The Arrival 



true Briton's arrival. As he passed the barrier, he came 

 close to me in the crowd, still without recognising me, 

 though straight before his nose, for I was dressed in the 

 costume of the people. I touched his elbow, and he turned 

 upon me with a look of impatient defiance, thinking me one 

 persecutor more. 



How quickly the expression changed, and to what, I 

 leave you to imagine. We rushed into each other's arms, 

 as much as the many great-coats slung over his shoulders, 

 and the deep folds of cloak in which I was enveloped, 

 would mutually permit. Then, saying more than a 

 thousand things in a breath, or rather in no breath at all, 

 we set off in great glee for my lodgings, forgetting, in the 

 excitement, the poor little porter who was following us at 

 full trot, panting and puffing under the heavy portmanto. 



After dinner, we sallied forth beneath the stars, to see 

 Seville by moonlight from the top of the Giralda. Having 

 come to where that wonderful wand, lifted by the magic 

 hand of the Moor, points whither all pinnacles, whether of 

 mosque or cathedral, do point, however much the way to 

 heaven may differ on the lower story, we entered the 

 dwelling at its base, where some of the family were going 

 to bed. A young man got ready a lantern, and leading us 

 through a sloppy back-kitchen and other damp premises, 

 preceded us up the succession of inclined planes which 

 ascend the tower. 



Imagine an interminable sloping gallery in the wall, 

 corkscrewing round and round the tower, or rather square 

 and square, with landing-places at the corners, and here 

 and there large niches, where two arabesque arches, divided 

 by a slender column of glittering marble, let in the night, 

 thwarted by the graceful balustrade of a jutting balcony. 



The dark ascent of the echoing corridor,— the cloaked 



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