She was in an ecstasy as she stood before the oak screen and let the ivory and rosewood beads slip through her little fingers. The sunlight pierced the emblazonry of the window set high above the tombs, and threw a pure orange stream of radiance upon the sculptured image of the babe at the breast, and the girl watching with parted lips took it for an omen.
Then as her sight grew more accustomed to the vague dimness of the cathedral she started and gazed into the gloom at the foot of her mother's sarcophagus. Dimly outlined against the tesselated pavement knelt the black-robed figure of a woman, a woman who, as she watched, rose to her feet and looking round timidly placed a spray of white blossoms full in the orange light.
With compressed lips and a heart bursting with compassion Galva drew back into the shadow of a little chapel as Anna Paluda, walking with bowed head, passed her and left the cathedral.
It had been arranged that Señor Luazo and his nephew should dine that evening at Venta Villa, and Galva looked forward with no little trepidation to re-encountering the amorous lieutenant.
As she entered the drawing-room where Edward and Anna awaited the coming of their guests, the long mirror facing the door and between the two French windows showed her a picture of a radiant girl in a simple robe of a soft clinging blue material and with dark hair coiled turban-wise around a shapely head.
Edward looked up as she entered and smiled his admiration. He was fast growing accustomed to his changed mode of life, and he was beginning to take as a matter of course things which a few months ago he scarcely knew existed.
It was very pleasant to be standing there on the white bearskin rug in front of the fire waiting to extend the hand of welcome to Señor Luazo and Lieutenant Mozara. He smiled to himself grimly as he thought what either of these distinguished personages would think if they could look back a while and see a bowed little figure shuffling across London Bridge.
Seated in a low wicker chair Anna Paluda was watching with folded hands the flickering of the firelight on the Dutch tiles of the hearth. She looked very dignified in her black silk dress--Anna never wore colours--relieved by a touch of Honiton lace at throat and wrists.