CHAPTER XII.
"If she be false, oh, then Heaven mock itself! I'll not believe it."
SHAKSPEARE.
Don Ferdinand had scarcely quitted his mansion ere fleet stepsresounded behind him, and turning, he beheld Don Luis Garcia, whogreeted him with such a marked expression, both in voice and face,of sadness, that Morales involuntarily paused, and with muchcommiseration inquired what had chanced.
"Nothing of personal misfortune, my friend; but there are times whenthe spirit is tortured by a doubtful duty. To preserve silence isundoubtedly wrong, and may lead to wrong, yet greater; and yet, tospeak, is so painfully distressing to my peace-loving disposition,that I am tossed for ever on conflicting impulses, and would gladly beguided by another."
"If you would be guided by my counsel, my good friend, I must entreata clearer statement," replied Morales, half smiling. "You have spokenso mysteriously, that I cannot even guess your meaning. I cannotimagine one so straightforward and strong-minded as yourselfhesitating and doubtful as to duty, of whatever nature."
"Not if it concerned myself: but in this case I must either continueto see wrong done, with the constant dread of its coming to light,without my interference; or inflict anguish where I would gladly givebut joy; and very probably, in addition, have my tale disbelieved,and myself condemned, though for that matter, personal pain is of noconsequence, could I but pursue the right."
"But how stands this important case, my good friend?"
"Thus: I have been so unfortunate as to discover that one is false,whom her doting husband believes most true--that the lover of heryouth has returned, and still holds her imagination chained--that shemeets him in secret, and has appointed another clandestine interview,from which who may tell the evil that may ensue? I would prevent thisinterview--would recall her to her better nature, or put her husbandon his guard: but how dare I do this--how interfere thus closelybetween man and wife? Counsel me, my friend, in pity!"
"If you have good foundation for this charge, Don Luis, it is yourduty to speak out," replied Morales, gravely.
"And to whom?"
"To the lawful guardian of this misguided one--her husband."
"But how can I excite his anguish--how turn his present heaven of joyto a very hell of woe, distrust, suspicion?"
"Does the leech heed his patient's anguish when probing a painfulwound, or cutting away the mortified flesh? His office is notenviable, but it is necessary, and; if feelingly performed, we lovehim not the less. Speak out. Don Luis, openly, frankly, yet gently, tothe apparently injured husband. Do more: counsel him to act as openly,as gently with his seemingly guilty wife; and that which now appearsso dark, may be proved clear, and joy dawn again for both, by a fewwords of mutual explanation. But there must be no mystery on yourpart--no either heightening or smoothing what you may have learnt.Speak out the simple truth; insinuate nought, for that love isworthless, that husband false to his sacred charge, if he believes inguilt ere he questions the accused."
Don Luis looked on the open countenance before him for a few minuteswithout reply, thinking, not if he should spare him, but if his plansmight not be foiled, did Morales himself act as he had said. But thepause was not long: never had he read human countenance aright, ifArthur Stanley were not at that moment with Marie. He laid his handon Don Ferdinand's arm, and so peculiar was the expression on hiscountenance, so low and plaintively musical the tone in which besaid, "God give you strength, my poor friend," that the rich colorunconsciously forsook the cheek of the hardy warrior, leaving himpallid as death; and so sharp a thrill passed through his heart, thatit was with difficulty he retained his feet; but Morales was notmerely physically, he was mentally brave. With a powerful, a mightyeffort of will, he called life, energy, courage back, and said,sternly and unfalteringly, "Don Luis Garcia, again I say, speak out! Iunderstand you; it is I who am the apparently injured husband. Marie!Great God of heaven! that man should dare couple her pure name withignominy! Marie! my Marie! the seemingly guilty wife! Well, put forthyour tale: I am not the man to shrink from my own words. Speak truth,and I will hear you; and--and, if I can, not spurn you from me as aliar! Speak out!"
Don Luis needed not a second bidding: he had remarked, seen, andheard quite enough the evening of Don Ferdinand's banquet, to requirenothing more than the simple truth, to harrow the heart of his hearer,even while Morales disbelieved his every word. Speciously, indeed,he turned his own mere suspicions as to Marie's unhappiness, and herearly love for Arthur, into realities, founded on certain information,but with this sole exception--he told but the truth. Without movinga muscle, without change of countenance, or uttering a syllable ofrejoinder, Don Ferdinand listened to Garcia's recital, fixing hislarge piercing eye on his face, with a gaze that none but one sohardened in hypocrisy could have withstood. Once only Morales'sfeatures contracted for a single instant, as convulsed by some spasm.It was the recollection of Marie's passionate tears, the night of thefestival; and yet she had shed them on _his_ bosom. How could she beguilty? And the spasm passed.
"I have heard you, Don Luis," he said, so calmly, as Garcia ceased,that the latter started. "If there be truth in this strange tale, Ithank you for imparting it: if it be false--if you have dared pollutemy ears with one word that has no foundation, cross not my pathagain, lest I be tempted to turn and crush you as I would a loathsomereptile, who in very wantonness has stung me."
He turned from him rapidly, traversed the brief space, and disappearedwithin his house. Don Luis looked after him with a low, fiendishlaugh, and plunged once more into the gardens.
"Is the Senora within?" Inquired Don Ferdinand, encountering hiswife's favorite attendant at the entrance of Marie's private suit ofrooms; and though his cheek was somewhat pale, his voice was firm asusual. The reply was in the negative; the Senora was in the gardens."Alone? Why are you not with her as usual, Manuella?"
"I was with her, my Lord; she only dismissed me ten minutes ago."
Without rejoinder, Don Ferdinand turned in the direction she hadpointed out. It was a lovely walk, in the most shaded parts of theextensive grounds, walled by alternate orange and lemon trees; somewith the blossom, germ, and fruit all on one tree; others full ofthe paly fruit; and others, again, as wreathed with snow, from theprofusion of odoriferous flowers. An abrupt curve led to a grassyplot, from which a sparkling fountain sent up its glistening showers,before a luxurious bower, which Morales's tender care had formed oflarge and healthy slips, cut from the trees of the Vale of Cedars, andflowery shrubs and variegated moss from the same spot; and there hehad introduced his Marie, calling it by the fond name of "Home!" As heneared the curve, voices struck on his ear--Marie's and another's. Shewas not alone! and that other!--could it be?--nay, it was--there wasneither doubt nor hesitation--it was his--his--against whom Don Luishad warned him. Was it for this Marie had dismissed her attendant?It could not be; it was mere accident, and Don Ferdinand tried to goforward to address them as usual; but the effort even for him was toomuch, and he sunk down on a rustic bench near him, and burying hishead in his hands, tried to shut out sight and sound till power andcalmness would return. But though he could close his eyes on alloutward things, he could not deaden hearing; and words reached himwhich, while he strove not to hear, seemed to be traced by a dagger'spoint upon his heart, and from very physical agony deprived him ofstrength to move.
"And thou wilt give me no reason--idle, weak as it must be--thou wiltrefuse me even an excuse for thy perjury?" rung on the still air, inthe excited tones of Arthur Stanley. "Wealth, beauty, power--ay, theyare said to be omnipotent with thy false sex; but little did I dreamthat it could be so with thee; and in six short months--nay, lesstime, thou couldst conquer love, forget past vows, leap over theobstacle thou saidst must part us, and wed another! 'Twas short spaceto do so much!" And he laughed a bitter, jibing laugh.
"It was short, indeed!" faintly articulated Marie; "but long enough tobear."
"To bear!" he answered; "nay, what hadst thou to bear? The pettedminion
of two mighty sovereigns, the idol of a nation--came, andsought, and won--how couldst thou resist him? What were my claims tohis--an exile and a foreigner, with nought but my good sword, and alove so deep, so faithful (his voice softened), that it formed my verybeing? But what was love to thee before ambition? Oh, fool, fool thatI was, to believe a woman's tongue--to dream that truth could dwell inthose sweet-sounding words--those tears, that seemed to tell of griefin parting, bitter as my own--fool, to believe thy specious tale!There could be no cause to part us, else wherefore art thou Morales'swife? Thou didst never love me! From the first deceived, thou calledstforth affection, to triumph in thy power, and wreck the slender joysleft to an exile! And yet I love thee--oh, God, how deeply!"
"Arthur!" answered Marie, and her bloodless lips so quivered, theycould scarcely frame the word--"wrong I have done thee, grievouswrong; but oh! blast not my memory with injuries I have not inflicted.Look back; recall our every interview. Had I intended to deceive, tocall forth the holiest feelings of the human heart, to make them amock and scorn, to triumph in a power, of whose very existence tillthou breathed love I was unconscious--should I have said our lovewas vain--was so utterly hopeless, we could never be other thanstrangers--should I have conjured thee to leave--aye, and to forgetme, had I not felt that I loved too well, and trembled for myself yetmore than for thee? Oh, Arthur, Arthur, do not add to the bitternessof this moment by unjust reproaches! I have injured thee enough by myill-fated beauty, and too readily acknowledged love: but more I havenot done. From the first I said that there was a fate around us--thineI might never be!"
"Then wherefore wed Morales? Is he not as I am, and therefore equallyunmeet mate for thee--if, indeed, thy tale be true? Didst thou nottell me, when I implored thee to say if thy hand was pledged untoanother, that such misery was spared thee--thou wert free, and freewouldst remain while thy heart was mine?"
"Ay," faltered Marie, "thou rememberest all too well."
"Then didst thou not deceive? Art thou not as perjured now as I oncebelieved thee true--as false as thou art lovely? How couldst thoulove, if so soon it was as nought?"
"Then believe me all thou sayest," replied Marie, morefirmly--"believe me thus false and perjured, and forget me, SenorStanley; crush even my memory from thy heart, and give not a thoughtto one so worthless! Mystery as there was around me when we first met,there is a double veil around me now, which I may not lift even toclear myself with thee. Turn thy love into the scorn which my perjurydeserves, and leave me."
"I will not!" burst impetuously from Arthur, as he suddenly flunghimself at her feet. "Marie, I will not leave thee thus; say but thatsome unforeseen circumstances, not thine own will, made thee thewife of this proud Spaniard; say but that neither thy will nor thyaffections were consulted, that no word of thine could give him hopehe was beloved--that thou lovest me still; say but this, and I willbless thee!"
"Ask it not, Senor Stanley. The duty of a wife would be of itselfsufficient to forbid such words; with me gratitude and reverencerender that duty more sacred still. Wouldst thou indeed sink me so lowas, even as a wife, to cease to respect me? Rise, Senor Stanley! suchposture is unsuited to thee or me; rise, and leave me; we must nevermeet alone again."
Almost overpowered with contending emotions, as he was, there wasa dignity, the dignity of truth in that brief appeal, which Arthurvainly struggled to resist. She had not attempted a single word ofexoneration, and yet his reproaches rushed back into his own heart ascruel and unjust, and answer he had none. He rose mechanically, andas he turned aside to conceal the weakness, a deep and fearfulimprecation suddenly broke from him; and raising her head, Mariebeheld her husband.
Every softened feeling fled from Stanley's breast; the passionateanger which Marie's words had calmed towards herself, now burst fourthunrestrained towards Morales. His sudden appearance bringing theconviction that he had played the spy upon their interview, rousedhis native irritation almost into madness. His sword flew from itsscabbard, and in fearful passion he exclaimed--"Tyrant and coward! Howdurst thou play the spy? Is it not enough that thou hast robbed me ofa treasure whose value thou canst never know? for her love was minealone ere thou earnest between us, and by base arts and cruel forcecompelled her to be thine. Ha! wouldst thou avoid me? refuse to crossmy sword! Draw, or I will proclaim thee coward in the face of thewhole world!"
With a faint cry, Marie had thrown herself between them; but strengthfailed with the effort, and she would have fallen had not Moralesupheld her with his left arm. But she had not fainted; every sensefelt wrung into unnatural acuteness Except to support her, Morales hadmade no movement; his tall figure was raised to its fullest height,and his right arm calmly uplifted as his sole protection againstArthur. "Put up your sword," he said firmly, and fixing his large darkeyes upon his irritated adversary, with a gaze far more of sorrow thanof anger, "I will not fight thee. Proclaim me what thou wilt. I fearneither thy sword nor thee. Go hence, unhappy boy; when this chafedmood is past, thou wilt repent this rashness, and perchance find itharder to forgive thyself than I shall to forgive thee. Go; thou artoverwrought. We are not equals now."
Stanley involuntarily dropped the point of his sword. "I obey thee,"he said, in that deep concentrated tone, which, betrays strong passionyet more than violent words; "obey thee, because I would not strike anundefended foe; but we shall meet again in a more fitting place andseason. Till then, hear me, Don Ferdinand! We have hitherto been ascompanions in arms, and as friends, absent or together; from thismoment the tie is broken, and for ever. I am thy foe! one who hathsworn to take thy life, or lose his own. I will compel thee to meetme! Ay, shouldst thou shun me, to the confines of the world I willtrack and find thee. Coward and spy! And yet men think thee noble!"
A bitter laugh of scorn concluded these fatal words. He returned hissword violently to its sheath; the tread of his armed heel was heardfor a few seconds, and then all was silent.
Morales neither moved nor spoke, and Marie lifted her head to look onhis face in terror. The angry words of Arthur had evidently falleneither wholly unheeded, or perhaps unheard. There was but one feelingexpressed on those chiseled features, but one thought, but oneconviction; a low, convulsive sob broke from her, and she fainted inhis arms.
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