I, who am fed worse than the kennelled hound; I, who am clothed in rags,-Beltran Cruzado,— Not poor!

Prec. Thou hast a stout heart and strong hands.

Thou canst supply thy wants; what wouldst thou more?

Cruz. The gold of the Busné! give me his gold!

Prec. Beltran Cruzado! hear me once for all.
I speak the truth. So long as I had gold,
I gave it to thee freely, at all times,
Never denied thee; never had a wish
But to fulfil thine own. Now go in peace!

Be merciful, be patient, and erelong
Thou shalt have more.

Cruz.

And if I have it not, Thou shalt no longer dwell here in rich chambers, Wear silken dresses, feed on dainty food,

And live in idleness; but go with me,
Dance the Romalis in the public streets,
And wander wild again o'er field and fell;
For here we stay not long.

Prec.

What! march again? Cruz. Ay, with all speed. I hate the crowded

town!

I cannot breathe shut up within its gates!
Air, I want air, and sunshine, and blue sky,
The feeling of the breeze upon my face,
The feeling of the turf beneath my feet,
And no walls but the far-off mountain-tops.
Then I am free and strong,--once more myself,
Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Calés!

Prec. God speed thee on thy march!-I cannot go.

Cruz. Remember who I am, and who thou art! Be silent and obey! Yet one thing more. Bartolomé Román

Prec. (with emotion). O, I beseech thee
If my obedience and blameless life,
If my humility and meek submission
In all things hitherto, can move in thee
One feeling of compassion; if thou art
Indeed my father, and canst trace in me
One look of her who bore me, or one tone
That doth remind thee of her, let it plead
In my behalf, who am a feeble girl,
Too feeble to resist, and do not force me
To wed that man! I am afraid of him!
I do not love him! On my knees I beg thee
To use no violence, nor do in haste
What cannot be undone !

Cruz.
O child, child, child!
Thou hast betrayed thy secret, as a bird
Betrays her nest, by striving to conceal it.
I will not leave thee here in the great city
To be a grandee's mistress. Make thee ready
To go with us; and until then remember
A watchful eye is on thee.

Prec.

[Exit. Woe is me!!

I have a strange misgiving in my heart! But that one deed of charity I'll do.

A barbarous pastime,

Disgraceful to the land that calls itself
Most Catholic and Christian.
Curd.

Yet the people

Murmur at this; and, if the public dances
Should be condemned upon too slight occasion,
Worse ills might follow than the ills we cure.
As Panem et Circenses was the cry
Among the Roman populace of old,
So Pan y Toros is the cry in Spain.
Hence I would act advisedly herein;
And therefore have induced your Grace to see
These national dances, ere we interdict them.
(Enter a Servant.)

Serv. The dancing-girl, and with her the musicians

Your Grace was pleased to order, wait without. Arch. Bid them come in. Now shall your eyes behold

In what angelic, yet voluptuous shape
The Devil came to tempt Saint Anthony.

(Enter PRECIOSA, with a mantle thrown over her head. She advances slowly, in modest, halftimid attitude.)

Card. (aside). O, what a fair and ministering angel

Was lost to heaven when this sweet woman fell! Prec. (kneeling before the ARCHBISHOP). have obeyed the order of your Grace.

If I intrude upon your better hours,
I proffer this excuse, and here beseech
Your holy benediction.

Arch.

I

May God bless thee,

And lead thee to a better life. Arise.
Card. (aside). Her acts are modest, and her
words discreet!

I did not look for this! Come hither, child.
Is thy name Preciosa?

Prec.
Thus I am called.
Card. That is a Gypsy name. Who is thy fa-
ther?

Prec. Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Calés.
Arch. I have a dim remembrance of that man;
He was a bold and reckless character,
A sun-burnt Ishmael!

My childhood passed. I can remember still
The river, and the mountains capped with snow;
The villages, where, yet a little child,

I told the traveller's fortune in the street;
The smuggler's horse, the brigand and the shep-
herd;

The march across the moor; the halt at noon; The red fire of the evening camp, that lighted

As in a dream or in some former life,
Gardens and palace walls.

Arch.
"T is the Alhambra,
Under whose towers the Gypsy camp was pitched.
But the time wears; and we would see thee dance.
Prec. Your Grace shall be obeyed.

(She lays aside her mantilla. The music of the cachucha is played, and the dance begins. The ARCHBISHOP and the CARDINAL look on with gravity and an occasional frown; then make signs to each other; and, as the dance continues, become more and more pleased and excited; and at length rise from their seats, throw their caps in the air, and applaud vehemently as the scene closes.)

SCENE III.-The Prado. A long avenue of trees

leading to the gate of Atocha. On the right the dome and spires of a convent. A fountain. Evening, DON CARLOS and HYPOLITO meeting. Don C. Holá! good evening, Don Hypolito. Hyp. And a good evening to my friend, Don, Carlos.

Some lucky star has led my steps this way.
I was in search of you.
Don C.

Command me always. Hyp. Do you remember, in Quevedo's Dreams, The miser, who, upon the Day of Judgment, Asks if his money-bags would rise?

Don C.

But what of that? Нур.

I do,

I am that wretched man. Don C. You mean to tell me yours have risen empty?

Hyp. And amen! said my Cid the Campeador.
Don C. Pray, how much need you?
Нур.

Some half-dozen ounces, Which, with due interest

Don C. (giving his purse). What, am I a Jew To put my moneys out at usury?

Here is my purse.

Hyp. Thank you. A pretty purse. Made by the hand of some fair Madrileña; Perhaps a keepsake.

Don C.

No. 't is at your service.

Hyp. Thank you again. Lie there, good Chry

First and foremost,

Hyp. For many reasons.
Because he is in love with an ideal;
A creature of his own imagination;
A child of air; an echo of his heart;
And, like a lily on a river floating,
She floats upon the river of his thoughts!

Don C. A common thing with poets. But who is
This floating lily? For, in fine, some woman,
Some living woman,-not a mere ideal,-
Must wear the outward semblance of his thought.
Who is it? Tell me.
Нур.

Well, it is a woman! But, look you, from the coffer of his heart He brings forth precious jewels to adorn her, As pious priests adorn some favorite saint With gems and gold, until at length she gleams One blaze of glory. Without these, you know, And the priest's benediction, 't is a doll. Don C. Well, well! who is this doll? Hyp. Why, who do you think? Don C. His cousin Violante.

Hyp.

Guess again. To ease his laboring heart, in the last storm He threw her overboard, with all her ingots. Don C. I cannot guess; so tell me who it is. Hyp. Not I. Don C. Hyp. (mysteriously). Why?

Franca

Why not?

Because Mari

Hyp.

Did I say she was?

The Roman Emperor Claudius had a wife
Whose name was Messalina, as I think;
Valeria Messalina was her name.

But hist! I see him yonder through the trees,
Walking as in a dream.
Don C.
He comes this way.
Hyp. It has been truly said by some wise man,
That money, grief, and love cannot be hidden.
(Enter VICTORIAN in front.)

Vict. Where'er thy step has passed is holy ground!

These groves are sacred! I behold thee walking Under these shadowy trees, where we have walked

At evening, and I feel thy presence now;
Feel that the place has taken a charm from thee,
And is forever hallowed.

Don C.

Wilt thou sup with us? Faith, I did not see

At your service ever.

Vict. How is that young and green-eyed Gadi

tana

That you both wot of?

Don C.

Ay, soft, emerald eyes!

Ay de mí!

She has gone back to Cadiz.

Hyp.

Vict. You are much to blame for letting her go back.

A pretty girl; and in her tender eyes
Just that soft shade of green we sometimes see
In evening skies.

Нур.

Are thine green?
Vict.
Hyp.

But, speaking of green eyes,

Not a whit. Why so? I think

The slightest shade of green would be becoming, For thou art jealous.

Vict.

No, I am not jealous.

Why?

Because thou art in love.

Marry, is that all? Farewell, Don Car

Ay, in truth

Farewell; I am in haste.

los.

Thou sayest I should be jealous?
Hyp.

I fear there is reason. Be upon thy guard.
I hear it whispered that the Count of Lara
Lays siege to the same citadel.

Vict.

Indeed!

Then he will have his labor for his pains.
Hyp. He does not think so, and Don Carlos
tells me
He boasts of his success.

Vict.
How 's this, Don Carlos?
Don C. Some hints of it I heard from his own
lips.

He spoke but lightly of the lady's virtue,
As a gay man might speak.

Vict.
Death and damnation!
I'll cut his lying tongue out of his mouth,
And throw it to my dog! But no, no, no!
This cannot be. You jest, indeed you jest.
Trifle with me no more. For otherwise
We are no longer friends. And so, farewell!

[Frit. Hyp. Now what a coil is here! The Avenging Child

But I will be revenged! The hour is passed.
Where stays the coward?

Hyp.
Nay, he is no coward;
A villain, if thou wilt, but not a coward.
I've seen him play with swords; it is his pastime.
And therefore be not over-confident,
He'll task thy skill anon Look, here he comes.

(Enter LARA followed by FRANCISCO.) Lara. Good evening, gentlemen. Hyp. Good evening, Count. Lara. I trust I have not kept you long in waiting.

Vict. Not long, and yet too long. Are you
prepared?
Lara. I am.
Hyp.

It grieves me much to

see this quarrel

Between you, gentlemen. Is there no way Left open to accord this difference,

But you must make one with your swords? Vict.

No! none!

it.)

Thus may she perish who once wore that ring!
Thus do I spurn her from me; do thus trample
Her memory in the dust! O Count of Lara,

We both have been abused, been much abused!
I thank you for your courtesy and frankness.
Though, like the surgeon's hand, yours gave me
pain,

Yet it has cured my blindness, and I thank you.
I now can see the folly I have done,

Though 't is alas! too late. So fare you well!
To-night I leave this hateful town forever.
Regard me as your friend. Once more farewell'
Hyp. Farewell, Sir Count.

[Exeunt VICTORIAN and HYPOLITO.

Lara. Farewell! farewell! farewell!
Thus have I cleared the field of my worst foe!
I have none else to fear; the fight is done,
The citadel is stormed, the victory won!

[Exit with FRANCISCO. SCENE VII.-A lane in the suburbs. Night. Enter CRUZADO and BARTOLOMÉ,

Cruz. And so, Bartolomé, the expedition failed. But where wast thou for the most part? Bart. In the Guadarrama mountains, near San Ildefonso.

Cruz. And thou bringest nothing back with thee? Dirst thou rob no one?

Brt. There was no one to rob, save a party of students from Segovia, who looked as if they would rob us; and a jolly little friar, who had nothing in his pockets but a missal and a loaf of bread.

Cruz. Pray, then, what brings thee back to Madrid ?

Bart. First tell me what keeps thee here?
Cruz.

Preciosa.

Bart. And she brings me back. Hast thou forgotten thy promise?

Cruz. The two years are not passed yet. Wait patiently. The girl shall be thine. Bart. I hear she has a Busné lover. Cruz. That is nothing. Bart.

I do not like it. I hate him,-the son of a Busné hariot. He goes in and out, and speaks with her alone, and I must stand aside, and wait his pleasure.

Cruz. Be patient, I say. Thou shalt have thy revenge. When the time comes, thou shalt waylay him.

Bart. Meanwhile, show me her house. Cruz. Come this way. But thou wilt not find her. She dances at the play to-night.

Bart. No matter. Show me the house.