't know what will become of us. If there is one thing I dread more than another, it is a catapult. They are the implements of the devil."

"There is absolutely no fear," laughed Ernesto. "I never broke a window in my life--at least, hardly ever. As for cats, they are quite outside the law of murder. A dead cat is as rare as a dead donkey. Are you really going to-day, senor? Then I shall have no more pleasure in the fair, though this year it is better than usual. The lions roared like thunder, and the monkeys accepted all the lozenges. They were punished for their greediness. But will you come back to spend a whole month at Gerona? And if you allowed me, I would take you to some of the excursions in the neighbourhood. There are any number within twenty miles; ruined churches and deserted monasteries. I don't care much about them myself, but I know many who do. It seems to me that a good show and a handful of chestnuts are worth all the wretched old ruins in the world."

In spite of this vandalism, we a.s.sured Ernesto that when we spent a month in Gerona he should have the honour of escorting us, provided it was not school-time. He wished to bind us to a given date, thereby showing a decided talent for business, but we refused to be committed to the inevitable. We left mother and son together, a picture of domestic happiness. As we disappeared under the archway of the hotel, Ernesto held up his catapult in triumph, successfully parrying his mother's attempt to obtain possession of the forbidden weapon. She evidently looked upon it as only one degree below an infernal machine.

Once more up the broad marble staircase. But it was not the ghostly hour, and sighs and rustlings and shadows were in the land of the unseen. Madame in her bureau looked the picture of ma.s.sive contentment.

At this moment she was posting a ledger, and the balance was evidently on the right side.