Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1880-03-11
THE LADY OF LEON
From the Boston Sunday Budget.


From the Boston Sunday Budget.
A dark-eyed Spanish lady sat at the
easement Of her window, looking oui
from the grand cid gothic castle upon
the landscape below. She was young
and beautiful, but the anxious care upon
her forehead and the silent tear trick
ling down her fair check told that heI
heart was fnll of sorrow.
Afar OF over the western hill-tops the
sun-god was slowly sinking, and his
brilliant rays shone full and fair upon
the face Of the anxious watcher. Dark
ly resplendent was that proud, superb
couutenance, gorgeous IS aqueen's in its
Andalusian brilliancy, firm and stat
uesque as II carved from marble. A
naughty patrician dame, If one could
judge from the royally-beautiful fea-
lures, the jewels on neck and brow and
hair, and the costly surroundings of the
apartment in which she sat. Yet sor-
row and care enter the palaces OF the
lofty as well as the huts of the lowly,
and Lady Isadoura de Leon was misera-
BILE with hope deferred and painful with
waiting.
why comes he notp" she murmured
my lord, my husband, why dost thou
tarry? Hast thou no thought for the
lone woman who waits thee in the halls
of thine ancestral home? Thou hast, /
know. 1t is danger that keeps thee
from her you love. The Moor has bound
thee in his coils. Oh, when will these
days of warfare end, the siege, the fo-
ray, and the bloody fray between the
Moslem and the Christian? l am sick
of them all. Oh, Roderigo, my idolized,
my dear one, why should the war-clari-
on have torn thee from the arms OF thy
love? And thou art in peril, perhaps
wounded on the battlefield, or, heaven
forefend, dead. with the carrion birds
supping ON thy tender fesh9 But |
cannot think the Holy Virgin will per-
nit it thus, when l have prayed her
with costliest supplications to preserve
thee safely from harm. Oh, those cruel
mountainsl Would could see behind
them," and she stretched her arms
yearningly to the southwark, where the
snowy peaks of the Sierra Nevada loom
ed up against the heavens. DAY after
day, for two long weeks. have stretch
ed my weary gaze across your limits, yet
nothing has. met my eye. / cannot en-
dure this suspense longer; either he
must be dead, or else his victorious BAN
ners are coming, and l cannot see. /
will to the turret of the keep, and see
what good Pedro has to say. Perchance
his eyes have marked ere now my lords
approach.
Brushing the tears from her eyes, the
lady rose and hurried to the summit of
the keep, where the gray-haired warden
kept watch over the castle.
1t was the year 14S1. The brilliant
and deadly struggle between the Span
iards and the Moors of Granada had just
begun, which terminated in the success
jugation of the Moslem power in Spain.
Among the great barons who entered
heart and soul into that contest was Ro-
derigo Ponce de Leon, marquis of CadiZ.
A Drawer warrior never couched lance
or rode steed ON the battlefield, and
he was noble as he was brave, and more
over held rank among the wealthiest
wealthiest lords of Andalusia.
The capture and sack of the Spanish
town, of Zahaha by the Moslems had
reused the ire of all true-hearted Span
iards, and burning to avenge the wrong,
De Leon had marched with his vassals
into the Moorish territory, and sat down
before the crag-built city of Albania,
with the purpose of capturing it by siege
or by storm. Relying on their fancied
security, the Moorish garrison allowed
themselves to grow careless, and, un-
suspicious of danger, kept dull watch
over rampant and citadel. Before the
walls of the fortress the noble marquis
appeared one day with hammered host,
and swift messenger had borne to La
dy Isadoura the tidings of her lords
arrival and the preparation for the frays
But now p fortnight had elapsed and no
further intelligence had reached her, and
fearful forebodings seized her mind lest
the expedition might not have been sue
cessfui.
well, Pedro, what tidings? Hast
thou perceived no signs of my returning
lord?" 40 .gs
None, my lady. l fear me there is
danger in the air. The noble marquis.
should be here ere this. Ha! what is
that?"
Even as he spoke the lady's eye dis
tinguished in the distance a single
knight, squirting furiously toward the
castle, his silver casque flashing in the
light OF the departing sun, and his man.
tie floating like bloody banner behind
him.
The lzdyjs eyes had been dim with
tears, and she would not trust them. She
leaned far out of the turret window and
searched the distance with her dilating
orbs. The color ebbed from her cheeks,
her very lips lost their rich crimson, her
whole face WAS cold and white as mar
ble.
Good Pedro" she cried, "look and tell
me if there is but one. My eyes are
blinded. Who is it, and does he indeed
ride alone? Tell me quickly if thou
knowest"
Her voice was low and calm, but the
frightened warden detected vibrations
Of anguish running through her clear
wosds
"There is but one, my lady," he an
swered slowly. "and he seemeth to have |
come lately from the field of battle. He
rides like my masters esquire, Martin |
Galindo."
.It is defeat-it is ruin" said the mar
ehioness; my lord is slain, the Chris
tians have been routed. Oh, woe the
dayr
Her cry was like the cry of wound
el eagle; her eyes shone like stars in her
fierce anguish.
Let us go down, Pedro, and quickly,
too, for / must know his tidings, let
them be what they may.
With these words the lady descended
from the donjon keep, and passing thro'
a succession of halls, entered at last the
wel1-paved court-7ard. The portcuIlis
had already been lowered to admit the
knight, who, blood-stained and covered
with dust,and mounted on steed whose