“And how seemed he?  In health as usual?”

“Ay, my liege, save that he complained of a strange oppressiveness, disinclining him for all exertion.”

“Did he allude to the council of to-night?”

“He did, my Lord, rejoicing that he should be compelled to rouse himself from his most unwonted mood of idleness.”

“Then some evil has befallen him,” rejoined the King; and the contraction of his brow denied the calmness, implied by his unmoved tone.  “We have done wrong in losing all this time, Don Alonzo,” he added, turning to the Senor of Aguilar, “give orders that a band of picked men scour every path leading hence to Morales’ mansion:  head them thyself, an thou wilt, we shall the more speedily receive tidings.  Thine eyes have been more fixed on Don Ferdinand’s vacant seat, than on the board this last hour; so hence, and speed thee, man.  It may be he is ill:  we have seen men stricken unto death from one hour to the other.  If there be no trace of him in either path, hie thee to his mansion; but return not without news.  Impalpable evil is ever worse than the tangible and real.”

Don Alonzo scarcely waited the conclusion of the King’s speech, so eager was he to depart; and the longing looks cast after him betrayed how many would have willingly joined him in his search.

“His wife?” repeated the King, in answer to some suggestions of his kinsman’s.  “Nay, man; hast thou yet to learn, that Morales’ heart would break ere he would neglect his duty?  No:  physical incapacity would alone have sufficient power to keep him from us—­no mental ill.”

If the effort to continue indifferent conversation had been difficult before, it now became impossible.  The very silence felt ominous.  What evil could have befallen? was asked internally by each individual; but the vague dread, the undefined horror of something terrible impending, prevented all reply; and so nearly an hour passed, when, far removed as was the council-room from the main body of the castle, a confusion as of the entrance of many feet, and the tumultuary sound of eager voices, was distinguished, seeming to proceed from the great hall.

“It cannot be Don Alonzo so soon returned,” remarked the Duke of Murcia; but even as he spoke, and before the King had time to make an impatient sign for silence, so intently was he listening, the Lord of Aguilar himself re-entered the apartment.

“Saints of heaven!” ejaculated the King, and his exclamation was echoed involuntarily by all around.  The cheek of the warrior, never known to blanch before, was white as death; his eye haggard and wild; his step so faltering, that his whole frame reeled.  He sunk on the nearest seat, and, with a shuddering groan, pressed both hands before his eyes.

“Wine! wine! give him wine!” cried Ferdinand impetuously, pushing a brimming goblet towards him.  “Drink, man, and speak, in Heaven’s name.  What frightful object hast thou seen, to bid thee quail, who never quailed before?  Where is Morales?  Hast thou found him?”