What was it to them, that every instant thousands were suffering the

most agonising deaths?--what cared they that a flourishing city was

being destroyed?--they had gained their liberty! "Viva, viva to the

earthquake! the loss of others is our gain. Viva to havoc and

confusion! all is now our prey.--The rich man's wealth is left

unprotected,--Death has parted the miser from his gold,--all is now

ours!" and on they rushed. Some of their number were killed by the

falling ruins, but what cared they for their loss? it was soon supplied

by crowds of accursed wretches like themselves, hardened by years of

crime, and excited by thoughts of indiscriminate plunder. They met a

man flying with bags of gold. "What ho! Dare you to take our property,

fool?" and he was hurled lifeless to the ground. The third shock came--

but while others were falling on their knees, with prayers for mercy,

they shouted and blasphemed; the wilder the havoc, the greater would be

their booty;--what cared they for aught else? Away they rushed through

the streets--none dared oppose them. They seized upon arms, which some

soldiers had thrown aside. "Hurra, hurra! the city is ours! who is lord

now?" they cried.

Hapless were those whom they encountered flying with their wealth; but

such paltry booty would not satisfy them. "The shrines of the churches

are unguarded; for the earthquake has spared some for us." The candles

burnt on the altars, rich gems decorated the figure of the Virgin,--they

tore away the glittering jewels,--they seized upon the golden cups and

salvers of the Holy Sacrament. An aged priest had knelt in prayer,

during the awful visitation, happy to die in the sanctuary of his God.

With horror he beheld the sacrilegious deed, and cursed the impious

wretches in the name of Him he served. "What, old dotard, darest thou

interfere with our pursuits? Knowest thou not that all now is ours?"

And, on the steps of the altar, where he stood, they dashed out the old

man's brains, and laughed, that no one could bear witness of the deed.

They entered the palace of a wealthy noble; for the doors were open--no

one was there to guard his property. They wandered through the

sumptuous chambers; they found jewels in the chamber of his countess; in

another room, a box of gold lay open. The foremost seized on the spoil;

the others fought to obtain it--knives were drawn, and blood was spilt;

but the wounded scarce stopped to staunch their wounds, so eager were

they to grasp the rich plate, which lay scattered about. Nothing could

satisfy them: their avarice was excited, and they thought of nought else

but gaining wealth.

"To the Mint, to the Mint!" they cried,--"that will be unguarded." Away

they hurried, each eager to outstrip the other; but when they arrived

there, they found the building entire, and the doors closed; though the

soldiers who had been stationed there had fled from their posts. They

attempted to force the gates; but though his men had quitted him, their

officer, a gallant youth, the son of a distinguished noble, had

disdained to fly. Fearless of the savage band, he appeared at a window,

and ordered them to depart. They still persisted in attempting to force

an entrance, when, collecting the loaded muskets of his men, he, with

admirable coolness, successively discharged them, killing several of the

foremost ruffians. The rest were disheartened.

"There is abundance of booty to be found elsewhere, without fighting for

it," shouted some, and immediately took to flight; others followed, and

the bravery of one man, scarce numbering eighteen summers, preserved the

building from pillage. His name we know not. Throughout the awful

scene he had stood undaunted, every instant expecting the building to

fall and crush him, or the earth to open and swallow him up, with the

sea breaking from its confines, and rushing towards him on one side, yet

refused to quit his post. Surely the sentinels at the gates of Pompeii,

when the fiery shower fell on them, were not a greater example of heroic

courage and military discipline.

Onward hurried the band of marauders. The house of a wealthy banker was

before them. Here they might revel amid his chests of gold. They

loaded themselves with plunder, till they could carry no more; but their

depredations would be discovered. The earthquake had not committed

sufficient ravages to satisfy them; they must increase the destruction

and confusion. Some houses were already in flames; they seized on

torches, and, like the intoxicated Macedonians in Persepolis of old,

they rushed through the city, setting fire to every mansion they

plundered in their course.

They passed the royal palace. "The King it was who imprisoned us," they

cried; "we will be revenged on him." A great part of the edifice had

already fallen; but that did not satisfy them; they ransacked the

remainder, though, at the risk of their lives, throwing away what they

had before collected, for the sake of what they now found; and then

applying their torches in every direction, quitted it exultingly, as

they beheld the flames burst forth with relentless fury. Away they sped

again, to commit further havoc. No one thought of offering any

resistance; so paralysed were the energies of all men, that while their

houses and property were being consumed, they looked on, without

attempting to interfere. At length the savage horde appeared satiated

with plunder, and other yet more brutal passions excited them to fresh

deeds of violence. Hapless, alas! were the unfortunate beings who fell

into their power: they laughed at the tears and prayers of their

victims--wealth could not bribe them; the whole of the city was at their

disposal--fear could not intimidate them; they thought not of the

morrow, and that day they were lords of all. High rank, youth or

beauty, were but greater incentives to their fury--many a grey-haired

sire, and gallant husband or brother, fell beneath their blood-stained

knives, in striving to protect those they held dearest to them on earth.

Not greater atrocities were ever committed in a town taken by assault,

and given up to the indiscriminate license of an infuriated soldiery,

than did those vile monsters of humanity perpetrate during that and the

following days.

At length, having loaded themselves with spoil, four of the ruffians

separated from their companions, and slunk away together: they had been

the most active and choice in seizing on the booty, leaving to others

the work of spilling blood to gratify their savage dispositions. Two of

them were the wretches we introduced in the commencement of this

chapter, the others had joined them during the day, in their course

through the city, and with one of them also we have already as intimate

an acquaintance as we could wish.

"Hist, Miguel, hist!" said one, fearful that their companions should

hear them. "Where dost purpose to hide thy wealth? It will never do to

place it where others may come and seize it."

"Fear not for that, man, there are plenty of places where none will

think of hunting; the earthquake has stood our friend in this case, as

in many others," said Miguel.

"Say then, Miguel, where wouldest advise to hide it--under the ruins of

some church or other?"

"No, fool, no; the churches were too full of gold, and numbers will soon

go to dig for it," answered his companion. "That would never do. Hark

thee, Baltar! There are plenty of vaults under the monasteries and

convents, where no one will think of going. Who will take the trouble

to dig out the lazy monks or nuns? So come along; we have no time to

lose, and then we may set to work and gain more."

Away they hurried, the other two men following. They examined several

places, but none seemed to satisfy them. They saw that they were

observed, and, drawing their knives, they waited till the others came

up.

"What! think you to rob us of our property?" they exclaimed, with

dreadful curses, flying at them with the fury of savage beasts. They

plunged their knives into the breast of the foremost, who, with a

shriek, sunk dead among the ruins; but the other was prepared for them,

and, instead of flying, he stood on the defensive.

"This is folly, to kill each other, when we have so much better

employment for our time," exclaimed the man who was the assassin

employed by Count San Vincente, and he held out his hand towards those

who had just slaughtered his friend.

They laughed. "You are a brave fellow," said Miguel; "so come along.

We will hide our booty together."

They examined several other spots, without finding one sufficiently

secure for their purpose; at last they reached a vast heap of ruins: not

a wall was standing of what had once been an extensive building.

"Ah! this will suit us; and there is no one to observe us!" they

exclaimed.

They looked cautiously around, and then, clambering over the remains of

a garden-wall, they wandered among beautiful shrubs and flowering

plants, which hid from their view the scene of havoc which surrounded

them. Those had stood while the proud fabrics raised by the hands of

men had fallen. In the centre were round tanks, which had in the

morning thrown up glittering jets to cool the air; but the water had

deserted them, and the gold and silver fish lay dead at the bottom. A

little farther on, the plants were crushed by the fallen stones; and

here and there might be seen some female form, killed by the same

terrific shower, in a vain endeavour to escape; or, perhaps, at the

moment of the shock, employed in tending those very plants which now

bloomed sweetly near her. From others the breath had scarcely departed;

and the ruffians even fancied that they heard faint sighs proceeding

from some; but, uttering brutal jests, they passed on among the ruins.

They looked about in every direction, to discover some place convenient

for their purpose; and, after climbing over some of the ruins which had

fallen the furthest outward, Miguel, who was in advance, came to a spot

where, descending a short distance among the vast piles of masonry, he

observed the top of a small arched door. He endeavoured to open it, but

his single strength was not sufficient.

"Here is the very place to suit us!" he exclaimed, calling his friends

to his assistance. "None will ever think of looking here. Now

remember, comrades, we swear by the holy Virgin never to reveal the spot

to any one, or to rob each other."

"Agreed, agreed!" said the other two.

"Now let us see into what place this door opens; for if we stay talking

about it, the city will be half burnt down before we have time to

collect our share of the booty which Providence has bestowed."

The three ruffians having come to this resolution, set to work with

energy to clear away the stones and mortar which blocked up the entrance

to the vault,--a task which, after some labour, and considerable risk of

being crushed by the crumbling walls, they at length accomplished. But

they had now a new difficulty to overcome; for it was discovered that

the door opened against them, having evidently led into an outer

chamber, in which they were standing. They, in despair of opening the

door, which resisted all their efforts, were about to relinquish the

attempt, when an iron bar, which had fallen from some window, caught

Miguel's eye, and, searching about, they discovered several others.

Thus armed, they renewed their attacks; and, although the door was

strong, it could not resist their joint efforts, when once they had

managed to insinuate the ends of the bars within a crevice in the wall.

On entering beneath the arch, they found themselves in a low, vaulted

passage, which appeared to lead off in two different directions; but,

after proceeding a short distance in the dark, the foremost stumbled

over a heap of stones, which had, probably, fallen from above; and,

having no light to guide them, nor means at hand for procuring one, they

were fearful of going further. Returning, therefore, to the mouth of

the vault, they examined it narrowly on every side, and succeeded in

discovering a place in which they considered their treasure would be

secure, and could be removed without labour at any time. This was a

small recess in the wall,--for what purpose formed, it was difficult to

say, unless it could be one of those living tombs in which common report

affirms the unhappy victims of monastic tyranny who had broken their

vows, or divulged any of the secrets of their order, were at times

immured. Having convinced themselves that they could not fix on a

better place, they deposited all their treasure within it, in three

separate parcels, piling up stones in front, so as completely to conceal

the entrance; and then, closing the door, and throwing rubbish in front

of it, to secure it further, they hurried off in search of fresh booty.

Volume 2, Chapter XIII.

It is a very common saying, that there is honour among thieves; in

which, from the information we have collected on the subject, we

perfectly agree, provided they are convinced it is their interest to

maintain it; but, at the same time, they will ever be very unwilling to

place more confidence in each other than they know is absolutely

necessary. So thought Senhor Rodrigo, the most noted villain and

professional bravo of Lisbon, and so think we, perhaps, of a certain

portion of mankind, who are not professional cut-throats, and would be

furious if they were not considered men of perfect honour. As soon,

therefore, as the bravo saw his two companions busily engaged in

plundering, and after he had contrived to fill his own pockets with

gold, and had secured as much plate as he could conceal about his

person, he hastily returned to the place of concealment they had

selected, from whence he intended taking out his own share of the booty,

and hiding it with what he had last acquired, in a spot known only to

himself. He had cleared away the stones in front of the door, and was

about to open it, when he heard his own name called from above, and,

looking up, he saw Miguel and Baltar descending towards him with

threatening gestures.

"What, Senhor Rodrigo, is this the faith you swore to keep with us? But

we are even with you, you see."

"I came but to hide this further booty I have collected; so banish your

fears, my friends," he answered.

While he was speaking, having advanced a little way towards them, the

door was suddenly forced open, and a man appeared before them, bearing

in his arms a female form. The robbers started, as if they had beheld

an apparition from the grave; for the gloomy appearance of the spot was

increased by being contrasted with the bright glare which the burning

houses and churches in the neighbourhood cast on the surrounding ruins.

It was some seconds before their courage returned; for, daring and

savage as they were, anything which they fancied supernatural had

greater power over their minds than either fear of the wrath of Heaven

or of their fellow-men.

"Thank Heaven, loved one, we are at length freed from that dreadful

vault. Speak, my Clara--speak, to assure me that you have truly

recovered!" exclaimed Don Luis; for he it was who, with Donna Clara, had

thus, by the unintentional agency of the robbers, been restored to

liberty.

When the robbers entered the vault for the first time, he had been

remaining for some hours in a state of stupor, hanging over Clara, who

was in one of those deep swoons which, in some instances, have been

prolonged for several days. The first rush of fresh air completely

restored his senses, as it aided to revive her; but his dismay may be

conceived, when, unperceived by them,--for the ruffians passed close to

him,--he discovered, by their conversation, their desperate characters.

Summoning all his presence of mind to his aid, he remained perfectly

quiet, trusting that the men would quickly retire, and allow him to

escape with his precious burden in safety. He felt her pulse: it

already beat more strongly, and he prayed Heaven to restore her

completely. Anxiously he waited till the robbers had secured their

treasure, when, what was his horror to hear them close the door behind

them! He trusted, however, to be able to force open the door, towards

which, bearing Clara in his arms, he groped his way, aided by glimmering

streams of light, which found an entrance through various crevices in

the door, affording to his eyes, so long accustomed to darkness,

sufficient assistance to enable him to reach it. He was driven then to

the most maddening despair, when he found that all his strength was not

sufficient to open it. He called loudly for assistance; but no one

heard him, till at length, in hopeless agony, he seated himself on the

ground, with Clara in his arms, under the dreadful anticipation of a

lingering and painful death;--though it was not for himself he felt, it

was for the loved being he supported; and it was more with regret than

joy that he found her gradually reviving. After some time, she uttered

a few incoherent words, as one just awaking from sleep; but she was

again silent, evidently with the impression that she was labouring under

some dreadful dream; and Luis felt that it would be cruelty to assure

her of the truth: he was fearful of making even the slightest movement,

lest it should recall her to consciousness; and he now mourned that she

had not rather died at the first shock of the earthquake, than suffered

the tortures she must now too probably undergo.

The return of Rodrigo, and alone, gave him renewed hopes of escape,

which were quickly disappointed, when he found that the robber had

desisted from opening the door, and was, besides, joined by his

companions. During the dispute of the ruffians, Luis, finding that the

door yielded to his pressure, forced it open; and, trusting that they

would be too eagerly occupied in their own quarrel to pay attention to

him, with tottering steps he bore Clara from the vault. The fresh air

revived his strength; he looked with horrified amazement at the scene of

destruction around him, lit up, as we have said, by the blazing houses;

but this was no time for thinking; so, without further delay, he

commenced climbing the ruins on the opposite side to that where the

ruffians stood. He had already reached the summit of the mound, and was

able to look on every side, to decide in which direction he should

attempt to escape, when the robbers recovered from their surprise.

"What ho! a spy on our secrets!" exclaimed Rodrigo, climbing after him.

"Know that no one passes through this city without paying tribute to us,

so deliver up the burden you carry, fair sir."

On hearing these alarming demands, Luis, removing Clara to his left

side, and supporting her with his arm, drew his sword, prepared to

defend her to the last. As he stood thus on the summit of the pile of

ruins, a few shattered walls of the neighbouring church still remaining

at a little distance, the red glare of the burning houses casting a

bright reflection on one side of his figure, he offered a fine subject

for the painter.

As Rodrigo approached him, now that every feature of his countenance was

so clearly visible, he recognised in him the Count San Vincente's enemy,

whom he had been hired to murder, and the fidalgo who had slain his

brother in the forest, and deprived him of his booty.

"Ah! senhor, we at length meet again, where there are none to interfere

and save you," he exclaimed, attempting to reach the spot where Luis

stood; but the latter kept him at bay with his sword, and the ruffian

having no other arms than his knife, was afraid of closing with him till

his companions came to his assistance.

Luis saw that to speak to them would be useless, and that he must depend

entirely upon his own courage and firmness, and had he had but one

assailant to contend with, he might have been successful in defending

himself, and the being dearer to him than life; but while Rodrigo was

attacking him in front, the other two robbers, climbing up the ruins,

suddenly seized him from behind, and the dagger of the former had almost

reached his bosom, when the ruffian's arm was arrested by a person who

had sprung up to the spot without being perceived by any of the party.

"What, ye villains! were ye about to murder my friend, Don Luis, while

he was protecting a lady, too?" exclaimed a loud voice; and Rodrigo,

turning fiercely on the new comer, beheld Fre Lopez.

"What demon brings you here, when you are not wanted?" cried the robber,

turning on him fiercely, while his companions still held Luis, who in

vain endeavoured to break from them.

"Don Luis's good demon, I suppose," answered the Friar. "You forget

that your figures can be clearly seen from the street; so, as I chanced

to be passing, and observed some fighting going forward, I came to see

what it was about. Ah! as I live, that is the very lady who gave us so

much trouble in the forest! Hark you, Rodrigo--" Saying which, the

Friar drew the robber aside. Their conference was but of short

duration, yet it seemed perfectly satisfactory to both; when the Friar

addressed Luis, who still remained completely in the power of the other

two: "I regret to say, senhor, that though I have been the means of

saving your life, I can do nothing further for you; and you must consent

to this gentleman's terms, though you may think them rather hard."

"Gladly. Any sum he fixes on I will endeavour to pay," answered Luis;

"and you, senhor, who have already done me so great a service, will, I

trust, aid me in conveying this lady to a place of safety."

"You are mistaken, senhor," interrupted the miscreant, with a laugh of

derision. "I give the Padre your life; but I am to have the lady for my

share; so yield her up without further delay."

"Never! I will die first!" exclaimed Luis; but, at that instant, by a

signal from Rodrigo, one of the men who held him threw a handkerchief

over his head, and dragged him backwards, while the principal ruffian

forced Clara from his arms. She was by this time sufficiently recovered

to comprehend fully all the horrors of her situation; but the wretch

heeded not her cries for mercy as he bore her away, while Luis exerted

all his energies to free himself from the others; but they, throwing

themselves on him, held him down securely, though with considerable

difficulty. His struggles exhausted their patience.

"Give him a taste of the steel!" muttered Miguel; "that will keep him

quiet enough."

"Hold!" said the Friar, who stood by, a quiet spectator, without

attempting to interfere; "Rodrigo will soon be at a sufficient distance,

and then you may set the young fidalgo at liberty. In the mean time,

senhor," he added, turning to Luis, "I would advise you to be quiet;

your exertions only fatigue, without benefitting yourself in the

slightest degree."

"Either destroy me at once, or let me fly to save that lady," exclaimed

Luis, in a tone of agony.

"It is not wise to seek death before your time," returned the Friar;

"and as for saving the lady, who is already a long way from this, I have

not the power to do it. Had I not arrived at the moment I did, the lady

would have been in the same condition she now is, and you would have

been dead; so you, at all events, have to thank me for your life."

Luis scarcely heard what was said; indeed, so intense were his feelings,

that they deprived him of utterance and power of thought, except the

all-engrossing one of Clara's fate. Had he been aware of the lawless

license practising in the city, his agony would, if possible, have been

yet more intense.

"When are we to let this young fidalgo go?" muttered Miguel; "I cannot

stay here all night watching him; and I must have some security that he

does not betray to any one a spot where we have hid a few trifles we

found scattered about the streets."

"I will answer for his honour," returned the Friar; "but stay a little,

stay a little, you are in too great a hurry, man."

Though Luis had recognised in his preserver his quondam acquaintance,

Fre Lopez, by his tone of voice and his expressions, he certainly could

not have done so by his outward appearance; for he had now laid aside

all pretensions to a holy character in his costume. On his head he wore

a three-cornered hat, and a full wig, with side curls and pigtail; his

waistcoat, of flowered silk, was of great length; and his coat and

breeches of large proportions, the pockets being now filled, almost to

bursting, with a variety of little articles, such as trinkets and gold

pieces, which he also, probably, had picked up about the streets; a

sword by his side, completed his very unclerical costume. He had seated

himself near Luis and his captors, and amused himself for some time in

addressing, now one, and now the other; though, from the former, he

could seldom elicit an answer.

Volume 2, Chapter XIV.

We fear that our readers will begin to suppose that we are romancing,

when we describe so many hair-breadth escapes and unexpected

interferences, which preserved the lives of the principal characters

mentioned in this work; but we can assure them, that some equally

wonderful befall us every day of our lives, though we are not aware of

the circumstance at the time. The simple case of a man meeting a friend

in the street who twitches his button off while he is inquiring after

his wife and family, may be equally providential with our examples,

though not so romantic; for, had he gone on, he would have been crushed

by the falling chimney, or drowned when the bridge gave way. Of course,

when we are writing the adventures of people who are continually getting

into danger, it must be expected that they will escape somehow or other;

and we suspect that most of our readers would find great fault if we

allowed them to do so in a common-place, every day sort of way; we shall

therefore, as we have before declared it our intention, adhere strictly

to what we find in the documents before us.

We left the unfortunate fidalgo in front of the ruins of the Convent of

Santa Clara, lying in a swoon, caused by the supposition of his

daughter's death, and watched by her nurse, who continued sobbing and

wringing her hands in the bitterest grief.

Night came on, though it was scarcely perceptible on account of the

bright fires which blazed in every part of the city, and still they

continued in the same position; nor did Captain Pinto, according to his

promise, return.

"Oh, Santa Maria Joze! my sweet mistress!" cried poor Gertrudes; "you

are torn from us for ever, in your youth and beauty! alas! alas! and

here am I, a worthless old woman, alive and well, mourning for your

loss!" and again she wrung her hands in despair.

On a sudden her master sat upright, and looked wildly around, unable, at

first, to comprehend what had happened; but the sights which met his

view soon convinced him of the dreadful reality. His heart was indeed

bowed with grief, his pride fallen--his only son was slain, his fair

daughter lost to him for ever! Yet, though convinced of her fate, he

could not tear himself from the spot--and whither could he go? It was

impossible for him to venture through the ruined streets, amid burning

houses and falling walls. He had just arrived at a complete perception

of his misfortunes, when a shriek struck his ear. A father's senses

were not to be deceived--it was his daughter's voice! He rose to his

feet as a man rushed by, bearing a female form in his arms. There was

no deception--that cry for aid was Clara's--that shape was hers. He in

vain endeavoured to arrest the man in his flight--he attempted to

pursue--but his strength failed him. He called on him, in accents of

despair, to restore his child; but the ruffian heeded him not, and the

fidalgo sank exhausted on the ground. Old Gertrudes, also, had striven

to follow; but, weak from fatigue and long fasting, she had not taken

many steps before her strength failed her; and, uttering cries for

assistance, she fell near her master.

Though the group of homeless and helpless nuns still remained where they

had first collected, they were in too apathetic a state to offer any

assistance. No one thought of impeding the vile ravisher in his course,

for, alas! such scenes had already become but too common, and the whole

city was now filled with shrieks and piteous cries for mercy, unheeded

by the savage miscreants who had become the undisputed lords of all.

Captain Pinto's search for his friend proved, of course, as unsuccessful

as at first, till at length he recollected the state in which he had

left the bereaved father of his friend's mistress, when, with great

difficulty procuring some food, notwithstanding all the dangers to be

encountered, he set forward to carry him assistance, accompanied by

Pedro and another man, whom he engaged for the purpose.

The ruins of the convent being on the outskirts of the conflagration, he

was able, by making a long circuit, to approach it with less risk than

he had before encountered; but, when he arrived there, it was some time

before he could discover the object of his search, now utterly unable to

assist himself. The two servants, therefore, supporting the fidalgo

between them, and the old nurse being somewhat revived by some of the

food the Captain had brought, which she contrived to eat between her

sobs and exclamations of grief, he led the way towards the palace of the

Marchioness of Corcunda, which was in the uninjured part of the city.

As the party were leaving the fatal spot, a man, with a drawn sword in

his hand, rushed up to them with frantic gestures, and the noble

sailor's satisfaction may be conceived when he discovered his friend

Luis. Pedro, in his joy and hurry to embrace his master, almost let the

fidalgo fall to the ground; although Luis offered, it must be confessed,

but a poor subject for congratulation. From the broken exclamations of

Senhora Gertrudes, the Captain had understood that she fancied she had

seen her young mistress, but he was unprepared for the excited vehemence

of Luis.

"Fly with me to overtake the monster!" he exclaimed, without waiting to

receive his friend's congratulations on his safety. "Which way did he

bear her? Have none of you seen her? speak!"

"Of whom do you speak, my friend?" asked Captain Pinto; "for I have but

just arrived here."

"Of Clara, of my own Clara!" ejaculated the unhappy lover; "she has been

torn from me in the moment of preservation, and conveyed I know not

whither; but, as you love me, aid me to recover her. Does no one know

which way she was carried?"

The old nurse now recognised Luis. "Does the senhor ask for my young

mistress?" she exclaimed. "I knew it was her, I knew it was her, and a

savage has carried her away."

"Speak, woman, speak!" exclaimed Luis, with agitation. "Which way did

he go?"

"Alack! senhor, I scarcely know; we have moved since then--but let me

see: yes, it was there--that was the way;" and she pointed in the

direction of a street, on each side of which the houses were burning

furiously, the walls every instant falling with loud crashes, and

throwing showers of sparks into the air.

As old Gertrudes pointed to the street, Luis, heedless of the dangers,

was about to break away from his friends towards it, but the Captain

held him back. "It is impossible that she could have been carried amid

that fiery strait, or that you could enter it without instant

destruction. Hear reason, my friend; it is now some time since she

could have passed here, and since then she must have been conveyed to a

considerable distance, where it will be utterly impossible, unaided, to

discover her. I know her danger is great, but I cannot believe there

breathes the hellish monster who would injure her. It is far more

probable that she has been carried off by some designing ruffians, for

the sake of receiving a reward for restoring her; or, if not, be assured

that Heaven will, by some unexpected means, protect her innocence. I

cannot believe it possible that any harm can happen to her. Assist me

now in conveying her father to a place of safety; you see his helpless

state, and you will be performing an act gratifying to her. To-morrow

we will collect some friends and attendants, and having procured

authority from the Minister, we will search for her in every direction,

examining every one we meet, and I trust that success will crown our

efforts."

With such like persuasions Captain Pinto strove to calm his friend's

mind, although he well knew how fallacious the hopes he endeavoured to

excite would too probably prove; but he felt that any deceit was

excusable to prevent him risking his life in a search which he knew must

be futile; and also, not being in love himself, his judgment was cool,

and he was very unwilling to accompany him, from the conviction of the

uselessness of the attempt. Pedro, also, though a very brave fellow,

and very much attached to his master, was not quite a hero, and, as he

had already seen horrors enough to make him wish to avoid further

danger, he joined in attempting to dissuade him from pursuing his search

on that night, when, at length, the Captain cut the matter short by

seizing his arm and attempting to drag him along. "Come, my friend," he

said, "you have frequently been guided by my advice; be so now, and

accompany me whither I will conduct you."

"What! and leave my mistress to her fate? Never! I go alone, if no one

will accompany me!" exclaimed Luis; and breaking suddenly from Captain

Pinto, he rushed in the direction Gertrudes indicated that the ruffian

who bore away Clara had taken. Pedro, who was supporting the fidalgo,

was compelled to place his burden on the ground before he could pursue

his master; nor could the Captain even attempt to overtake him with any

hope of success. Don Luis had already disappeared down a street, the

houses rocking and burning on each side, when Pedro reached the

commencement. At that instant, a lofty building, not fifty yards before

him, fell with a loud crash, completely blocking up the street, and

sending up showers of sparks and flame, like the bursting forth of a

volcano.

Pedro stood aghast, trembling at his own narrow escape, and at the too

probable fate of his master, with whom all communication was now

hopelessly cut off. The Captain now coming up, said, in an agitated

voice, as he led him back to where the fidalgo had been left,--"We can

be of more service to the living than to the dead. We will see this old

man in safety, and then return to search for your master."

This was, indeed, the only thing now to be done, and after many

difficulties and much labour they reached the palace of the Marchioness

of Corcunda. The door was open, and the mansion deserted, though it

appeared not to have been pillaged, and after searching in every

direction, it was discovered that the inmates had taken refuge in the

garden, where they were collected beneath some orange trees; still

uttering lamentations for what had occurred, which were increased when

they heard the account Gertrudes detailed to them of the loss of Clara,

and on seeing the state the fidalgo was in. The ladies were collected

together in the centre, and their female attendants and men servants

around them, all wringing their hands and sobbing, not one of them

thinking of raising any covering to shelter themselves, or bringing out

benches or chairs to sleep on. The Captain, however, with a sailor's

activity, set to work to make such arrangements as were practicable, for

the comfort of the ladies and of the unfortunate fidalgo, who, as yet,

gave few signs of being conscious of what was going forward. The

servants worked but slowly, and were afraid of entering the house,

although they did not hesitate to obey the Captain, who, it must be

remembered, was a perfect stranger among them; but, on occasions of

danger and difficulty, the man of courage and talent will always command

obedience. Overcome with fatigue, the gallant Captain and the faithful

Pedro, after snatching a short rest, again set out in search of Don

Luis.

Volume 2, Chapter XV.

Twice had the sun risen over the city of desolation since the dreadful

catastrophe of the 1st of November; and the flames yet raged in every

part. Nearly twenty thousand persons, it was supposed, had been

destroyed by the earthquake; and the greater number of the remaining

citizens had quitted the fatal spot, and were encamped in the open

fields in the neighbourhood; some with scarcely clothes to cover them,

and without food to supply the cravings of hunger. Here all classes and

orders of people were promiscuously mingled; respectable citizens

reduced to abject poverty by the entire destruction of their property;

the hapless virgins dedicated to the service of Heaven, driven from

their sanctuaries among the most lawless and abandoned of mankind.

Servants and their former masters; ladies, accustomed to gentle nurture,

among mechanics, soldiers and porters; the virtuous and the profligate,

the rich and the poor, the noble and the beggar, in the same wretched

condition. The whole fabric of society was completely disorganised;

murders, robberies, and all species of crimes were committed with the

most flagrant daring; and naught was heard but groans and cries of

distress. Slight shocks still continued to be felt at intervals of

every half-hour; famine also had visited them; and, to add to their

disasters, the effluvia arising from the vast number of dead bodies

which choked up the streets, threatened them with a pestilence; so that

hundreds of those who were able had already taken their departure to

other towns; and the city would have been completely deserted, had not

Sebastiao Joze de Carvalho, now created Prime Minister, exerted his

utmost power to prevent so unfortunate an event to the kingdom.

It was now that he exhibited, in the greatest degree, that energetic

character, and those extraordinary abilities which distinguished him

among his countrymen. Having received full powers from the King to act

as he judged expedient, both day and night he drove from place to place

in his carriage, to observe what was most necessary to be done,--it

serving him for his bureau, his couch, and his parlour; the only food he

took on the first day being a basin of broth, which the Countess Daun,

his wife, brought him with her own hands. His first care was to cut off

all communication between the burning part of the city and that which

remained entire; for to extinguish the conflagration was beyond his

power, or the means of man to accomplish; his next was to despatch

messengers into all the surrounding districts, to collect provisions for

the houseless inhabitants; and his third was to send round to all the

parochial clergy and heads of yet existing convents, to urge them to

impress on their congregations and inferiors, as a duty both grateful to

Heaven, and called for by man, to bury the dead without delay.

This last order had at first, owing to the paralysation of their

energies, with which terror and misery had affected all men, been but

negligently obeyed; and the streets were yet, in some places, actually

blocked up with the dead, particularly in front of the churches, where

they lay piled in heaps, mangled in every shocking way; some burned to

cinders or scorched by the flames, and others torn almost to pieces by

the savage dogs and vermin. Such sights were, indeed, dreadful to

behold, but the eyes of those who had ventured into this arena of

devastation and confusion had already become familiarised with them.

Some of the noblest in the land had, with philanthropic boldness,

wandered amid the ruins, to bear succour to those who might yet

providentially remain alive beneath them; and among the first of those

charitable persons, who set so bright an example to their fellow-men,

was Don John of Braganca, a cousin of the King's, and brother of the

Duke of Lafoens, well-known about that time, in France and England, as

the Duke of Braganca. It was reported that, in his presence, a young

damsel was dug out of a cellar, in perfect health, on the sixth day, and

it was fully believed by the pious that she was, as she affirmed, saved

from destruction by clasping a figure of Saint Anthony, which was found

in her embrace.

But to return to the day we first spoke of. From all the yet existing

churches, mournful processions issued, headed by priests or friars, and

accompanied by parties of seculars carrying biers, who perambulated the

streets, and bore the bodies of the wretched victims, either to the

water's edge, from whence they were conveyed to the centre of the Tagus,

and sunk with weights; or else to large receptacles prepared in the

neighbourhood of the city, when quick-lime was thrown in on them. But,

though these toiled all day, little progress appeared yet to have been

made in the sad work, so great was the number of the dead.

They were not the only people seen among the ruins; for the ruffian

banditti continued their depredations, unawed by the summary punishment

of two or three of their number, who had been seized in the fact, and

hung, by the Minister's orders, without further trial. But there was

one who belonged to neither of those classes, who had been seen, night

and day, constantly wandering in every direction, gazing at every female

corpse he passed, and eagerly eyeing every person he encountered,

fearless of danger from the burning edifices, and disregarding the

menaces of the vile wretches he often interrupted in their lawless

pursuits. His countenance was worn and haggard, and his dress

disordered and soiled, though, from his air and general appearance, he

evidently belonged to the Fidalguia. He was closely followed by another

person, who, although pale and wearied, did not exhibit the same signs

of mental prostration and wretchedness, and was, from his costume and

manner, apparently the servant of the first. The day was nearly spent,

but still he wandered on, uncertain which way to direct his steps. He

stopped to question each person he met; but all considered him as one

whose brain had been turned by the horrors of the times, and,

disregarding him, hurried by. On he wandered, his search proving, too

clearly, as fruitless as at first, till he observed a naval officer,

followed by a party of men in uniform, at a little distance: he hurried

towards them.

"Have you discovered any traces of her?--have you any chance of finding

her?" he eagerly exclaimed, addressing the officer.

"Alas! my dear Luis, no," answered Captain Pinto. "I have as yet been

unsuccessful; but the Minister, to whom I recounted your sad tale, has

sent for a person who will to-morrow accompany you in your search, and

will be of more aid than all the soldiers of the kingdom. He declares

that, if these atrocities, which have disgraced humanity since the fatal

day, do not cease, he will inflict such severe chastisement on all

malefactors as will effectually terrify others from continuing the like

excesses. In the mean time, come and take some rest, or you will to no

purpose wear out both body and mind with fatigue."

"I cannot rest until I have recovered her; or, if she is lost to me for

ever, death will bring me the only tranquillity I can hope for,"

answered Luis, in a tone of deep melancholy.

Pedro, who had soon discovered and followed his master through all

dangers with constant faithfulness, heard this declaration with dismay,

and joined the Captain in endeavouring to persuade him to quit his

hopeless search for a time, to recruit his strength; but it was not till

darkness came on, the first that had shrouded the city for the last

three days, for the flames were now subsiding, that he consented to

return to the palace of the Marchioness of Corcunda, to snatch a few

hours' troubled rest.

Captain Pinto was obliged to leave him, to perform certain duties he had

undertaken by the Minister's desire, in watching the banks of the river,

to prevent the escape of robbers with their booty in that direction.

On the following morning, the carriage of the Minister was beset by

numerous persons complaining of the fresh and atrocious outrages which

had been committed during the past night.

On hearing the cases, he directly wrote the following decree, in the

name of the King:--

"It having been represented to me, that, in the city of Lisbon and its

neighbourhood, since the first of the month, many atrocious and

sacrilegious robberies have been committed,--churches have been

profaned, houses have been broken open, and people, even when

endeavouring to save themselves from the falling edifices, have been

assaulted with violence in the streets, to the great scandal, not only

of Christian piety, but even of humanity,--and considering that like

crimes, by their turpitude, make the perpetrators unworthy of the

advantage of the usual process of trial, and indispensably require a

prompt and severe chastisement, which may put an end to so horrible a

scandal,--I decree, that all persons who have been, or shall be,

apprehended for the above-said crimes, shall be tried by the simple

verbal process by which the deed may be proved, and that those who are

found guilty of those crimes, shall be forthwith forwarded, with the

said verbal processes, to the Chief Regidor of the House of Punishment,

who shall name, without delay, those Judges whom he is accustomed to

name in like cases, that they may, without loss of time, also pass

judgment on all the aforesaid processes verbal, so that those judgments

passed by them shall be put into execution on the very day on which they

are passed, and all without embargo of any laws, decrees, edicts, and

ordinances whatever to the contrary, because these are passed for this

particular purpose, they still retaining their vigour. The same Chief

Regidor having thus understood, let him carry it into execution.--Belem,

4th November, 1755."

Then the Minister despatched orders to the magistrates of every barrier

of the city, to erect as lofty gibbets as they possibly could; another

decree ordering that the condemned should be immediately hung up, and

there left to rot in the sun; and before many days had passed, two

hundred persons graced the gibbets; and though probably a few innocent

ones may have been among them, the greater number were doubtless a good

riddance from society; and, as the Minister observed, violent diseases

require violent remedies. This proved the truth of the saying; for the

atrocities were at length put a stop to for a time. One man in chains

may inspire a youthful Turpins romantic ardour; but we suspect two

hundred ghastly corpses would have sickened even Jack Sheppard of his

lofty ambition.

We find ourselves anticipating the course of events. As soon as the

Minister had ordered the erection of the gibbets, he bethought him it

might be as well to assemble some troops to guard them, lest, as the

rogues and vagabonds were pretty numerous, they should take it into

their heads to hang thereon the honest men instead. Soldiers were,

therefore, marched from all directions, so as to form a complete cordon

round Lisbon, allowing none to enter or go out without a pass from the

chief of police.

It was next thought advisable, since the aforesaid rogues and vagabonds

could scarcely be expected to be so convinced of the enormities of their

crimes, as to come and offer themselves voluntarily for punishment; and

that as they could not possibly be hung without being first caught, any

more than a hare can be cooked when still ranging her native fields,

that bodies of police should be selected, under fit and proper officers,

to apprehend the villains. Some were chosen among the military; but, as

the soldiers, it was suspected, might be too apt rather to imitate than

suppress the excesses, the greater number were respectable citizens, who

were glad to volunteer under good leaders, among whom our friend Captain

Pinto was the first chosen.

Even before the morning broke, Luis had again commenced his search for

Clara, which proved fruitless as before. On meeting his friend,

however, he accompanied him to visit the Minister, to whom he was about

to make some reports.

"I have not forgotten you, my young friend," said Carvalho, as soon as

he saw Luis. "Though all require my care, yours is a peculiar case, and

here is one who will be of more assistance to you than any other I can

afford;" and he called a man to his side, to whom he gave some

directions, and motioned towards Luis, when he added, "Farewell, and may

success attend you!" and again turned to the public business in which he

was engaged. That with Captain Pinto was soon despatched, when,

accompanied by Luis and the person the Minister had introduced to him,

he returned to the city.

Not to keep our readers in suspense as to who this personage was, we may

as well intimate that he was our acquaintance, the _ci-devant_ cobbler,

Antonio; though at present he bore none of the signs of his trade about

him, but rather had the appearance of a quiet notary, or sedate

shopkeeper.

"I will do my best to serve you, senhor," he said; "but I fear much we

shall not discover the young lady. In ordinary times I might have been

successful; but now I cannot set about the work in the way I would have

done."

Luis, at Antonio's desire, gave him an exact description of Clara,

(though perhaps he painted her with the pencil and colours lovers are

apt to use,) and then of the ruffian who had carried her off, and of

whom, for the same reason, it may be supposed, he did not speak in the

most flattering terms; but his hearer, who seemed inclined to smile at

the narration, made due allowances for both; and by the time the party

had reached the ruined part of the city, he had made himself fully

master of all the circumstances of the case. He then, turning to

Captain Pinto, begged him to separate from them for a time, appointing

to meet him at a certain hour, if he was successful in the first steps

he intended to pursue.

Accompanied by Luis and Pedro, who would not leave him, he then plunged

into the most intricate and narrow lanes of the city, climbing over

ruins, among which were seen the mangled and burnt bodies of the

wretched inhabitants, scaring, as they proceeded, the gorged dogs from

their horrid feast. Now and then only they met a human being; for none,

except for the purposes of concealment, had ventured where, even in

better days, few were willing to wander unprotected. Antonio spoke to

each one he passed, but all shook their heads in answer; yet, not

discouraged by his want of success at first, he pursued the same plan,

though the appearance of his acquaintances, it must be confessed, did

certainly not afford Luis a very high opinion of his character, for a

more villainous set of cut-throats it had never been his lot to

encounter, although they were habited in the richest and most costly

garments; but these were so evidently part of the spoils they had

collected, and sat so ill upon them, that they only increased the

ferocity and wildness of their countenances. Once or twice they met

persons with whom he held rather longer conferences, and he appeared by

degrees to be gaining some information which was satisfactory. At

length, as they were turning the corner of a street, they came suddenly

on a person who endeavoured to escape them, by hurrying, at some risk,

among the smoking ruins, the moment he saw them approaching; but Antonio

was too quick for him, and running after him, caught him by the arm.

The person made no further resistance; but, on the contrary, as soon as

he saw who was his pursuer, he embraced him cordially, seeming to feel

much pleasure at the rencontre, accompanying him quietly as he walked

on, followed at a little distance by Luis and Pedro.

"Do you know, senhor, that I have seen the figure of that man before,"

said the latter to his master. "I caught a glimpse of his countenance,

and as I am a sinner, and hope to be saved, it is no other than the

hermit of Nossa Senhora da Pedra, and the holy padre Fre Lopez."

"Thank Heaven," ejaculated Luis, "that we have met him. It must be him,

and he is the only man who will be able to assist me;" and he was

hurrying to overtake Antonio and his companion, when the latter, giving

him a parting embrace, hastened off in a different direction.

"Who was that person?" inquired Luis, as he joined Antonio.

"A very great vagabond, senhor, but yet not near so great a villain as

many who profess to be virtuous. I have known him for a long time, and

if he could but resist temptation, he would be an honest man; and I

would trust my life in his power, provided it was not his interest to

take it."

"If he is the man I supposed, he saved mine three days ago," returned

Luis. "Is he not called Fre Diogo Lopez?"

"That is one of his names, to which he has as great a right as to the

coat he now wears; but he is no friar, senhor; no, no, he is too honest

for that; but if he is tempted to commit any piece of villainy, he

assumes the character, as most appropriate for the purpose, he says. He

once entered a monastery as a lay brother, where he learned all the

habits and customs of the monks; but they did not accord with the ideas

of morality he then entertained, so after a couple of years he quitted

them, and has ever since wandered about the country in various

disguises, as suits his purpose; but if the holy Inquisition get hold of

him, I fear he will not be able to escape their clutches."

"But has he given you any information that may be of service to us?"

interrupted Luis eagerly.

"That is to be proved," said Antonio calmly; "I know the man from whose

power the Frade saved your life, and who carried the lady off; a greater

villain there does not exist in Lisbon. I have learned so much from our

friend, though the difficulty will be to find this Rodrigo; and the

chances are that he will adorn one of the newly-raised gibbets before

long. I hope, however, to have an interview with him before that time;

and then the sooner he is hung, the sooner will there be one villain

less in the world."

"Is this the only clue you have been able to discover?" said Luis,

dejectedly. "I fear that it will be of little service."

"Fear not, senhor," answered Antonio: "in the first place, you have the

satisfaction of knowing that the lady was not killed by the falling

houses, when Rodrigo carried her off; and, in the second, I have reason

to suppose that it was not for his own sake he committed the outrage."

"Thank Heaven for that!" ejaculated Luis.

"In the mean time, our friend the Frade is making inquiries which may

assist us," continued Antonio. "And we will now, by your leave, find

Captain Pinto, to whom I wish to make some reports."

They accordingly proceeded in search of the Captain.

When Don Luis and his companions arrived at the spot where they had

agreed to meet Captain Pinto, which was at an open place called the Caes

Sodre, near the royal arsenal, they found the people under his command

with several prisoners in their custody.

Antonio examined the countenance of each, but he did not recognise any

one till he came to a man lying bound on the ground, his clothes torn

and bloody, with two of the guards standing near him, badly wounded.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "Senhor Rodrigo, you know me, I think?"

"Yes," answered the ruffian; "I am not likely to forget you."

Luis looked on with anxiety, for he beheld the ruffian who had carried

off Clara; but Antonio, desiring to be left alone with the man, knelt

down by his side, while Captain Pinto detailed to Luis the circumstances

of his capture. His last act had been in character with his former

life. The guards were passing a house from which loud cries were heard

to proceed, and on entering it an old man was found weltering in his

blood on the floor, and a woman was struggling in the grasp of the

ruffian, whose shrieks prevented his hearing their entrance. Before

they could seize him, however, he had plunged his knife into her bosom;

and then turning on them, had wounded two in his attempt to escape; but

at last, after a desperate resistance, he was captured.

Luis shuddered as he heard the account. "Has my beloved Clara been in

the power of a wretch like this?" he thought.

Antonio held some minutes' conversation with the bravo. "For what

purpose did you carry off the lady?" he said, after some time.

"To serve another, the greater my folly," was the answer.

"And she is there still?" inquired Antonio.

"Yes, if he has not removed her.--Go, I would have my revenge on him.

He has deceived me twice, and you may gain the ransom I expected--and

then I shall die happy."

Before night the corpse of the noted bravo, Rodrigo, was seen hanging

from the highest gibbet at the gates of Lisbon.

Volume 2, Chapter XVI.

We have observed, in the course of our very desultory custom of reading,

that most novelists delight in endeavouring to make their readers

suppose, somewhere about the middle of their second volume, that their

hero, or heroine, in whose fate by that time they may have begun to feel

some interest, has been engulfed beneath the raging waves, or dashed to

pieces from falling off a lofty, sea-worn cliff, or murdered by banditti

in a forest, or blown up in a castle, or has made his or her exit from

this terrestrial scene in some equally romantic way; for we cannot fill

our page with further instances. Now, we confess that, after a little

experience, we were never deceived by such ingenious devices. In the

first place, very few writers have the hardihood to kill their heroes or

heroines at all, for the reason, that few readers approve of the

principle; and, in the second, they would not think of doing so till the

end of the third volume, as they would find considerable difficulty in

continuing their story without them. For our own part, rather than

commit so atrocious an act, we would alter the truth of history, and

defer the dreadful catastrophe to the final scene.

Having made this preamble, we must return to the ruins of the Santa

Clara Convent, at the moment the bravo Rodrigo had torn Clara from the

arms of Don Luis, after their almost miraculous escape from destruction.

She had just recovered sufficient consciousness to know that she was

separated from him, and had no power to liberate herself. In vain she

called on Luis to save her, as the ruffian bore her away. He carried

her quickly across the ruins, passing close to the spot where her

unhappy father then was; and when he saw himself pursued, not knowing by

whom, he dashed down the nearest turning with his fair prize, regardless

of her cries and prayers for mercy. His progress in that direction was

soon impeded by the burning buildings, when he was obliged to turn back

part of the way, and make a circuit through the northern part of the

city in the direction of Belem, towards which he proceeded on the very

opposite side. No one regarded him as he passed: they were either

wretches like himself, or unhappy beings who had, that day, perchance,

lost all they loved on earth, and heeded not aught but their own

misfortunes; besides, alas! such spectacles had become too common to

attract the notice of any: no one attempted to rescue her from the

ruffian's power. At length, weary from his exertions, for the road he

was obliged to follow was long, steep, and intricate, Rodrigo stopped to

rest. Even over the most savage bosoms lovely innocence will always be

able to exert a softening influence, and we believe that there is no man

born of womankind so hardened as not to feel its power. Clara, though

she thought not this, for terror had deprived her of all power of

thinking, took this opportunity, by a natural instinct, to entreat her

captor to restore her to her father, promising him a high reward for so

doing.

"So you said once before, lady, when I had you in my power; but I shall

not be again disappointed, depend on it," answered the robber.

"However, don't be alarmed, for your lover, as I guess him to be, is, as

far as I know, still alive, no thanks to my intentions, though; and I am

going to take you to one who will treat you well, and pay me highly for

my trouble and loss of time, so there is nothing after all to cry

about."

"But my father will pay you any sum you demand," quickly responded

Clara, thinking she had made some impression on the man's feelings.

"No, no," he answered, "he would not have shut you up in a convent if he

cared much about you; besides, for what I know, he may be killed, as

thousands were to-day; now my employer was alive a few hours since, and

I intend this time to make sure of my reward."

The thoughts of her father's death stopped Clara's further utterance,

and the bravo, again lifting her in his arms, bore her onward. He now

again turned through some partially ruined streets, several fierce bands

passing him who uttered horrid jests, and seemed inclined to dispute

possession of his prize; but his fierce threats of vengeance made them

desist, for his character was well-known to all.

Full two hours had passed ere he finally stopped before the door of a

low house, which appeared uninjured; for while the lofty temples and the

proud palaces of the great had been overwhelmed in ruin, the humble shed

of the mechanic had escaped.

He forced open the door, and entered without hesitation. An old woman

was seated on the floor, trembling and weeping with alarm: a small oil

lamp burning near her gave just sufficient light to show the wretched

state of the apartment.

He placed Clara on one of the two only chairs the room afforded, and

then fastened the door behind him. "Come, rouse up, mother, and stop

your tears, the earthquake will do no further harm. Here is a lady I

have brought you to attend upon, and remember you must treat her

properly."

"Take her away--I want no ladies here!" muttered the old hag, without

looking up.

"Hark you, mother! I expect to be well paid for my trouble, and you

shall have plenty of gold if I return her safe to her friends. My taste

is not for such delicate fish as this."

"Am I to have plenty of gold?" said the old woman, eagerly. "Yes, yes,

then I will do all you require."

"That is well," answered Rodrigo. "Treat her kindly, and give her food,

if she can eat such as we poor people have; and take care she does not

escape, or we shall lose our reward--remember that."

"Ay, ay, we are to have gold, are we? then I will take care she does not

get away," returned the hag, glancing at her with her baneful eyes.

"I have said, no harm shall happen to you, lady, so cease crying," said

the bravo, turning to Clara; and, whispering a few words in his mother's

ear, he quitted the house, locking the door behind him, and taking away

the key.

The old woman followed her son's directions, without addressing a word

to her prisoner; but, weak and faint as Clara was, she could not, as may

be supposed, partake of the fare placed before her. Her witch-like

hostess then supported her to a rough couch in a corner of the room, on

which, more in a state of fainting than sleeping, she forgot, for a

time, the horrors of her situation, though her brain yet retained a

confused impression of the terrific sounds and dreadful scenes she had

encountered.

It was daylight before the bravo returned, bringing a basket of delicate

provisions already cooked and prepared with care, which he placed on the

table, without addressing Clara, and withdrew in haste, merely nodding

to his mother as he passed out, again locking the door behind him. A

few hours' rest had partially restored Clara's strength, and enabled her

to take a little refreshment; but to all her questions the old woman was

as uncommunicative as her son, pretending entire deafness, to escape

being troubled with further ones. Her manner was, however, sufficiently

respectful, and she was attentive to her prisoner's wants; but her

behaviour was actuated, evidently, more by the hopes of gain than by any

feminine or kindly feeling. As she moved about the room, at her work,

muttering curses, she would every now and then cast suspicious glances

towards the fair girl; but whenever a slight shock of the earthquake was

felt, she would fall down on her knees and kiss and fondle the image of

a saint, the only ornament the room possessed: as soon, however, as it

had passed away, she would again rise and pursue her former occupations.

On these occasions, Clara could not avoid trembling with alarm, as she

saw the fragile building vibrating with the shock, expecting every

instant to be overwhelmed in its ruins; but the earthquake

providentially did no further damage than cause pieces of mortar to fall

from the ceiling, or the walls, till at last she learned no longer to

dread it.

Clara had remained many hours in a dreadful state of doubt and

uncertainty, not only as to her own future fate, but as to that of Luis,

whom she had last beheld in the power of the ruffians; and of her

father, for she could not tell if he had escaped the destruction, which

appeared to her universal, though she was unconscious of the horrors of

the commencement; when the door of the room was opened from without, and

a tall figure entered, wrapped in a large cloak, so as completely to

conceal his person, a black mask covering his features. He bowed

respectfully towards her as he entered, and then advanced close to where

she was seated, her lovely head bent down, and her face hidden in her

hands.

"Lady!" said the stranger, "I have been deputed hither by one who adores

you to distraction, and who has heard with deep concern of the violence

which has been offered to you; but he has taken measures to prevent the

return of the ruffian who brought you here, and if you will accept of my

escort, I will conduct you to a place of greater security."

Clara started at the first sound of that voice, which made her tremble

with fear, for the tones seemed familiar; but then she thought she must

have been mistaken, yet she mistrusted the speaker.

"I can trust myself with no one who requires a mask to conceal his

features," she answered; "yet let me know to whom I am indebted for

assistance, and I may be grateful."

"Circumstances prevent my declaring myself, lady, at present," returned

the stranger; "but confide in my honour, and I will escort you from this

wretched hovel to an abode, which, though unworthy to receive you, is

yet equal to any the city, in its present ruined state, can afford."

"Pardon me, senhor, that I hesitate," said Clara; "for I dare not

confide in one unknown; but if you will carry the information to my

father that I am here, I shall be deeply grateful."

The stranger listened to this answer with signs of impatience.

"I would do what you wish, fair lady, but I grieve to say your father,

if, as I believe, you are the daughter of Goncalo Christovao, fell a

victim to the destroying earthquake."

"Oh! say you do not speak the truth; you surely must have been

mistaken," she exclaimed; "my father cannot be among the dead!"

"It is but too true, lady," was the answer; "and I fear you have few or

no friends who have escaped it."

On hearing this sad assertion, Clara bent down her head and sobbed

violently, while the stranger stood by, beholding her in silence for

some minutes, when she suddenly looked up. "I pray Heaven you may have

been deceived in the account you give," she said; "but if not, as you

are a man, and, as I believe, from your air, of gentle birth, I entreat

you to discover one who has already risked his life to save mine, and in

whom I may place entire confidence--Don Luis d'Almeida. Go, senhor,

inform him that I am here, and he will strive to show his gratitude to

you."

Clara, in the innocence of her heart, referred naturally to the person

on whom all her thoughts and feelings centred; but her words seemed to

give anything but satisfaction to her hearer. He stamped vehemently on

the ground, as he answered, between his closed teeth,--"Know you not,

lady, that you speak of one who is the murderer of your brother? and he,

surely, is not a fit guardian for you."

She was no longer deceived in the speaker's voice. She rose calmly from

her seat:--"Count San Vincente," she said, "the disguise you wear cannot

conceal you from me; nor do I believe your words; for I feel firm in the

conviction that Don Luis could not have slain my brother. I knew not

even that he was reported to have been killed; nor do I believe, from

your assertion, that such is the case. Now, leave me, senhor; for I

know full well you dare not venture to use violence towards a noble

maiden. Find means to inform my friends of my situation, and I will not

breathe my suspicions; if not, dread the consequences of this outrage."

"You mistake, fair lady; I am not the person you suppose," answered the

stranger; "and though I am unwilling to use threats to compel you to do

what I would wish you to perform of your own accord, you must remember

that you are completely in my power, and that I fear not the vengeance

of your friends; for none will know that you were not lost in the ruins

of the convent, till he who seeks to wed you thinks fit to produce you

as his bride. Will you now consent to accompany me?"

"Never!" answered Clara, firmly; "I would rather trust myself to the

common ruffian who brought me hither, than to one who is capable of

deceit and treachery so vile to gain his wishes. Hear me! Whatever

betide, I will never become the bride of the Conde San Vincente, and him

I know that I see before me!"

"You will gain little by your resolution, lady, which, like women in

general, you will be glad to break on the first occasion," answered the

stranger. "I leave you now to reflect on my words; and remember, that

even if Don Luis survives, which I know not he does, you cannot wed him

who has slain your brother; and that such is the case, is well-known by

all. Farewell, lady; I trust that, by to-morrow, you will have

considered the subject more calmly, when I will again visit you."

Saying which, the stranger, bowing low, quitted the cottage, without

even deigning to regard the old woman; but Clara was confirmed in her

persuasion that he was a principal person concerned in the outrage

offered to her, by hearing him again lock the door and withdraw the key,

as the keeper of her prison.

For the remainder of the day she was unmolested by further visits; but

if she even attempted to approach the window, the old beldame followed

her closely, to prevent her, in case she should make any signal for

assistance to those passing by; a chance not likely to occur, seeing

that the cottage stood in a lane but little frequented at any time, and

one end of it being now completely blocked up with ruins.

On the morning of the second day, a knock was heard at the door, to

which the old woman went directly, when a hand was thrust in with a

basket of provisions, as before, and immediately withdrawn. About two

hours afterwards, the tall masked stranger returned, again bowing

profoundly, as he advanced towards Clara.

"Lady, I trust that a night's rest has enabled you to perceive your true

condition more clearly than you did yesterday," he began. "Pardon me

that I appear importunate; but though, as I before assured you, I should

be unwilling to force your inclinations, yet I must insist on your

accompanying me, without resistance, from this wretched hovel, which is

not fit to be honoured: by your presence."

"Neither my opinion of my gaoler, nor my feelings, have changed since

yesterday," replied Clara; "nor is the treatment I have received at all

likely to alter them; and, as I have before declared, I will not quit

this house, unless in the company of friends in whom I can confide.

Force, I think, you would scarcely dare exert, and it would defeat your

own purpose."

"Trust not to such fallacious hopes, lady," answered the stranger,

fiercely; "you know not to what lengths your coldness will drive one who

long has lived but in thinking of your charms! By a fortunate chance

you were placed in my power, and, believe me, I value you too much to

allow you to escape. You understand not my character when you thus

venture to trifle with my feelings, for I am one whom the fear of

consequences never daunts in the pursuit of my aims; threats cannot

terrify me, and all laws I despise, or can elude. Yes, Donna Clara, I

will not deny it is of myself I speak. I would woo you as a humble

suitor for your hand; but, if you spurn my love, I have the power, and

will exert it, to command you as a master; ay, and I will so tame that

proud spirit, that you will crave as a boon what you now so haughtily

refuse."

"Never!" exclaimed Clara, with energy; for all the lofty feelings of her

noble race were aroused within that bosom, by nature so gentle, and

formed for love. "I fear not your unworthy threats. Sooner, far

sooner, would I die, than yield to your wishes; for each word you have

spoken has but increased the hatred and contempt I have from the first

felt for you."

"Ah! is it so, lady?" said the stranger, his voice trembling with rage.

"You will find yourself miserably deceived. Hear me for the last time.

I have determined to try what leniency will effect in your sentiments;

but, if you still refuse to listen to reason, you will lament the

consequences of your folly. Do not suppose that you can escape from

hence; for you are here as securely guarded as within one of the

dungeons of the Jungueira; so build no hopes on that account. But I

will not attempt to persuade you further. I now again quit you, to

return but once more, when a priest will be in readiness to unite your

fate with mine; and be assured that my impatience will brook but short

delay. Till then, Donna Clara, farewell!" He bent low, and attempted

to take her hand, but she hastily withdrew it. "Well, well, lady," he

added, in a scornful tone, "to-morrow, methinks, you will act

differently;" and, as on the former occasion, he bowed, and quitted the

cottage. When, no sooner had he gone than the fair girl's

self-possession gave way, and she burst into a flood of tears.

Volume 2, Chapter XVII.

Sad was the change which three days of intense anxiety and suffering had

worked on the fair cheek of the still lovely Clara. She might have been

compared to the fresh-blown rose, drooping beneath the hot blast of the

sirocco, yet still retaining its fragrance and beauty, and which the

balmy dews of evening would quickly restore to health and vigour. The

old hag had never for an instant quitted her, nor had she been able to

extract a single sentence from her, even to learn in what part of the

city she was imprisoned. Her thoughts all the time dwelling on the too

probable loss of her father, and brother, and of one who she could not

help confessing was even dearer than either, yet she did not rely on her

informer's declaration of their deaths; and she endeavoured so to nerve

her courage, as to resist every attempt he might make to compel her to

become his bride. Though he had spoken in a feigned voice, and she had

not seen his features, she had no doubt as to the identity of her

gaoler; and she felt assured that terror of the law would prevent him

from perpetrating any violence,--the abduction only of the daughter of a

fidalgo being punishable by death, with confiscation of property;

though, had she known the disorganised state of society since the

earthquake, her alarm would have been far greater. Since the masked

stranger had visited her, no one had appeared, and she was now, with

dread and agitation, looking forward to his return. She heard footsteps

approaching--her heart beat quick--they stopped at the cottage-door,

against which a single blow was struck; but the old woman paid no

attention to it. It was again repeated, with the same result. Several

louder knocks were then heard, when the hag approached the door, and

placed her ear against it, in the act of listening.

"Who is there?" she asked, in a voice like the croaking of a raven. "Go

away, and leave an aged lone woman in quiet."

"Open the door first, and we will not harm you," said a voice.

"I cannot open the door, for my son has gone away, and taken the key:

you must wait till he returns," answered the hag.

"We should have to wait long enough," muttered some one outside.

Clara's heart throbbed yet quicker; but it was with hopes of liberation;

yet she feared to cry out, for the eye of the hag was fixed on her with

a malignant glance; and while she held up one finger to impose silence,

her other hand clasped the handle of a sharp-pointed knife, with a

significant gesture.

"What is that you say about my son?" she asked, with a startling energy,

which made Clara's blood thrill with dread.

"We speak not of your son, old woman," said the voice. "Open the door

quietly, or we shall be obliged to force it, in the name of the King."

"You had better not attempt it," she croaked forth. "My son is not one

who likes to have his house visited in his absence, so go your ways till

he returns."

"Delay no longer, but force the door!" said another voice, which caused

a tumultuous joy in Clara's bosom, for she knew it to be that of Luis.

"First tell me where my son is?" cried the beldame.

"Your son Rodrigo is in prison, where you will join him, if you do not

directly obey our orders," said the former voice.

"Ah! is it so?" she shrieked. "It shall not be without cause, and I

will be revenged on you first." Clara uttered a cry of terror--loud

blows resounded against the door,--and the vile hag, with her glittering

knife upraised, rushed towards her, her eyes glaring with savage fury;

and, with a yell of derisive laughter, she aimed her weapon at the bosom

of the fair girl; but her foot slipped, and she fell to the ground. In

a moment she rose again, and pursued her victim, who endeavoured to

escape her rage.

"Luis, Luis, save me!" cried Clara, in an agony of fear.

The blows against the door were redoubled. The hag, with frantic

gestures, followed her. Her last moment seemed come, when the door was

burst open; and, while several men seized the wretched woman--yet not

before she had plunged the knife into her own heart--Clara, with a cry

of joy, fell fainting into her lover's arms.

"Where is my son? you said he was taken," muttered the old woman, as she

forced away the hand of Antonio, who was endeavouring to stanch the

blood flowing from her wound.

"By this time he is dangling from one of the new gibbets at the gates of

the city," answered one of the men.

"Then I will disappoint those of what they would much like to know," she

muttered.

She then suddenly endeavoured to tear herself from the grasp of those

who held her, uttering shriek upon shriek, mixed with dreadful curses on

all around.

"Ay, ay, I see my son in the flames of purgatory, and the devils are

dragging me down to him. I will not go yet--I will live to curse those

who have slain him. May their end be like his, and may they dwell for

ever in the torments of hell!"

She ceased not uttering exclamations like these till her evil spirit

fled its vile tenement.

Luis bore Clara from the dreadful scene, accompanied by Captain Pinto,

and followed by the rest of the party, till they reached an open space,

where a carriage was in waiting; and, as he placed her in it, and took

his seat by her side, he caught a glimpse of a tall man, whose features

were concealed in a cloak, watching them at some distance. Having

received the warm congratulations of his friend, who was obliged to

return to his duty, while Pedro and some of the men prepared to

accompany him as guards, Luis offered a purse of money to Antonio, as a

recompense for his exertions.

"No, senhor," he answered, declining it; "I have but performed the

commands of the Minister, and I seek my reward from him alone;" and,

bowing profoundly, he took his leave.

We must not attempt to transcribe the conversation of Clara and Luis, as

they slowly proceeded by a long and circuitous road towards the

residence of the old Marchioness. She first asked eagerly for her

father, when Luis assured her that though too unwell to engage

personally in the search for her, he was in no danger, and that her

presence would soon recover him. Why, we know not, but she did not even

mention her brother's name. Luis then told her of his wretchedness, and

almost madness, at her loss, and she confessed to have suffered as much,

which afforded, doubtless, great consolation to him. Next he told her

of all the fruitless endeavours he had made to recover her, which had

worn him nearly to a skeleton; and, in answer, she told him of the

visits she had received from the masked stranger, and of her suspicions

as to who he was; when they both agreed, that, if she was right, the

Count had acted so cautious a part, that though he as richly deserved

hanging as his assistant Rodrigo, it would be utterly impossible to

punish him by any legal means, though Luis vowed internally to take the

first opportunity of chastising him. Yet they only slightly touched on

these subjects; for there was a far more engrossing one which occupied

the greater part of the time, as on it they had very much to say. What

it was we leave our readers to guess, it being remembered that they had

not met with an opportunity to converse since the evening when they

first made their mutual acknowledgments of love; and they agreed that

what they then felt was cold and tame, compared to their present

feelings, after all the dangers and sufferings they had undergone.

We, however, prefer leaving what are usually called love scenes to be

described by our fair sister authoresses; because they can paint the

characters of their own sex with far more delicate touches, and,

besides, know much more about the subject than we old men possibly can,

whose days of tender endearment have so long passed by. We shall,

therefore, carry them safely to the gates of the palace, when Luis,

lifting Clara from the carriage, supported her to the garden, where,

under various tents and sheds, the family were still residing.

The first person they encountered was old Gertrudes, who, the moment she

observed them, gazed at them as if they were a couple of spirits from

the dead, and then rushing towards them, seized Clara in her arms, with

cries and tears of joy, almost smothering her with kisses; and then

seizing on Luis, joined him in the embrace, bestowing alternate kisses

on him; and if, in returning them, which he was bound to do, he did make

some slight mistake in the person, we think he is justly to be excused,

considering he had never before ventured on such a liberty. He then

resigned Clara into her nurse's care, and was about to withdraw, when,

clasping his hand, she raised it to her lips.