At last he strode slowly away, as if to quit the chamber, when his foot struck against the case of the picture, and his eye rested upon a paper which lay therein, folded and embedded.

He took it up, and, lifting aside the hangings, hurried into a small cabinet lighted by a single lamp.

Here, alone and unseen, Calderon read the following letter: "TO RODERIGO NUNEZ.
"Will this letter ever meet thine eyes?
I know not; but it is comfort to write to thee on the bed of death; and were it not for that horrible and haunting thought that thou believest me--me whose very life was in thy love--faithless and dishonoured, even death itself would be the sweeter because it comes from the loss of thee.

Yes, something tells me that these lines will not be written in vain; that thou wilt read them yet, when this hand is still and this brain at rest, and that then thou wilt feel that I could not have dared to write to thee if I were not innocent; that in every word thou wilt recognise the evidence that is strong as the voice of thousands,--the simple but solemn evidence of faith and truth.

What! when for thee I deserted all--home, and a father's love, wealth, and the name I had inherited from Moors who had been monarchs in their day--couldst thou think that I had not made the love of thee the core, and life, and principle of my very being! And one short year, could that suffice to shake my faith ?--one year of marriage, but two months of absence?
You left me, left that dear home, by the silver Xenil.