by Anonymous
CHAPTER IX.
True courage, distinguished from that which is called forthby particular occasions, and the operation of a powerful andheadlong excitement, comprehends not only a contempt for danger,but self-possession under surprise. To meet an expected peril,for which we have had time to prepare, is a trial only for themost ordinary minds; but to retain firmness and judgment undera shock, attended by circumstances of which we could have nopossible anticipation, and which render the danger more strikingand formidable, undoubtedly requires a brave and intrepid spirit.
Hildebrand, on the entry into his retreat of two armed men, oneof whom he recognised as an individual that he had supposed to bein England, certainly experienced no small surprise; but, despiteof this, he was perfectly firm and collected. On the other hand,Inez was quite confounded, and her presence of mind, which shehad hitherto maintained entire, appeared to have utterly desertedher.
There was no time for hesitation. The two intruders, preparatoryto making an onset, had already unsheathed their rapiers, and,if the expression of their respective countenances might bereceived as evidence, seemed to be stirred and animated by themost determined hostility. The posture taken up by Hildebrand,however, and his evident resolution, induced them to pause, and,after a moment’s interval, to enter on a parley.
“Surrender, Sir!” cried Don Felix. “We have a warrant from thecorregidor, apart from any suit of our own, for thine immediateapprehension.”
“I cry you mercy, Senhor,” replied Hildebrand, “but, with thygood leave, I must hold thy warrant in exceeding doubt. Thou artno alguazil, I know; and, this admitted (and ’tis past dispute),where be the powers that will put the warrant in force?”
“Thou shalt see them anon,” answered Don Felix. And, raising hisvoice, he added, in Spanish, “Without, there!”
He had scarcely uttered his brief summons, when the tread offeet was heard without, and, the next moment, four alguazils,armed with their long staves of office, presented themselves atthe doorway. This array, however, did not have that effect onHildebrand that the two cavaliers had expected.
“Senhors,” he cried, maintaining his original defensive posture,“I have done your laws no offence, and I am resolved thatye shall not take me alive. Look to it, therefore! or yourunprovoked opposition, if ye press it further, may bring on youserious detriment.”
“Tut, Sir!” cried the cavalier who had not yet spoken,contemptuously, “dost think to brave out such a power as ours?”
Hildebrand, seeing that nothing was to be gained from parley, wasabout to manifest his purpose by action, and, though the opposingpower was so decidedly superior, endeavour to carry his egress byforce. Before he could commence his meditated assault, however,he was arrested by Inez.
That lady, having for the last few minutes been perfectlypassive, and left to recover from the shock she had sustained,had by this time somewhat collected herself. The appearanceof the alguazils, indeed, being also unexpected, had slightlydiscomposed her again; but as she observed the unshaken attitudeof Hildebrand, and, what surprised her more, that it was notwithout effect on his adversaries, her determination revived, andshe acquired firmness and nerve from the disposition of her lover.
There was a flush of anger on her face as she stepped forward,and, though the cavalier who had last spoken, and who was noother than Don Gonzalez, her guardian, met her with a smile, hislook sank before her flashing eye.
“There is no need of the corregidor here, Don Gonzalez,” shecried, “or even of an alcaide, as I know thee to be. Thiscavalier is a guest of mine.”
“And there is no need that thou shouldst publish thine owndishonour,” answered Gonzalez.
“Thou liest, villain!” returned Inez, trembling with passion.“But beware! beware! I will go bury me in a convent, but I willbe revenged on thee!”
Gonzalez turned pale on hearing this threat; and though, atfirst sight, the injury it would invoke against him might seembut small, he did not shrink without good cause. Whatever wayhe might ultimately dispose of Inez, he would be able, by alittle underhand dealing, to secure a large share of her dowerto himself, and, further, avoid all troublesome accounts; but ifInez should take refuge in a convent, and unite herself with thechurch, his views in that respect, however artfully contrived,would be utterly frustrated. There was a long account ofstewardship to make up, and, if that could be accomplished, yearsof administration to report on, which he knew the church wouldnot overlook; and these reflections gave a weight and importanceto his ward’s threat, that he might well regard with great dismay.
His hesitation was not unobserved. Don Felix, watching himintently, detected it in a moment, and, seeing that he wassilenced, began to fear that he would suffer Hildebrandto escape. As he thought that such an issue would be veryunsatisfactory, and might involve him in some difficulty, if notactual peril, he deemed it advisable to interpose; and, by takingall blame from Gonzalez, avert any further interference of theenraged Inez.
“Senhora,” he said, “thy right to receive what guests thou wiltcannot be questioned. We apprehend the stranger, not because heis thy guest, but because he is an Englishman, and a spy.”
“This is the second time, Sir Spaniard,” cried Hildebrand, inSpanish, “that thou hast named me a spy. I spared thy life before;do thou look to it now!”
Before any one could come between them, he dealt Don Felix ablow, on his first guard, that knocked his sword out of his hand;and then made a spring at his throat. He had hardly seizedhis collar, however, when he was himself laid hold of by thealguazils, who, under cover of his attack, had entered thekitchen unnoticed, and now effected his capture.
But Inez, though the terror and excitement of the scene hadalmost overpowered her, was determined not to surrender himwithout a struggle. She had observed, with a quickness ofperception that was not unusual in her, that her threat ofretiring into a convent had not fallen on her uncle unheeded; andat this juncture, the effect of its first appliance emboldenedher to recur to it.
“Don Gonzalez, mind thee what I have threatened,” she said. “Letthe cavalier depart, and I promise thee, afore these witnesses,to abide myself by thy disposal.”
“Lady,” cried Hildebrand, “if thou wouldst do me a service, letmy state be made known to the English Ambassador.”
Don Felix, who, on being delivered from the grasp of Hildebrand,had shrunk a pace or two back, here stepped forward again, anddarted at Hildebrand a glance of exultant enmity.
“No need to trouble the lady, Sir,” he said; “we will bear thycommands to the Ambassador ourselves. But of what avail werethis? The Ambassador, whom thou thinkst will succour thee, is inprison himself; and his heretic servants have been attached bythe Inquisition.”
“Thou liest again, knave!” exclaimed Hildebrand. “’Tis more thanSpain durst venture on.”
“Spain will venture more anon,” said Don Felix, sneeringly. “Thouwilt soon find her fleets in London river.”
A light now struck upon Hildebrand, and as he thought of thelarge ships of war which he had seen in Cadiz harbour, and whichprobably were but a small part of the armament in preparation,he was inclined to receive this assertion with some degree ofcredence. But, whether it were true or not, he could have nodoubt about the danger of his own situation, or of the fact that,do what he might, resistance would be perfectly fruitless. Hisonly resource, therefore, at the present moment, was to submit,and to reserve his efforts to escape till a more favourableperiod.
“Ye will have to give an account of your doings, nevertheless,”he observed. “But I am your prisoner now; bear me whither yewill.”
“Ye know your orders, alguazils,” cried Don Felix. “Bear him off!”
“Hold!” screamed Inez, “or, by the holy mass, ye shall heartilyrue it! Don Gonzalez! an’ thou wouldst keep me from the Sistersof Mercy, have the cavalier released.”
“I durst not, Inez,” answered her guardian, in a deprecatory tone.
“Thou shalt! thou shalt!” exclaimed Inez, “or
, by sweet Jesu!--”
But the excitement, which she had all along supported withdifficulty, now shook her brain, and, as she was making a stepforward, she reeled back, and broke into an hysterical peal oflaughter. She would have fallen, but, whether from pity, or somemotive of interest, her uncle sprang to her assistance, andcaught her in his arms.
“Away with the prisoner!” he cried to Don Felix. “I will myselflook to my ward.”
The alguazils, on a signal from Don Felix, tightened their holdof Hildebrand, and drew him forth to the garden. Don Felixfollowed them, and, under his direction, they proceeded to thegarden-door, whence they passed into the street. Here, enjoiningthem to take good care of their prisoner, Don Felix left them,and they pushed on with their charge to the city-prison.
The prison, being situate at the other end of the city, towardsthe mainland, was some distance from their starting-point, andstood in a quarter to which Hildebrand was a stranger. But,walking at a brisk rate, their progress thither did not occupythem long, and they soon came to a stand before the prison-door.
But a few words of explanation passed between the alguazils andthe gaoler. These rendered, Hildebrand was, without furtherceremony, pushed within the gaol-door, and given over to thegaoler and his assistants. Two of the last-named functionaries,by the direction of their principal, instantly secured him,and hastened to deprive him of his arms. Having effected theirpurpose, they hurried him down a flight of steps, at the lowerend of the passage, to a subterraneous dungeon, where they lefthim in hopeless captivity.
Solitude and bondage are melancholy companions. Hearts that neverknew the melting influence of pity, or experienced the thrillof fear, but met every vicissitude with a stern and unbendingfront, have been cowed and overwhelmed by their first whispers,and have been hurried on, by an enlarged and more intimatefellowship, into distraction and despair. They are a sort ofliving death, enclosing the spark of life in a walled grave,where the air, so sweet and buoyant without, is pestilence, andone’s breath corruption. Acquainted with these, we seem to bedead before our time, and yet, though shut out from action, tolive in thought,--to suffer all the terror and captivity of thegrave, and be convulsed with the workings of a restless vitality.
As he heard the fastenings of his dungeon-door secured, a chilllike that of death, if one can form a conception of the lastsensibility of the dying, crept through the bosom of Hildebrand.He was there alone--without solace, without hope, without evenGod.
He durst not pray. The reflection that he had been brought intothis situation by his own imprudence--nay, by a corrupt andabandoned selfishness, which affected the peace of another--thisreflection was upon him; and, when he thought of imploring theprotection of Heaven, it met his prayer in his throat, and turnedit back with a reproach.
But the image of Inez, though predominant, was not his onlyaccuser. If, urged by despair, he drove it for a moment from hismind, a hundred bitter and remorseful recollections rushed intoits place. His imprudence, if so mild a term may be retained, hadnot only brought destruction on himself, from which there was noprospect of escape, but, in its consequences, would entail ruinon others. He could not think of his ship, lying in an enemy’sharbour, within the range of the batteries, and every momentliable to be visited by the local officials, without a thrill ofanguish. Even his benefactor, Sir Walter Raleigh, would not beexempt from the effects of his folly; and, in the utter failureof his design on the Mexican fleet, which he had laboured sodiligently to accomplish, and in which he had embarked the chiefpart of his fortune, would suffer irreparable detriment. Nor didHildebrand forget, while pursuing this train of reflection, tocharge himself with having failed seriously in his duty to hiscountry. The assertion of Don Felix, on his being arrested, thatthe Spanish government contemplated the invasion of England,and which the martial preparations everywhere in progress amplycorroborated, afforded ground to his conscience for a morestartling accusation, and a more bitter and excruciating reproach.
He had stood upright in his dungeon, within a pace or two of thedoor, ever since he had been left alone, without moving a singlestep. The darkness around him, like that of Egypt, could almostbe felt; but he was insensible to it, and could only think, atthat moment, of his folly, his imprudence, and his guilt.
It may seem strange, on a superficial view, that a man who hadpassed his life in action, and had undergone all manner ofvicissitudes and perils, should be reduced by the first touchof calamity to such utter prostration. That a sudden blow to aneven and prosperous life should fall with severity, and be metby dejection, is no more than one might expect; but if it unmanhim who has been adversity’s companion, and, in his progressonward, walked hand in hand with all the accidents of war, itexcites our surprise, and scarcely seems reasonable, or possible.But, however this may be borne out by ordinary cases, it is noless true, in the particular instance under consideration, thatHildebrand did not meet the passing calamity with any degreeof fortitude. On the contrary, indeed, it found him totallyunmanned,--his spirit cowed, his mind foundering, and his oncebrave heart, that a sense of rectitude would have nerved againstthe heaviest tribulation, burthened and weighed down by anoverwhelming remorse.
It is often at the eleventh hour, when it is too late tomake reparation, that a man becomes alive to the full effectof a past and irretrievable excess. Even then, however, ifheartily resolved on amendment, it is possible to render theconsequences of his trespass less grievous and severe. A goodintention involves some of the benignant influence of a goodact; and though we should be unable to carry it into effect,the conviction that it had received our best support, and thatits failure was not owing to any lack of effort, but to causesbeyond our reach, will afford us a savour of that satisfactionand cheerfulness that attend success. When we conceive a sincereregret for wrong we have inflicted on others, the heart isbeginning to expand, and, if we may use such a phrase, to developits resources; and though we may writhe under the first andearlier visitings of self-accusation, and feel its continuanceto be torture, it will gradually call up in the heart betterand softer feelings, and, in our compassion for those we haveinjured, lend a comfort and strength to ourselves.
Thus did Hildebrand ultimately attain a certain degree offortitude and composure. As the reproaches of his consciencebecame more familiar, and the terrors of his position, from hissurveying them over and over again, lost their air of novelty,his manliness seemed to revive, and, though he was stillunutterably miserable, his wretchedness was not without dignity,and his remorse was no longer despair.
But, notwithstanding the amelioration of his distress, heremained pensive and restless the whole night. The day--for evenin the gloom of his dungeon, to which perfect light was unknown,there was a slight distinction in the seasons, and he could tellthe day from the night--found him still awake, and still rapt inanxious reflections.
The morning was somewhat advanced before he received a visit fromthe gaoler; and though, as his remorseful mood was unshaken, theimmediate features of his situation continued to press themselveson his mind, this circumstance did not escape him. It had hardlyincurred his notice, however, when, not without feeling someinterest in the issue, he heard the fastenings withdrawn fromthe dungeon-door; and the door being thereupon pushed open, thegaoler entered.
The grim functionary was not alone. He was followed, a fewpaces in his rear, by a short, broad-built friar, who, from hishesitating step, appeared to enter the cell with anything butcomplacency.
The friar, for whatever reason, had his cowl drawn close, so thathis face was invisible; but, through the small eyelets of thecowl, one could see a spark of gentleness in his eyes, that atonce recommended him to favour. He carried a lighted lamp in hishand, and, on passing through the doorway, he held it out beforehim, and glanced rapidly round the limits of the dungeon.
Meantime, the gaoler, whom familiarity with dungeons renderedless curious, advanced to the unhappy prisoner, and, without aword of greeting, placed before him a repast of bread and water.Leaving him to regale h
imself therewith, he turned towards thedoor again; and the friar, who had by this time finished hissurvey of the dungeon, and fixed his eye so as to meet his, wavedhim forth.
“Well, have thy will,” said the gaoler, in reply, “but ’tis onlytill thou canst take his confession, mind! I will wait theewithout.”
Thus sulkily complying, the gaoler passed out of the dungeon,and drew-to the door behind him. The friar, as though he lookedon his movements with suspicion, followed him with his eye;and, when he had passed out, held up the light, with a fixedand steady hand, to see if he had closed the door. Apparentlysatisfied on this point, he turned away from the door, andstepped hastily towards Hildebrand.
Hildebrand was in the further corner of the dungeon, seated onthe floor, with his arms, to protect them from the cold, foldedclose over his bosom, and his back resting against the wall. Themovements of the friar, though he watched them earnestly, did notinduce him to alter his position, and he waited his approach inthe same posture.
The friar stood right before him. Coming to a halt, he leanedhis head a little forward; and with the hand which he had atliberty--for he carried the light in his left hand--threw backhis cowl, and disclosed the features of Inez.
Hildebrand, uttering an exclamation of surprise, sprang to hisfeet, and caught her by both her hands.
“Hush!” whispered Inez, perceiving that he was about to speak:“remember, thy surly keeper, though without the door, may bewithin ear-shot. Moreover, what I have to say must be told withdespatch.”
“Every word thou sayest,” answered Hildebrand, “is life and bloodto me. Speak on!”
But though he was so anxious to hear what she had to say,Hildebrand’s attention was not so wholly engrossed by thisobject, above every other, that he could look on Inez herselfwithout emotion. Her appearance was not calculated to encourageor confirm his reviving fortitude. On throwing back her cowl,her long black hair, which was wont to be arranged with suchexquisite taste, appeared loose and dishevelled, and hadevidently been pushed behind her small ears with a rude andcareless haste. Her eyes were red with recent weeping, and,withal, by their quick and furtive glances, betrayed an anxietyand restlessness, if not terror, that it was distressing tobehold. Her other features, as far as the light rendered themapparent, looked equally anxious, and her face was pale as death.
A single glance was sufficient to reveal these particulars toHildebrand; and by the time Inez was ready to answer him, he wasable, with a slight effort, to give her statement his undividedattention.
“I have ventured hither,” she said, “not without imminent hazard,lest thou shouldst think I had deserted thee, and so growdesperate. There is a young cavalier in this city, right trustyin his disposition, whom I know well--indeed, he is my cousin;and, through him, I think I may do thee some service.”
“What may he be?” inquired Hildebrand, eagerly catching at theslightest prospect of succour.
“Little of himself,” answered Inez; “for he is a mere youth.Nevertheless, with thy aid, and under thy counsel, he may do theegreat service. I will make it a suit to the corregidor (who is abachelor, and will be well content to do me grace) to grant him apass to visit thee. When he is here, thou mayst confer with him,and see how he can help thee!”
A conference with such a person did not promise to be attendedwith any material and decided benefit; but, in fortune’sextremity, we are inclined to look on every change, whatever maybe its aspect, with an eye of favour, and to tender countenanceand welcome to the most flimsy prospect. Incidents that, like theimages that the sun calls up on a reflective lake, become mereshadows on inspection, originally assume the shape and attitudeof substantial advantages; and when the turbulent flood of lifeis rushing mercilessly over us, a very thread of hope, which theeye can hardly distinguish, appears to be a cable, and we seek tohaul ourselves from the depths by floating straws.
Hildebrand caught at the proposition of Inez as if it had openeda channel for escape.
“How can I ever requite thee, dearest lady?” he said. “I prithee,see the cavalier use despatch in coming.”
“Have no fear for that,” answered Inez, with unabated agitation.
“There is one service he might do me ere he come,” pursuedHildebrand. “Thou knowest now (what I should have told theebefore, but from a fear of thy displeasure) that I am anEnglishman. Sooth to speak, I am captain of an English cruizer,which lies in the harbour yonder.”
“Jesu shield us!” exclaimed Inez, with lips that would have toldher terror without words. “Durst thou, then, to enter CadizHarbour with a single cruizer?”
“’Twas a perilous deed, certes,” answered Hildebrand, “andHeaven grant it prove not fatal! But, to the point. My bark isthe outermost one in the harbour, and hath the Scottish flag (St.Andrew’s cross, red on white) flying at the stern. I would thecavalier would visit her.”
Inez hesitated a moment.
“It shall be done,” she said, at length.
“He must inquire out my lieutenant,” resumed Hildebrand. And,taking a ring from his finger, he let it drop in the hand ofInez, and continued:--“This ring will be my token to him; andwhen he knows how I am fast--But, down with thy cowl.”
Inez, however, taken by surprise, turned on his face a glanceof bewilderment, and made no attempt to give his injunctioneffect. It was fortunate that Hildebrand immediately perceivedher hesitation, or the gaoler, whom he heard entering, and hadperceived to be alert in his vocation, would have been uponthem before she had resumed her disguise. But observing thather presence of mind was completely gone, he drew down her cowlhimself; and thus, by a prompt interposition, which surprisecould not arrest, deprived the impending peril of half its terror.
He had hardly drawn down her cowl when the gaoler entered. Aterrible degree of fear had come over Inez; and by one of thoserevolutions of the system which it is impossible to account for,and which are effected in a moment--as though the loose thoughtthat they must originally spring from, having snapped under theweight and pressure of the occasion, had shaken and unbracedevery faculty--by one of those strange revolutions, her excitednerves were left without restraint, and her imagination withouta bridle. A dreadful infatuation fell upon her; and, with thisin her mind, she was prompted to throw off her disguise, andyield herself a prisoner to the gaoler. Fortunately, however,her subjection to the morbid influence was but momentary.Recklessness of herself, though it was supreme for an instant,was quickly overtaken by affection for Hildebrand, and, withthe magic presence of love, her spirit revived, and herself-possession was recovered.
The gaoler entered with a dogged look, as if he were determined,whether Hildebrand had been confessed or no, that he would allowof no longer conference.
“St. Jago be gracious!” he cried, “hath he not got his shriftyet, father?”
“I have done,” answered Inez, in a feigned voice. “Let him belooked to!”
“Ay, ay, he shall be looked to, I’ll warrant thee,” rejoined thegaoler, with a grin. “That be good, i’faith--very good!”
Inez, who was not disposed to talk, made no reply to hisobservations, but proceeded in silence to the door. The gaolerfollowed her, and, drawing open the door, they passed intothe passage beyond. Having effected their egress, the gaoler,lingering behind, drew to and secured the door; and Hildebrandwas again the sole inmate of the dungeon.
Want of rest had rendered his mind less obedient to its helmthan usual; but, for all this, it had derived great solace, andeven strength, from the visit of Inez. It may seem a strangeanomaly, but observation will prove it to be true, that, afterwe have been writhing under the pressure of despair, we are mostdisposed, by the constitution of our nature, to give free room tothe least inspiration of hope. This singular fact was exemplifiedin Hildebrand. He was still unhappy, but, though his prospectshad undergone no sensible amelioration, he was no longerhopeless. If his interview with Inez should result in no personalbenefit, it at least afforded him an assurance that his situationwould be communicated to his frien
ds, and, whatever might be theissue, some effort would be made, he was certain, to set him atliberty.
Revolving these reflections in his mind, the misery of hissituation became considerably alleviated; and though, every nowand then, as he remembered the nature of his connexion with Inez,and how tenderly she had shown herself to be attached to him, hisbreast would be visited by an involuntary pang, his fortitude wasnow fixed on a solid and stable foundation. He was not free, itis true, from the depressing effect of a want of repose; but histhoughts being no longer swayed by distraction, he was betterable to seek repose, and more open to its approaches.
Sleep stole upon him insensibly. It was late in the night ere heawoke, and, though not at ease, he felt considerably refreshed.Rising to stretch his limbs, his foot struck against something onthe floor; and, with more curiosity than the circumstance seemedto warrant, or his position to admit of, he stooped to ascertainwhat it was. It was a large flagon, filled with water; and onpassing his hand round the outside, he found a small loaf also;and he remembered it was the meal which the gaoler had left himin the morning.
The provision was far from being unwelcome, and Hildebrand, notwithout a good appetite, proceeded to discuss it. Having finishedhis meal, and warmed himself by a little exercise, he lay downagain, and with some degree of patience waited the coming of day.
Conformably to his expectations, he was visited in the morningby the gaoler, who, as on the preceding morning, brought him hisday’s provision. From this time, he was in momentary expectation,through the whole of the day, of hearing from Inez; but everysucceeding moment brought him only disappointment. The eveningcame on, and night; and he was still without intelligence of hisanxiously expected visiter.
His suspense sank into depression as the night advanced, and,from the unlooked-for delay, he began to fear that Inez hadbeen unable, by her own unaided efforts, to bring the designwhich they had concerted into effect. While, however, he wasyet pondering on his not unreasonable fear, he thought that heheard footsteps approaching. The matter was not long doubtful;for, before he could well be said to be listening, he heard themassy bolts of the dungeon-door shot back; and by the time he hadsprung to his feet (which he did almost instantaneously), thedoor was thrown open.
Two persons entered, one of whom, from the light which he carriedin his hand, Hildebrand perceived to be the gaoler; and hesupposed the other to be his expected ally. His supposition wasshortly confirmed; for the cavalier, having taken the lamp fromthe gaoler, came more into the light, and, on near inspection,was seen to wear the guise and appointments of a gentleman.
He was, as Inez had described him, a mere stripling, and seemedto have scarcely seen his sixteenth year. But it was more by hisface that his youth was apparent, in his present attire, than byhis form. So far as the latter could be seen, through the fall ofhis deep-brown cloak, it was round and full, and almost matured.At the waist, it is true, it was slender in the extreme; but thebroad volume of his chest, and the full and graceful outlineof his shoulders, which could be traced on the outside of hiscloak, showed that he was well proportioned, and, at a littledistance, might be thought to be verging on manhood. His face wasalmost too beautiful for a man’s; and its resemblance to thatof Inez, especially about the nose and eyes, was so striking,that Hildebrand discerned it directly. He wore a light moustacheabove his mouth, and under his nether lip, where it fell into thechin, a subordinate imperial. But it was his movements, more thananything else, that fixed attention; for his step was like light,and, in its carriage of his person, displayed a grace and dignitysurpassing man’s.
It will readily be supposed, from this description, that, howevergreatly the cavalier might excite Hildebrand’s admiration, hisappearance was not calculated to inspire him with a reasonablehope that he would be able to afford him any succour. Hildebrandconceived such an impression of him on the instant. The highexpectations that he had entertained were dissipated, and, nowthat he seemed to have reached a crisis, his heart turned coldwith despair.
But he had no time to follow up his gloomy reflections. He hadhardly effected his survey of the stranger’s person, by whichthe feeling described had been prompted, when that individual,without knowing how his thoughts were occupied, drew hisattention to other matters.
“Thou mayst retire,” he said to the gaoler.
“May I, forsooth?” answered the gaoler. “By the holy rood, I takeit mighty kindly of thee to give me such great licence. Howbeit,I be disposed to stay.”
“How?” rejoined the cavalier. “Did not I give thee thecorregidor’s pass?”
“But that said nought of my leaving thee alone with theprisoner,” replied the gaoler, who, with the rapacity of hisprofession, was looking out for a small _douceur_. “No! no,Senhor? I’ll even stay, an’ it please thee.”
“Then, shalt thou stay altogether!” cried the cavalier,vehemently. And, drawing a pistol from under his cloak, helevelled it at the gaoler’s breast. “Secure him!” he added toHildebrand.
It was a happy circumstance that Hildebrand fulfilled thisinjunction with promptitude, or the nervous agitation of thecavalier’s extended arm, not to mention the tremor of his voice,which, in his utter surprise and consternation, the gaoler didnot observe, would have made it immediately apparent that hisprowess and resolution might be easily overcome. Before thegaoler could collect himself, however, Hildebrand, favoured byhis bewilderment, sprang boldly on his chest, and grappled himin both his arms. They struggled for a few moments with fearfulearnestness and energy. Hildebrand’s first assault, while thegaoler was uncollected, had given him some advantage, and he hadbeen enabled to secure the gaoler’s arms; but, as the struggleproceeded, the gaoler gained ground, and got his right armfree. He had his back planted against the door, and one of hisshort, bandy legs, by way of outwork, pushed between the legsof Hildebrand, so that the latter could not well throw him; andon obtaining the freedom of his right arm, this enabled him tomaintain his position with the other, and make his right arm thevehicle of offensive measures. While Hildebrand was striving tothrow him to the ground, he dropped his hand into his girdle,and, with a sudden jerk, drew forth a long knife. From theposition of Hildebrand, however, he could not use it within, ashe had intended; and he was obliged to draw it forth, and seek tostab him in the back.
All this time, the young Spanish cavalier, with a singular andunaccountable indecision, had remained perfectly quiescent. Heseemed, indeed (if the truth must be told), to be overwhelmedwith fear, and to possess neither the will nor the power tointerpose. But his irresolute disposition did not continue. Ashe saw the long knife of the gaoler raised above Hildebrand’sback, on the point of dealing him a deadly wound, his indecisionappeared to vanish, and, whether from the impulse of the moment,or a more manly agency, his spirit to revive.
“Jesu! he will stab him!” he exclaimed.
With these words, he sprang nimbly forward, and seized theuplifted arm of the gaoler with both his hands. At the samemoment, Hildebrand, hearing his exclamation, looked up, andperceived his danger. The incident seemed to nerve him with newdetermination, and, throwing all his strength into his grasp,he seized the gaoler by the shoulders, and threw him bodily tothe ground. As he fell, his head came in contact with the wallof the dungeon, and the concussion, with the fall, rendered himsenseless.
“’Tis bravely done,” said the young cavalier. “We will now goforth. But, hist!”
“They are footsteps!” whispered Hildebrand.