concile this picture of sadness to the enchanting scene of their domestic felicity. The cottage of innocence cannot be the haunt of crime, and had they been robbers, why did they not plunder me?
Often had I hunted in that forest, but never knew such a hut to be in it. Various indeed were the reports of a haunted and ruinous castle, said to be in its centre; but my way had never led me so far.
Agitated by a thousand strange illusions, my horse made a stop, and I saw a human form lie quite close to me, among the briars. As I alighted, it began to move. "Ah! don't murder me, dear ghost, don't!" cried a human voice—it was Alfonso's. Shivering with cold, and quaking with terror, he wanted at my approach, to get away; when I called out to him with a laugh: —"What the devil brought thee hither Alfonso! Where's thy horse!"
"Jesus Maria!" cried he, "is it you Don Carlos? Is my Lord alive still? To be sure, hell must be in this damned forest? How did your honor manage to get out again?" Thus declaiming, he crept forth from the briars.
