[Ill.u.s.tration: RUINS OF POBLET.]

"Quite the contrary. We offer you our congratulations, and think you a very lucky man, Loretta a fortunate woman."

"Thank you, senor," replied Lorenzo, laughing--he seemed made up of good-humour. "I think it promises well. You see we are neither of us children, but old enough to know our own mind. Loretta is twenty-eight, I am thirty-two, and as far as I can make out, we have neither of us cared for anybody before. Our marriage was evidently made in heaven. And then Mr. Caro settled the matter by accepting me as his master."

"And you love the donkeys, we hear?"

"I love all animals in general," returned Lorenzo, "and of course Loretta's donkeys in particular. If she could have an additional attraction in my eyes, it is her power over the dumb birds and beasts, which proves the goodness of her soul. I cannot approach her in that respect."

"And when are you going to be married?"

"Has Loretta not told you that?" said Lorenzo, the colour flushing to his face. "We are to be married to-morrow morning. Everything is ready.

Loretta has her wedding-gown, and our rooms have been furnished some time. They are over my workshop, so that I shall be able to hear her singing whilst I am planing and sawing below. Here it is, senor; will you not come in and look at it? I think," a bright light in his eyes, "we shall be very happy. After we are married to-morrow we go to Barcelona for a few days, where I have a prosperous brother who will take us in. Then we come back and settle down to our life. Yes, I think we shall be as happy as the day's long, senor."

We had no doubt about it. Happiness in this world is for such as these.

Excellent natures, saved from the great cares and responsibilities of those in a higher walk; working for their daily bread, which is abundantly supplied; contented with their lot; knowing nothing of impossible wants and wishes; loving and shedding abroad their love. It is such natures as Loretta's and Lorenzo's that are the truly happy.

Their very names harmonized. But they are rare amongst their own cla.s.s; one might almost say rare in any cla.s.s; the exception, not the rule. It was good to come upon two such people, and to find that a kindly fate had reserved them for each other.

We left Lorenzo in his workshop, a strong, manly fellow, using his plane with a skilful hand, and went our way.

Right and left Loretta was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she was arranging things at home for the last time. The last evening in the old nest. She might be contemplating her wedding-gown, lost in thoughts of the past or dreams of the future. But she was not one to look on the sad side of life, or to spend time in melancholy introspection.

From the picturesque old bridge beneath which the river ran its swift course, the scene was wild, picturesque and lonely. With all our loitering we had an hour to wait for the train. At the station we found Loretta, apparently anything but low-spirited. She was accompanied by a well-dressed woman who looked as if the world went well with her.

Loretta saw us and came forward.

"Senor, you are back from Poblet. Tell me, did I exaggerate its beauty?

Will you not come again, if only to ride the gentle Caro?"

"Poblet far surpa.s.ses anything we expected from it, Loretta. But why did you not tell us that to-morrow was your wedding-day?"

"I did not like to," she returned, laughing. "And yet I am too old to be silly about it. How did you find out, senor? Surely the old guardian at Poblet knows nothing? I have not been near him for three weeks."

"We met Lorenzo, and he told us. Loretta, you are a happy couple. He will make a famous husband, and you a model wife."

"Ah, senor, I shall try my best; but sometimes I think I am not good enough for him. He is such a brave man, my Lorenzo."

"Why are you here, Loretta?"

"To escort Lorenzo's cousin, senor, who came over to see me to-day for the last time before my wedding. She lives in Tarragona. We have been great friends, and she has long hoped Lorenzo and I would marry."

She carried in her hand, this cousin of Lorenzo's, a gla.s.s water-bottle of rare and exquisite shape. We could not help admiring it in strong terms.

"It is not to be bought anywhere," she said. "It is old and they do not make them now. Senor, it would give me real pleasure if you would accept it. I do not mean in Spanish fashion, but truly and sincerely."

This was very evident, but the gift had to be refused, however kindly offered.

We walked up and down the platform in face of one of the loveliest sunsets ever seen. In spite of its gorgeous colouring there was a great calmness and repose about it. Wonderful tones from crimson to pale opal spread half over the sky. Every moment they changed from beauty to beauty, and lighted up the outlines of the town into something rare and ethereal. We have already said there is no country like Spain for the splendour of its sunsets, and especially in their afterglow. They are truly amongst her glories.

At last the train came up and shut out the heavenly vision. Loretta approached and said good-bye.

"You will come again, senor, and ride Caro. I shall be married then, and both Lorenzo and I will escort you to Poblet. It will delight us to serve you. We will make it a holiday. But do not tarry. Caro is not as young as he was, though I believe donkeys live for ever."

"Now, Loretta," we said, whilst the train waited, "it is our ambition to send you a wedding-gift. What shall it be?"

"Senor, you are too good. What have I done? I could never----"

"Loretta, the train may start at any moment."

"Senor, I have all I could wish for, excepting----" She hesitated.

"Loretta, the moments are flying."

"Senor, it is too great an object. I have not the courage----"

"Loretta, the guard signals. Another moment and you are lost."

"Well, then, senor, I long for a clock for our mantelpiece. We had made up our minds to wait, and----"

"Loretta, the clock is yours. It shall be pure white. A golden Cupid shall strike the bells. In his other hand he shall hold a gla.s.s which turns with the hours, running golden sands. Fare you well, Loretta."

The engine whistled. The carriage moved. Our last look was a vision of a comely woman standing on the platform, a tall erect figure gazing after the train, the reflection of the afterglow lighting up her face to something beyond mere earthly beauty.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

THE GARDEN OF SPAIN.

Charms of Tarragona--Dream of the past--Quasimodo comes not--Of another world--Host's offer--Francisco inconsolable--A mixed sorrow--No more holidays--List of grievances--Fair scene--Luxuriance of the South--Hospitalet--Pilgrims of the Middle Ages--Amposta--Centre of lost centuries--Historical past--Here worked St. Paul--Our fellow-travellers--Undertones--Enter old priest--Draws conclusions--Love's young dream--Impressions and appearances--Not always a priest--Fool's paradise--Youth and age--Awaking to realities--Driven out of paradise--Was it a judgment?--Calmness returns--Judging in mercy--Nameless grave--"Writ in water"--Withdrawing from the world--Entering the church--Busy life--Romances of the Confessional--"To Eve in Paradise"--Tortosa--Garden of Spain--Vinaroz--Wise mermen--Cradle of history and romance--Gibraltar of the West--A race apart--Benicarlo--Flourishing vineyards--"If the English only knew"--Eve recognises priest--"I am that charming daughter"--Lovely cousin engaged--Count Pedro de la Torre--Mutual recognitions--Congratulations--Breaking news to H. C.--Despair--"To Adam in Hades"--Gallant priest--Saved from temptation.

With sorrowful hearts we turned our backs one morning upon Tarragona.

Though bound for Valencia, Tarragona the delightful possessed charms Valencia could never rival. Not again should we meet with such a cathedral, such cloisters, or even so original and enthusiastic a sacristan. We were leaving all that wonderful historical atmosphere that made this exceptional place a Dream of the Past, and great was our regret.

We had stood near the tomb of the Scipios and fancied ourselves back in the days when our own era was dawning. Before us the ever-changing yet changeless sea looked just as it must have looked when they, loving it, decided to sleep within sound of its waters. In a last moonlight visit to the cathedral we had waited and listened in hope of hearing Quasimodo's footsteps, seeing his quaint and curious form approaching.

He never came. No unseen talisman whispered to him our desire. Perhaps it was as well. A second experience is never the same as the first. The subtle charm of the new and the strange, the unexpected, the unprepared, is no longer there. Quasimodo now dwelt in our minds as a being spiritual, intangible, of another world. That he belonged to the highest order in this, is certain. The influence of his music haunted us, haunts us still. In waking and sleeping dreams we live over and over again the weird charm and experience of that wonderful night; see the moonbeams falling in shafts of clear-cut light across pillars and aisles and arches; hear and feel the touch, as of a pa.s.sing breath, of the ghostly visitants from Shadow-land. All the marvellous music steals into our soul. There can be but one Quasimodo in the world. We doubt if there was ever another at any time endowed with his marvellous faculty. It was pain and grief to feel that we should see and hear him no more.

Our very host added slightly to our reluctant leaving by declaring that if we would only stay another week he would charge us half-price for everything: nay, we should settle our own terms. Francisco was inconsolable, but perhaps a little selfishness was mixed with his sorrow.

"No more holidays," he cried. "No more excursions to Poblet; no escape from French lessons. And yet, senor, there are other places besides Poblet, and every one of them would have delighted you. Think of all the lost luncheons; all the first-cla.s.s compartments that will now be empty.

There are lovely excursions, too, by sea." The boy's catalogue of grievances was as long as Don Giovanni's list of transgressions.

But time the inexorable refused to stand still, and when the final hour struck, the relentless omnibus carried us away.

Francisco accompanied us to the station, having an idea that without his help we should inevitably go wrong. He was a witness to the abominably rude station-master, who in this respect has not his equal in Spain, according to our experience. Finally we moved off.