Time passed. No longer could the Toledans say, on approaching the Tagus
across the rugged cliffs and solitary places where in former times stood
the Garden of Florinda, "Here once stood the bridge of San Martin."
Though the new bridge was still supported by solid scaffolding and
massive frames, yet the centre arch already rose to view, and the whole
was firmly planted on the ruins of the former.
The Archbishop, Don Pedro Tenorio, and the Toledans were heaping gifts
and praises on the fortunate architect whose skill had joined the
central arch, despite the furious power of the surging currents, and who
had completed the gigantic work with consummate daring.
It was the eve of the feast of San Ildefonso, the patron saint of the
city of Toledo. Juan de Arèvalo respectfully informed the Cardinal
Archbishop that nothing was now wanting to conclude the work, but to
remove the woodwork of the arches and the scaffolding. The joy of the
Cardinal and of the people was great. The removal of the scaffolding and
frames which supported the masonry was a work attended with considerable
danger; but the calmness and confidence of the architect who had pledged
himself to stand on the keystone and await the consequences of success
or lose his life, inspired all with perfect trust.
The solemn blessing and inauguration of the bridge of San Martin was
fixed to take place on the day following, and the bells of all the
churches of Toledo were joyously ringing in announcement of the grand
event appointed for the morrow. The Toledans contemplated with rejoicing
from the heights above the Tagus the lovely Cigarrales, which for many
years had remained solitary and silent--indeed, almost abandoned--but
which on the day following would be restored to life.
Towards nightfall Juan de Arèvalo mounted the central arch to see that
all was ready for the opening ceremony. He went humming to himself as he
inspected all the works and preparations. But, suddenly, an expression
of misgiving overspread his countenance. A thought had struck him--a
thought that froze his blood. He descended from the bridge and hastened
home.
At the door his wife received him with a joyous smile and a merry word
of congratulation. But on beholding his troubled face she turned deadly
pale.
"Good heavens!" she cried, affrighted, "are you ill, dear Juan?"
[Illustration: "ARE YOU ILL, DEAR JUAN?"]
"No, dear wife," he replied, striving to master his emotion.
"Do not deceive me! your face tells me that something ails you?"
"Oh! the evening is cold and the work has been excessive."
"Come in and sit down at the hearth and I will get the supper ready, and
when you have had something to eat and are rested you will be at ease
again!"
"At ease!" murmured Juan to himself, in agony of spirit, whilst his wife
busied herself in the preparation of the supper, placing the table close
to the hearth, upon which she threw a faggot.
Juan made a supreme effort to overcome his sadness, but it was futile.
His wife could not be deceived.
"For the first time in our married life," she said, "you hide a sorrow
from me. Am I no longer worthy of your love and confidence?"
"Catherine!" he exclaimed, "do not, for heaven's sake, grieve me further
by doubting my affection for you!"
"Where there is no trust," she rejoined in feeling tones, "there can be
no true love."
"Then respect, for your own good and mine, the secret I conceal from
you."
"Your secret is a sorrow, and I wish to know it and to lighten it."
"To lighten it? That is impossible!"
"To such a love as mine," she urged, "nothing is impossible."
"Very well: then hear me. To-morrow my life and honour will be lost. The
bridge must fall into the river, and I on the keystone shall perish with
the fabric which, with so much anxiety and so many hopes, I have
erected!"
"No, no!" cried Catherine, as she clasped her husband in her arms with
loving tenderness, smothering in her own heart the anguish of the
revelation.
"Yes, dear wife! When I was most confident of my triumph, I discovered
that, owing to an error in my calculations, the bridge must fall
to-morrow when the framework is removed. And with it perishes the
architect who projected and directed it."
"The bridge may sink into the waters, but not you, my loved one. On
bended knees I will beseech the noble Cardinal to release you from your
terrible engagement."
"What you ask will be in vain. Even should the Cardinal accede to your
entreaty, I refuse life destitute of honour."
"You shall have life and honour both, dear husband," replied Catherine.