case, I believe, with a kind of growing affection.

Seeing this sentiment in her eyes, the Don was clearly touched by it,
and so, laying his hand gently on her shoulder, he says:

"My poor child, remember you the ugly old women we saw dancing at
Barcelona? They were not more than forty; what will they be like in a
few years? Who will tolerate them? who love them? Is that the end you
choose for your own life--that the estate to which our little princess
shall fall?"

"No, no, no!" cries she, in a passion, clenching her little hands and
throwing up her head in disdain.

"And no, no, no, say I," cries Dawson. "Were our case ten times as bad,
I'd not go back from my word. As it is, we are not to be pitied, and I
warrant ere long we make ourselves to be envied. Come, Kit, rouse you
out of your lethargies, and let us consult how we may improve our
condition here; and do you, Señor, pray order us a little of that same
excellent wine you spoke of, if it be but a pint, when you feel disposed
that way."

The Don inclined his head, but lingered, talking to Moll very gravely,
and yet tenderly, for some while, Dawson and I going into the house to
see what we could make of it; and then, telling us we should see him no
more till the next day, he left us. But for some time after he was gone
Moll sat on the side of the well, very pensive and wistful, as one to
whom the future was opened for the first time.

Anon comes a banging at our garden gate, which Moll had closed behind