THE
BENGAL MAGAZINE.
February 1878.
BIANCA.
OR
THE YOUNG SPANISH MADIEN.
Chapter V.
He entered the room without stopping, making a sign to Lord Moore to stay near the door, out of sight. He went up to the touch. "Well child," said he kneeling beside her and placing his hand on her shoulder; she turned her brown eyes towards him; there was a fitful, bright, wild light in them but she recognised him;—."C'est toi, mon père"—said she, smiling, such a strange, weird, little smile! "Tiens!" said she, wandering a little; "j'avais commis quelque faute, n'est-ce pas? Qu'était-ce? Jo no m'en souviens pas. Qu'avais fait, mon père?" "Rien, mon enfant, rien!"' She looked at him puzzled. Then closed her eyes and remained quiet. "Child!" She opened her eyes. "Would you like to see him, my darling; would you like to see Lord Moore?" "Ah!Chat! Hush! Do not name him; the wound is sore yet father, very sore. O God! I am so cold!" She went on, after a pause, her eyes dilated, and fixed toward, the window. "It’s all white with snow,—and she is so delicate; why should she lie under the earth with nothing between her and the snow but a thin plank of oak!" She half rose; "I am now like you Inez dear!. Oh! that I were lying cold and still beside you under the snow!" She lay back again; then suddenly with a piteous cry ;—"Don’t do it again, my lord, don’t. Father is so angry." She was greatly fond of poetry, and under delirium she uttered stray verses applying them to herself. "Father,
