"See! the dappled gray coursers of the morn
Beat up the light with their bright silver hoofs,
And chase it through the sky!"
MARSTON.
Inez left her father's door as the last notes of the matin bell died
away on the cool, clear morning air. She held in her hand a silken
scarf, which, according to the custom of her country, was thrown
lightly across the head, and confined at the chin.
Beautiful she looked, with the feverish glow on her cheek, and her
large Spanish eyes, restless and piercing, flashing out at times the
thoughts of her inmost soul. She threw the mantilla round her head,
and turned toward the church. The step was firm yet hasty. She seemed
endeavoring to escape from herself.
The streets were silent and the Plaza deserted, and naught seemed
stirring save the swallows that twittered and circled round and round
the belfry of the church. There was something soothing in the deep
stillness that reigned on that balmy morning, and Inez felt its
influence. She paused at the entrance of the gray old church, and
stretched forth her arms to the rosy east.
"Peace, peace!" she murmured, in a weary tone, and sunk her head upon
her bosom. The door opened behind her, and raising herself proudly,
she drew the scarf closer about her, and entered.
A basin of holy water was placed near, and hastily she signed the
figure of the cross and proceeded down the aisle to a side door
leading to one of the wings. She pushed it noiselessly ajar and passed
in.
A solitary tin sconce dimly lighted the small confessional, dark and
gloomy as night, at that early hour. A wooden cross suspended from the
wall, a stone bench, and table, on which lay a rosary and crucifix,
and a small vessel of holy water, formed the entire furniture. Before
this table sat Father Mazzolin, his face buried in his hands. Her
step, light as it was, startled him; yet without rising, he murmured,
"Benedicit."
"Bueño dios, Padre."
He motioned to her to kneel, and she did so, on the damp floor at his
feet, drawing the scarf over her face, so as to conceal the features.
"Bless me, my Father, because I have sinned."
He laid his hands on her bowed head, and muttered indistinctly a Latin
phrase. "I confess to Almighty God, to blessed Mary, ever Virgin, to
blessed Michael the Archangel, to blessed John the Baptist, to the
holy apostles Peter and Paul, and to all the saints, that I have
sinned exceedingly in thought, word, and deed, through my most
grievous fault. Therefore I beseech the blessed Mary, ever Virgin, the
blessed Michael the Archangel, the blessed John the Baptist, the holy
apostles Peter and Paul, and all the saints, to pray to the Lord our
God for me.
"Since my last confession, I accuse myself of many sins. I have missed
mass, vespers and many holy ordinances of our most holy church. Have
borne hatred, and given most provoking language.
"I have broken the engagement thou did'st command me to keep; have
angered Mañuel, and enraged my father greatly. I neglected fasting on
the day of our most holy Saint ----.
"I have entered this church, this holy sanctuary, without crossing
myself; and passed the image of the Blessed Virgin without kneeling."
She paused, and bent her head lower.
'The Padre then said, "My daughter, thy sins are grievous; my heart
bleeds over thy manifold transgressions."
"Even so, my Father; even so."
"Dost thou still bear enmity to Mañuel Nevarro, who loves thee truly,
and is thy promised husband?"
"No, my Father; I desire to be speedily reconciled to him whom I have
offended."
"Wilt thou promise to offer no objection, but become his wife?"
"My Father, I do not wish to be his wife; yet thy will, not mine."
A smile of triumph glittered in the Padre's eye at this confession;
yet his low tone was unchanged.
"Inez, I will not force thee to marry Mañuel, yet thou shalt never be
another's wife. In infancy thou wast promised, and thy hand can never
be joined to another. Choose you, my daughter, and choose quickly."
"Padre, give me time. May one so guilty as I speak out?"
"Yes, speak; for I would have thine inmost thoughts."
"Father, let me spend a month of quiet and peace among the holy
sisters at San Jose; there will I determine either to be Mañuel's
wife, or dedicate the remainder of my life to the service of God and
our most Holy Lady."
"You have spoken well: even so shall it be; but, Inez, I would
question you further and see you answer me truly, as you desire the
intercession of the Blessed Virgin."
Inez lifted her head, and fixing her eyes full on his swarthy face,
replied with energy:
"My Father, even as I desire the intercession of our Blessed Virgin,
so will I answer."
The head was bent again on her bosom. He had sought to read her
countenance during that brief glance, but there was a something in its
dark depths he could not quite understand.
"My daughter, hast thou been of late with that Protestant girl, by
name Mary Irving?"
"I have seen her twice since last confession."
"Where did you meet her?"
"Once at Señora Perraras, and once she came for me, to walk with her."
"Answer truly. Upon what subjects did you converse?"
Inez seemed striving to recall some portion of what had past. At last
she said, "Indeed, Padre, I cannot remember much she said. It was
mostly of birds, and trees, and flowers, and something, I believe,
about this beautiful town, as she called it."
"Think again. Did she not speak lightly of the blessed church, and
most holy faith? Did she not strive to turn you to her own cursed
doctrines, and, above all, did she not speak of me, your Padre, with
scorn?"
"No, my Father, most truly she did not." Again she raised her eyes to
his face. Piercing was the glance he tent upon her. Yet hers fell not
beneath it: calm and immovable she seemed.
He lifted his hand menacingly.
"I bid you now beware of her, and her friend, the trader's wife.
They are infernal heretics, sent hither by the evil one to turn good
Catholics from their duty. I say again, beware of them!" and he struck
his hand heavily on the table beside him. "And now, my daughter, have
you relieved your conscience of its burden? Remember, one sin
withheld at confession will curse you on your death-bed, and send you,
unshriven, to perdition!"
A sort of shudder ran through the bowed form of Inez, and in a low
tone, she replied, "I also accuse myself of all the sins that may have
escaped my memory, and by which, as well as those I have confessed, I
have offended Almighty God, through my most grievous fault."
"I enjoin upon you, as penance for the omission of the holy ordinances
of our most holy church, five Credos when you hear the matin bell,
twelve Paters when noon comes round, and five Aves at vespers. These
shall you repeat, kneeling upon the hard floor, with the crucifix
before you, and your rosary in your hand. In addition, you must repair
to a cell of San Jose, and there remain one month. Moreover, you shall
see and speak to none, save the holy sisters. And now, my daughter, I
would absolve you."
Inez bent low, while he spread his hands above her head and pronounced
the Latin text to that effect, then bade her rise, and dismissed her
with a blessing.
The sun was just visible over the eastern hills, as Inez stepped upon
the Plaza. Her face was deadly pale, and the black eyes glittered
strangely.
"I have knelt to thee for the last time, Father Mazzolin. Long
enough you have crushed me to the earth; one short month of seeming
servitude, and I am free. Think you I too cannot see the gathering
tempest? for long I have watched it rise. It may be that happiness
is denied me; but yonder gurgling waters shall receive my body ere I
become a lasting inmate of your gloomy cell. My plan works well;
even my wily Padre thinks me penitent for the past! But dearly have I
bought my safety. I have played false! lied! where is my conscience?
Have I one? No, no! 'tis dead. Dead from the hour I listened to the
Padre's teachings! If there be a hereafter, and, oh! if there is a
God, what will become of me?" And the girl shuddered convulsively.
"Yet I have heard him lie. I know that even he heeds not the laws of
his pretended God! He bade me follow his teachings, and I did, and I
deceived him! Hal he thinks the game all at his fingers' ends. But I
will neither marry Mañuel, nor be a holy sister of Jose. There will
come a time for me. Now I must work, keep him in the dark, spend the
month in seclusion; by that time the troubles here will begin, and who
may tell the issue?"
A quick step behind her caused Inez to turn in the midst of her
soliloquy. Dr. Bryant was hastening by, but paused at sight of her
face.
"Ah, Señorita! How do you do this beautiful morning?" He looked at
her earnestly, and added, "You are too pale, Inez--much too pale. Your
midnight vigils do not agree with you; believe me, I speak seriously,
you will undermine your health." Her eyes were fixed earnestly on his
noble face, beaming with benevolence, and a slight flush tinged her
cheek, as she replied, "Dr. Bryant, I am not the devout Catholic you
suppose me. The Padre thinks me remiss in many of my duties, and I
am going for a short time to San Jose. You need not look at me so
strangely, I have no idea of becoming a nun, I assure you."
"Inez, one of your faith can never be sure of anything; let me entreat
you not to go to the convent. You need recreation, and had much better
mount your pony, and canter a couple of miles every morning; it would
insure a more healthful state of both body and mind."
"I must go, Dr. Bryant."
"Well then, good-by, if you must, yet I fear you will not return
looking any better."
"Adios," and they parted.
Inez's eye followed the retreating form till an adjoining corner
intervened. Then pressing her hand on her heart, as if to still some
exquisite pain, she murmured in saddened tones--"Oh! I would lay down
my life for your love, yet it is lavished on one who has no heart to
give in return. Oh, that I may one day be able to serve you!"
At the moment she perceived Mañuel Nevarro crossing the Plaza, and
drawing closer the mantilla, she hastened homeward.