CHAPTER XI.
"Then Roderick from the Douglas broke, As flashes flame through sable smoke, Kindling its wreaths long, dark, and low. To one broad blaze of ruddy glow; So the deep anguish of despair Burst in fierce jealousy to air."
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
"Sure, now, Pedro, the poor young Senor cannot be entirely in hisright mind; he does nothing but tramp, tramp, tramp, the whole nightlong, and mutters so fiercely to himself, and such dark words, itwould make one tremble were they not belied by His sweet face and sadsmile," was the observation of old Juana Lopez to her husband some tendays after Arthur Stanley had been domiciled in their dwelling. Theold man muttered something about his being a foreigner from the WildIsland, where they had all been busy cutting one another's throats,and what could she expect otherwise?"
"Expect? why that he must have become Spanish born and bred since hehas been in King Ferdinand's service so long, and was such a boy whenhe left England."
"Stuff, woman; there's no taking the foreign blood out of him, try asyou will," growled the old man, who in common with many of his class,was exceedingly annoyed that a foreigner should possess so much ofthe King's confidence, and not a little displeased that his dwellingshould have been fixed on for the young officer's quarters. "It wouldnot have been Isabella, God bless her! to have chosen such a minion;she tolerates him for Ferdinand's sake; but they will find him out oneday. Saint Iago forbid the evil don't fall first."
"Now that is all prejudice, Viego Pedro, and you know it. Bless hisbeautiful face! there is no thought of evil there, I'd stake myexistence. He is tormented in his mind about something, poor youth;but his eyes are too bright and his smile too sad for any thing evil."
"Hold your foolish tongue: you women think if a man is better lookingthan his fellows, he is better in every respect--poor fools as ye are;but as for this Englisher, with such a white skin and glossycurls, and blue eyes--why I'd be ashamed to show myself amongstmen--pshaw--the woman's blind."
"Nay, Viego Pedro, prejudice has folded her kerchief round your eyes,not mine," retorted the old dame; and their war of words concerningthe merits and demerits of their unconscious lodger continued, tillold Pedro grumbled himself off, and his more light-hearted helpmatebusied herself in preparing a tempting meal for her guest, which, toher great disappointment, shared the fate of many others, and left histable almost untouched.
To attempt description of Stanley's feelings would be as impossible astedious; yet some few words must be said. His peculiarly enthusiastic,perhaps romantic disposition, had caused him to cling tenaciously tothe memory of Marie, even after the revelation of a secret which toother men would have seemed to place an impassable barrier betweenthem. To Arthur, difficulties in pursuit of an object only renderedits attainment the more intensely desired. Perhaps his hope restedon the conviction not so much of his own faithful love as on theunchangeable nature of hers. He might have doubted himself, but todoubt her was impossible. Conscious himself that, wrong as it mightbe, he could sacrifice every thing for her--country, rank, faithitself, even the prejudice of centuries, every thing but honor--anideal stronger in the warrior's mind than even creed--he could not andwould not believe that her secret was to her sacred as his honor tohim, and that she could no more turn renegade from the fidelity whichthat secret comprised, than he could from his honor. She had spokenof but one relation, an aged father; and he felt in his stronghopefulness, that it was only for that father's sake she had strivento conquer her love, and had told him they might never wed, and thatwhen that link was broken he might win her yet.
Loving and believing thus, his anguish in beholding her the wife ofanother may be imagined. The more he tried to think, the more confusedand mystifying his thoughts became. Every interview which he had withher, and more especially that in the Vale of Cedars, was written inindelible characters on his heart and brain; and while beholding heras the wife of Morales contradicted their every word, still it couldnot blot them from his memory; and he would think, and think, in thevain search for but one imaginary reason, however faint, howeverunsatisfactory, for her conduct, till his brain turned, and his sensesreeled. It was not the mere suffering of unrequited love; it was themisery of having been deceived; and then, when racked and torturedby the impossibility of discovering some cause for this deceit, hersecret would flash across him, and the wild thought arise that both heand Don Ferdinand were victims to the magic and the sorcery, by meansof which alone her hated race could ever make themselves beloved.
Compelled as he was to mingle with the Court as usual, these powerfulemotions were of course always under strong restraint, except when inthe solitude of his own quarters. That when there he should give themvent, neither conscious of, nor caring for the remarks they excitedfrom his host and hostess, was not very remarkable; perhaps he wasscarcely aware how powerfully dislike towards Don Ferdinand shared histhoughts with his vain suggestions as to the cause of Marie's falsity.The reason for this suddenly aroused dislike he could not indeedhave defined, except that Morales had obtained without difficulty atreasure, to obtain which he had offered to sacrifice so much. Sofourteen days passed, and though firmly resolved to have one moreinterview with Marie, no opportunity had presented itself, nor in factcould he feel that he had as yet obtained the self-command necessaryfor the cold, calm tone which he intended to assume. It happened thatonce or twice the King had made Arthur his messenger to Don Ferdinand;but since the night of the entertainment he had never penetratedfarther than the audience chamber, there performed his missionbriefly, and departed. Traversing the principal street of Segovia onemorning, he was accosted somewhat too courteously, he thought, fortheir slight acquaintance, by Don Luis Garcia.
"And whither so early, Senor Stanley?" he inquired so courteously thatit could not give offence, particularly as it followed other queriesof a graceful greeting, and was not put forth abruptly.
"To the mansion of Don Ferdinand Morales," replied the youngEnglishman, frankly.
"Indeed! from the King?"
Stanley answered in the affirmative, too deeply engrossed with his ownthoughts, to attend much to his companion, whose interrogations hewould undoubtedly in a more natural mood have felt inclined to resent.
"Don Ferdinand Morales ranks as high in the favor of the people asof the King--a marvellous conjunction of qualities, is it not, SenorStanley?" continued Garcia, after walking by his side some minutes insilence. "A Monarch's favorite is seldom that of his subjects; butMorales is unusually deserving. I wonder not at the love he wins."
"Neither Ferdinand nor Isabella bestows favors on the undeserving,"briefly, almost sternly answered Stanley, with an unconscious changeof tone and manner, which did not escape his companion.
"And he is so singularly fortunate, every thing he touches seems toturn to gold--an universal idol, possessed too of such wealth andsplendor, and, above all, with such a being to share them with him.Fortune has marked him favored in all things. Didst ever behold acreature equal in loveliness to Donna Marie, Senor Stanley?"
A momentary, and to any other but Don Luis, incomprehensible emotion,passed over the countenance of Stanley at these words; but thoughit was instantly recalled, and indifference both in expression ofcountenance and voice resumed, it passed not unobserved; and Don Luis,rejoicing in the pain he saw he was inflicting, continued an eloquentpanegyric on the wife of Morales, the intense love she bore herhusband, and the beautiful unity and harmony of their wedded life,until they parted within a short distance of the public entrance toDon Ferdinand's mansion, towards which Stanley turned.
Don Luis looked after his retreating form, and folding his arms in hismantle, bent down his head, assuming an attitude which to passers-byexpressed the meek humility of his supposed character. There was awild gleam of triumph, in his eyes which he knew, and therefore theywere thus bent down, and there were thoughts in his heart which mightthus be worded:--"I have it all, all. Waiting has done better for methan acting; but now the watch is over, and the coil is laid. There
have been those who, standing on the loftiest pinnacle, have fallenby a touch to earth; none knew the how or wherefore." And shroudinghimself closer in his wrapping mantle, he walked rapidly on till hereached a side entrance into the gardens, which stretched for manyacres around Don Ferdinand's mansion. Here again he paused, lookedcautiously around him, then swiftly entered, and softly closed thedoor behind him.
Already agitated by the effort to retain calmness during Garcia'sartful words, it was no light matter for Stanley to compose himselffor his interview with Morales. Vain was the gentle courtesy of thelatter, vain his kindly words, vain his confidential reception of theyoung Englishman, to remove from Arthur's heart the wild torrent ofpassion called forth by Garcia's allusion to Marie's intense lovefor her husband. To any one but Morales, his abrupt and unconnectedreplies, his strange and uncourteous manners, must have excitedirritation; but Don Ferdinand only saw that the young man wasdisturbed and pained, and for this very reason exerted his utmostkindliness of words and manner to draw him from, himself. They partedafter an interval of about half an hour, Morales to go to the castleas requested; Arthur to proceed, as he thought, to the environs of thecity. But in vain did he strive with himself. The window of the roomin which he had met Don Ferdinand looked into the garden, and there,slowly pacing a shaded path, he had recognized the figure of Marie.The intense desire to speak with her once more, and so have the fatalmystery solved, became too powerful for control. Every feeling ofhonor and delicacy perished before it, and hardly knowing what he did,he retraced his steps, entered unquestioned, passed through the hallto the gardens beyond, and in less than ten minutes after he hadparted from her husband, stood in the presence of Marie.
The Vale of Cedars; Or, The Martyr Page 12