The travellers had almost traversed the pathless plain when one day they
saw a figure wandering in the distance, for in the desolate Sahara every
object is visible to the very horizon if the whirlwind of dust does
not conceal it from view. The wanderer seemed doubtful of his course,
sometimes taking this, sometimes that direction, and Antonia’s eastern
falcon eye could discern that it was no Arab, but a man in knightly
garb.
“Oh, dear sister,” exclaimed Heimbert, full of anxious joy, “then it
is our poor Fadrique, who is in search of thee. For pity’s sake, let
as hasten before he loses us, and perhaps at last his own life also,
in this immeasurable waste.” They strained every effort to reach the
distant object, but it was now midday and the sun shone burningly upon
them, Antonia could not long endure this rapid progress; added to which
the fearful whirlwind soon arose, and the figure that had been scarcely
visible before faded from their eyes, like some phantom of the mist in
autumn.
With the rising moon they began anew to hasten forward, calling loudly
upon the unfortunate wanderer, and fluttering white handkerchiefs tied
to their walking-staffs, as signal flags, but it was all in vain. The
object that had disappeared remained lost to view. Only a few giraffes
sprang shyly past them, and the ostriches quickened their speed.
At length, as morning dawned, Antonia paused and said, “Thou canst
not leave me, brother, in this solitude, and I cannot go a single step
farther. God will protect the noble Fadrique. How could a father forsake
such a model of knightly excellence?” “The disciple shames the teacher,”
replied Heimbert, his sad face brightening into a smile. “We have done
our part, and we may confidently hope that God will come to the aid of
our failing powers and do what is necessary.” As he spoke he spread his
mantle on the sand, that Antonia might rest more comfortably. Suddenly
looking up, he exclaimed, “Oh, God! yonder lies a man, completely buried
in the sand. Oh, that he may not be already dead!”
He immediately began to sprinkle wine, from the flask he carried, on the
brow of the fainting traveller, and to chafe his temples with it. The
man at last slowly opened his eyes and said, “I had hoped the morning
dew would not again have fallen on me, but that unknown and unlamented I
might have perished here in the desert, as must be the case in the end.”
So saying he closed his eyes again, like one intoxicated with sleep,
but Heimbert continued his restoratives unwearyingly, and at length the
refreshed wanderer half raised himself from the sand with an exclamation
of astonishment.
He looked from Heimbert to his companion, and from her again at
Heimbert, and suddenly exclaimed, gnashing his teeth, “Ha, was it to be
thus! I was not even to be allowed to die in the dull happiness of quiet
solitude! I was to be first doomed to see my rival’s success and my
sister’s shame!” At the same time he sprang to his feet with a violent
effort and rushed forward upon Heimbert with drawn sword. But Heimbert
moved neither sword nor arm, and merely said, in a gentle voice,
“Wearied out, as you now are, I cannot possibly fight with you; besides,
I must first place this lady in security.” Antonia, who had at first
gazed with much emotion at the angry knight, now stepped suddenly
between the two men and cried out, “Oh, Fadrique, neither misery nor
anger can utterly disfigure you. But what has my noble brother done to
you?” “Brother?” said Fadrique, with astonishment. “Or godfather, or
confessor,” interrupted Heimbert, “as you will. Only do not call her
Zelinda, for her name is now Antonia; she is a Christian, and waits
to be your bride.” Fadrique stood fixed with surprise, but Heimbert’s
true-hearted words and Antonia’s lovely blushes soon revealed the happy
enigma to him. He sank down before the longed-for form with a sense
of exquisite delight, and in the midst of the inhospitable desert
the flowers of love and gratitude and confidence sent their sweetness
heavenward.
The excitement of this happy surprise at last gave way to bodily
fatigue. Antonia, like some drooping blossom, stretched her fair form on
the again burning sand, and slumbered under the protection of her lover
and her chosen brother. “Sleep also,” said Heimbert softly to Fadrique;
“you must have wandered about wildly and wearily, for exhaustion is
pressing down your eyelids with leaden weight. I am quite fresh, and I
will watch meanwhile.” “Ah, Heimbert,” sighed the noble Castilian,
“my sister is thine, thou messenger from Heaven; that is an understood
thing. But now for our affair of honor!” “Certainly,” said Heimbert,
very gravely, “as soon as we are again in Spain, you must give me
satisfaction for that over-hasty expression. Till then, however, I beg
you not to mention it. An unfinished quarrel is no good subject for
conversation.”
Fadrique laid himself sadly down to rest, overcome by long-resisted
sleep, and Heimbert knelt down with a glad heart, thanking the good God
for having given him success, and for blessing, him with a future full
of joyful assurance.