Few, if any, had seen him before, and now among the ladies there ran a low murmur of admiration at the noble and manly beauty of the young soldier.  The priest read the usual services, the customary hymn and chant were listened to, when the priest, delegated for this purpose, advanced and said: 

“We, by the holy power vested in us, do anoint thee, Lorenzo Bezan—­”

At these words, Isabella Gonzales, who had, during all the while, been an absent spectator, never once really turning her eyes toward the spot where the new officer stood, dropped her fan, and sprang to her feet.  She gazed for one single moment, and then uttering one long and piteous scream, fell lifeless into her father’s arms.  This cry startled every one, but perhaps less the cause of it than any one else.  He he had schooled so critical a moment ceremony went on quietly and was duly installed.

“Alas, alas, for me, what made thee ill?” said the, as he bent over her couch, after.

But Isabella answered him not; she was in a half-dreamy, half-conscious state, and knew not what was said to her.

Ruez stood on the other side of her couch, and kissed her white forehead, but said nothing.  Yet he seemed to know more than his father as to what had made Isabella sick, and at last he proved this.

“Why could you not tell Isabella and me, father, that our old friend Captain Bezan was to be there, and that it was he who was to be lieutenant-governor?  Then sister would not have been so startled.”

“Startled at what, Ruez?”

“Why, at unexpectedly seeing Captain Bezan,” said the boy, honestly.

“General Bezan, he is now.  But why should she be startled so?”

“O, she is not very well, you know, father,” said the boy, evasively.

“True, she is not well, and I managed it as a surprise, and it was too much of one, I see.”

And father and brother tended by the sick girl’s bedside as they would have done that of an infant.  Poor Isabella, what a medley of contradictions is thy heart!

The ceremonies of the day passed off as usual; the review took place in the after part of the day, and as General Bezan, now outranking General Harero, rode by his division, he raised his hat to his old comrades in arms, and bowed coldly to their commander.  His rise and new position filled the army with wonder; but none envied him; they loved their old favorite too well to envy his good fortune to him; even his brother officers echoed the cheers for the new lieutenant-general.

But when the noise, the pomp, and bustle of the day was over, and when alone in his apartment by himself, it was then that Lorenzo Bezan’s heart and feelings found sway.  He knew full well who it was that uttered that scream, and better, too, the cause of it; he feared that he could neither sleep nor eat until he should see her and speak to her once more; but then again he feared to attempt this.  True, his position gave him the entree to all classes now, and her father’s house would have been welcome to him; but he would far rather have seen her as the humble Captain Bezan, of yore, than with a host of stars upon his breast.