A FRIEND.
The cause of Lucius Lepine's unexpected reappearance at Seville must
be briefly explained. While on his journey towards Madrid, to which
city Mr. Passmore had sent his clerk to transact some business, Lucius
had accidentally heard that the merchant to whom he was going had
actually passed him on the road, having made up his mind to travel to
Seville in order to have a personal interview with the manufacturer.
As there would consequently be no use in Lepine's prosecuting his
journey, he returned at once to Seville, in time, as we have seen, to
meet Inez a few minutes after she had quitted the governor's gate.
As Inez had almost swooned, the first care of Lucius was to stop an
empty vehicle which chanced to be passing, in order that the young
lady might be at once conveyed to her home. Lucius would not have so
violated Spanish decorum as to have accompanied Inez in the carriage,
had not her state of utter prostration made his presence needful. The
poor girl was scarcely sensible of anything that was passing around
her when Lucius gently lifted her into the carriage. He bade the
driver stop at the nearest fountain, and brought from it water to
revive the fainting maiden. Before the Calle de San Jose was reached,
Inez had so far recovered herself as to recognize her brother's
friend, and to catch a gleam of hope from his opportune return to the
city.
"You will not desert Alcala? you will at least try to see him?"
faltered Inez de Aguilera.
"You may trust me," was the Englishman's reply.
And Inez did trust young Lepine. It was with the confidence that a
sister might have felt in a brother's protecting care that she leant
on his strong arm to stay her feeble steps when she re-entered her
home. Necessity and a common sorrow had to a great degree broken down
the barrier of reserve between Alcala's sister and his English friend.
Inez found the patio empty; Teresa was in attendance on her mistress
in a different part of the mansion.
Inez and Lepine seated themselves near the fountain, and there, in
trembling tones, Inez gave a full account to her companion of much
that had passed on that, to her, most eventful day. The maiden told of
the discovery of the treasure, and pointed, as she did so, to the spot
whence it had been dug out by herself and Chico. Inez did not dwell
long on her own imprisonment; she did not care to fix the attention of
her indignant hearer on what only concerned herself. Of Alcala's
subsequent arrest his sister could only speak through tears. Inez
lightly glanced at her own unsuccessful efforts to obtain the help of
friends for Alcala, and would hardly have mentioned them at all, had
she not, from maidenly instinct, wished to account for her own
solitary wanderings so far from her home.
"And now that you know all, senor," said Inez, raising for a moment
her dark tearful eyes to the face of Lepine, "can you--will you aid
us?"
"If I do not, most assuredly it will not be will but power that is
wanting," replied Lucius, who had been deeply interested both by the
narrative and by the grief of the artless narrator.
"Will you not visit Alcala in his prison? will you not stir up your
English friends to save him?"
Lucius was silent for a few seconds, revolving the difficulties before
him, ere he returned an answer. The young man knew how utterly useless
it would be to attempt to enlist the aid of Mr. Passmore, even were
that aid of any value. It was more than doubtful whether any
interference on the part of Englishmen would avail even to mitigate
punishment inflicted on one who was not a British subject. Spanish
jealousy might even resent a foreigner's intervention. Lucius could
hardly bear to quench the hope which his presence had kindled, but it
would have been more cruel to raise expectations which must end in
keen disappointment. England might reprobate the way in which the
Spanish government dealt with the Spanish people; she might view with
indignation the cruelty of the oppressor; but when his arm was raised
to strike an innocent victim, she had no right to cry, "Hold! hold!"
Lucius felt that he could do nothing to free Alcala from his prison;
it was doubtful whether he would even be permitted to see him there.
"I do not think that any stranger would be suffered to visit your
brother to-day, senorita," said Lucius at last; "the evening is now
coming on, and it is too late for me to obtain an order of admission.
I shall certainly do my utmost to procure one ere long. But it seems
to me," Lucius continued, "that it is of the utmost importance to your
brother that he should be furnished with the means of securing good
legal advice, and that fair play which, I fear, is not always shown to
those whose purses are empty."
There was something almost reproachful in the sad tone of Inez as she
replied, "Think you, senor, that gold would be spared--if we had it to
give?"
"There is, as you have told me just now, senorita, a considerable
amount of valuable property of which you have been basely robbed. It
appears to me that our first efforts must be directed to recovering
that property."
"I fear that its recovery is impossible--at least to us, senor,"
replied Inez. "No one cares to take up our cause. I suspect that the
alguazils themselves have been bribed. How can we, poor helpless
ladies, track out a robber, as Alcala, if free, might have done?"
"Think you that this Chico will remain in Seville to bear witness
against your brother?" asked Lucius.
"I should doubt it," replied Inez. "I believe that Chico only accused
Alcala in order to prevent his being able to take any measures to
recover the jewels and gold."
"This is the conclusion to which I also have come," said Lepine.
"Chico is not likely to stop long in Seville, where he could not,
without awaking suspicion, dispose of such gems as you have described.
He will doubtless be leaving this city; but he was in it but a few
hours ago, and cannot as yet be far off. Men cannot travel in Spain
with the railroad speed that they do in my country. Have you any idea,
senorita, whether Chico has any friends or connections in Seville, in
whose house he might be likely to lurk for awhile with his ill-gotten
spoil?"
Inez reflected for a brief space. "A cousin of Chico keeps the Posada
de Quesada," she said; "it is in the entrance of the Dehesa, about a
mile beyond the city."
"I know it--I know it!" cried Lepine, who had often in his Sunday
rambles noticed the lone picturesque little inn; "it is in a lane that
opens on the highroad to Xeres."
"My brother once passed a night there," continued the maiden; "from
that inn he rode forth to the dreadful Plaza de Toros. Chico had
mentioned the posada to Alcala, on account of having a relative there.
But Alcala has told me that he would never set foot in that place
again, for that it had seemed to him like a haunt of robbers."
"Which makes it all the more likely that the villain Chico may at this
moment be lying concealed there!" cried Lucius eagerly. "Senorita, I
will sleep in that posada to-night!"
The face of Inez expressed anxiety and alarm. "There might be danger,
senor, in your doing so; you know not what things happen in Spain,"
she said, lowering her voice.
Lucius smiled, the free joyous smile of a light-hearted youth to whom
anything would be welcome that might come in the shape of adventure.
He was one to whom
"If a path be dangerous known,
The danger's self is lure alone."
What an attractive episode in a life given to dull counting-house
drudgery would be some exploit performed in a romantic Spanish posada!
Consideration for his widowed mother, of whom he was the earthly stay,
would have kept Lucius from wantonly risking his safety for mere
amusement; but to run some risk for the sake of a friend was quite a
different thing. Even conscience made no protest, so inclination might
be gratified without violation of duty.
Lucius now rose and took his leave of the young desolate being to whom
he was more than ever anxious to act the part of a brother. It cannot
be denied that the pleasure of serving Inez was a great additional
stimulus to the Englishman's efforts to help his friend. As Lucius
quitted the patio on the one side, it was entered on the other by
Teresa, who caught sight of the visitor's form ere it disappeared
under the archway.
"Donna Inez!" exclaimed the old duenna, almost choking with
indignation, "how dare that Inglesito presume to enter a house of
sorrow like this! How can you--the grand-daughter of Don Pedro de
Aguilera--you, a high-born lady of Andalusia, brought up as becomes
your rank--suffer the shadow of that foreign heretic to darken this
threshold! We have had nothing but misery since that young man came
near us with his deceiving words and his dangerous book! If I'd my
will"--the duenna clenched her hands and stretched forth her skinny
arms as she spoke--"I'd fling both the heretic and his book into the
Guadalquivir!"
"Oh! hush! hush!" exclaimed Inez de Aguilera; "would you speak thus of
the only protector whom we have found in Seville, the only being who
comes forward to help us when all the rest of the world stand back?"
Teresa's passion was cooling a little, but her Spanish pride recoiled
from the idea that the family whom she served should need either help
or protection from an English clerk in the employ of Messrs. Passmore
and Perkins.
"The house of De Aguilera has many friends in Seville," said the
ancient retainer.
"Where are these friends?" exclaimed Inez with emotion. "I have been
to Donna Maria--to her who was my mother's playmate in childhood, and
companion in youth. She refused even to see me!"
Teresa lifted up her hands, and uttered an exclamation of indignant
surprise.
"I went then to Donna Antonia," continued Inez, while Teresa bent
eagerly forward to listen, for the duenna's chief hopes for Alcala lay
in that quarter; "Antonia mocked my misery, rejected my prayer, though
I asked for her aid on my knees!"
"On your knees!" echoed Teresa in the shrillest of tones; "an Aguilera
kneel to a daughter of the upstart, money-making, time-serving,
poor-grinding Lopez de Rivadeo! Donna Inez! Donna Inez! how could you
have stooped so low?"
"I forgot that I was an Aguilera--I only felt that I was a woman,"
said Inez. "O Teresa, what has a broken-hearted girl like me to do
with pride? May it not be our pride that has drawn Heaven's
displeasure upon us? Nay, you must hear me, Teresa. Alcala has shown
to me in his Book the words of our heavenly Master, '_Learn of Me, for
I am meek and lowly._' If He spake thus, He who is Lord of heaven and
earth, shall we, poor children of dust, be proud of title or birth? Is
not such pride a grievous sin in His sight?"
"Do you quote to me out of the Protestant's book?" said Teresa
bitterly.
"It is God's book," returned Inez; "I have felt certain of that since
its blessed words have sounded in my heart as they have sounded
to-day! These words have been my comfort, my strength, my support
under trials which, without them, would have utterly crushed me. And
now it is one who is guided by that book who stands by us when every
other mortal deserts us. Don Lucius has promised to do all in his
power to aid us; he will try his utmost to track out the man who has
robbed us."
"Robbed us!" repeated Teresa, her intense curiosity getting the better
of every other feeling; "you have spoken before of Chico's stealing
property, but you have never fully explained what that property was."
"The treasure which my grandfather had buried under the orange-trees
yonder,--a treasure accidentally discovered by me," answered Inez.
An expression of eager hope and pleasure flashed across the face of
Teresa. "The golden goblet?" she hurriedly asked.
"That, and money, and my grandmother's jewels besides."
Teresa clasped her hands, and uttered a cry of delight.
"But all are gone--Chico has carried all away," said Inez sadly; "our
only hope of recovering anything is through the generous exertions of
my brother's English friend; Don Lucius will try to find out and
restore the lost treasure."
"Ah! if the Inglesito do _that_," exclaimed the duenna, "never again
will Teresa speak a word against him or his book! Restore the
treasure--the pearls which I myself have clasped round the senora's
neck, the brilliants which she wore at her bridal, the goblet out of
which I've seen Don Pedro de Aguilera so often quaff the red wine! Oh!
that goblet of chased gold," continued the old retainer, kindling into
enthusiasm as she recalled the days of wealth and splendour with
thought of which that cup was connected--"I'd rather have that
inestimable treasure restored to the family than--than even the lock
of Santa Veronica's hair!"
[Illustration: A STREET IN SEVILLE.
Page 212.]