cuitous path concealed in prickly brushwood, and paused before a huge, mis-shapen crag, seemingly half buried in the earth; in this a door, formed of one solid stone, flew back at their touch; the coffin, taken with reverence from the cart, was borne on their shoulders through the dark and narrow passage, and down the winding stair, till they stood in safety in the vale; in the secret entrance by which they entered, the lock closed as they passed, and was apparently lost in the solid wall. Three or four awaited and Castile. The gentlemen, squires, and pages, of Morales' own household followed; and then came on horse and on foot, with arms reversed, and lowered heads, the gallant troops who had so often followed Morales to victory, and under him had so ably aided in placing Isabella on her throne; an immense body of citizens, all in mourning, closed the procession. Every shop had been closed, every flag half-masted, and every balcony, by which the body passed, hung with black. The cathedral church was thronged, and holy and thrilling the service, which con-them-nobles, who had craved leave of absence signed dust to dust, and hid for ever from the eyes of his fellow men, the last decaying remains of one so universally beloved. The coffin of ebony and silver, partly open, so as to disclose the face of the corpse, as was customary with Catholic burials of those of high or priestly rank, and the lower part covered with a superb velvet pall, rested before the high altar during the chaunted service; at the conclusion of which the coffin was closed, the lid screwed down, and lowered with slow solemnity into the vault beneath. A requiem, chaunted by above a hundred of the sweetest and richest voices, sounding in thrilling unison with the deep bass and swelling notes of the organ, had concluded the solemn rites, and the procession departed as it came; but for some days the gloom in the city continued; the realization of the public loss seemed only beginning to be fully felt, as excitement subsided. Masses for the soul of the Catholic warrior, were of course sung for many succeeding days. It was at midnight, a very short time after this public interment, that a strange group were assembled within the cathedral vaults, at the very hour that mass for the departed was being chaunted in the church above their heads; it consisted of monks and travelling friars, accompanied by five or six of the highest nobility; their persons concealed in coarse mantles and shrouding hoods; they had borne with them, through the subterranean passages of the crypt, leading to the vaults, a coffin so exactly similar in workmanship and inscription to that which contained the remains of their late companion, that to distinguish the one from the other was impossible. The real one, moved with awe and solemnity, was conveyed to a secret recess close to the entrance of the crypt, and replaced in the vault by the one they had brought with them. As silently, as voicelessly as they had entered and done their work, so they departed. The following night, at the same hour, the coffin of Morales, over which had been nailed a thick black pall, so that neither name, inscription, nor ornament could be perceived, was conveyed from Segovia in a covered cart, belonging, it appeared, to the monastery of St. Francis, situated some leagues southward, and attended by one or two monks and friars of the same order. The party proceeded leisurely, travelling more by night than by day, diminishing gradually in number till, at the entrance of a broad and desolate plain, only four remained with the cart. Over this plain they hastened, then wound through a cir for a brief interval from the court, and who had come by different paths to the secret retreat (no doubt already recognized by our readers as the Vale of Cedars), to lay Morales with his fathers, with the simple form, yet solemn service peculiar to the burials of their darkly hidden race. The grave was already dug beside that of Manuel Henriquez; the coffin resting, during the continuance of a brief prayer and psalm, in the little temple, was then borne to the ground marked out, which, concealed by a thick hedge of cypress and cedar, lay some little distance from the temple; for, in their secret race, it was not permitted for the House destined to the worship of the Most High, to be surrounded by the homes of the dead. A slow and solemn hymn accompanied the lowering of the coffin; a prayer in the same unknown language; a brief address, and the grave was filled up; the noble dead left with his kindred, kindred alike in blood as faith; and ere the morning rose, the living had all departed, save the few retainers of the houses of Henriquez and Morales, to whose faithful charge the retreat had been entrusted. No proud effigy marked those simple graves; the monuments of the dead were in the hearts of the living. But in the cathedral of Segovia a lordly monument arose to the memory of Ferdinand Morales, erected, not indeed merely for idle pomp, but as a tribute from the gratitude of a Sovereign-and a Nation's love. his own. "See how my plans for the reduction of these heathen Moors are quietly working; they are divided within themselves, quarrelling more and more fiercely. Pedro Pas brings me information, that the road to Alhama is well nigh defenceless, and therefore the war should commence in that quarter. But how is this, love?" he added, after speaking of his intended measures at some length, and perceiving that they failed to elicit Isabella's interest as usual. "Thy thoughts are not with me this evening." "With thee, my husband, but not with the Moors," replied the Queen, faintly smiling. "I confess to a pre-occupied mind; but just now my heart is so filled with sorrowing sympathy, that I can think but of individuals, not of nations. In the last council, in which the question of this Moorish war was agitated, our faithful Morales was the most eloquent. His impassioned oratory so haunted me, as your Grace spoke, that I can scarcely now believe it hushed for ever, save for the too painful witness of its truth." "His lovely wife thou meanest, Isabel? Poor girl! How fares she?" "As she has been since that long faint, which even I believed was death; pale, tearless, silent. Even the seeing her husband's body, which I permitted, hoping the sight would break that marble calm, has had no effect, save to increase, if possible, the rigidity of suffering. It is for her my present errand." "For her!" replied the King, surprised." "What can I do for her, apart from thee?" "I will answer the question by another, Ferdinand. Is it true that she must appear as evidence against the murderer in to-morrow's trial ?" "Isabella, this must be," answered the King earnestly. "There seems to me no alternative; and yet surely this cannot be so repugnant to her feelings. Would it not be more injustice, both to her and to the dead, to withhold any evidence likely to assist in the discovery of the murderer?" "But why lay so much stress on her appearance? Is there not sufficient evidence without her?" "Not to satisfy me as to Stanley's guilt," replied the King. "I have heard indeed from Don Luis Garcia quite enough, if it be true evidence, to condemn him. But I like not this Garcia; it is useless now to examine wherefore. I doubt him so much, that I would not, if possible, lay any stress upon his words. He has declared on oath that he saw Stanley draw his sword upon Morales, proclaim aloud his undying hatred, and swear that he would take his life or lose his own; but that, if I were not satisfied with his assurance, Donna Marie herself had been present, had seen and heard all, and could no doubt give a very efficient reason, in her own beautiful person, for Stanley's hatred to her husband, as such matters were but too common in Spain. I checked him with a stern rebuke; for if ever there were a double-meaning hypocrite, this Don Luis is one. Besides, I cannot penetrate how he came to be present at this stormy interview. He has evaded, he thinks successfully, my questions on this head; but if, as I believe, it was dishonourably obtained, I am the less inclined to trust either him or his intelligence. If Marie were indeed present, which he insists she was, her testimony is the most important of any. If she confirm Don Luis' statement, give the same account of the interview between her husband and Stanley, and a reason for this suddenly proclaimed enmity; if she swear that he did utter such threatening words, I will neither hope nor try to save him; he is guilty, and must die. But if she deny that he thus spoke; if she declares on oath that she knew of no cause for, nor of the existence of any enmity, I care not for other proofs, glaring though they be. Accident, or some atrocious design against him, as an envied foreigner, may have thrown them together. Let Marie swear that this Garcia has spoken falsely, and Stanley shall live, were my whole kingdom to implore his death. In Donna Marie's evidence there can be no deceit; she can have no wish that Stanley should be saved; as her hus band's supposed murderer he must be an object of horror and loathing. Still silent, Isabel? Is not her evidence required?" "It is indeed. And yet I feel that, to demand it, will but increase the trial already hers." "As how?" inquired the King, somewhat astonished. "Surely thou canst not mean -" "I mean nothing; I know nothing," interrupted Isabella hastily. "I can give your Grace no reason, save my own feelings. Is there no way to prevent this public exposure, and yet serve thy purpose equally?" Ferdinand mused. "I can think of none," he said. "Does Marie know of this summons? and has her anguish sent thee hither? Or is it merely the pleadings of thine own heart, my Isabel?" "She does not know it. The summons ap peared to me so strange and needless, I would not let her be informed till I had sought thee." "But thou seest it is not needless!" answered the King anxiously, for in the most trifling matters he ever sought her acquiescence. "Needless it is not, my Liege. The life of the young foreigner, who has thrown himself so confidingly on our protection and friendship, must not be sacrificed without most convincing proofs of his guilt. Marie's evidence is indeed important; but would not your Grace's purpose be equally attained, if that evidence be given to me, her native Sovereign, in private, without the dread formula which, if summoned before a court of justice, may have fatal effects on a mind and frame already so severely tried? In my presence alone the necessary evidence may be given with equal solemnity, and with less pain to the poor sufferer herself." King Ferdinand again paused in thought. "But her words must be on oath, Isabel. Who will administer that oath ?" "Father Francis, if required. But it will surely be enough if she swear the truth to me. She cannot deceive me, even if she were so inclined. I can mark a quivering lip or changing colour, which others might pass unnoticed." "But how will this secret examination satisfy the friends of the murdered?" again urged the cautious King. "How will they be satisfied, if I acquit Stanley from Donna Marie's evidence, and that evidence be kept from them?" "Is not the word of their sovereign enough? If Isabella say so it is, what noble of Castile would disgrace himself or her by a doubt as to its truth?" replied the Queen proudly. "Let me clearly understand all your Grace requires, and leave the rest to me. If Marie corroborates Garcia's words, why, on his evidence sentence may be pronounced without her appearance in it at all; but if she deny in the smallest tittle his report, in my presence they shall confront each other, and fear not the truth shall be elicited, and if possible Stanley saved. I may be deceived, and Marie not refuse to appear as witness against him; if so, there needs not my interference. I would but spare her increase of pain, and bid her desolate heart cling to me as her mother and her friend. When my subjects look upon me thus, my husband, then, and then only is Isabella what she would be." And do they not already thus regard thee, my own Isabel?" replied the king, gazing with actual reverence upon her; " and as such, will future ages reverence thy name. Be it as thou wilt. Let Marie's own feelings decide the question. She must take part in this trial, either in public or private; she must speak on oath, for life and death hang on her words, and her decision must be speedy. It is sunset now, and ere to-morrow's noon she must have spoken, or be prepared to appear." Ere Queen Isabella reached her own apartments her plan was formed. Don Luis' tale had confirmed her suspicions as to the double cause of Marie's wretchedness; she had herself administered to her while in that dead faint -herself bent over her, lest the first words of returning consciousness should betray aught which the sufferer might wish concealed; but her care had been needless: no word passed those parched and ashy lips. The frame indeed for some days was powerless, and she acceded eagerly to Isabella's earnest proffer (for it was not command) to send for her attendants, and Occupy a suite of rooms in the castle, close to her royal mistress, in preference to returning to her own home; from which, in its desolate grandeur, she shrunk almost in loathing. For seven days after her loss she had not quitted her apartment, seen only by the Queen and her own woman; but after that interval, at Isabella's gently expressed wish, she joined her, in her private hours, amongst her most favoured attendants; called upon indeed for nothing save her presence! And little did her pre-occupied mind imagine how tenderly she was watched, and with what kindly sympathy her unexpressed thoughts were read. cious chamber, surrounded by her female attendants, with whom she was familiarly conversing, making them friends as well as subjects, yet so uniting dignity with kindness, that her favour was far more valued and more eagerly sought than had there been no superiority; yet, still it was more, for her perfect womanhood than her rank that she was so reverenced, so loved. At the farther end of the spacious chamber were several young girls, daughters of the nobles of Castile and Arragon, whom Isabella's maternal care for her subjects had collected around her, that their education might be carried on under her own eye, and so create for the future nobles of her country wives and mothers after her own exalted stamp. They were always encouraged to converse freely, and gaily amongst each other; for thus she learned their several characters, and guided them accordingly. There was neither restraint nor heaviness in her presence; for by a word, a smile, she could prove her interest in their simple pleasures, her sympathy in their eager youth. Apart from all, but nearest Isabella, silent and pale, shrouded in the sable robes of widowhoodthat painful garb which, in its voiceless eloquence of desolation, ever calls for tears, more especially when it shrouds the young; her beautiful hair, save two thick braids, concealed under the linen coif-sat Marie, lovely indeed still, but looking like one Royal madam, a page, from his grace the King, craves speech of Donna Marie." Admit him then." The boy entered, and with a low reverence advanced towards Marie. She looked up in his face bewildered-a bewilderment which Isabella perceived changed to a strong expression of mental torture, ere he ceased to speak. Ferdinand, king of Arragon and Castile," he said, "sends, with all courtesy, his royal greeting to Donna Marie Henriquez Morales, and forthwith commands her attendance at the solemn trial which is held to-morrow's noon; by her evidence to confirm or refute the charge brought against the person of Arthur Stanley, as being and having been the acknowledged enemy of the deceased Don Ferdinand Morales (God assoilize his soul!) and as having uttered words of murderous import, in her hearing. Resolved, to the utmost of his power, to do justice to the Living On the evening in question, Isabella was as to avenge the Dead, his royal highness is comseated, as was her frequent custom, in a spa-pelled thus to demand the testimony of Donna Marie, as she alone can confirm or refute this heavy and most solemn charge." There was no answer; but it seemed as if the messenger required none-imagining the royal command all sufficient for obedience-for be bowed respectfully as he concluded, and withdrew. Marie gazed after him, and her lip quivered as if she would have spoken-would have recalled him; but no word came, and she drooped her head on her hands, pressing her slender fingers strongly on her brow, as thus to bring back connected thought once more. What had he said? She must appear against Stanley she must speak his doom? Why did those fatal words which must condemn him, ring in her ears, as only that moment spoken? Her embroidery fell from her lap, and there was no movement to replace it. How long she thus sate she knew not; but, roused by the Queen's voice uttering her name, she started, and looked round her. She was alone with Isabella; who was gazing on her with such unfeigned commiseration, that, unable to resist the impulse, she darted forwards, and sinking at her feet, implored"Oh, madam-gracious madam! in mercy spare me this!" The Queen drew her tenderly to her, and said, with evident emotion "What am I to spare thee, my poor child? Surely thou wouldst not withhold aught that can convict thy husband's murderer? Thou wouldst not in mistaken mercy, elude for him the justice of the law?" "No-no,” murmured Marie; let the murderer die; but not Stanley! Oh, no-no; he would not lift his hand against my husband. Who says he slew him? Why do they attach so foul a crime to his unshadowed name? Let the murderer die; but it is not Arthur: I know it is not. Oh, do not slay him too!" Marie knew not the wild entreaty breathing in her words; but the almost severely penetrating gaze which Isabella had fixed upon her, recalled her to herself; a crimson flush mounted to cheek and brow, and, burying her face in the Queen's robe, she continued less wildly I Oh, madam, bear with me; I know not what say. Think I am mad; but oh, in mercy, ask me no question. Am I not mad, to ask thee to spare-spare him they call my husband's murderer? Let him die," and the wild tone returned, "if he indeed could strike the blow; but oh, let not my lips pronounce his death-doom! Gracious Sovereign, do not look upon me thus-I cannot bear that gaze." "Fear me not, poor sufferer," replied Isabella, mildly; "I will ask no question-demand nought that will give thee pain to answer-save that which justice compels me to require. That there is a double cause for all this wretchedness I cannot but perceive, and that I suspect its cause I may not deny; but guilty I will not believe thee, till thine own words or deeds proclaim it. Look up then, my poor child, unshrinkingly; I am no dread Sovereign to thee, painful as is the trial to which I fear I must subject thee. There are charges brought against young Stanley so 1 startling in their nature, that, much as we distrust his accuser, justice forbids our passing them unnoticed. Ön thy true testimony his Grace the King relies to confirm or refute them. Thy evidence must convict or save him." My evidence!" repeated Marie. "What can they ask of me of such weight? Save him!” she added, a sudden gleam of hope irradiating her pallid face, like a sunbeam upon snow. "Did your Grace say I could save him? Oh, speak, in mercy!" "Calm this emotion then, Marie, and thou shalt know all. It was for this I called thee hither. Sit thee on the settle at my feet, and listen to me, patiently, if thou canst. "Tis a harsh word to use to grief such as thine, my child," she added, caressingly, as she laid her hand on Marie's drooping head; "and I fear will only nerve thee for a still harsher trial. Believe me, I would have spared thee if I could; but all I can do is to bid thee choose the lesser of the two evils. Mark me well: for the sovereign of the murdered, the judge of the murderer, alike speak through me.' And clearly and forcibly she narrated all, with which our readers are already acquainted, through her interview with the King. She spoke very slowly, as if to give Marie time to weigh well each sentence. She could not see her countenance; nay she purposely refrained from looking at her, lest she should increase the suffering she was so unwillingly inflicting. For some minutes she paused as she concluded; then, as neither word nor sound escaped from Marie, she said, with emphatic earnestness--"If it will be a lesser trial to give thine evidence on oath to thy Queen alone, we are here to receive it. Our royal hus band-our loyal subjects-will be satisfied with Isabella's report. Thy words will be as sacredthy oath as valid as if thy testimony were received in public, thy oath administered by one of the holy fathers, with all the dread formula of the church. We have repeated all to which thy answers will be demanded; it remains for thee to decide whether thou wilt speak before his Grace the King and his assembled Junta, or here and now before thy native Sovereign. Pause ere thou dost answer-there is time enough." For a brief interval there was silence. The kind heart of the Queen throbbed painfully, so completely had her sympathy identified her with the beautiful being, who had so irresistibly claimed her cherishing love. But ere she had had time to satisfy herself as to the issue of the struggle so silently, yet so fearfully at work in her companion, Marie had arisen, and, with dignity and fearlessness, strangely at variance with the wild agony of her words, and manner before, stood erect before her Sovereign; and when she spoke, her voice was calm and firm. Queen of Spain!" she said. "My kind, gracious Sovereign! Would that words could speak one half the love, the devotion, all thy goodness has inspired; but they seem frozen, all frozen now, and it may be that I may never even prove them-that it will be my desolate fate, to seem less and less worthy of an affection I value more than life. Royal madam! I will appear at to-morrow's trial! Your Grace is startled; deeming it a resolve as strange as contradictory. Ask not the wherefore, gracious Sovereign; it is fixed unalterably. I will obey his Grace's summons. Its unexpected suddenness startled me at first; but it is over. Oh, Madam," she continued-tone, look, and manner becoming again those of the agitated suppliant-and she sunk once more at Isabella's feet: "In my wild agony I have forgotten the respect and deference due from a subject to her Sovereign; I have poured forth my misery, seemingly as regardless of kindness, as insensible to the wide distance between us. Oh, forgive me, my gracious Sovereign; and in token of thy pardon, grant me but one boon!" Whatever I may hear, so it be not meditated and unrepented guilt (which I know it cannot be), I will forgive, and love thee still. The holy saints bless and keep thee, my fair child!" And as Marie bent to salute the kind hand extended to her, Isabella drew her towards her, and fondly kissed her cheek. The unexpected caress, or some other secret feeling, subdued the overwrought energy at once; and for the first time since her husband's death, Marie burst into natural tears. But her purpose changed not; though Isabella's gentle and affectionate soothing, rendered it tenfold more painful to accomplish. (To be continued.) THE RAILWAY WHISTLE. Nought have I to forgive, my suffering child," replied the Queen, powerfully affected, and passing her arm caressingly round her kneeling favourite; "what is rank-sovereignty itself-in hours of sorrow? If I were so tenacious of dignity as thou fearest, I should have shrunk from that awful presence-affliction from a Father's hand-in which his children are all equals, Marie. And as for thy boon: be it what The Whistle; I love it—its shrill note—hark! it may, I grant it." | BY CAMILLA TOULMIN. Hath a music unto my soul, Richer and sweeter than throstle or lark Each day doth it teach me by some dream, If I choose to watch for the feathery steam, Hish-sh, there's a train which hath come with a speed To rival the carrier dove, "Thou sayest so now, my Liege; but when the hour to grant it comes, every feeling will revolt against it; even thine, my Sovereign, kind, generous, as thou art. Oh, Madam, thou wilt hear a strange tale to-morrow-one so fraught with mystery and marvel, thou wilt refuse to believe; but when the trial of to-morrow is past, then think on what I say now: what thou hearest will be TRUE-true as there is a Heaven above us; I swear it! Do not look upon me thus, my Sovereign, I am not mad—oh, would that I were! Dark, meaningless as my words seem now, to-morrow they will be distinct and clear enough. And then-then, if thou hast ever loved me, oh, grant the boon I implore thee now: whatever thou mayest hear, do not condemn me-do not cast me wholly from thee. A lover hath journey'd a hundred miles, More than ever shall I need thy protecting care. Oh, my Sovereign-thou who hast taught me so to love thee, in pity love me still !” 66 Strange wayward being," said Isabella, gazing doubtingly on the imploring face upturned to hers; "towards other than thyself such mystery would banish love for ever; but I will not doubt thee. Darkly as thou speakest, still I grant the boon. What can I hear of thee, to cast thee from me?" "Thou wilt hear of deceit, my liege," replied Marie, very slowly, and her eyes fell beneath the "thou wilt hear of long years of deceit and fraud, and many-many tongues will Queen's gaze; speak their scorn and condemnation. wilt thou grant it-then?" Then "Even then," replied Isabella, fearlessly; "an thou speakest truth at last, deceit itself will forgive. But thou art overwrought and anxious, and so layest more stress on some trivial fault than even I would demand. Go to thine own chamber now, and in prayer and meditation, gain strength for to-morrow's trial. Mocking the limbs of the racing steed It bringeth glad tidings from-some sick friend, And its nothing at all to do, For a kiss, perhaps-and a few sweet smiles, Knowledge hath travell'd--the People's, I mean-- For the wizard deeds of former years But small admiration claim, And a Wizard Servant here appears, That putteth them all to shame. He knoweth to work by the Press and the Boat, As a messenger from God, |