Juan stood, for a moment, confounded in the presence of his preserver;
and Magdalena, gradually exchanging her fierce expression for one more
becoming her sex, appeared at last, as he had seen her before, pale,
saddened, and subdued. As she sank into this softened temper, her eye
fell upon the crimsoned blade; and it was curious to see with what
feminine horror, disgust, and shame, she cast it from her, and to
contrast this display of undissembled feelings with her late Amazonian
bearing and act.
"Magdalena," said Juan, a thousand emotions at once contending in his
bosom, "you have saved my life. Haste now and protect that of Cortes:
for, be it dear to thee or not, yet it is not fitting he should be left
to the knife of an assassin. Acquaint him from me--Nay, bear it not from
_me_; for I will not seem as if I sought to purchase my life with the
confession--Acquaint him that a dreadful conspiracy, headed by the knave
Villafana, is about to burst upon his head. If he seizes not the traitor
to-night, let him beware who approaches the banquet to-morrow. Above
all, let him be on his guard against any one who affects to bring
letters from his father. Haste, maiden, haste! for perhaps Villafana,
wrought upon by his fears, may discharge his train of horrors this very
night."
"Dost thou thus seek to preserve him who has so basely compassed thine
own life?" said Magdalena, less with surprise than sorrowing admiration.
"Think not of Cortes, but of thyself: thou hast not many hours for
thought."
"Alas, Magdalena," said Juan, impatiently, "you do not believe me. I
swear to you, that what I say is true: Villafana is a traitor, and is
now on the point of assassinating the Captain-General."
"If he were about assassinating thee, and the Captain-General knew it,
what aid wouldst thou expect from the Captain-General?" rejoined La
Monjonaza.
"Maiden!" said Juan, frowning severely, "in this coldness of purpose,
now that thou art acquainted with the act, thou art conniving at
murder!"
Apparently this reproof touched Magdalena to the quick. She started,
shuddered, and turned as if to leave the prison; but changing her
purpose, stepping up to the light, and assuming a boldness which she did
not feel, she falteringly asked,
"Is there no case, in which such connivance might be excusable? But a
moment since," (and here she bent her head upon her bosom,) "I was about
to _commit_ murder--Had I slain Villafana, wouldst thou then have
thought the act criminal?"
"Surely not, surely not," said Juan; "for, in this case, thou wert
arresting the blow of a cut-throat, to kill whom in the act, were but
sheer justice, and according to law. And yet I would that the blow had
been struck by another. It is not seemly for a woman to carry a dagger,
and still more improper that she should use it."
"What if she be attacked by a villain, and no helper nigh?" demanded the
forlorn girl. "Heaven has given me no protector--My father, my brother,
and my friend--they all lie in this little steel;" and as she picked up
the weapon from the floor, as if no longer ashamed to bear it, a ghastly
smile beamed from her visage, like the flash of a Medusa amid the foam
of a midnight billow.
"Speak no more of Cortes," she continued, observing that Juan was about
to resume the subject of the conspiracy; "he is far better able to
protect himself than thou. Were there twenty poniards in Villafana's
hand, and were his arm as extended as his malice, yet could he not reach
even to the heel of Don Hernan. His fate is written,--yes, more
inevitably than thine; for thou hast yet one hope of deliverance, and
Villafana has none.--Listen to me, Juan Lerma; it is perhaps the last
time on earth that I shall speak to thee. If thou reject mine offer this
night, I call heaven to witness that I will leave thee to thy fate."
"Magdalena," said Juan, firmly, "we have spoken of this before. God
protect thee, for there is a wall of adamant between us."
"Be it so," said the lady; "and let it be higher than thy wishes, deeper
than thy scorn, so thou wilt leave this land, and return to it no more."
"On the morrow, Magdalena, I die," said Lerma, with unabated resolution.
"Hear then the counsel of a dying man, who can yet call himself your
friend. Do what you have recommended to me: leave this land, and, in the
gloom of a cloister, expiate--"
"Yet again?" exclaimed the maiden, with an eye of fire. "This is to
distract me! Oh, if thou knew how unjustly thou hast planted daggers in
my bosom--daggers to which this thing of steel is but as the thorn of a
rosebud--thou wouldst kill thyself, rather than speak them again! But it
matters not: whether thou livest or diest, still must thou know that I
am wronged.--Listen to me--I will speak of Hilario.--"
"Let it not be so," said Juan; and then solemnly added, "Learn that,
yesternight, the wretched Villafana, who, by some magical science, seems
acquainted with the secrets of all in this camp, gave me to know what I
did not before dream. Magdalena, when I plucked thee from the wreck, I
dreamed, for a moment, that I loved thee--" The maiden trembled from
head to foot, and Juan was himself greatly agitated; "I beheld one, in
whom, from the act of giving her a life, I might fancy a tie, such as
did not exist between me and any other human being, from the time of the
death of my poor father up to that happy hour. But had that affection
ripened even into such as Hilario avowed,"--(Here Magdalena waved her
hand impatiently;) "nay, had I plighted with thee faith and troth, and
did we stand this moment before the altar, my passion would be at once
changed to awe and horror, to know that I was wedding the spouse of
Heaven. Magdalena, a life of penitence can scarcely remove the sin of
broken vows!"'
"Say not this," exclaimed the unhappy Magdalena, vehemently: "What knew
I of earth or heaven, when, imprisoned in a cell from childhood upwards,
I gave up the one for the other? Heaven broke the oath which oppressors
exacted; else, wherefore was I saved of all the sisters, and thrown upon
a land where cloisters were unknown? For these vows could I have
procured a dispensation. Hast thou never heard of such being dissolved?"
"Surely I have," said Juan, mildly, desiring to allay the agitation of
his visitor: "It was told to me, by Villafana, that the senor Camarga
(an insane man, who made an attempt on my life,) was once a monk of St.
Dominic and an Inquisitor, and permitted to revoke his vows for some
worldly purpose, I know not what; and I have heard it also said, that
the sister of Don Hernan was allowed to leave a nunnery, to wed some
great nobleman of Andalusia."
"It is enough," said Magdalena, calmly, "the vow was suspended, not
broken; it will be resumed, when the purpose for which I now live, is
accomplished, and would have been before, but for the accident which
brought me to this land.--Juan Lerma, I will not ask thee why thou
refusest life at my hands: but it is offered thee by one wronged and
defamed, not degraded. If thou live, it is well thou shouldst know the
truth, and remember me without contempt; if thou die, the grave shall
not cover thee in ignorance. Hilario--Start not, frown not, tremble not,
for the truth must be spoken--Hilario abused thy belief, that he might
break my heart, and perhaps, also, thine; for he hated me, because I
repelled his love with contempt, and thee, because he knew--because he
suspected,--that thou wert the cause. You fought; he fell,--and, with
what seemed his dying lips, (for, even in death, his spite was not
diminished,) repeated the demoniacal falsehood; boasting of the
degradation of one whose only shame was that she did not requite his
presumption with a dagger!"
Again the figure of the unhappy girl was elevated by passion into the
port of a destroying deity. But she perceived that Juan was shocked by a
display of fire so unwomanly and, indeed, so fearful; and this instantly
transformed her into another being:
"This too, _this_ too," she cried, shedding tears of humiliation, "this,
too, is a consequence of his malice, for it has converted me into the
thing I am not,--into what seems a fury or a demon. Dost thou believe I
am--dost thou believe I _was_ a creature formed of passions, that should
belong only to men? No! oh heaven, oh no! it is the madness that comes
from the viper's tooth. Stung, vilified, robbed of respect and
happiness, how even can a woman sit down in peace, unless she can die?
unless she can die? She will have her vengeance, believe it; and well is
it for her, when it is won by the hands of a brother or sire.--Yet,
believe this, if thou wilt, for I am not what I was; believe
aught,--anything, save the lies of Hilario. With his dying lips he
defamed me--with his dying hand he revoked the slander, and avowed
himself a villain. Behold the refutation of calumny."
As she spoke, she drew from her bosom, with a trembling grasp, and put
into Juan's, a scrap of paper, on which he read, with extreme surprise,
the following words, traced with a hand feeble and agitated, yet well
known to him,--
"What I have said of Magdalena del Naufragio," (or Magdalena of
the Wreck, for by this name she was known at Isabela,) "is
false. In malice and folly I have laid perjury on my soul; and,
as I now speak the truth, I pray heaven to forgive me.--Amen.
"ANTONIO DEL MILAGRO."
"Good heaven!" said Juan, "is it possible Antonio could commit this
dastardly crime? Alas, Magdalena, I _have_ done you a grievous wrong,
and I beseech you, pardon me.--This thing was not only wicked, but
marvellous. The paper is stained with blood--The saints acquit me of his
death, for it was I who shed it! I am glad he died penitent--What
brought him to this justice? I held my dagger to his throat, yet he
cried, with a devilish malice and courage, 'Strike, for--' But I will
not repeat his sinful and exulting falsehoods.--Alas, that his blood
should be upon my soul! the blood of his father's son!"
Magdalena surveyed the self-accusing looks of the prisoner, with much
emotion; and twice or thrice she opened her lips, to give him comfort,
or to continue her dark and singular story, and yet failed, as many
times, to speak. At last, she clasped her hands upon her bosom, as if,
by an effort of physical strength, to give support and resolution to her
heart, and said, with low and interrupted accents,
"Lament no more for a sin thou hast not committed. Thou wert
deceived--Hilario died not by thy hands."
"Hah!" exclaimed Juan, "dost thou tell me the truth? Is Hilario yet
living? God be thanked! God be thanked! for I am not a murderer!"
He fell upon his knees, and looking up to heaven with joy, beheld not
the grief and trepidation with which his companion surveyed his
raptures.
"I told thee, not that he lived, but that thou didst not slay him," said
the nun, with an effort.--"Had my father come to my side, and looked
upon this paper, after hearing the story of Hilario's baseness, what
think you he should have done?"
"Killed him, I must allow," said Juan, rising to his feet; "for even his
deep penitence could scarcely be permitted to stand as the sole penalty
of such an offence.--Alas, Magdalena, my mind is beset with sore
misgivings. How was that paper obtained? How did Hilario die? Thou
growest pale! Heaven shield me! didst thou, didst _thou_--?"
He paused with terror. The maiden replied instantly, and almost with
firmness:
"Hear the truth, even to the last syllable; for even _thy_ good opinion
I will not purchase by subterfuge. To Villafana,--a wretch, whose
manifold villanies thou couldst not dream, (for know, that, being a
sailor in the ship that bore the unlucky sisters, he devised and
accomplished its destruction, that he might impiously obtain the holy
vessels of silver and gold--Ay, it was Villafana, and not the tempest,
that drove us upon the rocks of Alonso--) to Villafana, from whom I
learned the cause of the duel and of thy flight, I committed the charge
of obtaining this recantation.--Was this wrong?" she exclaimed, giving
way to affright, for Juan's looks of horror could not be mistaken: "they
were two fiends together,--the villain struck the villain,--the--"
"Murderess! murderess!" cried Juan aloud, recoiling from her.
A ghastly smile passed over her countenance, and it grew into a faint
laugh, which, to Juan's mistaken eye, (for he thought it the merriment
of satisfaction or indifference,) seemed unnatural and dreadful, while
she replied, her voice hysterically belying her feelings, as much as did
her countenance,
"Thou dost not think I employed him to do murder? I appeal to heaven, I
did not dream he would do aught but compel the recantation from the
wounded man.--What! bid him kill one so defenceless! Had he been strong
and well armed, then perhaps, indeed,--then perhaps, I might have
thought it. I sought but for the paper; the rest was the deed of
Villafana."
"Oh heaven! oh holy heaven!" cried Juan; "speak not another word: rather
let me die than hear more. Away! avaunt! thou art not a woman, but a
fiend! and all is now as it was, and worse.--What, blood-stained!
blood-stained!"--
Magdalena strode towards him, striving to speak, but could only utter
the words, 'Injustice! injustice!' mingled with the charge, 'Leave
Mexico,' that still made a part of her perturbed thoughts. Had not Juan
been entirely overwhelmed by his horror, he must have observed, that her
mind was, at this moment, convulsed beyond the degree of any former
agitation; that she was, in fact, in a condition both alarming and
pitiable. Her countenance was most deathlike, her accents wholly
unnatural, and there was something of delirium or idiotcy in the manner
with which, while still muttering the broken reproof, 'Injustice,' and
the charge, 'Leave Mexico,' she, all the while, extended the
blood-stained paper, as if entreating him again to receive and peruse
it.
As it was, he gave utterance to his horror in the words,--
"Miserable woman! the denial forced from the lips of the murdered man,
is of a piece with the spirit that compelled it--False, false, all!"
At these words, the paper dropped from her hands, another vacant smile
distorted her visage, and she turned to depart; but before she had taken
two steps, she tottered, and fell to the floor, with a dreadful scream,
that instantly brought the guards into the prison.
The absorbing nature of their conversation had, for the last two or
three moments, rendered both incapable of observing that some scene of
altercation had suddenly arisen at the dungeon door. High voices might
be heard, as of one alternately entreating and demanding admittance,
which was gruffly denied by others. The shriek of Magdalena, ringing in
their ears like a cry of death, brought the contention to an end; and
all rushing in together, they beheld Juan endeavouring to raise the
figure of his unhappy and lifeless guest from the floor.
"_Dios mio! y peccavi!_ I will kill him where he stands," exclaimed one,
rushing forward.
"Not so fast, senor Camarga," cried the hunchback, who was at the head
of all, snatching the weapon from the hands of this individual, who
seemed peculiarly to thirst for the blood of the young islander. "Here's
work for the bastinado! Where's Villafana, ye treacherous dogs, that let
women into the prison? He shall pay for it.--Harkee, senor Camarga; if
you have any interest in this fair lady, you may help bear her to the
palace. Poor fool! these women love as arquebuses shoot: if you make
them any obstruction, they burst in your hands--and this is truer still
of a musket, if you thrust it into the earth. In mine own opinion, the
young hound has scorned her."
While Najara gave vent to these growling observations, Magdalena was
carried out of the prison. The hunchback had reached the door, before
Juan, in the confusion of the moment, thought of calling him back, to
impart to him the secret of the treachery. But Najara replied only with
a malediction, and departed with the lantern; so that Juan was again
left to night and solitude.