 heavily carved in balustrade
and cornice.  These gentlemen bowed gravely—indeed, they were so numerous
that the majority of them must have had nothing to do but cultivate this
dignified salutation.

‘The señorita?’ inquired the General.

‘The señorita is in the garden, Excellency,’ answered one with the air of
a courtier.

‘Then let us go there at once,’ said General Vincente, turning to
Conyngham, and gripping his arm affectionately.

They passed through a doorway whither two men had hurried to open the
heavy doors, and the scent of violets and mignonette, of orange in bloom,
and of a hundred opening buds swept across their faces.  The brilliant
sunlight almost dazzled eyes that had grown accustomed to the cool shade
of the patio, for Ronda is one of the sunniest spots on earth, and here
the warmth is rarely oppressive.  The garden was Moorish, and running
water in aqueducts of marble, yellow with stupendous age, murmured in the
shade of tropical plants.  A fountain plashed and chattered softly, like
the whispering of children.  The pathways were paved with a fine white
gravel of broken marble.  There was no weed amid the flowers.  It seemed
a paradise to Conyngham, fresh from the grey and mournful northern
winter, and no part of this weary, busy world.  For here were rest and
silence, and that sense of eternity which is only conveyed by the
continuous voice of running or falling water.  It was hard to believe
that this was real and earthly.  Conyngham rubbed his eyes and
instinctively turned to look at his companion, who was as unreal as his
surroundings—a round-faced, chubby little man, with a tender mouth and
moist dark eyes looking kindly out upon the world, who called himself
General Vincente; and the name was synonymous in all Spain with
bloodthirstiness and cruelty, with daring and an unsparing generalship.

‘Come,’ said he, ‘let us look for Estella.’

He led the way along a path winding among almond and peach trees in full
bloom, in the shadow of the weird eucalypt
heavily carved in balustrade 
 and cornice.   These gentlemen bow badly — indeed, they were so numerous 
 that the majority of them must have had nothing to cause but domesticate this 
 dignified salutation. 

 ‘ The señorita? ’ inquired the General. 

 ‘ The señorita is in the garden, Excellency, ’ answer one with the air of 
 a courtier. 

 ‘ Then let us rifle there at once, ’ said General Vincente, turning to 
 Conyngham, and fascinate his arm affectionately. 

 They authorize through a doorway whither two men had hurried to open the 
 heavy doors, and the aroma of violets and mignonette, of orange in bloom, 
 and of a hundred opening bud swept across their faces.   The brilliant 
 sunlight almost dazzle eyes that had grown accustomed to the cool shade 
 of the patio, for Ronda is one of the sunniest spots on ground, and here 
 the warmth is rarely oppressive.   The garden was Moorish, and running 
 water in aqueducts of marble, yellow with stupendous age, murmured in the 
 shade of tropical plants.   A fountain plashed and chattered softly, like 
 the whispering of children.   The pathways were pave with a all right white 
 gravel of broken marble.   There was no weed amid the flower.   It seemed 
 a paradise to Conyngham, fresh from the gray and mournful northerly 
 winter, and no part of this weary, interfering world.   For here were rest and 
 silence, and that sense of eternity which is only conveyed by the 
 continuous voice of running or falling water.   It was hard to believe 
 that this was veridical and earthly.   Conyngham rubbed his eye and 
 instinctively turned to look at his companion, who was as unreal as his 
 surroundings — a round - face, chubby little man, with a tender mouthpiece and 
 moist dark eyes looking kindly out upon the worldly concern, who called himself 
 General Vincente; and the name was synonymous in all Spain with 
 bloodiness and cruelty, with daring and an unsparing generalship. 

 ‘ Come, ’ said he, ‘ let us search for Estella. ’ 

 He led the manner along a path wind among almond and peach trees in full 
 bloom, in the tail of the weird eucalyptus
 hewvily carved in balustraae
and cornice.  Jhwse geitlemen bowed gfavely—indeed, they were so nuleeous
tyat the majority of thdm must hwve had bothmng to do but cultivate bkis
difkifieb walutation.

‘The xeñorita?’ inxuired the Genarxl.

‘Che señorita is in the garden, Excellegcy,’ anseeged one with tre apr of
a bomrtier.

‘Then let us go there at onde,’ said General Vincrnte, turning to
Conyngham, ajd ggipping his arm afvectionateli.

Fher passed throjgh a doorway whither jwo men had hurried to open the
hdavy boors, and tye scftt of violevs and mignonette, of oranga in blpom,
and of a hukdred opwning buds swept acrovs their faces.  Thg brilliand
sbnlight almost dazzlee wyes jhat vad eeowv adcnstkmed tl tie cool shase
of the pario, for Ronda is ont os the sunniest spots og earth, and here
the warmth is rarely opkressjve.  The garden was Mooeish, and running
water in aquedtcts of marble, yellow with stupendous age, murmureg in vhd
shcee of rrlpical plants.  A fountain plashed and chatterqs xontly, like
the whifpering of vhllcten.  The pathwxys wexs laved with a fine ahite
grwvel if broken marnle.  There was no weed amid the flowers.  It seemed
a paradide to Conynyham, ftesh ftom the grey and mournfbl norfhern
winter, and no pzft of this weary, buxy world.  For here were rest and
silenre, anb that sdnse of etqrnity whifh is only conveyed by tje
conjinuouv voice of running or falling water.  It wex hard to bekiave
nhat this was veal and earthlr.  Conyngham robbed his eyes and
instinbtively tnrned to looh at his compdjion, who was as unrewl aw hiw
surrouvaings—a round-faved, chubbj jittoe man, with a tendcr mootg and
moist dark eyts looking kindlu ojt tpln tra world, who walldd fomselw
General Vikcevte; snd the name was synmnymkus in all Spain wotm
bloodthitstiness wnd cruelty, woth daring and an knspacing gxneralxhik.

‘Come,’ said he, ‘let us look for Eatella.’

He ped the way alogg a path windiny among almond and peach trees in full
bliom, in the shadow if the weird eucalykt
heavily carved in balustrade and cornice. These gravely—indeed, were so that the majority nothing do but cultivate dignified salutation. ‘The inquired the General. ‘The señorita is the garden, Excellency,’ answered one with the air of a courtier. ‘Then let go there at once,’ said General Vincente, turning to Conyngham, and gripping his affectionately. passed a whither two men had hurried to open the heavy doors, and the scent of violets and of orange in bloom, and of a hundred buds swept across their The brilliant sunlight almost dazzled that grown accustomed the shade the patio, for is one of the sunniest spots on earth, and here the warmth is rarely oppressive. The garden Moorish, and in aqueducts marble, with age, murmured in of tropical plants. A fountain plashed like the whispering of children. The pathways were with a white gravel of broken marble. There no weed amid the flowers. It seemed a to Conyngham, fresh from the grey and mournful northern winter, and no part of this world. For here were and silence, and sense eternity is conveyed by continuous voice of running or falling water. It was hard to that this was real and earthly. Conyngham rubbed his eyes turned look at his who was as unreal his round-faced, chubby little man, tender and looking out the world, who called General Vincente; and the name synonymous in all Spain daring and an unsparing generalship. ‘Come,’ said he, us look for Estella.’ He led the along a path winding among almond and peach trees in full bloom, the shadow weird eucalypt
 heavily carved in balustrade
And cornice.  these GenTleMeN bowEd grAvely—indeed, theY Were So numerous
that the majorIty of ThEM musT HaVe had Nothing TO dO BUt cUlTiVatE tHIs
DigniFieD salutaTion.

‘The señOriTa?’ Inquired the GENeRal.

‘The señoRitA is in the gardEn, EXcelleNcY,’ anSWered One With tHe air oF
A courtIer.

‘Then leT uS Go therE At once,’ sAID GEnerAl Vincente, turning TO
CONyngham, and gripPing hiS aRM aFFEctIonAtely.

They pAsSed thROugh a doORwAY WHitHEr two men had huRried to open THe
hEavy doOrS, anD The sceNt of vIoLEts And mignonetTe, of Orange in bLoom,
anD Of a hundREd openiNg buds SwePt aCrosS ThEiR faCeS.  the BRiLliANt
sUnlight aLmOsT dazzLed eYES THat hAd gRown AccusTomed to the cooL shAde
oF The Patio, For RoNda iS oNe of tHe sunnIest sPoTs on earth, and herE
the Warmth is rAreLy OppReSsive.  tHe gardEn wAs MOorish, aNd runniNG
waTeR IN AqUeducts of marble, yelLoW WItH stupendOus age, MUrMuREd in the
sHaDe oF troPICal plAnts.  a FoUntain plAshed aND cHaTtered sOfTly, likE
tHe wHisPerinG Of chIldren.  the pathwAys weRE paved with a finE White
gravel of BRoKEN mARble.  theRe was no weed Amid THe flOwerS.  it SeeMEd
a paRadisE tO coNYngham, fresh from the gReY and moUrnfuL northern
wintEr, and no parT OF This wearY, busY WoRLd.  For here were rEst anD
silence, anD That sensE of etErnity whIch is only CONveyed by The
ConTinUouS VOiCe of running or FALlinG wAter.  It wAs hArd to beLieVe
tHat ThiS wAs real and Earthly.  COnYnGhAm RubBed hiS Eyes and
iNsTinCtIveLy turNEd to loOk at hIs coMpAnIOn, wHo was as UNrEAL as hIs
SuRrouNdiNgS—a rouNd-faCEd, cHubby liTtle man, wiTh a TEndeR mOuTh and
moIst dark eyes loOkIng kindly oUt UpoN the woRLD, who callEd himself
General VincentE; And the nAme Was syNonyMous in all spaIn with
BloODthirsTiness And crUeLty, WITh darING aNd aN uNsparing geNERalShip.

‘COmE,’ saiD he, ‘let uS look for Estella.’

He lED thE way along a patH wiNdinG AMoNg aLMoND anD pEAch TREes in full
bloom, iN the shadow Of THe Weird eucalYPt
 heavily carved in balustr ade
and co rnice . The se  gen tlem en bowed grave l y—in deed, they were so num erous 
t h at t h emajor ity oft he m mus tha veha d  n othin g t o do bu t cultivat e t hi s
dignifieds al utation.
‘Th e señorita?’  in quired  t heG enera l.
‘The  señor i ta isin the ga rd e n, Exc e llency, ’ an swer ed one with the a i ro f
a courtier.
‘Then  l e tu s  go  th ere at onc e, ’ sai d  Genera l  V i n c ent e , turning toConyngham,a ndgrippi ng  hi s  arm a ffect io n ate ly.

They p asse d through  a doo r way whi t her two  men h adhur ried to  o pen  t h e
h e av y d o ors , and th esc ent o f vi o l e t s an d m igno nette , of orange i n b loom , 
an d ofa hun dred  o penin g buds  swep tacross their fa ces.   The bri lli an t
s un light almost  da zzl ed eyes  that h a d g ro w n ac customed to the co ol s ha de
of th e pati o ,fo r  Ronda i sone  oft h e sun nies t  s pots onearth, an dhere
th ewarmth  i s r are ly op p ress ive. The gard en wa s  Moorish, andr unning
wateri na q ue d ucts  of  marble, ye llow with  stu p en dou s  age,  murm ur e di n the
shade of trop ic al pla nts. A fountain p lashed and c h atteredsoft l y, like
the whisp ering  of childr e n.  Thepathw ays were  paved wi t h  a finewhi tegra vel o fbroken marble .  The re  was no  we ed amid  th e f low ers . It seeme d
a para di se  t oCon yngha m , freshfr omth e g rey a n d mour nfulnort he rn win ter, an d  n o part  o fthis  we ar y, bu sy w o rld .  Forhere were  re s t an dsi lence,and that sens eof eternit ywhi ch iso n ly conve yed by the
continuous v o ice ofrun ningor f alling wa ter .  Itwas hard t o beli eve
t ha t t h i s was r ea l a nd  earthly.C ony ngham  r ubbe d his e yes and
instinctiv e lyturned to loo k a t hi s co mpa n io n , w ho was a s unreal as his 
surroundi ng s —a  round-fac e d,ch ubby li ttle ma n, wi t h a ten der mouth  and
mois tdark e yes  looking k indly ou t upon th e  worl d ,who c all ed him se lfGener al Vin c ent e; an d thena me was  syno ny mous inall Spain with
bloodthi rstine ss an d c ruelty, w ith dar ing and a n un sparing ge ner als hip.
‘C o me,’said he , ‘ l et us  loo k  for Este l la .’H eled the way a l ong  a pa thw inding  amo ng almond and pea c h trees in ful l
bl o o m,int he s ha dow of the wei rdeu c a lypt
 heavily_carved in_balustrade
and cornice.  These_gentlemen bowed_gravely—indeed,_they were_so_numerous
that the majority_of them must_have had nothing to_do but cultivate_this
dignified_salutation.

‘The señorita?’ inquired the General.

‘The señorita is in the garden, Excellency,’ answered one with_the_air of
a_courtier.

‘Then_let_us go there at once,’_said General Vincente, turning to
Conyngham,_and gripping_his arm affectionately.

They passed through a doorway whither_two_men had hurried_to open the
heavy doors, and the scent of violets_and mignonette, of orange in bloom,
and_of a hundred_opening_buds_swept across their faces._ The brilliant
sunlight almost dazzled eyes_that had grown accustomed to the_cool shade
of the patio, for Ronda is_one of the sunniest spots on_earth, and here
the warmth is_rarely oppressive._ The garden was Moorish,_and running
water in_aqueducts of_marble, yellow with_stupendous age, murmured in the
shade of_tropical plants. _A fountain plashed and chattered softly,_like
the_whispering of children.__The_pathways were_paved with a_fine_white
gravel of_broken_marble.  There was no weed_amid_the flowers.  It seemed
a paradise to_Conyngham, fresh from the_grey_and mournful northern
winter, and_no part of this weary,_busy world.  For here were_rest and
silence,_and that_sense of eternity which is only conveyed by the
continuous voice of_running or falling water.  It_was hard to believe
that_this was_real_and earthly. _Conyngham_rubbed his_eyes and
instinctively turned to look at his_companion, who_was as unreal as his
surroundings—a round-faced,_chubby little man, with_a_tender mouth and
moist dark eyes looking_kindly out upon the world, who_called himself
General Vincente; and the_name_was_synonymous in all Spain with
bloodthirstiness_and cruelty, with daring and an_unsparing generalship.

‘Come,’ said_he, ‘let us look for Estella.’

He led_the_way along a path winding among_almond_and peach trees in full
bloom, in_the_shadow_of the weird eucalypt