Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume III

Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume III Page 7

by M. Y. Halidom

  ACT III.

  SCENE I.--_Outside the castle of Don Silvio. The castle of Don Diegoseen in the background, upon the opposite peak of the mountain. Time:Sunrise. Don Silvio and Donna Rodriguez._

  D. SIL. My tears still blind my eyes. Look out, Rodriguez, And see if there be traces of my daughter. Alas! alas! this hoary head is bowed As 'neath the weight of yet a score of years. Oh, Inez, Inez! What a fate is thine! An thy young life be spared, could ought repay Th' injury done thine honour at the hands Of these bold, lawless, gipsies? Woe is me! Let me not think on't, or I shall go mad.

  ROD. My lord, as I stand gazing towards the west, Methinks I see a dusty cloud advance; As were't a troup of horsemen at full speed, And bearing towards the castle. Now I see The limbs of horses and the arms of men; The sound of human voices, too, I hear, And, as they still approach, the distant tramp Of horses' hoofs is plainly audible. And now, unless my eyesight play me false, Foremost among a file of glittering pikes, I do discern Don Diego's waving plume. 'Tis he! and bearing at his saddle bow My mistress Inez. Oh, thank God! she's safe. Do you not hear, my master, what I say? Your daughter's safe! Come, cheer up, good my lord.

  D. SIL. (_Musingly_). Safe! didst thou say! My daughter's honour safe?

  ROD. How say you, sir? Her honor! Nay, her life?

  D. SIL. (_Musingly_). Life without honor!

  ROD. Sure, my lord's not well! (_Aside._) The blow has been too much for him, and turned His aged head. Oh, my poor, poor master! I tell him of his daughter's safe return, And straight he 'gins to prate about her honor. (_Aloud._) Look! look! Senor, at yonder cavalcade, How it sweeps along; and now, behold, Next to Don Diego is his servant Juan; And there is Pedro. Bless his good old soul! There the valiant hunter. Then all the crowd Of vassals and retainers, and the guard, [_Cheers without._ With the armed populace. Hark! What cheering!

  D. SIL. Is it, indeed, my daughter? Let me see; 'Tis she, 'tis she; Oh, Inez!

  _Enter_ INEZ, _accompanied by_ DON DIEGO. _Behind_, PEDRO, JUAN, HUNTER, _and_ ATTENDANTS.

  INEZ. (_Embracing Don Silvio._) Father! Father!

  ROD. My little mistress, Inez! What, no kiss For poor old nurse Rodriguez!

  INEZ. (_Embracing Rodriguez._) Good Rodriguez!

  [_Don Diego comes forward, whilst Inez in the background appears to be relating her adventures to Don Silvio and Donna Rodriguez._

  D. DIE. (_Sotto._) What work I had to quell the dusky band, And carry off my prize. God only knows How the black caitiffs fought! Like demons damned; Incited on by their own swarthy queen, My former love. Bah! why recall the past, The ebullitions of a youthful lust, Now five-and-twenty years agone and more? And that at such a moment, too, as this, When, acting bridegroom for the second time, I now do lay my heart and hand, my wealth, My land, and castle, all my fair domain At fair Inez' feet. Poor Silvio's daughter! A few hour's more, and she will be my own. In my own private chapel at midnight, And not one minute later, there a priest Of my own choice, shall join our hands together. 'Twixt this and then, I must so use the time To win her fairly, and by wiles t'efface The prejudice young hearts by Nature have Against old age. If needs be, I must use Dissimulation and well act the saint, That she may not give credit to the tales That idle gossip may have crammed her with Against my moral character. And now I do bethink me that the readiest way Of all to win her over to my will Would be to tempt with goodly bribe her nurse (What will not such a woman do for gold?) To speak some little word in praise of me; Talk of my love for her, my name, my fame, My wealth, my virtues. How this match of hers Will please her aged father. And again, Should she be coy, and wickedly refuse The fortune heaven has strewed along her path, Let her reflect upon the consequences. I would act fair with her, for I'd be loath To lead to the altar an unwilling bride In sight of all my vassals and retainers. Yet, an she yield not (for as yet it seems She looks with cold suspicion on my suit), Why, then; why, then, however loath to use it, Force must accomplish all when goodwill fails. I cannot well expect much help at sixty From youthful graces, as when first I wooed My gipsy queen. _There!_ ever and anon From out the past these memories will arise, Like phantoms, threatening whether I will or no. Avaunt! begone! And yet I cannot choose But call to mind how, middle in the fray, The dead and wounded lying all around, Her dusky form arose before my path, And all undaunted stood with staff in hand And glance so terrible, I would as lief Meet with the King of Terrors face to face As that same virago. Yet there she stood, And with uplifted arm, in clear tones cried, "Traitor, beware! Thy star is on the wane, Think not to conquer always, for a hand Mightier than thine shall yet subdue thee. Blood is on thy hand. Thine own blood shall flow. The stars foretell thy downfall, so look to it." I heard no more, for I had barely placed My Lady Inez at my saddle bow, Mid smoke of carbines and the clash of arms: Myself with drawn sword cutting right and left, So could but pay slight heed to what she said, And set off homeward with my goodly prize, Leaving the baffled foe behind to moan. Yet, through the smoke and dust of horses' hoofs, Still, for a time, I heard the hellish cry: "Vengeance on the traitor! Vengeance, vengeance!" I know not why her words cut deeper than Had they been the words of any other; But from _her_ lips they came with such a force, They seemed to rend the air, and enter deep Into the very caverns of my soul, Turning my blood to milk, so that my arm Fell nerveless to my side, and my good blade Did well-nigh drop from out my hand. But hush! It never must be known that Don Diego, Though old in years, quailed before tongue of woman. Bah! away with all fear of childish threats. And, swarthy hag! do thou thy devilmost.

  [_Inez comes forward, between Don Silvio and Rodriguez. Don Silvio motions for Rodriguez to retire. Exeunt Rodriguez and attendants._

  INEZ. Nay, one thing still doth mar the joy I feel At having passed the dangers of last night. Though I stand safely on my father's hearth, And see him 'live and well, and know that I Have henceforth naught to fear, yet still my thoughts Will ever wander towards the gipsy camp, Close by the couch of that brave youth who fought At cost of his own life, to rescue me From out their hands.

  D. DIE. How say you, lady fair? What youth? You dream. 'Twas I who rescued you.

  INEZ. Your pardon, sir; but I was safe already. I thank you for your courtesy, the same. You thought to rescue me.

  D DIE. How now? _Thought to?_

  D. SIL. Friend Diego, the tale runs thus: My daughter, Accompanied by our old serving man, Had hardly been attacked by the gang And forced to dismount, when a comely youth Of gentle blood----

  D. DIE. Ay, ay, the hunter's story!

  D. SIL. Just so. Well, my daughter says the gipsies Meant her no harm. Merely would detain her.

  D. DIE. _Meant her no harm!_ Ha, ha! Gipsies ne'er do. _Merely detain her!_ Good again! Ha, ha! Only so long as they might hope to get A pretty ransom. Why, friend Silvio?

  D. SIL. The pelf and trinkets that she had upon her Were not demanded.

  D. DIE. No; 'twas nought to what They looked forward to as goodly ransom.

  INEZ. Of their motives I know nothing; but she Who seemed to be the queen of all the tribe Did use to me such courtesy and kindness As had she been my mother. Even when That noble youth, thinking us in danger, Rushed in upon them, killing and maiming All who dared withstand him, till at length Himself, poor soul! fell wounded in my cause. E'en then the queen herself had pity on him, And helped me bind his wounds.

  D. DIE. What of all this?

  INEZ. To show you gipsies have good qualities E'en as Christians.

  D. DIE. Bah! traitors, all of them. But, what of this young man? This--this----

  INEZ. Ah! _he_, The noble youth whose bandaged head I still Was tending
when you did separate us, And bore me off? Did you not see him then?

  D. DIE. Ay, some such bastard gipsy dog I saw. What! _he_ of noble blood! _He_ a Castilian! Some half-bred gipsy. Lady, sure it was A worse breed, far, than the pure gipsy born. What! think you, that because of borrowed plumes The jay will pass for peacock? Or that he, A base-born mongrel gipsy, just because Decked in the garments of some plundered lord, Could e'er deceive the eyes of men like us? Nay, lady, I do compassionate you. You are young, and the world to you is fresh, You know not of its wiles, its vice, its crimes, But take all men to be just as they seem. Take my experience, lady. I am old. Not _old_; but old enough to know the world And all its hollowness; and so most fit To guide and counsel inexperienced youth. Lean then on me, lady. I'll be your staff; And trust me faithfully when I tell you Not all the learning of the convent cell Is worth one ace of that we gain by age.

  INEZ. Enough, sir. That the world is full of sin And treachery I ever have been told. My aunt, the Lady Abbess, oft would say We ever should distrust the tongue of men When most persuasive, be they young or old.

  D. SIL. Come, Inez, thou art tired, and need rest After thy troubles and fatigues. (_To Don Diego._) My friend, You will excuse my daughter for a while, I've much to say to her in private.

  D. DIE. Good. [_Exeunt Don Silvio and Inez._ Now for my ally. What ho! Rodriguez!

  _Enter_ RODRIGUEZ.

  ROD. Here I am, good my lord.

  D. DIE. (_Caressingly._) Good Rodriguez, I know that thou'rt a good and trusty friend Unto this house. That thou lov'st well thy lord And also thy young mistress, unto whom From childhood thou hast acted as a mother.

  ROD. Well, sir, I've always tried to do my best.

  D. DIE. I know it. I know it both by report And mine own observation. Wherefore, now Full persuaded of thy many virtues----

  ROD. Oh, my lord!

  D. DIE. Nay, 'tis nothing but the truth. I say, once more, persuaded beyond doubt Of thy rare merits and good qualities And of the value of one such as thou To my old and long loved friend Don Silvio, I do repent me of the hasty words That lately 'scaped my too impatient tongue.

  ROD. My lord, pray say no more. Rodriguez ever Remains your humble servant. (_Aside._) Really he Is not so bad as once I thought he was.

  D. DIE. Believe me, that those words but rose in haste, From o'er anxiety about the fate Of thy young mistress, whom thou lovest so well. Whom I, too, love so well. I, too, Don Diego.

  ROD. I doubt not, sir, with a true father's love.

  D. DIE. Hark ye! Rodriguez, I must not waste time In coming to the point; but silence keep.

  ROD. Ay, my lord. Who better than Rodriguez At a secret.

  D. DIE. Ha! Sayest thou so, brave wench? Then list to me, and thou shalt never want For bit or sup, kirtel, or farthingale, As long thou livest. First accept this purse. [_Gives a heavy purse._

  ROD. Oh, my good lord! My generous, noble, lord! What can I do to deserve your bounty? (_Aside._) Well, I remember to have heard folks say, "The devil's not so black as he is painted."

  D. DIE. Rodriguez, hark! What thou hast in that purse Is nothing unto that which thou may'st earn, If thou succeedest in the task I set.

  ROD. Proceed, my lord. I'm all attention. Speak.

  D. DIE. Know then that I love thy mistress Inez. Ay, with the passion of a younger man. Count not my age--the heart is never old. I've sought her of her father, and 'twas settled She should be mine on her arrival home After her studies at St. Ursula's, Ay, on the very day. So ran the 'pact. The marriage, therefore, I have said takes place This very night, at midnight, in my chapel. All is prepared.

  ROD. 'Tis over soon, my lord.

  D. DIE. Peace! peace! I'll brook no waiting, no delay; I've sworn it shall be so, and it shall be. What care I, think'st thou, if the wedding dress, Or this or that be ready, so _I_ be? Thou knowest our acquaintance is but short; She scarce has seen my face. No matter that. Now listen. What I ask of thee is this: Do thou use all thy influence with the child, T'induce her to look kindly on my suit, And to her father's prayers and tears add thine. But leave her not until she do consent. And should she e'en at the eleventh hour Be obdurate, why then, as last resource, Tell her her father's life hangs on a thread. Say that his castle and all that he hath Will instantly be sold over his head; And he and she, and you two servants both Sent all adrift at once, to beg your bread. If that work not, then must I fain use force, And that were against me. So, Rodriguez, Kind Rodriguez, I pray thee do thy best.

  ROD. My lord, you ever shall have my good word What I can do I will. Albeit, I think Your grace is over hasty in the matter. A little time----

  D. DIE. No, faith, not one minute Past the hour fixed. So see to't. I will now Off to the castle, leaving thee one hour T'exercise thy powers of persuasion On thy young noble mistress. After that I shall appear again and try what I Myself can do to win her virgin heart. Use all thy art and strength. Till then, adieu. [_Exit._

  ROD. A pretty fix, forsooth! _Use all my art!_ I love the dear child well, and would, I'm sure, Do all I could to help her to a state Worthy the better days of this old house. The Lady of Don Diego! That sounds well. Mistress of his castle and his servants, But wedded to a man who's old enough To be her grandsire! Had he been a gallant-- Yet his money's good. Humph! I suppose I must. [_Exit slowly; counting her money._

  SCENE II.--_The Ravine. Time: Sunrise. Don Pascual sleeping. The GipsyQueen standing near, watching him. The Gipsy Camp in the background._

  D. PAS. (_In his sleep._) Oh, Inez, Inez! (_Waking with a start._) Ha! was that a dream?

  GIP. Q. He wakes.

  D. PED. Oh, that I had thus slumbered on, Feeling her soothing presence, and so died, Rather than waken to this cold, bleak, world.

  GIP. Q. (_Aside._) How I do long to open all my heart! Unmask this stern exterior, and make Him master of the secret of his birth. His wound's but slight, I think he'll bear the news. I'll try. (_To Don Pascual_) Young man! Say, how goes it with thee?

  D. PAS. I thank thee, mother, I have soundly slept; My wound's already healed. The gipsy balm Hath wrought a miracle.

  GIP. Q. (_Aside._) He calls me mother. See how the native gipsy blood's instinct Speaks through the lips of half-unconscious sense. I'll wager he already half divines His occult parentage.

  D. PAS. (_Looking around him._) Mother, where's Inez?

  GIP. Q. (_Aside._) Mother again; but Inez fills his thoughts. Hast thou no mem'ry, youth, of last nights fray? [_Aloud._

  D. PAS. But little, mother; all is still confused.

  GIP. Q. Then be thou patient, for I've much to tell. But say, how is't, thou ever call'st me mother?

  D. PAS. In faith I know not how my careless tongue Could shape a word so tender to thee, Queen, Who art a stranger to me. Yet I feel, And felt from the first moment that I gazed Upon thy dusky brow, a mother's heart Did beat for me within that hardy breast. Why I know not. I, too, who never knew A mother's love, whose infant steps were led By other than a mother's hand. A good Kind lady, long since dead, adopted me, And dying, left me all her patrimony, Which hitherto has been doled out to me By guardians, until I should come of age. One Father Miguel, whom I seldom saw, Paid my expenses at the seminary; But when I asked him questions of my birth I never got intelligent response, So that I long have thought some mystery Doth underly the subject of my birth.

  GIP Q. I knew the Lady Angela, and loved her.

  D. PAS. Good Heavens! What, that name! The lady who----

  GIP. Q. Adopted thee and Father Miguel too.

  D. PAS. And Father Miguel!

  GIP. Q. Does that surprise thee? I could tell thee more.

 
; D. PAS. More than that! Ay, then Who knows thou may'st not discover The secret of my birth.

  GIP. Q. Secrets as strange Have often been discovered by gipsies. Am I not a gipsy? Can I not read The destinies of all, mapped out for thee By the great heavenly bodies? Think'st thou that Our meeting was not fashioned by the stars And known to me beforehand?

  D. PAS. Even that!

  GIP. Q. Ay, and your meeting with the Lady Inez.

  D. PAS. That, too! Nay, tell me more. I fain would hear.

  GIP. Q. Not so fast. Thou'rt o'er excitable. Calm thyself first an thou wouldst hear more Of that young damsel. But of her anon.

  D. PAS. Weird and mysterious being, as I read Thy mystic brow a whisper seems to say I've seen thee once before. Say, art thou not That crone who ever haunts me in my dreams, Known in my youth, who once gave me this ring?

  GIP. Q. The same, the same! I've watched thee from a child.

  D. PAS. And by that ring thou knowest me.

  GIP. Q. 'Tis true.

  D. PAS. Ay, now I know thee. Tell me now, O Queen, Why tookest thou an interest in my fate?

  GIP. Q. The tale is long and sad, but thou must hear. Be patient and lend an attentive ear. Know, then, that in Grenada's lofty range There stands a twin-peaked mountain doubly-crowned, With two grim feudal castles, old, yet strong. The owners of these fortresses of yore Were aye at feud, until at last the one Subdued the other. Ever since that day The victor's star in the ascendant seemed, For though in later times they turned to friends, Who had been foes, and were allied together In skirmishes with castles neighbouring, In which they came off gainers, still, the one-- The larger and the richer one, I mean, The whilom victor of the other peak-- Did e'er with haughty overbearing sneer Upon his humbler neighbour, and would bind The poorer lord with obligations strong, For favours often granted, till at last The lesser lord became dependent on The greater one, and ever poorer grew And more dependent, and so stands the case. Things will not long be thus. A change will come. The Fates predict it, and the proud one's star Already's on the wane.

  D. PAS. In sooth, good Queen! But tell me what has this to do with me?

  GIP. Q. Peace! It concerns thee much, as thou shalt hear. The father of the present owner of The richer castle, Don Fernando height, I do remember well when but a child. A warrior proud was he, like all his race. His son, the present lord, is like him. He Whose name I've vowed shall ne'er more pass my lips.

  D. PAS. Ha!

  GIP. Q. Interrupt me not. Thou soon shalt hear. This lord, who shall be nameless, in his youth (He now is old) did love a gipsy maid, Who, in the freshness of her virgin heart, Returned his passion, being but a child, Whilst he, the villain, was a full-grown man Of forty years and over. Still he bore His years so lightly that he younger seemed. With passion fierce he wooed the gipsy maid, And pleaded in such moving tropes his love, That the young gipsy's heart--not then of stone, Though long since turned to flint--did melt, and he, Seeing his prey secure, did plot her ruin. But the child had a father, old and wise, Of royal blood, too, known as King Djabel, And proud, too, of his lineage and his race. He thought it lowering to true gipsy blood To mate with pale-faced Christians, even though 'Twere to a Christian king and by the church, Drawn up with legal document and signed In all due form, and when he heard that I Did to a Christian's love lend listening ear.

  D. PAS. You? _You_, O Queen, then, were the gipsy maid. You're speaking of yourself. I understand.

  GIP. Q. (_Starting_) My tongue has tripped, and traitor turned. Why then Pursue my tale under false colours? Aye, Know that I, Pepa, was the gipsy maid Once beloved of that false Don Diego.

  D. PAS. Don Diego.

  GIP. Q. Ha! My tongue has tripped again. I vowed that name should ne'er more pass my lips. Well, this false lord, with subtle wiles and arts Did so win my young heart, that King Djabel, Furious at first at what he deemed a stain Upon his lineage, threatened me with death, And would have killed me, had I brought dishonour On his fair name. But deem not that I fell. I loved him--and how dearly! But he found That the proud gipsy maid, though young, would not Barter her honour. Not for wealth untold. He then made promises that I should be Mistress of all his castle and his lands After his father's death. Till then, he said, Our match must be clandestine, as his father Would disinherit him were he to know That his son were wedded to a gipsy. Our plans were well nigh ripe, for oft we met In secret, and had full time to discuss Our future prospects, left quite undisturbed. But one day King Djabel, suspecting guile, Did lie in wait for us, and with drawn blade From ambush out did spring upon the pair, And straight did fall upon this haughty lord, The would-be dishonourer of his child. But Pepa threw herself between her lover And angered father, and so stayed the blow And clinging to him, ever called upon Her furious sire to spare the gentle lord, And bid him smite _her_ breast if _one_ must die. But Djabel loved his daughter, and did pause, Touched for a moment with her pleading prayer. When, seeing him more calm, the wily don Did straight, in full and flowing courteous speech, Declare his love for me, and how he sought Not to make me his minion, but his wife. But Djabel, answering with haughty scorn, Said: "Go back to thy castle, Christian lord, And wed some damsel of the pale-faced herd. No blood of thine must mar our gipsy race." The don's eye flashed. He would have spoken words Full of wild fury and deep bitterness; But Pepa interposed again, and flung Herself on bended knees before her sire, And begged her knight kneel too, and join her prayer. The don at first loathing much to grovel Down in the dust before a gipsy chief, Whom he esteemed a savage, yet did yield, And for my sake did bend his haughty knee. And thus we knelt together, clinging to King Djabel's robe and choked with sobs and tears, Did pray and plead, and plead and pray for long, But all in vain our pleading and our prayers, For dark as midnight grew King Djabel's brow, And stern his glance of cold and deep disdain, Saying: "Humblest thou thyself, O haughty don? Methinks thou might'st have spared thyself the pains. Rise from the dust. Thy prayers are but as the wind That blows against the granite mountain's side, Yet harms it not, nor will it budge an inch, E'en though it blow a hurricane. So I Remain unmoved by all thy puny prayers." Stung to the quick, and rendered desperate, The haughty don with one bound sprang erect, And darting lightning flashes from his eye, Blushing the while at having bent the knee, Humbling himself in vain, now cried aloud, "Have at thee, then, dark chief, for _one_ must die. I fear thee not, and will not lose my hold Upon thy daughter, whom I love as life. Give her me, an it please thee, but if not I'll wrest her from thee, so do thou thy worst." Then straight the fray began. Each drew his blade And fell upon the other, whilst my tears And screams availed not, for the two were locked Firm in each other's grasp, and tugged and pulled In equal match, whilst I with streaming hair, Torn robe, and tearful eyes, did cry aloud For help in vain, till this poor frame, o'erwrought With multiplex emotions, did give way, And, swooning, I fell heavily at their feet, Grasping my father's garment in my fall. The fight was stayed awhile, and each took breath. "Look to your daughter, chieftain," were the first Words that I heard on wakening from my swoon. And soon as e'er my tongue was loose, I cried, In accents feeble still, "Oh, father, stay This wicked brawl. Say, dost thou love thy child?" With heaving breast and eyes suffused with tears, And choking sobs, I seized his hand, and cried, "Spare my young life. I love this Christian lord, An thou do aught to him, 'twill be my death. Canst see thy darling wither, droop, and die, Or, stung to madness, seek a violent death? Now mark well what I say, O most dread King. Shouldst thou be guilty of this Senor's blood, Know me no more for daughter, for I vow Or him or none to wed, and should he fall, And by thy hand, I too will follow next. The oath is sworn." Then from my father's eye A tear fell, which he brushing soon away, As if he deemed it shame for man to weep, And cha
nging to a lighter mood, he cried: "Girl, thou hast conquered. Christian knight, thy hand. Let all broils cease between us. Thou hast fought And won my daughter fairly, showing courage Worthy a gipsy born. Therefore no more Will I withhold consent unto this match. But, mark me well, Sir Knight, this marriage must Be, though clandestine, legally up-drawn, That no base shuffling subterfuge may e'er In after years crop up to thwart the bond." Thus spake the king Djabel. My Christian knight Did vow upon his honour all should be Exact as nicest lawyer could require. Alas, for human villainy! What snares And wiles beset the simple, trusting heart. I loved him, and did lend a willing ear To all his schemes, spite my father's counsel, Suspecting nothing. What should I, poor child, Know of the world and all its hollowness? But King Djabel, suspecting treachery E'en from the first, and well upon his guard-- For little trust he placed in Christian wight-- Did stand aloof, and watched things from afar. "Now will I try the faith of this same knight," He said, and with a frankness ably feigned, He bid my lord take all things in _his_ hands, Saying he trusted him in all, but he, For his part, was a very simple man, Unskilled in the world's usances and all That appertains to life 'neath governments, 'Pon seeing which, the wily Christian lord Straight sought to profit by his innocence; Betray the hand that trusted him, and thought The dusky king, the dark barbarian, Would fall an easy prey into his hands. Howbeit, King Djabel, like crafty foe, Though simple seeming, sent abroad his spies, Whilst he himself was absent. From these men-- Men whom he trusted--he was well informed That this proud don had formed the fell design That a false priest should join our hands together.

  D. PAS. Villain!

  GIP. Q. Thou speakest sooth, for villainy More base or perjured never sprang from hell. I thought he loved me, but I found too late He sought to spurn me from him soon as e'er His lust was sated. So he straightway wrote To some base profligate and spendthrift friend Who owed him money, promising that he Would cancel all his debt and yet advance Another round sum, if, peradventure, He should so aid him in his hellish plot As to enact the part of holy priest, And satisfy the claims of King Djabel, Whilst he himself should be no longer bound To me by law than it should seem him fit, E'en as I were but his base concubine. You see, he loved me not, e'en from the first, Despite his protestations, since he could In base cold blood conceive such dire deceit. But this I knew not at the time, nor all The foul devices of his reptile heart. But fondly thinking that he loved me as I then loved him, I listened to his suit; Nor was I undeceived, till, ah! too late.

  D. PAS. This is most monstrous! Noble Queen, I vow Your sorrows move me to forget mine own. I would I had the traitor by the throat, That I might show him once how I esteem Him and his villainy. Nay, 'tis a crime That calls aloud to Heaven for vengeance. Thou art nought to me Queen, but yet I feel The wrong done towards thee e'en as though thou wert My own true flesh and blood. I'd do as much E'en wert thou thrice mine enemy. I swear That should this traitor ever cross my path, Or he or the false priest (I care not which-- Aye, both together, for 'tis nought to me), By Heaven I swear----

  GIP. Q. Hold! Heaven's instruments Are ever preordained. Thou canst not move One single step; nay, more, not e'en thy pulse Could throb again but for the will of Heaven. Leave him to Fate, for vengeance due will fall In time, and from that quarter Heaven wills.

  D. PAS. True Queen, but tell me more, I fain would know, What said your royal sire King Djabel?

  GIP. Q. Then list, and thou shalt hear how Djabel's spies Did intercept the lines that this false lord Wrote to his profligate and perjured friend, So that he received them not. But now mark What did my royal father? First he went To seek a Christian priest, long known to him, Albeit, unknown to this same haughty don; To him he showed the lines, and through his aid. Was writ an answer to this foul epistle, As coming from the friend of this false lord. This priest was father Miguel.

  D. PAS. Ha! that name. Why beats my heart as it ne'er throbbed before? Say, what is this new light that bursts upon My whilom darkened soul? What power is this That stirs my thoughts within me? But proceed. I must, and will know more. Proceed, O Queen. My frame doth tremble in expectancy For thy next word. Tell me, oh, tell me if----

  GIP. Q. (_Aside._) Already he doth divine what I would say; Be still, my heart, and give me strength to tell it. (_Aloud._) This letter, then, by Father Miguel forged, Ran thus in substance. Making first excuse That sudden illness made him keep his bed, But though unable to oblige his friend, Did, ne'ertheless, not to disappoint him, (Hearing the case was urgent, and not knowing How long it might be e'er he should recover) He thought to do not wrong in sending one, A trusty friend and boon companion, One, Don Elviro hight, to act as proxy; This was the name that Father Miguel bore To mask his own. Then straightway he set forth T'wards the inn, from which the letter dated, The while my lord, who, reading in hot haste The letter through, and doubting not that he Were aught else than what the letter stated (To wit, Elviro, and no priest at all). So sure was he of this, suspecting nought, He fondly welcomed him, and many a joke They cracked together o'er the heartless scheme. Don Miguel acting well his part throughout With ribald jest, and oft full merrily Alluding to his tonsure newly shorn, Asked of his patron how he liked his garb, And if he did not look a priest indeed. At this his lord laughed heartily, and thus Time passed away till I should don the veil, And we were married before witnesses. The ceremony over, all passed o'er Right merrily, nor knows my lord e'en now, Not even to this day, that he is married.

  D. PAS. Well done, by Heaven! And Father Miguel hail! So was the base would-be seducer paid Back in his own base coin. This should e'er be.

  GIP. Q. Ay, but thinkest thou I knew aught of this, Or was partaker in Don Miguel's scheme? Oh, no; of this my father told me nought, Nor knew I aught of all this base intrigue, This would-be marriage false, by false priest blessed, Till later years; in fact, until the time That King Djabel upon his death bed lay. He then confessed to me the foul design By him so ably thwarted. But e'en then The traitor had abandoned me already. He thought his marriage false, and told me plain I had no hold on him. I sought my sire, And then the truth came out. The blow was great, To find myself abandoned and deceived By him I loved and trusted, e'en though I Knew well that I stood right before the law, He had no right to leave me, that I knew. 'Twas heartless, as I then was big with child; His father, too, was dead, old Don Fernand, And I, by rights, his castle should have shared, As he had promised, but old King Djabel Did counsel me, "Be patient yet awhile; A day will come when thou shalt vengeance take. Nature hath made me prophet. I can see Now that my sun is sinking far beyond This earthly sphere, all that shall come to pass In future years. Delay thy vengeance, then, Still a few years, and I will be thy guide; I, Djabel, from over this side the grave Will guide thy steps and shape thy destinies Until the hour arrive." Thus spake Djabel, And falling back upon his rugged couch, Did breathe his last, clasping my hand in his; He now sleeps with his fathers. Rest his soul! And I, now left an orphan, and so young; Abandoned, too, by the base man I loved, How fared it with me, being then with child? The days of mourning for my father o'er, I could not keep my mind from wandering back To our first days of courtship, when my lord First wooed me, and did win my virgin heart. I dwelt upon the memory of his words-- How he had promised me in days of yore, His father being dead, old Don Fernand, That I should mistress of his castle be. How had he kept his promise? Don Fernand Was long since dead, yet he no offer made About his castle, but did keep me e'er Within a little cottage that he built During his father's lifetime for me, when We first were married. Here I lived content, For he then oft would visit me, and when He came not, yet I had full trust in him, And waited patiently, beguiling time By tending flowers in my garden home, For this was aye my passion from a child, And thus the hours passed full happily. But one day, seeing
my lord with murky brow, And not divining what the cause mote be, I, with fond heart and young simplicity, Did offer all that consolation That loving wife will offer to her lord In moments of deep sadness. But he spurned Me coldly from him, and when I did ask In what way I had my lord offended, Deigning no direct reply, made answer, He loved me not. I had no hold on him, Should ne'er be mistress of his father's hall, Our marriage being but a mockery, To last as long as it should please himself. He left me with a laugh of bitter scorn, Whilst I, as if by lightning struck, did fall Flat to the earth, and waking, sought my sire. Thou knowest how my father, dying, left A promise he would ever guide my steps In hour of vengeance; so I patience kept. Meanwhile our son was born. That son _art thou_!

  D. PAS. Oh, mother! mother! [_They embrace and weep on each others' necks._ (_On recovering._) I did half divine The truth from the beginning of thy tale, But at the name of Father Miguel My heart did smite so loud against my ribs As like to burst them; e'en as were it charged From Heaven with joyful tidings to my soul. I ever knew that man in some strange way Was mixed up in the mystery of my birth.

  GIP. Q. 'Twas he that christened thee, abandoned by Thy all unworthy father. He that holds Proofs that our marriage valid is by law, Without which proofs thou'dst been born a bastard, A stray, an outcast, slave to this world's scorn. The Lady Angela, that kind, good soul, Whose counsellor and priest Don Miguel was, Knew all thy history, and pitied thee. She was thy godmother while at the font. Don Miguel marked thee with the Christian's sign, And being a widow lady without heirs, And rich withal, she straightway did resolve T'adopt thee, and 'neath Father Miguel's care To have thee educated as a priest. Poor pious soul! But thou know'st best of all How thine own wilful temper at the school-- Thy wild, impatient, roving gipsy blood,-- Did give small promise for a like career, Which Father Miguel seeing from the first (Though not until repeated efforts made To tame thy stubborn nature proved in vain) Did finally, now weary of his charge, Abandon thee unto thine own wild ways, Doling the money out from time to time, Till thou should'st come of age. That time has come.

  D. PAS. Ha! ha! I well do call to mind the time When Father Miguel, with church dogmas sought To warp my stubborn brain, and if I asked Him to explain some of that lore he taught, And fain would burden my poor skull withal, Then straight it was a mystery. I must Have faith, he said; nor ask the reason why. Against this answer my young soul rebelled. And long and fierce the battles that we fought. He called me insubordinate and rude. Said I lacked discipline, humility, That I must subjugate my intellect Unto the church's dictates, threatening me With purgatory and everlasting fire Unless I thought as he did, branding me As atheist, Jew, or heretic, whilst I Called him a fool. Then losing all control Over his passions, this good, holy man Did raise his hand to strike me, seeing which I seized a knife and threw it at his head, Leaving a scar upon his cheek; then laughed. As I grew older matters mended not, So he sent me to a seminary, Thinking to curb my will by discipline; But they soon found the worse they treated me The worse was I, and so all gave me up. 'Tis years since we have met. We were not formed To live together. Greater opposites In character Nature ne'er formed from clay. I owe the holy man no grudge; not I. He did his best, I mine to understand him. We were formed differently from our birth.

  GIP. Q. A wild boy thou wert ever. That is true. I've watched thee oft when thou thought'st me afar. Thou knew'st me not for mother, nor would I Unveil the myst'ry of thy parentage, Nor bring disgrace on Lady Angela, Who had so kindly offered to adopt Thee, the poor outcast gipsy's mongrel son, And rear him like the proudest of the land. Why should I, with my narrow, selfish love, Oppose a barrier to my son's advance, Refuse the lady's bounty, and drag down My son unto the level of myself. A wand'ring gipsy! Yet I loved thee. Ay, I loved thee e'en with more than mother's love. I would that all should love thee. As for those Who loved thee not, these I vowed should fear thee. I'ld see thee feared and envied, proud and great High up above thy fellows; and for this I smothered in my heart all outward show Of my affection, and so hid myself. Still, I was near and watched thee day by day Expand as the young plant before the sun. And I was happy in my heart of hearts To know that thou wert happy, and to know I was thy mother, though thou knew'st it not. And so for years I've watched thee, till thine own Wild wand'ring nature bid thee roam abroad. 'Twas then for years that I lost sight of thee; This also was predicted by the stars, And so I gave to thee this gipsy ring That I might know thee when we met again.

  D. PAS. Ay, I do mind me well, when yet a child, How once a gipsy gave it me, and bid Me wear it ever, and 'twould bring me luck; And how I, childlike, straight returned home, Pleased with the gift, to show my mother, or The lady whom I thought my mother then. But tell me, queen or mother, which thou wilt, Why, if as I think, all thy tale be true And thou wert really married to Don Diego, Knowing the law to be upon thy side, Why didst thou not at once set up thy claim Of lawful wife, instead of waiting now, A score of years and more! Thou could'st have claimed----

  GIP. Q. Thou askest me why I did not avail Myself of that protection that the law In my case would enforce. I'll tell thee, then. I was, indeed, then counselled so to do By Father Miguel and some other friends, Who knew that legal marriage was performed; But being mindful of the promise made Unto my father on his bed of death, And having strict confidence in his words, Those deep prophetic words which never erred, Then finding, too, when I did scan the stars Good reason his for bidding me postpone My vengeance for a season less ill-starred.

  D. PAS. What saw'st thou, mother, in the stars to make Thee to abandon all thy rightful claims And crave the charity of an alien?

  GIP. Q. I craved no charity. The lady who Did stand to thee in lieu of mother, came Herself and craved of me permission To take thee home and rear thee as her child; Which offer I, though with much reluctance, At length accepted, ever mindful of The brilliant future that the stars foretold.

  D. PAS. What sign was that that caused thee then such fear?

  GIP. Q. A star malefic in thy house of life; Threatening thee with speedy violent death From some traitor's hand. That hand, thy father's. Had I ta'en counsel of well-meaning friends And urged my rights, ay, had I moved a step, Thy life and mine had dearly paid for it.

  D. PAS. How this may be, I know not. If the stars Do really rule our destinies, or if Thy woman's fears but made thee dread contact With men in power. Have we not the law?

  GIP. Q. Justice may be bought. The oppressor's star Was then in the ascendant. 'Tis no more. Now mark, and I will show thee how the stars Have worked and ripened for my just revenge. Thou knowest well, 'tis now full many years I have lost sight of thee, though I have learned From Father Miguel thou wast still alive; The stars foretold our meeting. Until now I've waited for thee, and the stars likewise Predicted that almost at the same time Another I should meet, whose destiny Did figure so in thy young house of life.

  D. PAS. What! The Lady Inez?

  GIP. Q. Ay, even she.

  D. PAS. Then Heav'n be praised for happier destiny Ne'er fell to lot of man.

  GIP. Q. Nay, not so fast; There're dangers still to pass, and thou must bear Thyself right bravely if thou would'st succeed.

  D. PAS. Dost doubt my courage, mother? My good blade Shall carve me fortune wheresoe'er it turns.

  GIP. Q. Hot headed youth! Guard well thy strength until 'Tis needed. Thou art weak from loss of blood, And need'st repose e'er thou set forth to work. The sun is high in heaven. Ere nightfall Thou wilt have need of all thy youthful strength. Ere midnight I will lead thee to a wood, Accompanied by all my followers, From thence we must ascend a rugged path That leads to the tyrant's stronghold.

  D. PAS. What tyrant?

  GIP. Q. The nameless. Thy rival and thy father. />
  D. PAS. Don Diego! 'Twas he, then, that yester-eve Did snatch the Lady Inez from my breast As I lay faint and bleeding?

  GIP. Q. Ay, e'en he; And now he fain would marry her perforce, With or without her answer; he has sworn To wed her straight, scarce struck the midnight hour, And hurries on with most indecent haste This mockery of a marriage 'gainst the will And inclinations of the girl herself, And also 'gainst the wishes of her sire, Whom, poor man, the tyrant holds in 's power, As hawk doth hold a dove, obliging him To give consent to this most monstrous match With his fair daughter, only late arrived Home from the convent of St. Ursula (Albeit he knows not, I've the proofs in hand Of our real marriage. Read them an you list) [_Handing papers to Don Pascual._ He needs must hasten on his base design, For fear of interruption. Be it ours To baulk this rabid eagle of his prey, Snatch from his reeking claws the innocent lamb, And rescue chastity from guilt's device. Let this be Pepa's mission upon earth, To succour virtue and avenge the wrong, And thou, Pascual, stand thou me true in this, Let no wrong pass, but quickly search it out, And boldly in the light of day proclaim The tyrant's wrong, in spite of odds or force.

  D. PAS. Mother, I swear. Fear not thou'lt find me apt; My sword is at thy service, e'en had I No more incentive to avenge thee than The sense of wrong that ever stirs my blood. But now I have my own more selfish ends To serve. The maid 'fore all most near my heart To rescue from the talons of a foe; The mother, too, who gave me birth to shield From foul dishonour, and the tyrant who Begat me, yet fain would dub me bastard, Still to chastise. With these wrongs to redress, Or e'en the half, what coward would not turn brave? What mouse would not turn lion? Rest in peace, This night thou art avenged. Pascual doth swear it.

  GIP. Q. Spoke like my own true son. And now to rest; Thou needest sleep, to calm thy jaded nerves, And brace thee for the work thou hast to-night.

  [_They embrace. Pascual throws himself upon his couch. Gipsy Queen sits watching him. Scene changes._

  SCENE III.--_Inez' bedchamber in Don Silvio's castle; an old four postedbed, with faded hangings--old faded tapestry. A prie-dieu in front of apicture of our Lady of Pain. Crucifixes and pious relics adorn thechambers. Don Silvio is discovered pleading earnestly. Inez weeping._

  INEZ. (_Tearing herself away._) Cease, father, cease; I cannot, dare not yield. How can you ask me, after all you've said? What! Wed a man I never saw before, A man whose age, too, full quadruples mine! And at a moment's notice! Fie! for shame! Was it for this then that you call'dst me home, To barter soul and body for mere gold? Is it not thus the lowest of our sex, Led on by glitter to fill Satan's ranks, Fall, ne'er to rise again? Ah! woe is me. Think, father, think. What could such union be Before the eyes of Heaven? Would it not Be foul adultery, base, incestuous lust? And this you'ld have from me, your only child? Oh, father! 'twas not thus that you once spake. Where are your noble maxims, father, now? Alas! alas! all scattered to the winds Before the first blast of the tempting fiend.

  D. SIL. (_Aside._) Now this is most just, by Heav'n! that I be Thus by my own child humbled and reproved, For falling back from truth in hour of trial. Dear inn'cent soul! How could she yield to terms Alike repugnant to her virgin heart As mine own conscience? But, then, what to do? Ah! cursed be the hour I gave consent Unto that monstrous pact! What would I give Now to undo the same, were't in my power? But my inexorable foe has sworn To have his bond, and Diego never jests. Most dire necessity doth bid me save Myself and household from disgrace and death. Ay, from starvation. Nothing short of that Should make me recreant to my conscience law. She, young and hopeful, realises not The want and misery that must ensue To us on her refusal. Be it so. Occasion presses. Time must not be lost. I will try again, though conscience brand me. (_Aloud._) Inez!

  INEZ. Father!

  D. SIL. Bethink thee, yet, my child.

  INEZ. Parent, no more!

  D. SIL. What am I, then, to do? I, thy poor aged father, sent abroad To beg my bread. No shelter from the wind And rain. No food; no hospitable roof. Our servants, too, must all our ills endure; And all through thee, through thine own obdurate heart. But 'twill not serve thee. Not one whit, for though Thou still resist, Don Diego will use force; His myrmidons----

  INEZ. I fear them not, when God is on our side. This is a trial, and we must have faith.

  D. SIL. (_Desperate._) My child! Will nothing move thee? On thy head Will be thy father's blood. My life's at stake.

  INEZ. Think of thy soul, old man, and trust in God. Thou, who didst teach mine infant lips to pray, Canst thou not pray, or wilt thou learn of me Now thou art old? Hast thou no faith, father?

  D. SIL. Alas! alas! 'Tis many years these knees Have bowed no more in prayer. When I was young, And yet had faith, 'twas then I used to pray.

  INEZ. But now; Oh, father! Heaven! What can have caused This falling off of piety in age? For years not bent the knee unto thy God! I wonder not He hath abandoned thee. Come, learn of me. Look here. Gaze on this form,

  [_Snatches a crucifix from the wall, and thrusts it into Don Silvio's unwilling hands._

  This bleeding image. See this crown of thorns, These nails, that side thrust; and then learn how He Suffered and died for us. Canst thou not bear One little pang an 't be the will of Heaven? What is thy grief to His, who suffered more Than mortal man e'er suffered? Father, pray God will not desert those who trust in Him.

  D. SIL. Nay, thou art young and hopeful. I am old.

  INEZ. Kneel, father, kneel; and look not so downcast. Behold the blessed Virgin Mary, pierced And sorrowing for our sins. Come, father, kneel. Do as I do, and throw thyself before This blessed image, and repeat these words.

  [_Throws herself on the prie-dieu, and clasps her hands together in front of the picture of our Lady of Pain. Don Silvio still standing._

  Oh! Holy Virgin, Mother of our Lord; Chosen of God, immaculate, Divine; Thou, who hast promised aye to intercede With thy dear Son, the living God of Heaven For us poor mortals when oppressed with woe, From that high heaven where thou sittest enthroned 'Midst glorious angels, mercifully look down Upon thy humble votaries, who groan 'Neath the oppression of a tyrant world. Oh! thou who never turnest a deaf ear Unto a suppliant's prayer, send down thy grace, And succour her from evil men's designs Who puts her trust in thee. Thwart thou their schemes, And, for the glory of thy holy name, Avenge thy handmaid's wrongs, and punish those Who, strong in the abuse of worldly power, Would fain defile the virgin chastity Of her who seeks thy aid; rain down thy grace. Oh! Holy Mother, who canst never see The wrong to triumph and the right to fall, Soften my father's heart, and let him kneel To thee, and join with me in heartfelt prayer And supplication, that the evils which Do threaten us alike may be withdrawn.

  [_Don Silvio drops crucifix, and exit slowly and moodily._

  Oh, Holy Saints! Oh, Holy Virgin Mother! Look down in pity on this suppliant pair, Who all unworthy are to raise our eyes To that high Heaven, whence thou art, and seek Thy aid and guidance, strengthen us, O Lord! Strengthen our faith, and let our trust in Thee Never abate, e'en in temptation's hour.

  [_Draws forth a rosary, and remains for some time counting her beads. Then rises._

  I thank thee, Holy Virgin. Thou hast heard The prayer of faith, and----(_looking round her_) What! my father gone! Too proud to pray, alas! Oh, Heaven grant My doting father more humility, More faith, more hope; and aye within this breast Keep thou _my_ faith alive, lest Satan send Some emissary forth to thwart thy will.

  _Enter_ RODRIGUEZ, _smiling towards_ INEZ, _who starts, looks suspiciously at her, and shudders_.

  ROD. What! my young mistress taken by surprise, And scared at poor Rodriguez! I've no doubt Some transient fever, brought
on by the shock You late have suffered, made you shiver so. Come to old Rodriguez, my pretty bird, Pour forth into old nurse's willing ear All its past troubles. Did the gipsy gang Run off with pretty darling, and insult Her and old Pedro! Sweetest, grieve no more Now all is over, but take courage from Old nurse Rodriguez, who was ever wont To smooth its pillow, and to share its griefs.

  INEZ. Good nurse, Rodriguez, 'tis not, as you think, The gipsy tribe that causes me this dread. I have another and a secret grief I daren't divulge to thee. Nay, leave me, pray.

  ROD. What! my young mistress has a secret grief; And I, poor old Rodriguez, am debarred From sharing it. Leave you alone, forsooth! Leave my young mistress Inez all alone, To brood and mope over her secret grief! Never! You ill know nurse Rodriguez, child.

  INEZ. (_Aside._) This is intolerable.

  ROD. As you say, It cannot be about the gipsy tribe My darling frets. The danger's gone and past, Thanks to the noble conduct of my lord, The brave and gallant Don Diego, who At risk of his own life, with sword in hand, Did rescue you from the dark gipsy gang. 'Twas bravely done. And how he wears his years! Just like a stripling--and how fine a man; How courteous, too, and what a merry eye He has for all his favourites. I'm sure That you yourself are one, judging from how [_Inez draws back scornfully._ He looks at you askance, then turns away And sighs so deeply, little thinking that Rodriguez guesses what he bears within.

  INEZ. Rodriguez, silence! Of this trash no more.

  ROD. Nay, Mistress Inez; pray not angered be With poor old nurse. She loves a jest at times.

  INEZ. I'm in no jesting mood, I promise you. I pray you, leave me.

  ROD. There you are again, Wishing me to leave you alone to mope; But, dear, Rodriguez better knows than leave Her little mistress all uncomforted. Away with nasty grief, and courage take From kind old nurse, and, like her, merry be.

  INEZ. Your consolation, nurse, is, perhaps, well meant. Albeit, at present, 'tis superfluous.

  ROD. What! Hoity, toity! child; would'st have me see My little Inez pining and downcast, E'en though it be for nought at all; and ne'er Say word to cheer her? Nay, 'tis my duty To my mistress. So here I mean to stick Until I've made you laugh. Come now, madam.

  INEZ. (_Aside._) She's insupportable.

  ROD. Were I a maid once more, I'd show you how I'd laugh and enjoy the world. Not as you, Pent up these years within a convent cell, Till you've grown musty. A pest on convents all! Keep them for cripples and incurables. For those who from birth so ill-favoured are, They find not husbands. These may chant and sing, And moan and fast, an't please them; but, for you, A maid of Lady Inez's beauty, jammed Within these walls--'tis sacrilege, I ween.

  INEZ. Rodriguez, now you must not lightly talk Against those holy women, who have fled All worldly joys to win the peace of Heaven.

  ROD. Each to their taste. For me, I love the world.

  INEZ. I know it, nurse; but at your age 'twere fit You'd higher thoughts.

  ROD. At _my_ age! Pooh! tut, tut! Those with a merry heart are never old. Look at Don Diego, how he bears himself, And all because he has a merry heart. Had he been priest or monk, he had been old At thirty. But just look how proud his step, How clear his eye, how red his manly cheek. Were I a maid once more, just of your age, I straight should lose my heart, and that's a fact. Heigh ho!

  INEZ. A truce to this unseemly banter. Nor dare to name that man to me again.

  ROD. That man! What, poor Don Diego? In what way Hath he offended, that you treat him thus? I'm sure he is not conscious of his fault, Or he would die with grief; the dear, good man, Fond of you as he is, as all can see.

  INEZ. Rodriguez, cease! I'll hear no more, I've said. And let me tell you, nurse, now once for all, It ill becomes thy years and sex, t'enact A part, of all parts most contemptible.

  ROD. What part, my pretty child? Don't so misjudge Poor nurse Rodriguez as to think that she Could counsel you for aught but for your good Remember, you are young, my mistress dear, And have yet to unlearn your convent life, That so ill fits you for our merry world. Your father, poor mistaken man----

  INEZ. Hold there, And reverence my father as thy lord.

  ROD. Ne'er doubt me, mistress mine, but e'en my lord Would counsel you as I would counsel you.

  INEZ. Thou speak'st of counsel. How would'st counsel me?

  ROD. Nay, then, nought 'gainst your interests; that's clear. Had I your youth and beauty, and your chance, I'd have a care, nor throw such chance away. Lend not the ear to ev'ry stripling, child, Because he's smooth of mien, but look behind The outer gloss, and seek for solid gold.

  INEZ. Your counsel, nurse, is mercenary.

  ROD. Tut, tut. We've got to live; to live we've got to eat; Then comes our dress, our servants, and what else May appertain unto a lady born, As was your mother, Lady Dorothea,-- Of blessed mem'ry,--when this ancient hall Looked livelier than at the present day. Now hark! my dear young mistress, and attend To these my words, as were they from the lips Of your own sainted mother, who looks down From her high post, and sees all that we do. What, think you, would your fondest mother say, To see this castle go to rack and ruin, Her darling child descend in social scale, Because she would espouse some popinjay. Whose wealth was all he carried on his back? When she could get a chance to marry one (A goodly man, if more mature in years) A great hidalgo, and of wealth untold, By means of which she could redeem this hall, And make it worthy of its better days; Pay off her father's debts, and thus content Him and his household, and all else beside. Why, marry, 'twere rank madness to let slip Such glorious chance, and such a chance have you.

  INEZ. Enough.

  ROD. Nay, I _will_ speak in duty bound, And tell you, willy-nilly, that the man Who thus would lay his riches at the feet Of my poor master's daughter is none else Than noble Lord Don Diego.

  INEZ. I have said I will not have thee mention that man's name; I did divine thy mission from the first, And doubt me not that thou wert amply paid To play the go-between; but learn for once, Base woman, that my heart must not be bought; The purest gift of Heaven was not made To be an article of merchandise. My heart's in mine own keeping, and must ne'er Be given up save to the man I love. Though this pile fall to ruins o'er our heads; Though hunger threaten; though my father's life And other lives at stake be; nay, e'en though This robe be turned to rags and I be sent Abroad to beg my bread, and from the cold Night storm or tempest ne'er a shelter find; Nay, come what will, nought 'gainst the will of Heaven Must e'er be done to suit the present hour.

  ROD. Nay, speak not thus, young mistress, but be calm; Rodriguez, too, was once a girl and thought, E'en as you do now.

  INEZ. More's the pity then That years, instead of bringing purer thoughts, Should cancel all the purity of youth.

  ROD. Nay, mistress mine, what I would say is this: That being in youth, even as yourself, More swayed by my heart than my interests, I gave my heart unto the man I loved, Disdaining higher offer, but soon found Cause to repent for having thrown away A better chance; for Carlos, when he saw That I had nought, and he had nought, he 'gan To lose the love he had for me, and then He beat me, and we quarrelled. Soon he died. And being left destitute, was fain t'accept The place of servant in your father's house.

  INEZ. And by this tale of sorrows thou would'st prove That we in this life are in duty bound To sell our souls unto the highest bidder. Away with such foul subtleties, with which The arch-fiend baits his hook to tempt God's own. Give me the quiet of a convent cell, Rather than rank and splendour with disgrace.

  ROD. Disgrace! Nay, honour. When the knot is tied You will be held in honour by the world. It is not mere protection that is offered, Bu
t legal marriage. There's the difference.

  INEZ. The marriage that 'fore Heaven legal is, Is that in which two souls are joined in one, And not the forced and bitter mockery Born of man's interest, by him approved. Such match as thou would'st counsel were no match, But lust and policy combined in one; Most foul adultery in Heaven's eyes, Ay, e'en despite the blessing of the church. But, to cut short this most distasteful theme, Perhaps thou'lt tell me, as an after-clause Included in the pact, should I accept This offer that Don Diego deigns to make, 'Twere necessary that this match take place This night at midnight, without more delay.

  ROD. Why, some such clause there is, I must confess, A mere caprice. What matters it? But then The offer is so splendid. Only think!

  INEZ. In case of my refusing him. What then?

  ROD. You surely would not think of such a thing, If you knew how he loved you.

  INEZ. Still I ask, What's the alternative should I refuse?

  ROD. I would not counsel you to brave his ire. He loves you most devotedly, I know, And 'tis for that he'd hasten on the match, 'Tis over-eagerness and fear to lose His prize. A groundless fear, I do admit. But he was ever an eccentric man: A good man though.

  INEZ. So all I have to fear Is but his ire?

  ROD. I know not though what form His ire might take. He's powerful and great, Accustomed to obedience, to command, Like all great military leaders who Hold up their heads above their fellow-men. He _might_ use force. I would not you advise To thwart his will, but quietly to yield.

  INEZ. And art thou woman, who would'st counsel me, Through fear of violence of mortal man, To so offend against all chastity As yield obedience to this man's lust? A veteran full four times mine own age, And that, in all hot haste this very night, When I have scarce had time to see his face! Is't this that thou call'st love? Now fie! Now fie! I did think better of thee, nurse Rodriguez, Than that thy tongue could have been bought for gold In such base cause. But since 'tis come to this-- Away from me! and tell the fiend who sent thee, Inez would rather die a thousand deaths Than barter her virtue for all his gold.

  ROD. I dare not tell him so, my pretty bird.

  INEZ. Then send him here, I'll tell him so myself. I fear no man when God is on my side.

  ROD. Nay, mistress, dear, forbear. You know him not.

  INEZ. Yet thou would'st have me marry him. For shame!

  ROD. I know not what to say. 'Twas urgency, Most dire necessity, that made me speak; Fear for your father's life, mine own, and Pedro's, And last, not least, yourself, my darling child. I am bewildered and half gone mad. What shall we do? Oh, Heaven grant us help.

  INEZ. I trust as ever in the help of Heaven. Sustain us, Lord, in our adversity, And let us lack not faith. [_A knock at the door._ Oh, holy saints!

  PEDRO. (_Without._) Rodriguez! What ho! Donna Rodriguez! My lord Don Diego awaiteth thee below.

  ROD. I come, I come. (_Aside._) Ah me! what shall I say? [_Exit._

  INEZ. Now, saints protect us! Holy Virgin, thou Be still my guide, nor let me pray in vain.

  [_Inez throws herself half fainting on the prie-dieu, and the scene closes._

  SCENE IV.--_A Wood of chestnuts. Moonlight. Gipsies in ambush. DonDiego's castle seen towering above the trees._

  _Enter_ GIPSY QUEEN _and_ PASCUAL.

  GIP. Q. Behold the spot I told thee of, from whence We must begin th' ascent. (_To Gipsies._) Is all prepared?

  GIPSIES TOGETHER. Ay, Queen.

  GIP. Q. And Father Miguel?

  A GIPSY. He comes anon.

  D. PAS. What, even Father Miguel! Will he join?

  GIP. Q. He is, as ever, our most staunch ally, And doth possess a keen and ready wit In time of need. A soft and oily tongue And gentle manner, that may well disarm All base suspicion. Such sound policy As may enable him to win the day, When all such brainless braggadocio As thine might fail.

  D. PAS. Bravo, Father Miguel! An he be practised in the use of 's tongue, As I am in the use of my good blade We shall do well together.

  GIP. Q. See, he comes.

  _Enter_ FATHER MIGUEL. _He walks straight up to_ GIPSY QUEEN.

  F'TH. M. Pepa, well met. Is this young man your son?

  D. PAS. (_Stepping forward._) Ay, holy father. Dost remember me?

  F'TH. M. But little, son. It is so many years We have not met, and thou art altered much. Thou wert then but a lad--a naughty lad, A very naughty lad.

  D. PAS. Ha, ha! Ha, ha! The accusation, I admit, is just, But hope, after to-night, that we may learn To know each other better.

  F'TH. M. So say I. And now, for what doth most concern us all.

  TO GIPSY QUEEN. I doubt not this youth's courage. Nay, his fault, An I remember right in days gone by. Was being too precipitous and rash. Now listen, both of ye, to what I say; We must not mar our plot with useless show Of ill-timed valour, but hoard well our strength Till needed, and if possible dispense With blood and slaughter, which God grant we may.

  D. PAS. How, holy father? I don't understand. Are we not here assembled to attack The tyrant's stronghold. Are the men-at-arms That guard the castle made of such poor stuff, As let a powerful and armed band Approach without resistance. Think you, _he_ The man that I blush to call my father, Is so utterly without resources As let us tamely rob him of his prize, Under his very nose, and not resent? Too old a fox, I ween, our veteran foe, For to be caught asleep.

  F'TH. M. Nay, hear me, son.

  GIP. Q. Ay, true my, son. Have patience and attend To the good father's counsel.

  D. PAS. Father, speak.

  F'TH. M. I have bethought me of a scheme, which, if Well carried out, will bring us through the guard Without the loss of blood. Once entered in, And passed the threshold, let me lead the way. Your mother will present herself anon, Assert her rights in presence of them all; _You_ then will follow, ready to protect Yourself and us, should an assault be made Upon our persons. (_To Gipsies._) You bold gipsies all, Keep close at hand a little in the rear Ready for action, but beware to lift A finger until called upon to fight Through grim necessity. D'ye hear me all?

  GIPSIES (_Together._) Ay, ay, Sir Priest.

  D. PAS. You have not told us yet The means you will adopt to pass the guards Without resistance.

  F'TH M. Listen, then, awhile. I have to aid me in this daring plot A tried and trusty friend, a mountaineer; This peasant hath across his shoulders slung A keg of choicest wine, by me well drugged With such a potent powder, that one drop But taken on the tongue were full enough In a few minutes to induce a sleep So dull, lethargic, heavy, and profound, That earth might quake, winds blow, and thunder growl, And yet the victims of this potent drug Would still sleep on, their long and death-like sleep, And much I doubt me if the archangel's trump Would fully wake them.

  D. PAS. 'Tis not poison, father?

  F'TH. M. Nay, 'tis harmless. How could you think that I, As priest, could do aught to take human life? I come to hinder carnage, not to slay.

  D. PAS. This may be difficult, though, nevertheless, The men are many. There are always dogs That bark and bellow at the foe's approach.

  F'TH. M. Leave all to me, my son. As for the dogs, I've poison brought, most instantaneous, With which I've baited meat, that I have now About my person, whilst this peasant here. What ho! Felipe!

  _Enter a_ PEASANT _with a keg of wine slung round him_.

  This same honest man Will go ahead with me, but as we near The castle we will separate, and choose Two divers paths, so that in case we meet With any man we seem not to belong One to the other. He will chant an air Such as our mountai
neers are wont to sing, And go his way, as one who's light of heart; Myself, will pass on by another route, To meet the peasant at a given point Close to the castle and within the hearing Of all the soldiers; and if accosted, I have my answer ready. Do not fear. When within hearing of the men-at-arms, I shall call out to this same mountaineer, As to a stranger: "Hold, friend. Where bound?" "To the next village, father," shall he say? "Trav'lling with wine. A buyer wants to try A sample, and I bring him of the best." "Ha!" shall I say, "then, prithee, let me taste. I, too, would buy a barrel, but for _me_ It must be good indeed, else, keep your wine." Then shall I feign to drink and smack my lips, Swearing 'tis nectar worthy of a king, And straight make offer to buy all he has, While trudging on together by the way. Presently we will come upon the guards, Some of whom know me well. Suspecting nought, These men will easily be lured to try The vaunted liquor. Having gone the round Of seneschal and warder and the rest, I shall find access to the castle hall Without much trouble, offr'ing as excuse, I come to let Don Diego taste the wine. Once entered fairly in the castle hall, Ere long all hands will sound as dead men sleep, Then shall I blow this whistle. At the sound, March on, and fear not, for the game is ours.

  D. PAS. Hail! Father Miguel! once again I say.

  F'TH. M. Now to our task. 'Tis just about the hour, And better be too early than too late.

  D. PAS. True, holy father.

  F'TH. M. Well, go softly on Ahead, whilst you all keep well in the rear, Advance ye not until ye hear this call. [_Exeunt_ FATHER MIGUEL _and_ FELIPE.

  D. PAS. Why, what an acquisition to our cause Is this same priest! I vow I know not how We should have done without him.

  GIP. Q. You say well. Besides our cause, that he has much at heart, He revels in all plotting and intrigue.

  D. PAS. It suits his peculiar genius. Why, He might have been prime minister of Spain, This same poor unknown priest. [_A distant mountaineer's chant is heard._

  GIP. Q. Hark! Do you hear?

  D. PAS. Ay. The mountaineer's chant. The game's begun.

  GIP. Q. List patiently, and we shall hear anon Don Miguel's whistle. Silence, all of ye.

  [_A long pause. All place themselves in listening attitude. Gipsy Queen advances slowly. Pascual in the background, still listening._

  GIP. Q. The hour fast draws near when my intent, That purpose that the heav'ns have writ in blood, Must be accomplished. Be still, my heart. Shade of my father Djabel, stand thou near; Nerve thou this arm so that it shall not fail, For work is to be done, and that right soon. That man is doomed, and by this hand he dies; Heav'n hear my oath! Respond, ye elements.

  [_Sky grows dark. Thunder and lightning. Owls and bats flit about. Commotion in the camp._

  The oath is writ in Heav'n. Recording sprites Have taken down the gipsy's oath of blood; And now shall all men see, all nations tell, How, from the ashes of this trampled heart Did all triumphant rise the gipsy queen. [_A distant whistle heard._

  D. PAS. The signal, mother! Didst hear the signal?

  GIP. Q. Ay, son. Onward, then; I'll lead the way myself. Be firm and true.

  [_The ascent begins, led by the Gipsy Queen, and the scene closes._

  SCENE V.--_A hall in Don Diego's castle communicating with the chapel.The chapel is in the centre of the background. Through curtains isdisclosed the altar lighted up, and a priest ready to officiate. In thehall, which is illuminated, a long table is spread with fruit and otherdelicacies. Music. Enter guests, discoursing animatedly and laughing._

  FIRST GUEST. (_To his Partner._) Have you yet seen the bride? They say she's fair.

  PARTNER. They say so, but I have not seen her yet. Howbeit, a friend of mine who knew her well When at the Convent of Saint Ursula, Says she is over young. Just turned sixteen; And how a man of Lord Don Diego's years Could fall in love with such a chit, beats me. [_They pass on. Two other guests advance._

  LADY OF SECOND GUEST. (_To her Partner._) Ay, true, I think it would more seemly be Were he to marry one of years more ripe.

  SECOND GUEST. (_To his Lady._) The older that men grow the more they're pleased With youth. I'm sure I should be so myself. [_They pass on. Third couple advance._

  THIRD GUEST. (_To his Lady._) Nay, who'd have thought that poor Don Silvio Could thus so easily pay off his debts? He's in luck's way. As for the blushing bride, Not every day doth heaven rain such fortune.

  LADY. (_To Third Guest._) Yet they say that she is most unwilling.

  THIRD GUEST. Then, she's a fool. [_They pass on. Fourth couple advance._

  LADY. (_To Fourth Guest._) Nay; I have heard it said She weeps and frets, and hath so desp'rate grown, That nought save violence could aught avail To lead her to the altar.

  FOURTH GUEST. What a girl! To throw away so glorious a chance! [_They pass on. Two gentlemen meeting._

  FIRST GENT. What, comrade, you invited! Ha, ha, ha! The old boy's got some life in him as yet.

  SECOND GENT. And good taste, too. I just now caught a glimpse Of the fair bride; and, zounds! I do begrudge Her to the veteran. I myself would choose Just such an one, and were it not her face Were marred by excess of weeping.

  FIRST GENT. Indeed! Ha! ha! I never could make out why girls Cry at their wedding. Just the very thing They've looked for, prayed for, schemed for all their lives; Yet, when it comes to don the bridal veil And figure at the altar, then comes straight A bucketful of tears. Hypocrisy!

  _Enter_ DON DIEGO, _followed by_ DON SILVIO _pleading_.

  SECOND GENT. Here comes the bridegroom; and, as it would seem, Not in the best of humours. Let's withdraw. [_They pass on._

  D. DIE. (_To Don Silvio._) Silvio, no more! I'll not be flouted thus Before my guests, in mine own castle, too. I've said that it shall be, and it _shall_ be. I ne'er take back my word. So bid her haste, And put a better face upon the matter. The time is up, and all my guests attend. Go, bring her, then. (_To Guests._) Friends! welcome to this hall.

  GUESTS ALL. Long live Lord Don Diego, with much happiness!

  D. DIE. Thank ye, my friends. I do regret to say, 'Fore this august and gracious company, That we are likely to experience, This night, some difficulty on the part Of our fair bride. Some singular caprice; Transient, no doubt, but not the less unfit For gay festivity. The fact is that My youthful bride is of a temperament Too highly wrought and o'er hysterical. She only late hath left her convent cell; Her education, therefore, until now Hath rendered her unfit to face the world. Impressionable natures, as we know, Recoil before aught that can cause a strong And powerful emotion. 'Tis the shock They dread. 'Tis nothing. Nay, I do condole With her; ay, from the bottom of my heart. But yet I think it not well to indulge Young folk in such caprice. Therefore, should I, My honoured guests, be forced to assume An air of stern severity unmeet This gay assembly, deem it but as naught; 'Tis firmness that is needed in this case. We men must not be conquered by caprice. As for the girl herself, she loves me well; Nay, passionately.

  INEZ. (_Within, distractedly._) No! 'tis false, 'tis false. [_Titter and commotion among the guests._

  D. DIE. (_To Don Silvio._) Silvio! Why stand you there, with folded hands? Did I not tell you to lead forth the bride?

  D. SIL. She says she _will_ not come.

  D. DIE. _Will_ not? Ha! ha! This to my face! _Will_ not, indeed. We'll see. My worthy guests, bear with me if I lose My wonted patience, and in haste let slip Some casual word that may seem unfit The presence of guests so illustrious. My temper's somewhat c
holeric, and if My will is thwarted I may lose restraint. Silvio, bring forth the maiden straight, I say, Or I will have her dragged to me by force.

  INEZ. (_Within._) Oh, mercy! Mercy! Heaven hear my prayer.

  A GENTLEMAN. Poor little jade! How I do pity her.

  A LADY. And so do I. It makes my heart quite bleed.

  D. DIE. A truce to this. Ho! pages, drag her forth.

  [_Exeunt two pages, who re-enter, dragging Inez in, who utters a piercing scream. She is dressed in a white dressing gown, her hair dishevelled, and grasping a crucifix. Father Miguel and Gipsy Queen appear at the open door cautiously. Behind lurk Don Pascual and Gipsies._

  INEZ. "Oh, Holy Virgin! Save me; save me yet. Thou wilt not thus abandon me."

  D. DIE. (_Seizing her by the hair, and dragging her towards the Chapel._) So jade, Since thou hast deemed fit to flout me thus Before my guests, and spurn'st my tenderness, Learn how obedience can be enforced. Come priest. Be ready.

  A GUEST. Nay, but this is rape! I cannot stay and see injustice done. I repent me that I was invited.

  ANOTHER GUEST. True, and so do I. This is no marriage, But filthy lust and mere abuse of power.

  D. DIE. (_To Guards._) Help! Hell and Furies! or I'll have her drugged.

  GUESTS ALL. Shame! Shame! Down with Don Diego. Seize the tyrant.

  D. DIE. What! Flouted by my very guests. What next?

  GUESTS ALL. Virtue to the rescue! Save the maiden!

  _Enter_ GIPSY QUEEN _hurriedly, and stands fixing_ DON DIEGO _with her eye, who recoils_.

  GIP. Q. Hold! I forbid the banns.

  INEZ. Thanks, Holy Virgin, That hast heard my prayer, and sent an angel Down from your high Heaven in hour of need. What glorious halo do I see around That sainted vision! [_Inez falls fainting into the arms of Don Silvio._

  D. DIE. Nay, this is madness.

  GIP. Q. Hear me, swarthy hag. This castle is mine, And not for such as thee. Begone, I say, Or I will have thee hanged, ere breaks the dawn, From the loftiest turret of this pile.

  GIP. Q. Villain, I fear no threats. Look on this bond.

  D. DIE. What folly's this? Say, who let these men in?

  F'TH. M. (_Advancing._) I, Don Miguel, whom you basely thought To use as instrument in your foul plot, Twenty-two years ago, when you did plan The mockery of a marriage to induce This trusting gipsy to accede to what Your own dark soul did lust for; thinking that 'Twere easy work to dupe the innocent. So, writing to a worthless boon companion, Already in your debt, you promised him To cancel all his debt, and further add Another sum in recompense, were he To condescend to sink himself so low As to enact the part of priest in this False marriage. But that letter never reached Its destination. Djabel, gipsy king, This woman's father, once suspecting guile, As well he might, did send his spies abroad, And so this letter, fell into my hands. I quick conceived the plan to pen reply, As coming from the tool you sought to use, In which 'twas stated that he lay in bed, Ill of a fever, and so could not come, And therefore he would send a substitute To act for him. That substitute was I. I, Father Miguel, with dissembling mien, By you too fully trusted, had access Unto your presence, as you fondly thought, To help you in your plot of the feigned match. But know, base villain, you alone were duped, Your marriage was a real one, and holds good.

  D. DIE. This is some false concocted tale, got up For some hellish purpose.

  PRIEST. (_At the altar, advances._) Lord Don Diego, I tell you this is no invented tale, This Father Miguel is well known to me, A worthy priest of our most holy Church. The bond is valid.

  D. DIE. Flouted on all sides! How now! Do I dream? Am I master here, Or am I not?

  F'TH. M. Another Master there's Above us all, more powerful than thou, Dispensing justice and avenging wrong.

  D. DIE. What cant is this? Ho! guards, cut down the rabble.

  [_Some halberdiers advance. D. Pascual and gipsies put themselves on the defensive._

  F'TH. M. Raise but a finger, or cause to be raised An arm in thy defence, and dread the worst.

  D. DIE. This from a shaven crown! A pretty plight For feudal lord to be in! What ho! guards. [_A skirmish ensues, and guards are beaten back by gipsies._ On, cowards, on! Where are my men-at-arms?

  F'TH. M. All drugged, and powerless by my device. They sleep like dead men. Seek no help from them.

  D. DIE. Damnation! Am I worsted by a priest And gang of squalid gipsies? Ho! my men, Go, rouse the sluggards! Bring my armour, quick.

  F'TH. M. (_To Guards._) Budge but an inch, and not a man of ye shall see to-morrow's sun.

  D. DIE. How now! Who's he That threatens and gives orders in my hall? Have I no friends among these honoured guests To save me from these insults? Who am I?

  F'TH. M. A sinner, made amenable to law.

  D. DIE. (_Laughs diabolically._) Ha, ha! This craven's insolence is such It well nigh moves my laughter. How now! guests, Not one sword drawn! No single arm upraised.

  A GUEST. My Lord Don Diego, in a cause that's just My sword is at your service. So say all The others. But we will not fight for wrong. Let us be first persuaded if this priest Have right upon his side. Show us the bond.

  D. DIE. The bond is but a forgery.

  D. PAS. 'Tis false, Thou lying knave. I'll make thee eat thy words.

  D. DIE. Who is this mongrel gipsy, bold of tongue, Who beards us with drawn sword.

  F'TH. M. Your lawful son, Of this poor gipsy born in holy marriage.

  D. DIE. The tale is too preposterous.

  OFFICIATING PRIEST. Nay, look Well on the bond, Don Diego.

  GUESTS ALL. Ay, the bond.

  D. DIE (_To Officiating Priest._) And thou, Sir Shaveling, didst thou not come here To-night to draw up deed of legal marriage? And dost thou now come forward and take part With this base priest, who for some plan of his----

  OFF. PRIEST. My compliance was but in appearance. I came, well knowing of your former marriage, Twenty-two years ago, as saith the bond, With her they call the Gipsy Queen. All this I had from Father Miguel; and besides, Have well perused the bond, which, being valid, I could not undertake to tie the knot In conscience, and have no intent to do 't.

  D. DIE. I was but mocked, then?

  GUESTS ALL. Come, the bond! the bond!

  D. DIE. Give me the bond. I'll soon cut short this work.

  [_Snatches the bond from the hands of Gipsy Queen. Glances hastily over it, and proceeds to tear it._

  'Tis false. This is no signature of mine.

  GIP. Q. Darest to deny thy bond? Die, villain, then, In this thy perjury! [_Stabs Don Diego._

  D. DIE. Help! help! I bleed. [_Falls._

  GUARDS. Don Diego to the rescue! Seize the hag. [_Guards and a few guests lay hands on Gipsy Queen._

  D. PAS. (_Furiously._) Leave go, my mother. He that lays a hand Upon her person, I'll send straight to hell.

  A GUEST. (_Advancing with drawn sword._) Secure this furious and audacious youth.

  D. PAS. Have at thee, then. [_Kills guest._

  GUEST I die. [_Dies._

  TWO GUESTS. (_Advancing._) Hold him! hold him!

  [_Both guests attack Pascual at once, but are driven back. Guards come up and attempt to seize him. Gipsies attack guards, and a general skirmish ensues. Two guards are killed by gipsies. One gipsy falls. Don Silvio bears off Inez in the confusion._

  F'TH. M. Peace, brethren, for a w
hile, and no more blood.

  A GUEST. Look to Don Diego, friends, and seize the hag.

  [_All surround Gipsy Queen, who stabs herself and falls. All draw back._

  GIP. Q. This life is forfeit. I for vengeance lived; My mission is accomplished upon earth. I vowed to heaven. Heaven has heard my prayer. And I depart.

  D. PAS. (_Rushes up, and throws himself beside the Gipsy Queen._) Oh, mother! dear mother.

  D. DIE. Help! help! Who has put out the lights and left Me all in darkness?

  A GUEST. No one, noble lord.

  F'TH. M. 'Tis but the darkness of thine own dark soul, Now upon the brink of eternity; I counsel thee, confess, and then receive The consolation that the Church affords.

  D. DIE. Water! I thirst. Alas! how grim is death! I am afraid to die. I burn! I burn! How hideous all the forms that flit around;

  OFFICIATING PRIEST. My lord Don Diego, prithee die not thus; But ask forgiveness first, of all you've wronged.

  D. DIE. Good father, willingly; but who would grant Forgiveness unto such a wretch as I?

  GIP. Q. I, Pepa, thy true wife, forgiveness grants, And craves the like from thee.

  D. DIE. What! Pepa, _thou_; Thou canst forgive me? Thou, my poor wronged wife. Let us exchange forgiveness then, for I Have well deserved this blow. Come round me, friends, Whilst breath yet lasts, and witness bear to this. I leave my castle, all my lands and goods, Unto my lawful son. How is he called?

  F'TH. M. Pascual.

  D. DIE. Son Pascual, thy hand. Forgive the wrongs I've done thee, e'en as thou thyself wouldst hope In thy last hour to be forgiven. Hold, There's still another I have deeply wronged, From whom I'd crave forgiveness. Bring her here.

  F'TH. M. (_To Attendant._) Don Diego means the Lady Inez. Haste And bring her hither, with Don Silvio. [_Exit Attendants._

  _Enter_ DON SILVIO, _supporting_ INEZ.

  D. DIE. Behold me, Inez, penitent, subdued. Art thou content that heaven hath heard thy prayer? I've wronged thee much. I frankly do confess. Forgive me, Inez child, ere I depart An thou canst.

  INEZ. I do. [_Giving her hand and sobbing._

  D. DIE. And friend Silvio, The like I'd have from thee, and all I've wronged.

  D. SIL. Friend Diego, take his hand. I would not add One pang to that which thine own heart must feel, By holding back my pardon at the last. Therefore, with all my heart I pardon thee.

  D. DIE. Thanks, old friend, Silvio; I already feel Better prepared to die. Farewell, my friends. [_Inez for the first time perceiving Pascual._

  INEZ. Pascual!

  D. PAS. Inez!

  D. DIE. Come now, my children both, I know your minds. Come let me join your hands.

  [_Pascual and Inez kneel beside Don Diego, who joins their hands._

  Receive my blessing, children, and forgive A poor old sinner when he is no more. Pray for my soul, and ere this clay be cold, Let this hand clasp thy mother's, son Pascual. Pepa, thy hand.

  GIP. Q. Diego, with all my heart. [_Pascual joins their hands._ Let us die thus, and hand in hand to heaven Let our souls soar. Kiss me, my children, both. Look how my father Djabel smiles on us, And beckons us away from earth. Adios. [_Don Diego and Gipsy Queen expire._

  [_Guests kneel and pray. Curtain._

  END OF THE GIPSY QUEEN.

  * * * * *

  At the conclusion of the play our tragedian rolled up his MS. andreturned it to his pocket, while various were the expressions ofapproval from the members of the club.

  All now seemed to look towards Mr. Oldstone for his criticism of theplay before pronouncing any decided opinion of their own. This was adeference they paid him as chairman, and because he was the oldestmember present. It was evident that this worthy was accustomed to beappealed to in matters of importance, and expected it in the presentinstance in particular, for he had already stretched out his legs,thrown himself back in his arm-chair, closed his eyes, and clasped hishands together over his comely paunch, while his thumbs performed arotary motion, one round the other, a sure sign with him that whateverhis lips might utter would be the result of deep thought and maturedeliberation. Our members awaited in silence the words of wisdom aboutto issue from the lips of the oracle.

  To fill up the time in the interim, Professor Cyanite filled up a pipeof tobacco, and was about to light it. Mr. Crucible drew out his snuffbox, and was preparing to take a copious pinch. Dr. Bleedem looked athis watch, when suddenly a knock at the door caused the members to raisetheir heads.

  "Come in!" cried several voices at once. The door opened, and Helenstood in the doorway.

  "If you please, gentlemen," said the girl, blushing, and with charmingmodesty, "Mr. McGuilp says that he has finished my portrait, and wouldthe gentlemen of the club like to look at it before it gets too dark."

  "Of course we will, my dear, of course we will," answered Mr. Oldstone,his fingers immediately unclasping themselves and grasping the arms ofthe chair, preparatory to rising to his feet.

  "Come along, gentlemen." No further invitation was needed. ProfessorCyanite laid down his pipe unlighted. Mr. Crucible replaced the grainsof snuff, he had intended conveying to his nose, back into his snuffbox, which he closed with a snap and returned to his pocket. There wasa general stir among the members, who rose and followed Helen to theroom upstairs, that our artist had _pro tem._ transformed into a studio.

  Jack Hearty and his spouse were already in the room when the members ofthe club appeared at the door.

  "Yes, that's our Helen, to a T, and no mistake," he was saying. "Well,its just wonderful, and as like her mother, when she was her age, as oneegg is to another. Eh? Molly," said he, addressing his spouse.

  "Beg pardon, sir. I hope no offence," continued the landlord, turningdeferentially towards our artist.

  "But what might such a picture be worth, if I might ask?"

  "The wealth of the universe wouldn't purchase it, my good host," repliedMcGuilp. "It is the best thing I ever did, and that perhaps I ever shalldo. No, this one is not for sale. I do not say but that at some futuretime I might do another from it, and then----"

  At this juncture, the members of the club, headed by Mr. Oldstone,entered the studio. Our host and hostess respectfully withdrew, in orderto give the gentlemen a better chance of examining the picture, but eventhen the room was as crowded as an exhibition on a private view day. Mr.Oldstone had placed himself in front of the easel, and was soon loud inhis expressions of enthusiasm.

  "Excellent! most excellent! Beautiful! beautiful! beautiful! What fleshtints! What colouring! What refinement of drawing and expression! As alikeness it is perfect, there is no gainsaying. Then, the pose--simple,graceful, and natural. My dear young friend," he said, shaking ourartist by the hand, and seeming overcome by emotion, "Do you know _what_you have realised? Why, it is the hand of a master!" etc., etc.

  Then each of the members in turn made their own remarks upon theportrait.

  "What a picture of life and health!" cried Dr. Bleedem.

  "What a face for the stage!" remarked the tragedian.

  "Ah! why was not I born a painter?" sighed Mr. Parnassus.

  The analytical chemist made a few scientific remarks upon the propertiesof pigments, in which Professor Cyanite joined, whilst our artistsilently removed the colours from his palette.

  "And what do you propose doing with the portrait, Mr.--er--Mr. McGuilp?"inquired Mr. Hardcase. "Keep it," replied our artist, laconically.

  "What! _keep_ it all to yourself!" exclaimed Mr. Oldstone. "For your ownselfish gratification, thereby depriving others of the pleasure to bederived therefrom! Mr. McGuilp, I am surprised at you. Gentlemen,"proceeded the antiquary, addressing his fellow members
, "I protestagainst this decision of our young friend. That picture does not leavethis inn if _I_ can help it. Mr. McGuilp, your price. What is it? Wewill all club together and buy it, won't we gentlemen?"

  "Ay, ay! so say we all," cried several voices at once.

  "Impossible, my dear sir--impossible," remonstrated our artist.

  "_Impossible!_ Why?"

  "I feel I shall never surpass this," answered McGuilp. "It is a samplework. I can make use of it in many ways as a study. But this I will do.I will protract my stay yet a few days, though I have already remainedlonger than I intended, and I will make a copy of the picture, which itshall be my pleasure to present to the honoured members of this club."Murmurs of applause and thanks followed this speech, after which thecompany dispersed until dinner-time.

 

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