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delightful family: and delightful they truly were. The old man, gradually showed himself in his genuine colours, an ardent patriot, worthy of the once honoured name of a Spaniard; the priest either had, or professed to have about him, none of the bigotry of his sect, or the stiffness of his order; and as to the young ladies, they were all that the most fastidious critic in female excellence could desire. Great pains, it would appear, had been bestowed upon their education; for, contrary to the usual custom among their countrywomen, they were not only mistresses of many accomplishments, but possessed of strong sound sense and very considerable information. In Theresa, in particular, Norman found a pleasing companion, not only for his lighter moments, but for moments when a desire for more serious and rational conversation came upon him. She talked of the condition of her country with all the fire of an enthusiast: contrasted its present degraded state with its former glory; till, catching animation from the topic, her bright eyes would fill with tears, and her cheeks grow crimson with excited feeling. Then, as if ashamed of her violence, she would cast a timid glance towards Norman, and entreat him to bear with the rudeness of a girl who had seen so little of life. "You natives of a northern climate," she would say,

are calm, they tell me, and temperate; but in the veins of the Navarettes too much of Gothic blood is flowing, for any child of that house to behold the degeneracy of Spain with indifference. But come, Norman, we will change the subject; and you shall tell me of the mountains and lakes, and the plaided warriors and blue-eyed maidens of Scotland." And Norman was not backward in complying with her request. With all the nationality of a Highlander, he dwelt upon the deeds of his forefathers, till he, in his turn, caught the enthusiasm with which his auditor had been previously affected; nor, perhaps, were the young people drawn together by any tie more powerful than by admiration of each other's patriotism, and an equal devotion to military glory.

At length the springing herbs and shooting leaves, the opening flowers, and richer and more varied choruses of singing birds, gave evidence that winter had passed away, and summer was approaching. There was a time, and that time not very distant, when Norman would have hailed the return of spring with delight; merely because it is the season for hostile armies to take the field, and fresh campaigns to be opened. But now he felt, and he knew not why, that his ideas on that head were changed. Not that his love for the profession had, in the slightest degree abated,—very far from it; but he had never passed the winter months so agreeably, and therefore he could not but regret that they were gone. In spite of himself, he became pensive and melancholy. Nor was he alone affected by a palpable depression of spirits, Every member of the family partook, in a greater or less degree, of a similar feeling; whilst Theresa's sorrow was too acute for concealment. Insensibly, as it would appear, Norman and she devoted, every day, more and more of their time to each other. Instead of inviting the rest to accompany them, as had been their custom, they would wander forth alone into the woods; and, without making any regular appointments, they found themselves continually meeting in the most sequestered spots. Yet no profession of love had passed either of their lips. If their conversation partook somewhat more of the tender than it had formerly done, it became so only when mention happened to be made of Norman's approaching departure; and, even then, no more was expressed than sentiments of the warmest friendship, and deep regret that an acquaintance so manifestly delightful to all parties must so soon be broken off.

Such was the state in which affairs stood, when, one morning, an orderly dragoon was observed riding at a brisk trot down the avenue. Norman was at that moment reclining on a window-seat; Theresa sat beside him, with her guitar suspended from her neck, having just concluded one of those exquisitely plaintive airs for

which the Spanish music is remarkable; and her sisters were employed, one in finishing a miniature of the young soldier which she had taken; the other, in passing judgment upon the performance. Don Fernando and the priest had strolled abroad, and the duenna had retired to enjoy her siesta. Theresa's keen eye first caught the form of the trooper. "Good God!" cried she in alarm, "I see a horseman !" Norman sprang upon his feet, and, looking out, immediately guessed the nature of the business which brought him. "Theresa," said he, mournfully, "the time has come which we have so long dreaded: that horseman brings an order for our separation." Theresa replied not; her cheeks became deadly pale; and had not Norman caught her in his arms, she must have fallen from her seat. "You are ill, Theresa; dear Theresa, you are very ill; your cheek is pale, and your breathing is suspended." "Only a momentary sickness,” replied she, gasping, "to which I am occasionally subject. I shall be better presently." So saying, she rose, and, followed by her sisters, withdrew from the apartment. The preceding scene at once opened Norman's eyes to the nature of his own feelings, and gave him assurance of the impression which he had made upon Theresa. But no great extent of time was granted to consider the subject. The dragoon had already alighted, and, seeing Norman at the window, proceeded up stairs to deliver his orders; they contained, as he expected they would contain, directions for the immediate evacuation of Alanjuez, and the concentration of the army at Freynada. The orders were peremptory; but had they been less so, Norman was still too much of a soldier to suffer any consideration of private feelings to interfere with his duty: he dismissed the messenger, and, hurrying towards the cantonments, commanded the troops to pack up the baggage, and to get under arms an hour before day-light on the following morning.

As soon as this was done, and he had seen things put

in a train of preparation, Norman bent his steps towards the spot where Theresa and he had, of late, spent much of their time. It was a beautiful and retired dell, overshadowed with tall cork-trees, and close beside the margin of the stream. Here he threw himself down upon the grass, and gave full vent to his over-wrought feelings. In the midst of how many difficulties was he cast? He loved the maiden tenderly; and it was evident that he was tenderly beloved in return: but was this a time for love or dalliance? Could he talk to her of marriage, at a moment when he was on the point of leaving her, perhaps for ever? And, were the case otherwise, what probability was there that Don Fernando, a Spanish grandee, and a bigotted Catholic, would consent to his daughter's union with him, a foreigner, a heretic, and a mere soldier of fortune? Norman pondered these things long and earnestly, and, in spite of many opposing impulses, came at length to this conclusion:-that it would be honourable on his part not to speak of love in direct terms to Theresa at all; but rather to incur the blame of unkindness and ingratitude by abandoning Alanjuez at once, than, by seeing and conversing with her again, to run the risk of being surprised into a confession of his feelings.

He had arrived at this magnanimous resolution, and rose to carry it into immediate effect, when a light step caught his ear; and, looking up, he beheld Theresa herself beside him. Her cheek was still of an ashy paleness; but her eyes were full of fire, and an occasional flush came over her countenance, expressive of some powerful feeling at work within. "Theresa!" said Norman, as he seized her hand, "I had hoped to escape this:—I intended to save both you and myself the pain of a formal parting!" She was silent for some moments, but she permitted him still to retain her hand. At length, after a severe struggle to compose herself, she said, in a tone of voice at once solemn and affecting, " It is well, Norman; your design was a prudent, and, perhaps, a proper

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one. It is time that we did part, and that for ever. Nay, nay," continued she, seeing that he was about to interrupt her, "suffer me to proceed, and then I will hear you patiently. Perhaps you will call me forward, indelicate, every thing which a woman ought not to be; but these are not times, neither is ours a situation in which the ordinary forms of life can be attended to. Go, Norman ; go, and carry with you the sincerest and most devoted affection of one who never knew happiness till she saw you, and shall never know it again when you are gone. Go, and forget her. May He whom we both worship, shield you in the day of battle! and may you return to your own land, and make happy one more worthy of you than I am! But even then, Norman, think kindly of me. When your blue-eyed bride smiles upon you, even then spare one thought for Theresa, not of love,-for that will be hers, but of pity. For me, my resolution is formed; I renounce the world for ever." 'Theresa, Theresa," cried Norman, passionately, "this is too much: I had determined not to speak of love, at least at present, till your country should be delivered from her enemies, and I could return to claim you as my bride; but hear me now. I swear by every thing that is sacred in this world and in the next-by thine own pure self I swear-that I have never loved, and never can love, but thee. I knew not the sensation till we met; I shall never know it for another. Why shake thy head, dearest Theresa," continued he, as the maiden's look became more sorrowful than ever; • I dost thou not love me?-do I not love thee?-and when the war has come to an end, may I not return to woo thee?" "Love thee, Norman! I love thee not as women usually love; but as the martyr loves his religion-the saint his Saviour-even so do I love thee. But what avails it? Our faiths are not the same, Norman; and I cannot wed a heretic." "Oh! talk not of differences in faith. Do we not worship the same God and the same Redeemer? and what are minor distinctions

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