Great was the astonishment and terrible the disappointment of Don Luis Garcia at the visible failure of one portion of his nefarious schemes.  Though seldom in Don Ferdinand’s actual presence, he was perfectly aware that instead of diminishing, Morales’ confidence in and love for his wife had both increased, and that Marie was happier and more quietly at rest than she had been since her marriage.  But though baffled, Garcia was not foiled.  The calm, haughty dignity which, whenever they did chance to meet, now characterized Don Ferdinand’s manner towards him; the brief, stern reply, if words were actually needed; or complete silence, betraying as it did tire utter contempt and scorn with which his crafty design was regarded, heightened his every revengeful feeling, and hastened on his plans.

Two or three weeks passed:  a calm security and peaceful happiness had taken the place of storm and dread in Marie’s heart.  She felt that it had been a secret consciousness of wrong towards her husband, the dread of discovery occasioning estrangement, the constant fear of encountering Stanley, which had weighed on her heart far more than former feelings; and now that the ordeal was past, that all was known, and she could meet her husband’s eye without one thought concealed; now that despite of all he could love and cherish, aye, trust her still, she clung to him with love as pure and fond and true as ever wife might feel; and her only thought of Stanley was prayer that peace might also dawn for him.  It was pain indeed to feel that the real reason of her wedding Ferdinand must for ever remain concealed.  Could that have been spoken, one little sentence said, all would have been explained, and Stanley’s bitter feelings soothed.

It was the custom of Ferdinand and Isabella to gather around them, about once a month, the wisest and the ablest of their realm—­sometimes to hold council on public matters, at others merely in friendly discussion on various subjects connected with, politics, the church, or war.  In these meetings merit constituted rank, and mind nobility.  They commenced late, and continued several hours through the night.  To one of these meetings Don Ferdinand Morales had received a summons as usual.  As the day neared, he became conscious of a strange, indefinable sensation taking possession of heart and mind, as impossible to be explained as to be dismissed.  It was as if some impassable and invisible, but closely-hovering evil were connected with the day, blinding him—­as by a heavy pall—­to all beyond.  He succeeded in subduing the ascendency of the sensation, in some measure, till the day itself; when, as the hours waned, it became more and more overpowering.  As he entered his wife’s apartment, to bid her farewell ere he departed for the castle, it rose almost to suffocation in his throat, and he put his arm round her as she stood by the widely-opened casement, and remained by her side several minutes without speaking.