“which,” she said, “infests this tree; the quercus cocci.  This furnishes what the ignorant-learned long called grains of kermes, looking like dried currants, which they mistook for the fruit of a tree, while it is, in truth, the dried body of an insect.  It affords a vermilion dye, not so brilliant, but far more durable than the cochineal of Mexico.  There are in the Netherlands,” she continued, “rich tapestries dyed with kermes, known to be three hundred years old, which still retain their pristine brilliancy of color.  Only think, Mrs. Shortridge, of having carpets, shawls and cloaks of such unfading hues!”

“They would be of no use to me,” yawned Mrs. Shortridge, “I would be even more tired of myself than of my cloak, before the end of three hundred years.”

“Why,” exclaimed L’Isle, “this indestructible dye must be the very stuff with which the old lady of Babylon dyed her petticoat; for it has not faded in the least since she first put it on, as we may see in this country, where she wears it openly, without even a decent piece of lawn over it, to suppress the brightness of its hues.”

“As our lives are not so lasting as the dye Lady Mabel talks of,” said the commissary, “let us make the most of them by taking horse at once, and hastening on, for we must pass through Villa Vicosa, and sleep several miles beyond it to-night.”

Returning to the road, they presently reached a cultivated valley, and passed through a hamlet, scarcely seen before it was entered, so completely were the low stone walls of the houses hidden by the olive, orange, almond, and other fruit-trees surrounding them.  The only inhabitants visible were two or three squalid children, playing in the road, and a woman lounging at her door, eyeing the party with mingled curiosity and suspicion, while a stout yearling calf pushed unceremoniously past her into the house, thus asserting his right as a member of the family.

L’Isle paused before the little church, just beyond the village, and pointed out to Lady Mabel a curious cross, the first of the kind she had met with, though common enough in the peninsula.  It was composed of human skulls, on a pedestal of thigh bones, the whole let into the wall, and secured by a rough kind of stucco.

“Certainly these people have curious ways of exciting devotional fervor, and keeping death in memory,” said Lady Mabel.

“One might suppose them to have remarked the grave-digger, who deals habitually with the moldering remains of humanity, to be the most God-fearing of men,” said L’Isle; “so they seek to afford to every one the devotional incentives peculiar to the grave-digger.  Yet their symbols serve rather to familiarize us with material death in this world, than to remind us of a spiritual life in the world to come.  They often teach no better lesson than ’Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die.’”

“I have been told,” said Lady Mabel, “that in spite of these pious devices, the people have lost much of their devotional ardor and fullness of faith.”