Mildred Lee, at the time of our story, was twenty-eight. She early lost her mother, and now, by the recent death of her father, was left to her own devices. She was fortunate in the devoted attachment of her maiden aunt, Janet, who shared her tastes, and whose views on things in general were, with some important differences, which gave a zest to their discussion, pretty much her own.

Aunt Janet was studious and intellectual, and had exercised a great influence in the development of her niece’s mind. It was she who had formed her tastes, and in a great measure moulded her intellect, while it was yet plastic, on her own exalted pattern. Mildred’s father had been but too glad to confide his only child to her care, and the event proved his wisdom and her salvation, for the devotion of Aunt Janet’s life had found its reward in the beautiful flower of Mildred’s intellectual and moral life, which seemed a reflex of her own. Blessed with Nature’s best endowment at starting, a robust and healthy frame, which often implies a vigorous and healthy mind, Aunt Janet had the initial impetus within her from childhood which kept her always aiming after the noblest and best standard of the good and true. A tendency of phthisis is not the sole cause and stimulus of the religious sentiment, and the strumous diathesis is not the only reason why children take instinctively to books instead of athletics, as some maintain. Certainly none of these things were the causes of Aunt Janet’s devotion to letters, and her constant desire to do something to advance the interests of mankind. The vigour of her thinking capacity, her rapidity in grasping the idea of a subject, her instinctive apprehension of the right way to the essence of things, was equalled by the physical capacity for continued work, and the strain which her system could bear without breaking down or depressing her industry. She was witty, and superabounding in good humour; never dull, never—like so many brilliant leaders of society—the subject of reaction after unusual efforts to amuse and enjoy; but so even, so constant in mental, as in physical health, that all her friends sought her in seasons of depression and mental discomfort, feeling that some subtle healing power for their minds would restore and reinvigorate them. Her niece could have had no better training than the mere daily contact with so normal a mind. Subject of late to fits of melancholy, musing despondently on what she called her unsatisfied longings for a higher life, she was yet daily growing, though she knew it not, into the perfect woman, nourished by all the elements necessary to build up a capacity for a great world’s-work.

Their method was to lose no more time over the small society frivolities, or even its conventional demands, than was absolutely necessary; and when these things were cut down to their lowest convenient point, they found they had time enough to devote to their philanthropic projects and their intellectual pursuits. Aunt Janet had never found time to be in love; she used to say this in a joking manner, but it was perfectly true. Books, and the study of almost everything practicable for her, occupied her whole thoughts from morning till night. Love, she thought, might some day be taken up, when philosophy, botany, and the higher mathematics failed to absorb her; but it was always hidden away in the dim distance, and was as likely to be seriously entertained as a journey to the sources of the Nile. Of the two rather less likely, for distant foreign travel was quite in her line; and as she had more than once packed up and shipped herself off to Eastern climes, for better acquaintance with their history, she might be moved to undertake Central Africa in default of anything better to do. When she undertook the care of her niece, and the superintendence and development of her mind, she found abundant employment, and was busier than ever, so that love and Equatorial Africa receded still farther into distance, and she settled down perfectly contented to be an old maid for life.

Now the influence of such a preceptress on a clever, thoughtful girl like Mildred was just this. She gave herself up to her aunt to learn all she wanted to teach her, and imbibed so much of her spirit and mode of looking at things that she was ashamed to talk, or even think of love, in face of the supreme indifference, if not quite contempt, with which Aunt Janet viewed the tender passion. Her father acquiesced in this state of things. He was too unwilling to part with Mildred, and only hoped the men would keep away from his treasure as long as he wanted it all to himself. Her aunt, for her part, thought her niece much too good to be sacrificed in marriage. It was not the selfishness which animated Dr. Lee that made her wish to keep her niece single, but a real conviction that if a woman could in any way avoid it, marriage was not the best state for her, whatever the world might say to the contrary. As, therefore, she was in no want of a position, what better thing was there for her to do than keep single, be the light of her father’s home, and help her—dear, philanthropic old maid as she was!—in her humanitarian and intellectual schemes—projects which could only be successfully worked out by women, and women who had no husbands, babies, and family ties to engross them, and make them callous to the wants of the great world outside a nursery? If a young woman wants to shield herself from the arrows of Cupid, there is no better defence for her than a wall of books, a science or two, some ologies, and a taste for writing. Behind these bulwarks her pretty face, her figure, her youth, her grace, and her accomplishments are comparatively safe. So Mildred seemed likely to be a second edition of her aunt; and if truth must be told the prospect did not in the least alarm her.

While this calm and uneventful life went on, unbroken by a single disturbing element, each of these happy, pure, and useful women making the world around them better and happier for her presence in it, and reaping in calm contentment the fruits of the good deeds they scattered lavishly, the sad calamity of Sir Martin Lee’s death suddenly fell upon them. Had their lives been hitherto spent in selfish enjoyment of the pleasures of the hour, the blow would have been heavier than it was; but though they were unfamiliar with great troubles of their own, their loving work amongst the poor, the friendless, and the sick had familiarized them with suffering in others, and they knew how to bow the head in meek submission when the storm passed over them, and scattered their hopes in its path. Resignation was now the virtue to be practised, and Mildred did not fail in the hour of trial. A few months after Sir Martin’s death her aunt took her for a long tour through scenes of travel which she was anxious to unfold to her. They had often talked of them, and it was soon resolved to take the St. Gothard route to Italy, and return home by Spain. From Naples they went to Sicily, and made a rather long stay at Taormina, under Etna. It was not till they reached this magnificent spot (perhaps, as has been said, the loveliest on the earth), that Mildred began to recover somewhat from her bereavement. On that lofty height, surrounded by mountain peaks, up which rock-hewn steps led to ancient cities and old-world castles and fortresses, with the great snow-covered volcano rearing its lofty head above the clouds, with the Straits of Messina dividing their shores from those of Calabria, whose purple mountains melted away into the dim distance, she could read the lines which Cardinal Newman wrote amid those scenes with a sweet conviction of their truth.

And so from one world-famous spot to another in that panorama of Southern loveliness, they made the tour of Sicily, and at Palermo took the steamer for Malaga. It was a sight to lift up any sorrowful spirit when Mildred went on deck in the early September morning, as the steamer lay at anchor before the beautiful white city, glowing in the roseate hues of the rising sun. High above them the cathedral seemed to stand as the protector of the town, surrounded by palaces, and as its guard, still higher,

The harbour, crowded with vessels of all nations, and the busy quays, gave signs of wealth and activity which the travellers had scarcely expected to find in benighted Spain. The blessed Mediterranean it is which would have given trade and wealth wherever its waves touched the shores, had man known how to preserve its gifts. It has given Malaga more than wealth; for it is one of the great health resorts of the South. It must be confessed, however, that what these blissful spots gain in climate, they, by the ignorance and indolence of their inhabitants, lose by neglect of the simplest elements of sanitary science.

Aunt Janet had been a little doubtful of Spain; she feared they would have to “rough it” rather too much, having taken her impressions from Mr. Ford’s books, which, however accurate in some particulars, are too prejudiced against the cosas de EspaÑa in general to deal fairly with the manners and customs of this intensely interesting land.

“Now for rancid oil, and garlic, and bull beef!” said she. “No more French cookery.”

“Well, aunt, it can’t be worse than Sicily; and we have done fairly well there.”

“I don’t know, dear. I fear we shall be devoured alive by the ‘light infantry’ of the country, unless we are poisoned straight off by their cooks. Besides, we don’t know any Spanish!”

“Why, aunt, the courier declares I speak it very well indeed, and for the rest I expect French will serve us perfectly.”

Their hotel was situated in the Alameda, and a glimpse of that pleasant resort revealed so much of the beauty of the Spanish ladies, of which they had heard with a little scepticism after their illusions had been dispelled as to the charms of the Italian fair sex, that they agreed the reports had not been exaggerated. The next day they started for Granada, which they reached two hours late, thus early making their acquaintance with the dilatoriness of Spanish railways. Mr. Crowe and Dr. Graves met them at the station, and welcomed them to their abode in the grounds of the Fairy Halls of Alhambra.

It was scarcely light when Mildred rose to visit the palace of her childhood’s dream. It seemed almost wicked to sleep with such delights awaiting her. Aunt Janet was much less in a hurry to leave her couch; still, as she was not less imbued with the spirit of the enchanting place, she soon followed her niece into the grounds. When we have longed all our lives to visit some celebrated scene, the first impression, on finding our hopes at length realized, is often one of disappointment. The imagination in some minds paints in colours of such “rainbow substance” that reality can never equal; but it has often been remarked that no one has been disappointed in his expectations of the Alhambra. Here he is in the scenery of the Thousand and One Nights itself, and if he is of the least romantic order of intellect, will be filled with more poetic reflections than can be supplied by any other place in Europe. Long before the gates were opened for visitors, the ladies had walked round the venerable walls, had visited Charles V.’s incongruous palace, and drunk in some of the inspiration of the lovely scene. When they returned to the hotel to breakfast, they found the doctors awaiting them with tickets for the Generalife, which they were to visit after the Alhambra.

What a day was this to Mildred! How she wished she could have some of her English friends with her, as she imbibed such stores of beautiful recollections! Mr. Crowe was very attentive, and was full of learned lore about the builders of the place. He praised the Moors so much that he seemed to lament that they had been expelled from Spain, and it required all Dr. Graves’ chivalrous devotion to the memory of Isabella to defend the conquest.

“But you must not forget, Crowe, that your beloved Moors were in their decadence when their expulsion came; their luxury and over-refinement had drawn attendant evils in their train, and these brought about their ruin when attacked by a people like the Spaniards—then, as you must admit, in every way superior to their foes, or they could never have united all Spain under their sovereigns Ferdinand and Isabella.”

But Mr. Crowe could not forgive the Spaniards for having too much religion and too little science; and maintained that in both respects they were considerably the inferiors of the Moors whom they had dispossessed.

Of course Mr. Crowe and Dr. Graves thoroughly acquainted themselves with the mysteries of the Bull Ring. They wished to take the ladies to a bull fight, declaring that one could not really say he had seen Spain without a visit to the national sports. As neither of the ladies had any desire to say she had “seen Spain,” they deprived themselves of this particular item of their education, and astonished the hotel proprietor by their forbearance. He protested that all the English ladies went to the fights, though they all declared it was a disgrace to Spain to tolerate such cruelty; and he laughed at what he evidently considered our national hypocrisy. To the credit of the Spanish nation, ladies do not attend the bull fights nearly so frequently as formerly. It is beginning to be unfashionable to do so.

Did Mr. Crowe enjoy the sport? Strange to say, he strongly disapproved of it! He thought it a degrading and cruel spectacle; most demoralizing to the people, and a quite useless waste of life, which could have been devoted to the progress of humanity. So do our minds refract the light that comes from the actions of our fellow-men! Dr. Graves did not scruple to say, “a bull fight was just the grandest sight on all this planet!”

They visited the cathedral together, and descended to the vault where Isabella and her husband lie in their leaden coffins side by side.

Dr. Graves could forgive the great queen all her bigotry for having offered to pawn her jewels to send Columbus on his voyage of discovery. Nothing would satisfy him but that he must make a pilgrimage to the old bridge where the messenger overtook the heavy-hearted navigator, and brought him back to the noble queen.

“So like an impulsive, generous woman, ready to sacrifice everything for an idea!” said Dr. Graves.

“A very substantial idea,” replied Mr. Crowe, who detested Isabella for being a good Catholic but could not help admiring her devotion to exploration and experiment. “The acquisition of a new world to the crown of Leon and Castile was worth a few jewels.”

“Don’t you think,” asked Aunt Janet, “that she was actuated by far worthier reasons than those?”

Mildred was almost as much in love with Isabella as Dr. Graves, and declared “that she was moved in all her conquests and expeditions by a passionate desire to win souls for God and His Church.”

“By roasting their bodies at the stake,” added Mr. Crowe.

Mildred said, in her quiet, arch manner,—

“We may roast people alive in the coming age of science for much less important reasons, if physiologists have their way!”

This was a particularly nasty cut, as it was well known Mr. Crowe had often lamented to his class that criminals under sentence of death could not be used for scientific purposes.

“We should not burn people alive, I hope,” said he.

“I am not so sure of that. I have read somewhere of one of your profession boasting that he took particular delight in inflicting ‘atrocious pain’ on dogs.”

Aunt Janet interposed, as the discussion was getting rather acrid, and philosophically attempted an apology for the persecutions of the dark ages.

Having paid a visit to the Cartuja Convent, they returned to the hotel for luncheon, and afterwards wandered about the delicious gardens of the Generalife till it was time for dinner. As the night was moonlight, they obtained permission to enter the Alhambra again, and saw it with all the glamour and witchery of the midnight hour.