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Updated: May 27, 2025
Nivel, Lady Ethel, and Dolores looking very pale and ill, were just finishing lunch. My darling sat beside me while I lunched and held my hand when it was disengaged unheeded by Mrs. Darbyshire. This lady, I think, considered that the case had got beyond her and had better be relegated to a higher court Don Juan d'Alta for judgment.
Bruno, the Founder of the Order, and Jack was sitting with his eyes stolidly fixed upon the liqueur decanter. Yes, the abbot was all d'Alta had said; he was a man of fifty, tall, spare, straight as a dart, but unlike most of the other monks we saw, fair and fresh coloured. I stood looking at him for some time, gazing into his fair open face, after he had taken my hand and released it.
In the contemplation of the varied charms of Dolores d'Alta, I almost forgot my precious casket, confided in fear and trembling to the care of the captain, and locked up by him in the ship's strong room in my presence and in the presence of St. Nivel.
"A marriage has been arranged, and will shortly take place, between William Frederick, only son of the late Sir Henry and Lady Mary Anstruther, and Dolores, only daughter of Don Juan d'Alta, for some years Prime Minister of the late Queen Inez of Aquazilia." This announcement brought us a shower of congratulations and inquiries as to the date of the wedding.
Dolores had gone to a concert at the Assembly Rooms and we did not expect her back until between five and six. It was when we had both paused in our conversation and sat with our eyes fixed on the leaping flames the only illumination of the room that a knock came at the door and a waiter entered. "A gentleman to see you, sir," he said, addressing Don Juan. "Who is it?" d'Alta asked.
"I was my father's only child; there was no Salic law to bar me. But as the orphan is ever succoured by heaven, so was I in my lonely royal state upheld by the counsels of a good and great man. "Your grandfather, my child," she continued turning to Dolores, "the old Don Silvio d'Alta.
"I really don't suppose," he said, one evening in the smoking-room, nodding his head sententiously, "that old Don Juan d'Alta knows what he is worth; neither do I suppose that he cares much, for he is a man of the simplest tastes, living on the plainest food, and having but one hobby and object, in fact, in life." "His daughter?"
It was a most finished piece of workmanship, and measured, I should think, about six inches by perhaps two and a half. In raised letters on the lid was carved the letter C as on the seals. On a small parchment label firmly secured to it by silk was: "To His Excellency the Senor JUAN D'ALTA, Valoro, Aquazilia."
My cousin Ethel at first did not by any means appreciate the turn my affections had recently taken; she made several pointed and rather sarcastic remarks about it, having in her mind, I presume, the recollection of our little meetings in the long corridors of dear old Bannington. "You seem very much taken up with that Miss d'Alta," she remarked one day. "I thought you did not like foreign girls.
"I go about with Don Juan d'Alta, and I might just as well be walking about with one of the lions in Trafalgar Square for all the information I get out of him. His is the silence of the old diplomatist." To Ethel I sent my love; she was pretty well informed of our movements, as she and Dolores had become fast friends, and corresponded twice or thrice a week.
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