It was like bringing something of the bliss of heaven
into the bliss of earth. The Senora's eyes were full of
tears; she slipped her hand into her husband's and looked at
him with a face which asked, "Do you not also feel the
eternity of a true love?"
"How sweet and wild are these serenades, Luis! said Antonia.
"I wonder who wrote them?"
"But, then, they were never written, my sister. Out of the
hearts of lonely shepherds they came; or of women spinning in
their quiet houses; yes, even of soldiers in the strong
places keeping their watch."
"That is the truth, Luis," answered Isabel. "And every
Christmas, when I was in the convent the Sisters made a
serenade to the Virgin, or a seguidilla to our blessed Lord.
Very still are the Sisters, but when it comes to singing, I
can assure you the angels might listen!"
"There is a seguidilla I hear everywhere," said the doctor;
"and I never hear it without feeling the better for listening.
It begins--`So noble a Lord.'"
"That, indeed!" cried Luis. "Who knows it not? It is the
seguidilla to our blessed Lord, written by the daughter of
Lope de Vega--the holy Marcela Carpio. You know it, Senora?"
"As I know my Credo, Luis."
"And you, Isabel?"
"Since I was a little one, as high as my father's knee.
Rachela taught it to me."
"And you, Lopez.
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