Six weeks elapsed before the good ship “Eliza” again made the
land. Then the heights of Maryland rose to the view, and on the
following morning, at an early hour, she made Cape Fear. Passing
Virginia, she sailed slowly along the coast of Carolina, and at
last, after a very fair passage, came to an anchor at Roanoke.
Roanoke island, a little to the south of Albemarle Sound, and
somewhat further south of Dismal Swamp, was Sir Walter Raleigh’s
plantation, and the first of the British settlements in North
America. It had been established several years, but was,
nevertheless, yet in its infancy, and the arrival of a ship from
dear old England naturally excited in the colony the liveliest
sensation. Long and long before she came to an anchor, and while
she was yet far in the offing, every human creature in Roanoke
had made her the subject of their every thought, and conjecture
had deemed no point in her appearance too small for the exercise
of its powers. Boats put off to meet her miles out, and, as she
neared the island, a whole fleet of this craft, comprising every
class of galley and canoe, hovered round her, and, though no one
was allowed to come on board, all the news from England was known
in every boat before the ship anchored.
Once anchored, Hildebrand lost no time, after he had completed
his arrangements, in communicating with the shore, and landing
the supplies which Sir Walter had sent out. The process of
unloading occupied him a whole week, and by the time that he
had taken in his return cargo, and procured fresh provisions,
two weeks more had elapsed. Nevertheless, the ship which Sir
Walter Raleigh had promised to send him as a companion, that he
might be better able to cope with the Spaniards, and which he
knew to have been nearly ready when he sailed from England, had
not made her appearance, and there became reason to suppose that
she had incurred some mishap. Another week elapsed, and still
there was no sign of her coming, and Hildebrand began to fear,
from the information he had had previous to leaving England,
that, if he delayed much longer, the Spanish fleet would escape
him, and arrive at Cadiz before he could cross the Atlantic.
This reflection determined him to make no further delay, and
accordingly, amidst the hearty cheers of the colonists, he
weighed anchor, and made all sail for the Atlantic.
After three weeks’ sail, the “Eliza” came in sight of the
Azores, and, holding off the land, cruized in the offing for
three weeks more; but saw no trace of the Spanish fleet. Anxious
and disappointed, Hildebrand began to fear that it must have
passed; and he resolved, after a little hesitation, and a
conference with Master Halyard, who was of the same opinion as
himself, to run for Cadiz, where he would be able to ascertain if
his conjectures were well founded.
A favourable wind soon brought him to Cadiz. On entering the
harbour, he saw the fleet had not arrived, though there were,
to his surprise, several large ships lying in-shore, evidently
preparing for some expedition. Being only in search of the
Mexican fleet, however, Hildebrand would have put to sea again,
but he was obliged, however it might assort with his design,
to make some stay, lest he should excite suspicion, and so be
prevented from departing at all.
But, though he came to an anchor, he kept a good distance
from the shore, and made all ready against any visit from the
authorities. From whatever cause, however, he did not receive
such a visit, and on the following morning he ventured to go on
shore.
Leaving his boat at the mole, he passed up to the quay, and
thence to the city. As he progressed, he found the whole city,
from one end to the other, rife with those preparations which,
previous to his landing, he had observed along the shore; and he
became curious to know what could be the object of so formidable
an armament. But whenever he was about to make it the subject of
inquiry, he found that he was closely attended by two cavaliers,
whose faces, from their wearing their cloaks in the Spanish
fashion, and having their slouched hats pulled over their brows,
he could not well distinguish. Their appearance, however, caused
him to refrain from any inquiry, and ultimately drove him to the
quay, and induced him to return to his ship.
The next day Hildebrand again visited the city. He had not gone
far, when, happening to look behind him, he found that the two
vigilant cavaliers were on his heels once more. This brought him
to a stand, and he resolved, since he could not shake them off,
to let them pass him, and then return to his boat. They passed
him without hesitation, and, having watched them a few yards,
he turned quickly round, and made off. In his hurry, however,
he took a wrong turning, and, instead of finding himself on the
quay, he came to a halt in front of the cathedral.
There was no time for deliberation: to return, even if he could
make out the way, would be but to seek the two persons who had
been watching him; whereas, if he passed into the cathedral, he
would find a covert for the moment, and, after a short interval,
might return unobserved. This view of the matter no sooner
occurred to him, than, with his accustomed decision, he resolved
on the latter course; and straightway entered the cathedral.
High mass was in course of celebration at the moment of his
entrance. The chapel in which the service was performed, being
dedicated to our Lady, was in high favour with the people
of Cadiz, and, therefore, was well attended. But though a
small structure, it was not so full but that some seats were
unoccupied; and Hildebrand, directly they incurred his notice,
took possession of one of these without ceremony.
As he sat down, his side adjoined the chapel-aisle, which divided
him, by only a few paces, from another row of seats, placed
longitudinally. Thus, the occupiers of these seats, so far as
they were opposite to him, faced Hildebrand, and could make no
one movement that did not incur his observation.
One of these seats, a little in his advance, was occupied by
a young lady and her duenna, who, at his very first entry,
attracted Hildebrand’s whole attention. She was tall for a
Spaniard, but this did not reduce, but rather augmented, the
dignity of her mien, and gave a more bewitching grace to her
exquisite proportions. From the manner in which she wore her
mantilla, which, turned over the back of her head and shoulders,
fell down over only one arm, these could be partly distinguished,
and, certainly, the most fastidious taste could not but admire
all that was visible. Her bust was rounded so accurately, in
every turn of its outline, from her throat downwards, that the
figure which painters call the line of beauty could be traced
through all its proportions. But this incurred little notice, if
one could gaze on the more attractive loveliness of her face. In
her large eyes, indeed, there was a charm, dark and resistless
as the frown of death, that fell on the eyes of others with a
magnetic effect, and seemed to absorb all light in their own.
Above, her arched eyebrows, though as black as night themselves,
appeared to melt away into the full radiance of morning, which
lent to her high forehead its most roseate colours, and most
captivating sweetness. Then the light was again broken by her
sparkling raven hair, which, parted in the middle, was turned in
a profusion of curls behind her ears. It made itself visible,
however, once more, on the side where her mantilla was raised,
in its fall downwards, which brought a cluster of three or four
ringlets on her neck and bosom. This rather added to, than
weakened, the charm of her complexion, and its soft mellow tints
derived from the contrast of light and shade a new fascination,
and a more striking and bewitching beauty. Its general effect
was, on a closer survey, also heightened by the warm blood that
played in her cheeks, and by the more dazzling red of her lips,
which
----Grew together,
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted;
But yet a union in partition,--
Two lovely berries moulded on one stem.
Hildebrand’s were not the only eyes that the young lady had
captivated. Whether, however, it was owing to his tall person
being more remarkable, or to the fact of his being a stranger,
or to both causes combined, he alone had the good fortune, if
such it were, to receive from the fair maiden any degree of
encouragement. The first time her eyes met his, her glance
was not, it is true, free from some savour of disdain; but
it brightened as it passed over his handsome features, and
gradually assumed a softer and responsive sparkle. Several times
afterwards, in the course of the tedious service, he met her
glance, and each time it wore a more tender tone, and brought
to her warm cheeks a livelier blush. At last, the service was
concluded, and the lady, together with her duenna, rose to
retire. Hildebrand followed her with his eyes till she reached
the church-porch. As she was making her egress, she turned round,
and again bent her eyes on his.
Hildebrand was riveted to the spot: the next moment, the lady
passed out; and, though he hastened after her, she had gone out
of sight when he reached the church-porch, and left no vestige
behind.
Hildebrand returned to his boat with some sense of
disappointment. This was lessened, however, on reflection, as
it occurred to him that his visit to the cathedral had, at
least, had the effect of misleading the two persons who had
been watching him, and with whose attendance he could well
dispense. But he did not remember, what must have removed all
sense of disappointment, that his stay in Cadiz could not be
prolonged above a day or two, and, therefore, that he would
have no opportunity of pursuing the adventure which his visit
to the cathedral had opened. A thought of Evaline de Neville,
it is true, pierced his bosom with something like the sting of
self-reproach, but the remembrance of the last parting look of
the fair Spaniard counteracted its effect, and made her alone the
subject of his reflections.
The next day, he resolved to visit the cathedral again. He
endeavoured to persuade himself, in answer to some scruples and
reproofs of conscience, that he was actuated in this step by a
higher motive than the pursuit of an intrigue, and that his real
object was to ascertain, under the cloak of an intrigue, what
was the destined purpose of that great and formidable armament,
which, on his first arrival, he had observed to be in progress,
and had since found to be employing the whole energies of Spain.
And, though it was not his principal object, he really was
desirous to acquire this information; for if, as he conjectured,
the armament was designed to reinforce the Duke of Parma, in
Flanders, it was highly advisable that the fact of its being on
foot should be immediately communicated to the court of England.
Still, it must be owned, it was more his admiration of the fair
Spaniard, than his jealousy of Spanish armaments, that led him
again to the cathedral.
The service had begun when he entered the sacred edifice.
Advancing to the seat he had occupied the previous morning, he
perceived that the young lady and her duenna were already settled
in their seats, and, so far as outward appearances testified,
engaged in their devotions. But though he was gratified at their
punctual attendance, his gratification was not without alloy; for
the young lady, from whatever reason, wore a close veil over her
face, and he did not receive one glance from her during the whole
service. He was, however, unable to keep his eyes from her, and,
on the service being concluded, they followed her, as on the day
previous, to the church-porch. She would, he thought, at least
give him a parting glance; she would at least raise her veil
as she made her egress; but she passed out without so much as
looking round.
Hildebrand’s cheeks glowed with resentment, not unmingled with
shame, as his vanity received this mortifying blow. He was so
taken aback, indeed, that he remained rooted to his seat, and it
was not till the silence around warned him that he was almost
the only person in the chapel, and, consequently, that it was
high time to take his departure, that the first effects of his
disappointment began to subside. Then, gathering his cloak about
him, he sprang to his feet, and walked hastily forth.
As he was passing through the church-porch, he felt some one
touch him behind. Turning round, his eye fell on an old woman, in
whom, despite of her close veil, he immediately recognised the
Spanish maiden’s duenna.
“Senhor,” said this person, “thou hast made me wait long: I have
a billet for thee.”
And, drawing her hand from under her mantilla, she disclosed a
sealed billet, which, without further speech, she placed in his
eager hands.
“Thanks, thanks!” answered Hildebrand, slipping a ring from his
finger, and dropping it into the withered palm of the duenna.
The latter person, quietly closing her hand over her costly
guerdon, raised its forefinger to her lips, and, with this
caution, broke away.
It may well be supposed, from his previous demeanour, that
Hildebrand’s impatience to view and peruse the welcome billet
was excessive. Fearful that he might be watched, however, he
restrained his curiosity, and held the billet close in his hand,
under the fold of his cloak, till he reached a retired part of
the city-quay. Then, drawing it forth, he tore it open and read
these words:--
“If thy looks belie not thy heart, and thou canst love truly, be
under the porch of the cathedral, at the southern entrance, this
even, at ten of the clock.”
Hildebrand conned the billet over and over again, each time,
as though he were really in love, viewing it more closely,
and discerning in its fair penmanship a fresh grace. He did
not hesitate a moment as to the propriety of accepting the
invitation; indeed, in the excitement of the occasion, he did
not give it a thought. He only wondered how the adventure would
end--only thought how many hours, slow and tedious as days,
must precede the appointed hour; and sought to overlook their
weariness with the far-seeing eye of anticipation.
But the hour of the assignation arrived at last. Punctual to
the moment, Hildebrand pushed across the cathedral-close, and
presented himself at the southern porch.
It was a dark night, but still; and, in this retired quarter of
the city, there was no person abroad. On taking his station
in the porch, Hildebrand thought it probable, from the tenor
of her note, that his unknown mistress might be led by these
circumstances to venture out, and give him a meeting in the
shadow of the porch. But he was not left long to conjecture. He
had been in the porch but a few minutes, when an approaching
footstep, followed by the rustling of drapery, saluted his ear.
The next moment, a female appeared in sight: it was the old
duenna.
“Art thou here before me, Senhor?” she said, approaching him.
“Now, I’ll swear, from this impatience of thine, thy love is
honest, and should win thee thy lady’s favour. Nay, nay, be not
so eager. Thou shalt see her anon, I warrant you.”
“Let it be straightway, then, Senhora, I entreat thee,” answered
Hildebrand, slipping a broad piece into her hand.
“Ay, ay, I am overfond, and ye both bend me as ye will,” answered
the duenna. “St. Jago have mercy on me! I am afraid I do not
right.”
“Nay, I’ll warrant, in thy young days, thou hast had lovers
thyself,” observed Hildebrand; “so thou canst not, with any
honesty,--and I’ll swear thou art right honest,--deny them to thy
fair young ward.”
“Well, indeed, thou speakest sooth,” returned the duenna; “for I
have, in my younger days, had lovers enow; and though the time
for such follies is almost past with me,”--she was full sixty
years of age--“it is not so with Donna Inez. Be of good heart,
then, and follow me to her presence.”
Uttering these words, the old duenna turned away, and, with a
quick step, passed out into the cathedral-close. Hildebrand
followed her, a few paces in her rear, to a neighbouring street,
which led them to the other end of the city. Here, turning into
a by-street, they passed along the outside of a dead wall to a
small doorway, inserted in the wall, some distance from any
dwelling. The old woman came to a stand before the door, and,
raising her hand over her eyes, looked narrowly round, on either
side, to see that no one was about. It was very dark, and she
could not see far; but she seemed, after one glance around, to
be satisfied on this score, and turned to the door again. A key
which she drew from her vest, and inserted in the lock, quickly
opened the door, and she whispered Hildebrand to enter.
Passing down two or three steps, Hildebrand found himself in a
large garden, which spread round, on either side of the walk he
was standing on, further than he could see. Having ascertained
this, he was turning to look for his guide, when he descried
the figure of another female, somewhat taller than the duenna,
standing against a contiguous tree. A thought struck him that it
was his mistress, and, without further pause, he sprang lightly
to her side.
The lady’s arms were folded in the fall of her mantilla, but
Hildebrand, gently pushing that aside, easily possessed himself
of her trembling hand. As he did so, he came before her, and
turned his eyes on her face.
Notwithstanding that he could not see very clearly, he readily
distinguished the adorable features of his mistress, and the soft
light that, in defiance of the darkness, beamed in her peerless
eyes. He could not, perhaps, discern the warm glow of confusion,
mingled with pleasure, that his presence had called to her
cheek, but her feelings were sufficiently revealed to him by the
trembling of her delicate hand. Love, whose refined sensibilities
are entirely swayed by example, being so subject to impulse,
and the action of passing influences, would have responded to
this confusion; and the rapture of the moment would have been
locked in silence, and only seen in the excess of feeling. But
Hildebrand was only a gallant, not a lover; and he was at no
loss for words--earnest and musical, too, though lacking in
sincerity--in which he could address his mistress.
Readiness of compliment is a characteristic trait, if one may
so speak, of that passion which springs only from admiration,
in contradistinction to that which flows, with a gentler wave,
and a more constant and regular current, from the purer source
of affection. In the one passion, all is but skin-deep; in the
other, it is heart-deep: the first is, like the body, mortal; but
the other is an emblem of the soul, and is quick, etherial, and
undying.
Clasping her hand in his, and drawing it under his arm,
Hildebrand first proceeded to thank his mistress, in a few
passionate words, for the distinguished favour which she had
bestowed upon him, in the concession of an interview. They moved
onward while he spoke, and presently, turning a sweep in the
walk, came in view of the lady’s dwelling. Here Hildebrand
would have paused; but his mistress, though she had till now
been almost a passive agent, and had hardly seemed to exercise
volition, continued to move on, and, of course, drew him with her.
A few paces brought them to a flight of steps, which, after a
moment’s hesitation, they ascended, and passed over the landing
to an adjacent door. Raising the latch, the lady pushed the door
open, and disclosed a lighted hall within.
“Follow, and say not a word!” she said.
She passed into the hall, and Hildebrand, pursuant to her
injunction, followed her in silence. They crossed the hall on
tiptoe, and halted at the foot of a staircase, which, dividing in
the middle, ascended in two distinct flights, and opened into a
sort of gallery, or continuation of the landing, which ran round
three sides of the hall above.
The lady looked anxiously up the stairs, on either side, and
round the whole range of the hall, to see if any one was about,
but everything was still as death, and the hall seemed to have no
other inmates but themselves. Apparently satisfied on this point,
the lady moved forward again, and, with a light but quick step,
ascended to the gallery, followed by her silent gallant.
At the summit of the stairs, a few feet from the landing, was
a narrow door, which the lady opened. A flood of light poured
through the aperture, and, looking in, Hildebrand discovered a
well-lighted and elegant room, furnished as a sitting-chamber.
The lady held the door open, and Hildebrand, perceiving that she
wished him to enter first, passed in. His companion followed in
his wake, and shut the door behind them.
Up to this moment, Donna Inez--for such was the name of the
fair Spaniard--had spoken but once, and then only to request
Hildebrand to be silent. But the effects of Hildebrand’s first
approach had now worn off, and the excitement of her progress
from the garden, through a part of the house which might have
exposed her to unfriendly observation, and which, therefore,
involved some degree of peril, had re-nerved her, and her
features had lost all trace of confusion or embarrassment.
As she closed the chamber-door, she turned round, and fixed her
eyes full on the face of her gallant.
“Thou art not an Andalusian,” she said, wistfully surveying his
features, “nor art thou from Catalonia: wast born in Spain at
all?”
“No, lady,” answered Hildebrand: “I am from the North.”
“Ah, methought thou hadst not our accent,” returned Donna Inez;
“and yet, though they be foreign, thine accents are good, and
become thee right well. Be the Northerns true?”
“Thou wilt find me true, lady,” replied Hildebrand.
“Thou’lt say so, I warrant,” said Donna Inez. And thrusting her
hand under her mantilla, she drew forth a small dagger, and
continued:--“Regard thou the temper of this steel! Consider,
while thou admirest its flashing lustre, how ready it is to
defend, and how prompt to revenge! Canst thou be true as this?”
“Ay, truer!” answered Hildebrand, smiling, and clasping her
uplifted hand in his.
Firmly as she had clutched the dagger, the small hand of Donna
Inez relaxed, after one vain effort, in the passionate grasp of
Hildebrand. She turned her eyes on his face, but it was not, as
before, with the searching glance of inquiry, but with a look
of the fullest confidence, mingled with overpowering passion.
There was nothing in the tone of his face, however earnestly
surveyed, but might confirm her confidence; the flush of triumph
on his cheek, and the excitement in his eye, while they lent his
countenance a more stirring animation, seemed to offer to her
his warmest sympathy, and to speak of love that was as dear as
life, and as true as she could wish it.
Still holding her hand in his, Hildebrand led her to a contiguous
chair, and seated himself by her side. Probably he would here
have followed up, by a few well-timed words, the impression which
he had made upon her by his bearing; but if he had resolved
upon this, he was prevented from carrying his intention into
effect. Just as he had taken his seat beside her, the door of the
chamber, which was right opposite to where they were sitting, was
hastily pushed open, and the old duenna rushed in.
“Oh, Donna, child, thou art lost!” exclaimed the faithful
governante, in broken accents. “Don Gonzalez has returned, and
is, alack! even now upon the stairs, calling for thee with all
his main.”
Nothing could exceed the embarrassment of the lovers on hearing
this intelligence. Hildebrand, it is true, did not know who Don
Gonzalez was, or precisely understand what might be the effect
of his arrival. But, though he was unacquainted with the exact
and particular nature of the danger, he clearly saw that a danger
impended, and that its consequences might cause both Inez and
himself very serious annoyance. Inez viewed the arrival of Don
Gonzalez with still greater concern. She had known him from
her childhood, when she was left, with a large dower, to his
uncontrolled guardianship, by his younger brother, her father.
Being thus entirely at his disposal, and knowing him to be a man
of unscrupulous passions, and a jealous and vindictive temper,
she naturally saw the danger in its blackest colours, and was
perfectly overwhelmed with anxiety and apprehension.
“Alack!” she exclaimed, “I am indeed undone! Fly, Sir! fly, I
beseech thee!”
“Madonna! and how is he to fly, I prithee?” asked the duenna.
“There is no way out, I ween, but through this door, and the
tyrant will be on the threshold presently.”
Startled by this intelligence, Hildebrand glanced round in search
of some place of concealment. A large casement stood on one side
of the chamber, screened from observation by a flowing merino
curtain, which was fastened, about a foot below the roof, to a
pole of cedar, whence its ample folds fell to the floor. This was
the only covert that presented itself, but Hildebrand thought
that, unless the jealous Spaniard should suspect his ward to have
been entertaining a gallant, and subject the chamber to a rigid
search, it might prove sufficient.
“Have no fear!” he said to Inez. “I will hide me behind yonder
curtain; and if it come to the worst, I carry a good Toledo at my
side, and will make my way against more foes than one.”
There was no time to spare; for the step of Don Gonzalez,
rendered more distinct by the clink of his spurs, was now heard
at the door. Hardly had Hildebrand slipped behind the curtain,
when, pushing open the door, he entered the chamber.
He was a man in years; but time, though it had whitened his
hair, had not bent his tall form, or broken the stiffness of his
figure. Even his grey hair, which would have given a venerable
look to others, served to render his appearance more rigid, and
the severity of his glance was magnified by his white brows,
while his lips, pressed sternly together, looked more repulsive
under his grizzled moustachios. He was dressed in grave habits,
with a slouched hat, as though--which probably was the case--he
had but just returned from abroad, and had passed straight to his
ward’s sitting-chamber.
On his entrance into the apartment, he closed the door behind
him, and, turning round, glanced inquiringly at the two inmates.
His quick eye, surveying them earnestly, readily detected the
embarrassment of his niece, and discerned that all was not right
with her grave duenna. But what probably tended most to excite
his suspicions, and led him to surmise that some evil was on
foot, was the attire of the two females, which, considering the
lateness of the hour, was certainly singular, as it comprehended
their veils and mantillas.
“Ye have been walking late, Senhoras,” he said, “yet not, I
trust, without good escort, or ye may have met some misadventure.”
There was a pause.
“And whither hast thou roamed, fair niece?” resumed Don Gonzalez.
“What happy gallant, of all the young bachelors of Cadiz, hast
thou favoured with an assignation?”
“What meanest thou, Sir?” said Inez, recovering herself.
“Wouldst thou outface me?” demanded Gonzalez. “There is that on
thy cheek, woman, would avow thy guilt, though thy tongue grew
dumb in swearing its tale false.”
But Inez was not to be brow-beaten. Though the unexpected
intrusion of her uncle had taken her aback, it could not, by
any possible bearing, bend and overcome her indomitable spirit;
and now that the first shock of the surprise had worn off, she
was prepared to meet him, and could look the danger in the face
with perfect firmness. She met his insinuations with indignant
remonstrance; and answered his taunts, though they were the most
bitter he could devise, with taunts more galling. He sought to
silence her once or twice; but the more he stormed, the more did
Inez persist, both by her voice and gesture, in braving his fury,
and treating him with scorn and defiance. At last, his passion
rose, almost to madness. There was one thing that Inez had not
explained, and that was, how, at so late an hour of the night,
she and her duenna were dressed for walking. This was a point,
however innocent it might be in itself, that he was not disposed
to give up, and it furnished him with an excuse for his last
outburst.
“Thou hast had no assignation,” he said, “and yet, by all
appearance, hast been abroad at midnight. I prithee what mighty
matter took thee forth so late?”
“Is it a sin, then, Senhor, to stroll at nights in the garden?”
demanded Inez.
“’Tis a fair night, certes, for ladies to go strolling,” answered
Gonzalez.
“Thou art too careful for me, Sir,” returned Inez. “There was no
rain.”
“No rain!” exclaimed Gonzalez. “Wouldst thou make me doubt
mine own senses? But, no! I will not be braved thus. Thou shalt
confess, with thine own lips, and before thy helpmate here, that
the rain hath been abundant.”
As he thus spoke, he caught a firm hold of her wrist, and drew
her towards the chamber casement. The detection of her lover, to
whom the curtain of the casement had hitherto afforded a secure
covert, seemed inevitable; and her rage sank under her anxiety
and terror.
“Hold, Senhor! hold!” she exclaimed, throwing all her weight on
her guardian’s arm: “I know it hath rained hard.”
But her submission had not the effect she sought. Indeed, it
rather increased suspicion, than subdued it; and as it was
not till he moved towards the casement that she had tried to
conciliate him, Gonzalez fancied that the casement would present
something to view, in some way or other, that she desired to
conceal. Directly the thought occurred to him, he cast off her
hold, and threw her from him.
Inez beheld him approach the curtain of the casement, behind
which her lover had taken refuge, without the power of
interposing. The old duenna, in the back-ground, was equally
helpless, and could only raise her hands in speechless terror.
Inez scarcely dared to breathe, when, twining one hand round the
hilt of his rapier, Gonzalez fastened the other on the curtain,
and tore it aside.
The two females started back in astonishment: the casement was
open, and Hildebrand had gone.