Our mother had a presentiment that events would one day serve her

wishes. It may be that the longing of a mother constitutes a pact

between herself and God. Was she not, moreover, one of those

mysterious beings who can hold converse with Heaven and bring back

thence a vision of the future? How often have I not read in the lines

of her forehead that she was coveting for Fernand the honors and the

wealth of Felipe!

When I said so to her, she would reply with tears,

laying bare the wounds of a heart, which of right was the undivided

property of both her sons, but which an irresistible passion gave to

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you alone. Her spirit, therefore, will hover joyfully above your heads as you bow

them at the altar. My mother, have you not a caress for your Felipe

now that he has yielded to your favorite even the girl whom you

regretfully thrust into his arms? What I have done is pleasing to our

womankind, to the dead, and to the King; it is the will of God. Make

no difficulty then, Fernand; obey, and be silent.

P. S. Tell Urraca to be sure and call me nothing but M. Henarez.

Don't say a word about me to Marie. You must be the one living soul to

know the secrets of the last Christianized Moor, in whose veins runs

the blood of a great family, which took its rise in the desert and is

now about to die out in the person of a solitary exile. Farewell.




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