University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.

The day's sports were by no means ended with the death of
“El Moro.” Other bulls were brought into the ring, and several
fierce fights followed, marked by sundry vicissitudes and
casualties. No less than six bulls perished before the day was
over; and twice this number of horses were more or less seriously
hurt. Three were killed outright. As many of the
toreadores went off—were carried off, rather—with shattered ribs;
so that, all things considered, the sports were highly satisfactory
to the people. That night there was merry-making in all quarters
of the city. The houses everywhere were thrown open for
the reception of guests. The country cousins were made welcome.
The voluptuous dances of the Spaniard succeeded to the
feast, and were prolonged through the night. Wild and sentimental
music burst from balcony and verandah, and the guitar
tinkled sweetly in the groves of lime and orange. Olivia de
Alvaro spent the night in the palace of the Adelantado, who
entertained a large party. But Philip de Vasconselos, though
invited, was not among the guests. Where is he? Why is he
not present? These were the questions which Olivia unconsciously
asked herself. Andres, his brother, was there; stern
and gloomy; but he did not approach her. She danced and sang

at the entreaty, or rather the command, of the Lady Isabella;
but her heart was neither with the music nor the dance. She
went through the performances mechanically, sick at soul, and
longing to be away out of the painful glare of lights and company,
and buried in the deep shadows of her domestic groves.
We have no scene to exhibit, no picture to portray of the persons
or events of this night. We hurry to the performances of
the day following, which more immediately concern our progress.

The spectacle of the second day promised to exceed the first,
in its splendor and state, if not in its attractions. It is doubtful,
indeed, if any exhibition, short of battle itself, could, in that day,
furnish attractions to the Spanish people to compare with those
of the bull-fight. This was a strife of certain danger and frequent
loss of life. There must be bloodshed; terrible wounds,
great suffering, prolonged agonies, and momently increasing excitement.
In proportion to the anxiety, the peril, the blood and
agony, were the joys of the spectacle. But the tournament was
only a picture of strife; gentle passages of arms and joyous, as
the heralds described it; and, though full of noble displays, of
grace, spirit, strength, skill and admirable horsemanship, it yet
failed, usually, to provoke those intense anxieties which characterized
the conflicts of the bull with the toreadores. But bulls
are not to be slaughtered every day. The operation is an expensive
one. The owners of fine horses do not very often wish
to peril their ribs in the circus; and even the sorry hack has his
value, to be considered after the first flush of excitement is over.
The bull-fight, though the great passion of the Spaniards, is not,
for these reasons, an affair of frequent occurrence. One day for
this amusement was held quite sufficient for reasonable people;
and the “swell mob” were accordingly compelled to put up
with the (to them) inferior spectacle of deeds of chivalry.

With the first flashing of the morning sunlight upon bright
shield and glittering lance, a sweet, wild, prolonged and inspiriting
burst of music issued from the amphitheatre, announcing the
resumption of the sports. A thousand bosoms thrilled with

delight, and a thousand voices hailed the signal with triumphant
shouts. The sounds and clamors from the spacious area were
echoed back from all the little hills around. They were all in
motion at the music, and clapping their hands with joy. Soon,
the fierce bray of the trumpet was heard mingling wildly with
sweeter music. Anon came the roll of the drum; and steeds
neighed, and squires shouted, and the mountain peasant began
to sing, in his exulting unconsciousness, the rude ballads of his
distant forests. There was shouting and clamor on every side;
and the rushing of crowds, and the din of conflicting sounds,
might have led the unadvised spectator to suppose that chaos
had come again, so extreme was the confusion. But in all this
confusion the truncheon of command prevailed. So well had
everything been organized by Don Balthazar de Alvaro, and so
native were such exercises to the multitude, that no conflict or
disorder followed, where all things appeared to promise nothing
less. The people knew their places; the officials their business.
The heralds, and pursuivants, and alguazils were all in sufficient
number and sufficiently active. But, where the popular consent
is with the given purpose, it is surprising how multitudes work
together to the common end. The officers skirted the barriers
within as well as without, and kept them free from encroachment;
and, gradually, the throngs, pressing forward like crowding
billows of the sea, subsided calmly into their places along
the galleries. The seats were filled as if by magic. The family
groups, or special parties, each unobstructed in its wish to keep
together, formed so many little domestic circles along the immensely
crowded tiers; and the hum and buzz of conversation,
free and unembarrassed as in private homes, went on. The
merry laugh, and the smart jest, and the careless comment, were
uttered aloud, as if none but friendly hearers were at hand to
listen. It is a common error that the Spaniard is inflexible as
well as proud. This is only true of a high state of convention
in the old communities. In the new world, where all were
adventurers, even nobility threw off some of its reserves, and
accommodated itself to a more democratic condition of things;—
a result, indeed, inevitable from the necessities of the region. But
to our progress.

Suddenly, the bands struck up the national air, and this was
the signal for the approach and entrance of the Adelantado, the
noble knights and ladies who immediately attended him and
his lovely wife, and such favorites as were specially invited to the
more elevated platform which was assigned to the representative
of majesty. This platform, it may be well to state, though
elevated above the lower ranges of the seats assigned to the multitude,
was yet somewhat nearer to the circus. It was immediately
above the corridor, which, in all other parts of the area,
was uncovered. Indeed, it seemed to hang almost over the lists,
and was not so high but that it might be easily touched by a
lance in the hands of a knight on horseback. Along this platform,
and in the foreground, on well and richly cushioned seats, the
ladies were seated, occupying preferred places; the gallants in
attendance taking position in the rear. In the centre of this
former range, sate Don Balthazar de Alvaro, acting as warder;
and immediately behind, but on a dais above him, occupying a
richly garmented fauteuil, sate the Adelantado and his lady.
With the entrance of the two last, the vivas became wilder than
the music, and De Soto bowed impressively and gracefully to
the popular applause. His noble form and princely carriage, the
splendor of his costume, and a proper regard to the immense
amount of patronage which he had brought to the island, made
him a wonderful favorite. Nor was his noble wife less so. She
had virtues, indeed, superior to his, though of a less showy character;
and her personal beauty, her noble carriage, the richness
and exquisite taste of her dress, the equal grace and dignity of
her bearing, served to make her an object of like and equal attraction
with her lord. They took their seats, and the example
was followed by those who accompanied them. When the
places were all filled, the spectacle was one of wonderful brilliancy
and beauty. The seats were so constructed as to show
most of the persons of those who occupied the front, and these
were all naturally solicitous to appear in their richest habits.

Olivia de Alvaro occupied one of these foremost seats, near her
uncle, and a little below, but quite close to, the Lady Isabella.
She too was splendidly habited; but she was perhaps the least
conscious of the fact of all in that assembly. She had made
her toilet with little heart for it, and little heed to appearances.
Her thoughts were of the saddest; and her face now was pale
as death. There was a brightness, however, in her eye, of singular
wildness, and occasionally it flashed out with a vivid and
peculiar intelligence. But she seldom trusted herself to gaze
about the amphitheatre. She seemed to dread the encounter
with other eyes. Beside her sate the frail, fair beauty, the wife
of Nuno de Tobar, whose little tongue kept up a surprising discharge
of small arms, without intermission. Her supply of
missiles seemed inexhaustible, and as they were mostly addressed
to the ears of Olivia, it is not a matter of wonder if she had nothing
to say in return. The lack of opportunity, indeed, was rather
grateful than otherwise. It saved her from all necessity of finding
apologies for her taciturnity. Behind Olivia stood the provincial
courtier, Don Augustin de Sinolar, redolent of perfume,
and diffuse and gay in silks and glitter. There were other gallants
in waiting: but we must not stop to enumerate. The
anxiety of the multitude has brought them to that hush of expectation
which, even more than military authority, is the best
security for order. The Adelantado, like every good actor, well
understood the impropriety of keeping the stage waiting. He
rose gracefully and waved his truncheon. At the signal, a sudden
blare from the trumpets, at the entrance, quickened the pulsation
in every bosom. The blast was answered from a dozen
quarters all around, the response from the tents of the challengers
to the signal which required them to appear. But a few moments
more elapsed when the trumpets within and without
pealed in unison; a lively and prolonged strain of wild and
cheerful music; and then was heard the heavy trampings of approaching
horse.

“They come! They come!” was the involuntary cry from a
thousand lately stifled voices. Then the heralds and pursuivants

slowly cantered into the lists, skirting closely the barriers; and
when expectation was at the highest, the challengers, six in number,
made their appearance. And, truth to speak, they showed
themselves right comely chevaliers to the eye, and seemed well
able to carry themselves bravely and keep manfully the field.
They were headed, as was fitting, by the Lieutenant General of
the army, the stout and wealthy Hidalgo, Don Vasco Porcallos
de Figueroa. This cavalier, whatever may have been his personal
merits, was perhaps rather more indebted to his wealth,
for the distinction he enjoyed, than to his genius as a soldier.
We do not know that, up to this period, he had ever made any
remarkable figure in arms. He certainly had, thus far, taken no
such place in the popular imagination as was assigned to sundry
of their famous men, who had proved even unfortunate—such as
Alonzo de Ojeda, and many others. But wealth, with frequent
largesses, a right generous spirit, and a gracious carriage, will
work wonders towards achieving temporary distinction. The
reader may not have forgotten the policy of the Adelantado, already
indicated, by which he was moved to depose the amorous knight,
Nuno de Tobar, from the office which he subsequently conferred
on Vasco de Porcallos. We are not prepared to say that he rejoiced
in the pretext which enabled him to do so. But, it was
one certainly which he did not greatly regret. He was not displeased
at having the means wherewith to buy the favors of the
rich cavalier. And Vasco Porcallos did not defraud expectation.
He did not withhold his treasures from the expedition to Florida.
His castellanos were freely rendered to the wants of his superior,
with whose ambitious views no man of the army seemed so
deeply to sympathize. Vasco Porcallos was seized with a new-born
desire for fame, without foregoing a jot of his old passion
for acquisition. He was anxious to be known, hereafter, as one
of the conquerors in Florida; and, at the same time, he made
sundry shrewd calculations of the profit which would ensue
from his landed estates in Cuba, by concentrating upon them
the labor of the Apalachian savages whom he expected to
make captive in his progress. The two passions, glory and
gain, strove equally together in his bosom; and, with such rare
harmony, that neither could be said to be, at any time, in the ascendant.
Vasco Porcallos was of a brave temper; and, though
never distinguished in war, as a captain, had yet enjoyed considerable
experience in the new world's conquests. Had he been
a few years younger, he might still have hoped great things from
his gallant spirit and generous ambition. But our cavalier was
on the wrong side of fifty, and few soldiers have ever acquired
reputation, or achieved successes in foreign invasion, after they
have passed the meridian line of life. It may be reasonably
doubted, if his prudence was at all conspicuous in his engaging
in a long and hazardous expedition. That he would endure well
enough the toils of a single campaign, was not questioned even
among those who were jealous of his wealth and great appointments;
and still less was it doubted that he would carry himself
well in such passages of arms as it should fortune him to encounter.
He was acknowledged to be a good lance and a proper
horseman, and as now he appeared in the amphitheatre, portly
of figure, tall, erect, covered with shining armor, riding a splendid
bay, whose form and color were equally free of blemish—for
the white spot, of crescent shape, conspicuous in the centre of
the horse's forehead, was held to be a beauty and not a blemish
—the loud shout of applause which welcomed him, seemed to
give assurance of the popular confidence in his prowess. His
steed was gayly caparisoned with his master's favorite colors,
green and gold, and his own bearing seemed to exhibit a full consciousness
of the distinction he enjoyed, in carrying so brave a
rider. The portly knight bestrode him with an air and spirit
worthy of so gallant an animal; and, as he pricked him forward
with the formidable Spanish rowel and made him caracole to the
balcony, where sate the Adelantado and his noble companions of
the fair sex, the populace again shouted their unsuppressible
admiration. Vasco Porcallos wore a brilliant armor, which betrayed
never a stain of the soil. A rich surcoat of green silk
(afterwards thrown off) hung somewhat loosely above his armor,
which was of polished steel, fretted in figures of gold and silver,
vines and flowers appearing in the sort of jeweller's work which
is known as variegated gold. His helmet was of like material
and ornament, surmounted with a bunch of beautiful and costly
plumes of the heron. The small shield which he carried lightly
upon his left arm, was of steel also, inlaid with a circular bordering
of gold, of vines and flowers, in the centre of which,
splendidly illuminated, was the armorial ensign of the knight—
a bright, keen eye, looking out from a sun of blazing gold. The
arrogant motto spoke sufficiently for the insolent ambition of
the cavalier. “Es mio lo que veo!”—(“That is mine which I
see!”) But this confidence vexed no self-esteem in all the
assembly. It was but the embodiment of the national conceit,
and it was perhaps warranted by the fact. They had made
their own all that they had seen. It was an encouragement to
valor and enterprise, that the nation should thus believe, that
there was nothing, in reserve, which its warriors could not, in
like manner, make their own. The faith makes the victory.
Vasco Porcallos, known by his largesse much more than by his
valor, was readily assumed to possess a spirit and capacity
worthy of his bounty; and his graceful obeisance before the
dais upon which Hernan de Soto sate, was congratulated by the
repeated vivas of the multitude, and acknowledged by the gracious
smile and courtesy of the Adelantado. Backing his steed with
an elegant and measured, yet free motion, Don Vasco gave way
to his brother challengers to come forward.

He was followed by Balthazar de Gallegos, a stout and gallant
adventurer; who, without being quite so matured by time
as Vasco Porcallos, had, perhaps, seen quite as much service in
Indian warfare. His carriage was good, and his skill and grace
in managing his steed were quite equal to those of his predecessor;
but there was a lamentable disparity in their equipments.
The horse was a fine one, big-limbed, yet of lively motion; but
his furniture was rusty; and the armor of the rider was distinguished
equally by the antiquity of its appearance, and the
numerous dints of battle which it showed. Even the slight decorations
which Balthazar de Gallegos employed in honor of the

occasion,—consisting of gaudy scarf and various colored shoulder
knots and ribbons, served rather to expose than to relieve the
defects and decayed places in his rusty harness. His shield was
large and cumbrous, but carried lightly on his muscular arm.
It was of a faded blue ground, on which was painted a volcanic
mountain in eruption, the jets of fire ascending without falling—
the motto indicative of a thoroughly Spanish ambition—“Mas
bien consumir que no exaltarme!”—(“Rather burn than not rise!”)
A few cheers followed the appearance of this cavalier; but they
sounded very coldly and meanly, succeeding those which had
honored the man of fortune; and after making his obeisance,
Balthazar de Gallegos, drew his steed into the background, as if
satisfied that his mountain would burn rather unprofitably at the
present moment.

Very different was the welcome which hailed the appearance
of the third challenger. This was our old acquaintance, the amorous
young cavalier, Nuno de Tobar. Nuno was a favorite with
all classes, poor and rich, men no less than women. His known
grace and bravery,—his frank carriage, easy, accessible, playful
manner,—the generosity of his heart,—the unaffected simplicity
of his nature,—all combined to secure for him the most sweet
voices of the multitude. These became clamorous as the spectators
beheld the elegance and excellence with which he managed
the iron-gray charger which he bestrode—the dexterity with
which he led him, caracoling, almost waltzing, around the lists,
to the foot of the gallery where the Adelantado presided. The
steed himself was one to delight the eye of all who beheld him,—
his symmetrical outline, his fiery grace, and the perfect obedience
which he displayed, even when his spirit seemed eager to
burst from the bondage of his own frame. The armor of Nuno
de Tobar was bright and polished. He had taken some lessons
on this subject from the Portuguese brothers, whom he aimed to
rival. It was not rich, like that of Vasco de Porcallos, nor in
such good taste. In truth, it must be admitted that the tastes
of Nuno were inclined to be gaudy. The decorations of his
armor, due probably as much to his gay young wife, as to his

own tastes, were of a kind to suit the costume of a damsel rather
than a cavalier. But liveliness and gallantry in youth will be
permitted to excuse the offence of foppishness; and, where the
tastes of a knight showed themselves doubtfully, a gentle judgment
allowed his other personal qualities to repair the defect.
The spectators beheld nothing but his graces, the known kindness
of his heart, the strength of his arm, the spirit and the beauty of
his horsemanship; and, while the men made the welkin ring
with their clamor at his appearance, the damsels responded to
their welcomes, by a pretty effort at clapping hands, and a
swarming buzz of approving voices; for all which, our young
knight exhibited a due measure of the most grateful smiles. His
shield, we should mention, bore the representation of a ship
drifting at sea, with the motto, “El mar es mi puerto,”—(The
sea is my port,) conceived very much in the spirit of all the
Spanish enterprise of that day. Having finished his obeisance, and
made a laudable showing of his person and horsemanship, Nuno de
Tobar reined his steed backwards, and took his position beside
Balthazar de Gallegos; being the third of the knights on the list
of challengers.

He was followed by three cavaliers of good repute: Christopher
de Spinola, Gonzalo Sylvestre, (a youth not more than
twenty-one, but of fine figure, excellent skill and great courage,)
and Mateo de Aceytuno, a brave knight, who was also the
largest in frame of all the cavaliers in the army. Whether on
foot or mounted, his gigantic stature, like that of Saul, made it
easy for him to tower above all his associates. His spirit and
prowess were not unworthy of his size. Though somewhat slow
of movement, apathetic, and not easily aroused, he yet never
failed in any of the duties which were assigned him; and his behavior
was such always as to secure for him the approbation of
his superiors. He rode a famous steed, named Aceytuno, after
himself, that had a reputation of its own. He was claimed to
be of direct Barbary origin, and greatly valued by his owner, who,
however, subsequently presented him to De Soto, in consequence
of the frequent and warmly expressed admiration of the latter.

Aceytuno was a brilliant animal; in color something between a
sorrel and a bay, but of a blood so rich that it seemed rather to
diffuse itself everywhere beneath the skin, through which it shone
like a purple dye, than to pursue its bounded course through the
ordinary channel of vein and artery.

Each of these knights had his motto and coat-of-arms. The
shield of Christopher de Spinola carried a pair of huge wings,
under which was written, “A solas me sostingo,” (Alone I sustain
myself,) not a bad image for a modest bachelor, who had neither
wife nor children, and was not required to feed the orphans of
any of his neighbors. That of the gallant youth, Gonzalo Sylvestre,
would be regarded in our day as something impious, even
for a lover, who is supposed to be excusable, by reason of the
amiable insanity under which he labors, for any infidelity except
that to his mistress. His shield represented the face of a very
beautiful woman, and the motto, “Sin vos, y sin Dios y mi,” (Without
thee I am without God and without myself,) was considered
by all the young damsels present as the most felicitous of all sweet
sayings, to which, whatever might be the objections of the Deity
himself, the Blessed Virgin ought by no manner of reason to
object at all. The figure upon the shield of Don Mateo de
Aceytuno was confined to his profession of arms. A mailed
hand grasps a lance; the device was, “No hay otro vinculo que el
nuestro,” (“There is no bond of union but ours,”—or, as understood,
if not expressed—“we part all bonds but our own.”)

Mateo de Aceytuno completed the number of the challengers.
They now rode together around the lists, prepared to undertake
all comers. The first passages were to be with the lance; to be
followed by the battle-axe or sword, according to the pleasure
of the contending parties; and the breaking of the lance, the
blow fairly delivered without defence offered, of the battle-axe;
or the sword wrested from the gripe of one or other of the combatants,
in the struggle, was understood to be conclusive of the
combat in each case, and sufficient for the victory.

By this time expectation was at the highest point of excitation
in the assembly. The galleries were all filled with spectators;

the corridor girdled densely with the most reckless and eager;
the superior seats shone, without vacancy, with beauty and splendor.
Even along the surrounding hills, groups of the simple
natives might be seen looking on and listening, though unable
to catch more than a glimpse of events, and depending for their
interest upon the expression of emotions among those who saw.
Meanwhile, the eyes of the knights-challengers sought naturally
the forms of the fair ladies in the galleries. Of these, indeed,
the heralds kept them constantly reminded by their cries,—cries
immemorially preserved by the heralds of chivalry—encouraging
them to brave deeds for the reward of loving smiles.

“Bright eyes!” was the quaint form of the apostrophe;—
“bright eyes for the blessing of brave lances! Brave lances for
the honor of bright eyes! Smile, fair ladies, that your noble
lovers may take heart! Do brave deeds, noble lovers, that the
ladies of your hearts may smile! a trumpet for brave lances!—
and thrice a trumpet for the honor of bright eyes!”

Then blared the lively bugles in full blast together! Then
burst in mighty gushes the full torrents of the wild barbaric music,
which the Wisigoth had borrowed from the Moor, and the
Spaniard from both—drums, and flutes, and cymbals:—while the
excited pulses of the spectators were relieved by murmurs of
delight; by sudden cries of exultation—by shouts of applause and
encouragement.

The effect of all this was not less remarkable upon the knights-challengers
than upon the crowd. The enthusiastic veteran,
favorite of mammon, Don Vasco de Porcallos, could scarcely
keep his seat, so eagerly did his ears drink in the stimulating
sounds and murmurs, so fondly did his eyes traverse that fair
assembly, to whose bright glances he was bade to look. Nor
was the effect thus stimulating in his respect alone. Don Nuno
de Tobar did not fail to note the perpetual waving towards him
of the scarf of his newly-made and dutifully-loving wife; but it
must be confessed that his eyes requited other spectators in that
fairy circle, with quite as devout a regard as he paid to the beautiful,
but frail, Leonora de Bobadilla. The young knights, Christopher

de Spinola and Gonzalo de Sylvestre, were not less heedful
of charms to which they might more properly assert their
claims; and, despite his rough exterior, Balthazar de Gallegos
showed himself as eager of the notice of the ladies as any of the
rest. Of whom, indeed, does not beauty, when it smiles, make
the fool? The rough soldier, seasoned to ill usage and strife,
callous to blows, and sworn to plunder, was quite as solicitous
of the approval of bright eyes, as the young gallant just about to
undertake his devoir to secure his spurs of knighthood.

But a rougher parley awaits all the parties. The Adelantado
gives the signal for the assailants to appear. Don Balthazar de
Alvaro waves his truncheon; the heralds shout, the trumpets
sound, and the trampings of horse again are heard. Soon, the
six assailing cavaliers begin to pass into the amphitheatre.

We shall be excused from such details, in respect to these, as
we have given of the challengers, and for obvious reasons. They
do not concern the actual business of this true chronicle, and enough
has been shown to afford a general idea of the habits, manners,
and characteristics of the times. We shall, accordingly, confine
ourselves, hereafter, to such persons only as belong to our dramatis
personœ.

Of the six assailants, then, we are required to report that
Don Philip de Vasconselos ranked only as the fifth. His own
modesty gave him this position. He might have led the party,
had it pleased him to do so. But he preferred simply to take
his place as one of several. His brother Andres was not of either
party; but this, it must be remembered, did not affect his claims
to take the field against all, or any, of those who might remain
the conquerors.

Philip was mounted upon a coal-black steed of famous nurture;
large of frame, strong of muscle, fleet of foot, hardy to
endure, and of a beautiful symmetry. It was a pleasure to behold
his form, simply as he stood, without motion, obedient to
the rein. His eyes flashed fire as he darted into the ring, and
heard the mingled cries and clamors from a hundred trumpets,
and a thousand voices. Though docile as a lamb, his forefoot

pawed the earth impatiently, as if emulous of the laurels also,
and his breast heaved, like a rocking ship, that strains upon the
cordage, as if anxious to break away upon the billows. But
the firm hand of the rider was the anchor to his will. Very
calmly did Philip de Vasconselos approach the dais, and make
his obeisance with lifted lance, and graceful bend of his mailed
stature, to the Adelantado. There was no curvetting, no aim
to show either his riding or his bearing. De Soto received him
with a graceful, but not a cordial salutation. The smile upon his
lips was very faint and cold; very different, indeed, from that
of the noble lady his wife, who curtsied frankly, and smiled
cheeringly, while her eye declared her honest admiration of the
character and bearing of the knight of Portugal. De Soto could
not forgive the defection from his ranks of so experienced an
adventurer; and though very impolitic to discriminate in the
treatment of the knights, he was one of those men whose feelings
but too frequently escape the fetters of their policy. With a
further obeisance, Philip closed his visor, and rode back to his
place in the lists—a place which brought him to confront the
burly form of the gigantic Mateo de Aceytuno.

We must not forget to mention that his person was cased in
a beautiful, but plain suit of chain armor, of the purest fashion.
It was very brightly polished, and as free of spot or defect as of
ornament. This suit he did not wear in Indian battle, but in
place of it one of cotton, well wadded, which, strange to say, had
been found better defence against the arrows of the red man, than
the vaunted armor of the knights of Christendom. His helmet
was surmounted by a single plume, long and waving, and black
as the raven's. His shield was a series of circular steel plates,
the centre of which revealed his crest and device,—the figure, a
ruined tower, from which a falcon was about to fly, hovering
above it,—the device, in Latin: “Volucri non opus est nido,”—
(Having the wing, I no longer need the nest,)—a sufficient allusion
to his homeless fortunes, and to the independent courage
which enabled him to soar above them. He wore no lady's
favor, no gaud, no ribbon; but with uniform costume, there was

a sort of sombre nobleness in his aspect that compelled respectful
attention. His known prowess, honored by those who were
jealous of his nation, increased the admiration of those who surveyed
his form and watched his movements. Of these he recked
little, and perhaps saw nothing; but there were eyes in that
great assembly whom it thrilled his bosom to feel were beholding
him also. In the brief moment of communion with the gallery,
where sate the grandees of the island and their families, his
glance had encountered with that of Olivia de Alvaro. She had
striven greatly to avoid the single look which she gave him, but
a terrible fascination forced her eyes upon him. His grew
brighter and prouder at the grateful encounter, and he did not
perceive that hers sunk upon the instant of meeting, and that her
cheek grew ashen pale. But her emotion did not escape the
keen glances of her uncle; and a close observer might have noted
the sudden contraction of his brows, which followed his discovery.
Sitting where he did, just below the Adelantado, and immediately
above the lists, he witnessed easily the sudden quickening of
light in the eyes of the Portuguese cavalier, and the as sudden
paling of the cheek of Olivia. But Philip and Olivia were, at
that moment, wholly unconscious of the watch maintained upon
them.

Here, let us pause and breathe. Our chapter is a long one,
and having placed our champions in opposition, let us reserve
the report of the joyous passage for another.