Isabella was
addressing the youth kindly, and urged him to come in and rest
himself, for he showed evident tokens of fatigue.
"Will you not come in and refresh yourself? you look weary and ill."
"Nay, lady, not now. You say this is the house of Don Gonzales?"
"Yes."
"And are you the daughter of that house?" continued the page.
"I am."
"I might have known that without asking," said the page, apparently
to himself.
"Indeed, do you know us, then?" asked Isabella, with some curiosity.
"By reputation, only," was the reply. "The fine of beauty travels
far, lady."
"You would flatter me, sir page."
"By our lady, no!"
"Where last thou heard of me, then?"
"Far distant from here, lady."
"You speak and look like one who has travelled a long way," said
Isabella.
"I have."
"Do you live far from here, then?" asked Ruez, much interested in
the stranger.
"Yes," was the reply. "Lady, I may call on you again," continued the
page, "but for the present, adieu."
Turning suddenly away, the stranger walked leisurely towards the
head of the broad stairs that led from the Plato to the street
below, and descended them.
At the same moment, Lorenzo Bezan, on his way to Isabella Gonzales,
had just reached the foot of the stairs, when hearing quick steps
behind him, he turned his head just in time to see the form of the
page thrown quickly between the uplifted arm of the same dark figure
which he had before met here, and himself-and the point of a
gleaming dagger, that must else have entered his own body, found a
sheath in that of the young stranger, who had thus probably saved
his life.
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