Beside the fountain where she had parted from Heimbert, Dona Clara was
sitting one evening in deep thought. The guitar on her knees gave
forth a few solitary chords, dreamily drawn from it, as it were, by her
delicate hands, and at length forming themselves into a melody, while
the following words dropped softly from her partly opened lips:
“Far away, ‘fore Tunis ramparts,
Where the Christian army lies,
Paynim host are fiercely fighting
With Spanish troops and Spain’s allies.
Who from bloodstained lilies there,
And death’s roses pale and fair--
Who has borne the conquerer’s prize?
“Ask Duke Alba, ask Duke Alba,
Which two knights their fame have proved,
One was my own valiant brother,
The other was my heart’s beloved.
And I thought that I should crown them,
Doubly bright with glory’s prize,
And a widow’s veil is falling
Doubly o’er my weeping eyes,
For the brave knights ne’er again
Will be found mid living men.”
The music paused, and soft dew-drops fell from her heavenly eyes.
Heimbert, who was concealed under the neighboring orange-trees, felt
sympathetic tears rolling down his cheeks, and Fadrique, who had led
him and Antonia there, could no longer delay the joy of meeting, but
stepping forward with his two companions he presented himself before his
sister, like some angelic messenger.
Such moments of extreme and sudden delight, the heavenly blessings long
expected and rarely vouchsafed, are better imagined by each after his
own fashion, and it is doing but an ill service to recount all that
this one did and that one said. Picture it therefore to yourself, dear
reader, after your own fancy, as you are certainly far better able to
do, if the two loving pairs in my story have become dear to you and you
have grown intimate with them. If that, however, be not the case, what
is the use of wasting unnecessary words? For the benefit of those who
with heart-felt pleasure could have lingered over this meeting of the
sister with her brother and her lover, I will proceed with increased
confidence. Although Heimbert, casting a significant look at Fadrique,
was on the point of retiring as soon as Antonia had been placed under
Dona Clara’s protection, the noble Spaniard would not permit him. He
detained his companion-in-arms with courteous and brotherly requests
that he would remain till the evening repast, at which some relatives
of the Mendez family joined the party, and in their presence Fadrique
declared the brave Heimbert of Waldhausen to be Dona Clara’s fiance,
sealing the betrothal with the most solemn words, so that it might
remain indissoluble, whatever might afterward occur which should seem
inimical to their union. The witnesses were somewhat astonished at
these strange precautionary measures, but at Fadrique’s desire they
unhesitatingly gave their word that all should be carried out as he
wished, and they did this the more unhesitatingly as the Duke of Alba,
who had just been in Malaga on some trivial business, had filled the
whole city with the praises of the two young captains.
As the richest wine was now passing round the table in the tall crystal
goblets, Fadrique stepped behind Heimbert’s chair and whispered to
him, “If it please you, Senor--the moon is just risen and is shining as
bright as day--I am ready to give you satisfaction.” Heimbert nodded
in assent, and the two youths quitted the hall, followed by the sweet
salutations of the unsuspecting ladies.
As they passed through the beautiful garden, Fadrique said, with a
sigh, “We could have wandered here so happily together, but for my
over-rashness!” “Yes, indeed,” said Heimbert, “but so it is, and it
cannot be otherwise, if we would continue to look upon each other as a
soldier and a nobleman.” “True!” replied Fadrique, and they hastened to
reach a distant part of the garden, where the sound of their clashing
swords could not reach the gay hall of betrothal they had left.