breeze forced them to dip into the lovely depths over which they had been hanging so long. The chill night air woke the boy from his faint, but only to find himself alone in that wild place. Barely conscious yet, though shivering from cold, he did not feel frightened at first, for he saw overhead the same moon and the same stars which he had so often watched from the roof of his home, and he half expected to hear his old nurse's voice as she climbed up the stone steps and ordered him back to bed. Then a keen pain in his ancle suddenly brought him to his senses, he got up and tried to stand, but fell down. He had never felt such keen pain before, and here was no dear mother to nurse and comfort, no kind nurse to attend to every whim; everything was quiet and lonely. "Lost, lost!" he kept saying to himself, and an agony of fear seized him, then suddenly a gentle wind wandering over the lake bore to his ears a song, a tune somewhat wild though melodious, and the words such as might well ascend to the Creator of that lovely spot, and for accompaniment the trees swayed their branches to and fro, and the tiny waves splashed time against the shore. What a relief to the child to hear that song, to find he was not alone, and that the singer was a Spaniard, for the words were familiar to him. He looked eagerly in the direction from whence the sound came, and on a promontory of rock overhanging the lake, he saw a man kneeling, his figure showing in dark relief against the moonlit sky. The boy shouted with all his might, and his cry was evidently heard, for the recluse got up and began searching for him who had cried; the boy called again and again, and his cries, shrill though weak, guided the hermit down the rock.

The boy was soon found, and seeing his melancholy condition, without further questions the hermit carried him off to his cell,-a cave in the side of the mountain, which opened on to the rocky promontory. Here he placed the boy on his bed,-not a very comfortable one for an invalid, as it consisted solely of a piece of wood, but the hermit did his best to make it better by getting heaps of dried grass and rushes to put on the boards, and his own cloak for a covering. The furniture of the cell was scanty: a crucifix against the wall, some wooden shelves, and hanging from the shelves bunches of dried herbs; while below on a sort of table made by a projecting piece of the rock, were some vessels of curious shape evidently intended for chemical purposes; a large green jar with water stood in one corner of the cell, and two cords hung from the roof, to one of which a brass vessel was

fastened, containing oil, on which a piece of wick was floating, and to the other a rush basket-the hermit's larder and storehouse! Evidently, too, the hermit did not live entirely alone, a fawn and a large dog seemed to consider themselves quite as much the owners of the cell, and all round the top of the cave in various niches were innumerable birds' nests, though their occupants were for the time invisible.

For several days the boy was very ill with fever, but the hermit who had some skill in the treatment of the sick, and considerable knowledge of the properties of herbs, cured him in time, and then naturally wished to know all that had happened to him. The boy told the hermit that his name was Beltran, and that he was the eldest son of the lord of Arte del Rio. He had come with his mother and brother near the frontier on their way to join his father, who was detained by illness at Tenedos. One day they stopped at some distance from a certain village, and sent most of their servants on to prepare accommodation for them; when a party of Moors suddenly made their appearance, and overpowered the small guård left with them, and made them prisoners; they had been made to ride with very short stoppages for rest two days and a night. Arrived at the lake a halt had been ordered, and they were all resting, he and his brother fast asleep, when they were awakened by shouts and a great bustle, and ordered to get up: then he had been knocked down by a horse, after which of course he remembered nothing more.

Beltran asked the father his name, and whether he had not seen the Moors and their prisoners, since his cell was so near the lake.

The hermit told the boy to call him Sebastian, and said, “I was far from my cell all day, searching among the hills for some scarce plants; on my way home at sunset I saw a party of Moors down in the valley below, but did not look closely at them, as the sight is only too common about here,-all this is Moorish territory,—and moreover they never injure me, for one of the few laws of their founder, that arch impostor Mahomet, which they do still keep in these degenerate times is that, 'not to injure, but to treat with respect all solitaries and ascetics.' After I got back, I went out to pray and meditate for an hour or two in the quiet night time, when I heard your cry and went off to see if there was some poor creature whom I could help."

Now that Beltran was well again, Father Sebastian wished to take

him to Menoa, a new and already famous monastery of monks from Cluny; as he there hoped to get information about Beltran's father. Menoa was about two days' journey from the lake, and though Sebastian often carried the boy, still he found it weary work, and both the child and Sebastian were glad when they at last arrived at the beginning of a winding road that led to the monastery.

The monastery itself was built on slightly rising ground, at whose base on two sides flowed a river; on these two sides were long and wide windows, and a gallery, open on one side, from whence could be seen the river as it wandered in graceful curves down the valley, with masses of pink oleander blossom on either side, till at last it passed under a bridge built by the monks, and then disappeared from view. On the other side the monastery presented the appearance of a huge wall rising to a great height from the road which passed close beside it, while beyond were hills.

Beltran felt rather awed as they passed from the bright sunlight into the cold shade of the monastery wall, but as they went round and got to the front he felt more cheerful. Here was a large level space, on which the sun shone brightly, except where the shadow fell of a large stone cross that stood in the centre: before them stood the gate of the monastery, and they were soon admitted.

Beltran was taken to the infirmary to rest, and there he soon fell asleep, and then Sebastian had a long talk with the prior about him. Many of the Castilian nobility in the course of their journeys and fighting expeditions in that part of Spain, had partaken of the monastic hospitality of Menoa, and the hall of the refectory was often a scene of feasting and merriment as the fathers exerted themselves to do their best for their rather boisterous guests; and the prior in the course of long conversations with the leading men of the expeditions of the day had learned much of the actual history of the country. When he heard Beltran's name and parentage he was able to tell Sebastian all about him.

It appeared that Beltran's father, the Conde de Arte del Rio had a great enemy in the person of his nephew Don Antonio, the Conde de Arte del Monte. Arte del Rio had married late in life, to the great indignation of Don Antonio, who considered himself robbed of his rightful inheritance by the speedy arrival of two little cousins, and never lost an opportunity of injuring his uncle if possible. Many persons thought that he had connived at the capture of Doña Dolores

and her two sons by the Moors, and certainly his after conduct looked very like it. He had sent messengers to his uncle professing great sorrow at the news, and advising him to send men in pursuit immediately, as he himself had done. "Don Enrique sent off every available retainer," continued the Prior," and would have gone himself to try and re-capture his beloved ones, but he was too ill even to get out of bed : and while in this unprotected state Don Antonio has gone to see him, has made him prisoner in his own castle, for no one has seen him since, and after two days it was announced publicly by heralds all through the lordship that Don Enrique has gone out of his mind from grief at the loss of his wife and children; then as everybody knows that Don Antonio is heir after the children, men were not astonished to hear that he had made himself guardian of the lordship till the old Don Enrique should die, or his children be recovered. It is most probable that he will not take any trouble to prolong his old uncle's life, and as for the boys the Moors not knowing what had happened to Don Enrique, and thinking that he would give anything to get back his wife and boy, demanded a large sum of money, and Tenedos, which fortress is the key to this part of Spain. Don Antonio, acting for his helpless uncle, refused the terms, excusing himself by saying he would far rather sacrifice his own dearest personal feelings than betray an inch of Spanish territory, or give the infidels an iota of advantage over us. And so matters stand for the present. The Saints be praised, at least one child has been saved; who knows, perhaps the other will be brought up as a Mahometan!"

66 Then will you let Don Antonio know of the safety of the little Don Beltran ?" said Father Sebastian.

'Ave Maria purissima," said the Prior, crossing himself.

"What

an idea, Father Sebastian! I see you are not as expert in these worldly matters as you are in spiritual ones; why, Don Antonio would either deny the boy's identity, or else acknowledge him, and afterwards make away with him in some way or other."

'But, father, even a virtuous man might have had scruples about giving up such an important fortress as Tenedos," said Father Sebastian, who always said a good word for every one.

"He should have given it up to get back the mother and child, and then declared war on the Moors, and won it back; that which Spaniards have once won and held, they can win again."

"Then how about the boy?"

"I!" said Sebastian in astonishment, "father, you must be jesting, what do I know about children? how can I, a recluse, bring up this babe properly? cannot you keep him here for a time till a favourable opportunity occurs for reclaiming his inheritance ?"

"No, because here the boy would be discovered, we could only have him in the rooms set apart for travellers, and visitors are constantly claiming food and lodging at our hands. Don Antonio would soon hear of his existence, and then, heaven help us! we should suffer for having kept the boy, Don Antonio is capable of turning us out, the sacrilegious monster! no, Sebastian, the boy will be much safer with you, keep him at least for a time. Early next year, the king Alfonso VI. holds a cortes at Burgos, which I am commanded to attend, the new queen will assist, and probably therefore, most of the court; amongst them the Conde de Turania, who is a most intimate friend of Don Enrique. He is away in France just now, negociating the marriage of the king with Doña Constancia, or probably Don Antonio would not have dared to do all this mischief; to him then I shall go, and communicate all that has really happened, and on my return I will let you know what he thinks had better be done, perhaps he will send for the boy in order to bring him up in his own household. Till then, brother, to you he must look for education, and certainly from your past life and the rank you have given up, I should think you would not be likely to allow him to grow up a savage!"

Sebastian remained lost in thought at the prospect of this new life thus suddenly laid before him. After a short pause, the Prior added, "After all, a heavier burden might have been given you than that of bringing up this almost orphaned boy, he knows nothing wicked which he has to unlearn, you can mould him as you like. I am going to office now," said the Prior, and Sebastian followed him into chapel.

The allusion to Sebastian's former life will hardly be understood by our readers till we tell them what that life had been. Sebastian, known in the world as Don Manuel the Invincible, and the Lord of Contera, was one of the most conspicuous of the Aragonese nobility. Famous for his wisdom and valour, ever true to his sovereign, and called the Invincible from his great victories over the Moors, he was yet one of those exceptional men who having set a high ideal before themselves expect to find the world peopled with pure-minded, justice-loving men, and as growing manhood only taught him the non-existence of this ideal, and