That night the young Alfonzo, the highly endowed in mind and person, lay

on a wretched pallet, chained, like a malefactor, to the humid

stone-wall of a low dark dungeon beneath the castle of the Jungueira.

Not a gleam of light, not a breath of pure air, entered his abode;

_then_ it was that conscience triumphed over intellect. He thought of

his days of childhood and innocence, before he had learned the rules of

sophistry. His mother's face appeared to him, smiling with love, but

full of sadness. Suddenly it vanished, and one of dreadful scowling

aspect took its place. He thought of the dark lessons he had received

from his instructors, and he called on God to curse those who had

blasted his heart with scorching words. The Father Jacinto, too, came

before him, with a calm and benignant countenance, and voice of

mellifluous softness. Suddenly he changed, and, in his stead, arose a

vast serpent of glittering scaly sides, moist with slime, which coiled

and twisted its enormous folds around him, hissing as it breathed forth

a fiery breath upon his face. It seemed to bear him down, when the

earth beneath him opened. "Oh, Heaven!" he cried, "I sink, I sink, I

sink!"

The next morning the gaoler entered the cell. The prisoner stirred not,

nor answered to his call. He took his hand,--it struck a chill to his

heart,--he held the lamp over him,--he was dead!

One person only ever knew the cause of his death, and that very day he

heard of it. "It were better so, as he had failed in his purpose," he

muttered. "He knew too many secrets of our order to be trusted. Had he

been tortured, as he most assuredly would have been, he might have

betrayed them. Requiescat in pace!"

The master never again thought of the pupil till he lay on his own

death-bed, with his flesh lacerated and his limbs broken by the wheel;

but he felt not those pains; there was another far more acute within;

conscience had re-asserted its sway, he remembered him he had betrayed,

and _how_ he had died. [Note].

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note. The Father Jacinto was soon afterwards imprisoned and tortured.

He died in confinement from the effects of his treatment, say the

Jesuits.

Volume 3, Chapter XII.

It was the middle of winter, but, notwithstanding the season of the

year, the sun shone brightly forth, shedding a genial warmth upon the

beggars and dogs who were basking beneath it in the streets of Lisbon.

The former were stationed at the posts they had each appropriated,

exhibiting every species of loathsome deformity, and imploring the

charity of the passers-by in the name of Heaven, warning them of the

opportunity afforded of bestowing alms for the benefit of their souls.

The dogs were enjoying their time of rest, every now and then uttering a

growl of defiance if any stranger encroached on their districts. The

Galician water-carriers were filling their barrels at the fountains,

laughing and joking among themselves, strangers as they were in the

land, happy by nature, and independent of all the plots and conspiracies

which agitated the natives. Some women were washing at the tanks, and

striking the linen to rags against the stones, while they gaily sang in

chorus; while others, sitting at the corners of the streets, were

employed in roasting chestnuts in little earthen stoves, and calling on

the passers to buy. Fishermen were selling the produce of their nets,

or wild-fowl; country-women their poultry. Now a citizen might be seen

closely muffled up in his large cloak, more to hide the dress beneath

than to keep out the cold; then a gentleman would hasten along in his

bag-wig, and sword by his side, long flowered waistcoat, and deep

waisted coat, politely returning the salutations of all who bowed;

indeed, all the world was abroad, a few in carriages or on horseback,

but mostly on foot: it was not yet dinner time.

Among the pedestrians was our old friend Antonio, the cobbler, who had

long since given up his former occupation, and by many was supposed to

live completely on his wits--not a bad compliment to them, however. His

keen eye, as he walked along, observed all that was taking place around

him. He saw a beggar walk merrily to his post, kicking a dog out of his

way, and then ask alms in the character of a confirmed cripple. He

laughed--he was fond of laughing, somewhat bitterly oftentimes.

"There are a good many knaves in the world," he muttered, "of all

classes, from the lordly traitor, who would barter his country's honour

and safety for gold to supply his extravagance, to this loathsome wretch

in rags and tatters."

He next observed a boy stealing a coin from a blind man's hat placed

before him, when the seeming blind man, dealing a heavy blow, struck the

youthful vagabond to the ground.

"Ay, we can see sharply enough when our own interests are attacked, and

fight hard to defend them," said the Cobbler, as he walked on. "That

young rogue has learned a useful lesson, he will make sure that a man is

blind before he tries to pilfer his property."

Antonio passed through several streets, till he came to an open place.

There a crowd was collected round a man perched on a high stool, who was

selling nostrums, and making the people laugh by his wit and jokes: a

real object of pity lay at a doorway, half dead with starvation and

disease. A rich man passed by, looking coldly on the wretched beggar,

turning aside, and refused his earnest appeal for a copper to relieve

his hunger; but when he came within hearing of the quack, he stopped to

listen; when the latter, uttering one of his best jokes, and paying him

a well-timed compliment, he threw the knave a crown, and, laughing,

passed on.

"Such is the way of the world," thought the Cobbler. "The impudent

charlatan succeeds and grows rich, while the honest and humble poor man

is left to starve. The foolish rogues are soon hung; 'tis the cunning

ones who live and thrive. Bah! it makes me sick to think of it. What

fools men are! they will often confide in a plausible knave, when blunt

honesty is kicked out of doors."

The Cobbler saw much more in his walk, on which he made his

observations. He did not seem to have a very good opinion of the world

he lived in. Whether he thought worse of people than they deserved we

cannot pretend to say.

He now left the city behind, and, passing through the suburbs of Belem,

directed his course to the Quinta of the Marquis of Tavora. He came

under a garden-wall, in which was a window, and out of the window a pair

of sparkling black eyes were gazing. He kissed his own hand, for he

could not reach that of the lady, and she kissed hers in return; so he

went and stood as near her as he could get.

"Oh! my pretty Margarida, how I love you!" he began. At which words,

the eyes sparkled even more brightly than before. "I have many wishes,

and the first is, that I was on the other side of the wall."

"Hush! senhor, you must not say that; at least, not so loudly," softly

murmured Margarida; "some one will hear you, for people are passing

constantly this way; but the window is not so very high from the

ground."

"Ah, dear one! I could leap up in a moment, if you do not run away,"

said the gallant Cobbler.

"Oh! no, no, senhor! some one would see you to a certainty, while it is

light," answered the coy Senhora Margarida.

"I have many things to say to you, pretty one. When will you like to

hear them?" asked Antonio.

"Cannot you say them now, senhor?"

"Some one will hear me, you know. Wait till the evening, and then

nobody will see me jump in at the window. Remember to leave it open."

"I will forget to shut it," innocently answered Margarida. "But tell

me, senhor, are you really a fidalgo?"

"I will tell you all about it, with my other secrets, when I come at

night. Remember to forget to shut the window; and do not forget to come

yourself, Adeos for the present, my pretty charmer! I see some one

coming." And Antonio walked away, humming a tune, while the pair of

black eyes disappeared from the garden window.

If the Portuguese are fonder of one employment than of another, it is

looking out of window; they all do it, from the highest to the lowest.

There is so little mental or bodily exertion required for it; and there

is always something moving in the streets, either men, dogs, or rats.

Even watching a pig will afford amusement; and anything is preferable to

reading, working, or thinking; therefore they always have looked out of

windows, and always will, till their taste improves. Antonio proceeded

on till he came to the side of the river, where he sat himself down on

the bank, to wait till the evening, and to meditate. He thought a great

deal, light-hearted and merry as he seemed, often very gravely,

sometimes fiercely, as he remembered the foul wrongs and insults the

race to which he belonged had for centuries endured, and for which

treatment their cruel tyrants had sought every excuse which cunning

hypocrisy, or the fiercest bigotry, could invent, claiming ever the

authority of God for their cursed deeds. "Miscreants!" he muttered,

"where in the Christian's gospel can they find permission for the

rapine, murders, and cruelties, with which their souls have been stained

since the triumph of their faith? Fools! who practise not what they

preach, and yet expect to be believed." He would then think on for some

time, and, giving a deep-drawn sigh, would conclude with the

oft-repeated apophthegm, "What cannot be cured must be endured;" he

then, growing calmer, would turn to other subjects. "Yet," he

continued, soliloquising, "it is a hard office to bide this life of

concealment, of deceit, and treachery; but it must be endured till my

object is accomplished. The time draws near, happily, when my toils may

be at an end; and then, if faith can be placed in the word of man, I

shall reap the rich reward of all. Can I confide in him? Yes, 'tis his

interest to fulfil his promise. There is one thing troubles me more

than all the rest; how some men would laugh to hear me, if I confessed

it! My pretty Margarida! Now that girl is fully persuaded I love her

to desperation; and, assuredly, I have done my utmost to make her

believe so, to learn, through her, the secrets of the Tavora family.

They little think how closely the meshes of the net are drawn around

them, to enclose them ere long, and drag them to shore, as yonder

fishermen are now doing with their prey." As he thought this, he was

watching a party of fishermen hauling in their seine. "I must try and

make amends to Margarida, poor girl! I feel an interest in her. I did

not think she would so soon learn to love me. I was not born to be that

cursed wretch who would win a maiden's affections for the base, cowardly

satisfaction of tampering with them, and then deserting her. I leave

such work to the wealthy and high-born. May they reap their reward!"

The sun was now setting over the mouth of the Tagus, casting a broad,

glowing line of fire upon the smooth bosom of the stream, and tinging

the tower of Belem, the gothic spires of the church, and the hills

beyond, with its ruddy hue. Antonio rose, for he calculated that it

would be dark by the time he reached the Quinta of the Marquis of

Tavora. He met but few people on the way, nor were any near when,

without much difficulty, he clambered in at the window in the

garden-wall, which Margarida had, according to her promise, left

unbolted.

It was now as dark as it was likely to be in a star-light night.

Antonio carefully shut to the window, and looked around, but Margarida

was nowhere to be seen. He softly called her name, but she did not

answer. He then observed a building, which appeared to be a

summer-house, at the end of a walk. "Ah! she will probably go there to

look for me; and if any one by chance comes into the garden, I shall not

be exposed to view as I am here." He accordingly advanced towards it,

but when he arrived there, he found the door closed. He tried the

handle, but it was locked. He just then heard a step at a distance. He

listened attentively; it was too heavy for the elastic little feet of

his mistress. It approached nearer, and in the direction of the spot

where he stood. "I must find some place to hide in, or I shall be

caught," he muttered.

At the back of the summer-house there were some shrubs growing closely

together, a window overlooking them, which spot Antonio, as he looked

about, selected to conceal himself till the person who was coming near

had retired. He shrunk down on the ground, under the walls of the

building; and he had scarcely done so, when a person, applying the key

to the door, entered. Striking a light, the man lit a lamp on the

table, in the centre of the apartment, which, from the noise he made, he

appeared to be placing in order. After having performed this office, he

again opened the door, when, at that instant, Antonio heard a light step

coming along the path, and which he fancied he could recognise as

Margarida's. Of this he was soon convinced, by hearing a voice, which

he knew to be hers, exclaim--

"Oh! Senhor Ferreira, is that you? You quite frighten me! What are

you doing?"

"Let me rather ask you what you are doing here at this hour of the

evening, Senhora Margarida," was the answer.

"I came out to pick some flowers for my mistress, which I forgot to do

in the day-time, so, if you are gallant, you will come and assist me,"

said Senhora Margarida.

"An odd time, to pick flowers in the dark," answered the man-servant;

"but I cannot assist you now; I must return to the house."

"Many thanks for your gallantry, Senhor Ferreira," she responded, as he

turned away; "I dare say I shall find enough myself;" and she stooped

over the flower-beds, as if in search of flowers.

Antonio guardedly peeped out of his concealment, and seeing his mistress

alone, "Hist, Margarida, hist!" he whispered. "Come beneath the shade

of the summer-house; that prying servant will be less likely to observe

us."

"Oh, Senhor Antonio, I am so glad to have found you, for when I passed

by I found the window closed, and I was afraid you might not have got

in," said Margarida.

They sat themselves down on a stone bench placed against the side of the

building. Antonio, while declaring his affection for the young lady,

some of which he had really begun to feel, at the same time managed to

draw from her various pieces of information he was anxious to gain. A

few minutes had thus passed rapidly away, when the sound of approaching

footsteps was again heard.

"For the love of Heaven, conceal yourself," exclaimed Margarida, jumping

up and seizing a bunch of flowers, with which she had wisely provided

herself previously to coming into the garden. "They will see you, if

you attempt to reach the window. Down behind the summer-house. 'Tis

the young Marquis and some visitors. I must away." And she tripped

along the walk towards the house. "Who goes there?" exclaimed a stern

voice, as she passed the party by a different though parallel pathway.

"I have been gathering flowers, Senhor Duque--see, here they are,"

answered Margarida, quickly.

"Gathering flowers at this time of night, indeed! Say rather, looking

for a lover, senhora," exclaimed the voice; "think you we can

distinguish them in this light? Go, Manoel, and watch her safely into

the house--we must have no prying eyes and listening ears to what we are

about."

Manoel being despatched to follow Margarida until he saw her out of

their way, the party advanced and entered the summer-house, where, fresh

lamps being lit, they took their seats round the table which the servant

had arranged.

Antonio, in the mean time, unable to escape, was obliged to resume his

position among the bushes, expecting every instant that the party would

search round the building, and feeling confident from what he had learnt

from Margarida of their proceedings, that he should fall an instant

sacrifice to their fears. He was somewhat relieved when he heard their

feet on the floor of the summer-house, and their voices speaking in

tones which showed that they had no suspicion of the presence of a spy

upon their actions.

After waiting some time, the persons within the summer-house having

become highly excited in their discussion, whatever it was, Antonio

thought he might venture to move his position, so as to gain a view of

what was going forward. The shutters of the window, which looked over

the shrubbery in which he was concealed, were left partially open, so

that by carefully lifting his head among the branches of the evergreens,

he was able to see clearly into the room without incurring any risk of

being himself observed.

At one end of the table, sat, or rather now stood, the Duke of Aveiro,

who was, with vehement gestures, addressing the party: on each side were

various members and connexions of the Tavora family, among them being

the young Marquis and his brother, the Conde d'Atouquia, the old

Marchioness, and the Jesuit Malagrida.

"Ah! ah! thou old hypocrite," muttered Antonio, as he observed the

last-mentioned personage. "Wherever thou art there is sure to be

mischief brewing; but I have thee now, if I mistake not;" and, like an

Indian warrior approaching his foes, he crept close to the window,

placing himself behind the shutter, so that, although he could hear more

clearly, he was less able to distinguish what was taking place, till he

discovered a broad chink, and, by putting his eye to it, he had complete

command of the greater part of the room.

"The very persons who met at the Jesuit's vault down the river," he

thought to himself, "when they all fancied themselves so secure and

unobserved; as did yon mad priest deem himself hidden from the searching

eye of the Minister: yet, forsooth, he made a capital bait to catch

others. Ah! I am glad to find my young friend the Conde d'Almeida is

not among them, and he has certainly not fled the country, for I saw him

this very morning."

We do not intend to give the whole particulars of the conversation which

Antonio overheard; suffice it to say, that he heard enough to prove that

a dangerous and powerful conspiracy existed to overthrow the power of

the Minister; and more, that one had existed to destroy the sovereign,

fomented and encouraged by some of those now present, if indeed the

actual would-have-been assassins were not among them. Antonio noted

well every word they uttered, every gesture they made, words sufficient

to bring the speakers, as they themselves well knew, to the scaffold,

had they deemed that an ear was listening to them; but, infatuated as

they were, they triumphed in fancied security, calling on Heaven to aid

them in their wickedness. Now some were seen to draw their swords, and

to kiss the blades, as they ratified some dreadful oath; others grasped

their fire-arms, and vowed to use them to better effect than before;

when Malagrida stood up and blessed the assembled conspirators and their

cause.

Some movement now taking place among them, Antonio, fearful lest his

face might be perceived through the casement, stole back to his leafy

shelter; and fortunate was it for him that he did so, for some one,

perceiving that the shutter was unclosed, sent Manoel round to fasten

it. Antonio held his breath, hiding his face beneath his cloak, for the

man's feet almost touched his as he passed; and had not the eyes of the

latter been dazzled by the light within, he could not have avoided

perceiving him; as it was, the man performed his orders, and quickly

returned to hear what his superiors were saying. Suddenly the lights

were extinguished, and Antonio heard the party hurrying from the

building towards the house. He waited some further time, with eager

anxiety to bear the important information, for which he had so long

toiled, to his employer, till the sound of voices and footsteps had died

away. He listened attentively--not a sound was heard. He started from

his lair towards the garden window, which afforded the easiest means of

escape; for, if found in the grounds after what had occurred, he well

knew he must expect nothing short of death from the conspirators. As he

gained the front of the summer-house, what was his horror to perceive

two men standing beneath the porch before it, so earnestly engaged in a

whispered conversation, that they did not perceive him! He stepped back

cautiously a couple of paces, so as to be out of their sight, but was

afraid to retreat further, lest he might attract their notice. The

movement was not, however, entirely unremarked.

"Did you not hear a noise, Senhor Policarpio?" said one of the persons.

"Stay! listen, Manoel. I hear nothing. Oh, it was but the wind

rustling the leaves," answered Senhor Policarpio, and they continued the

subject of their discussion, but in so low a tone that it was impossible

to distinguish what they said.

Antonio waited, intending to dodge round to the back of the summer-house

as soon as Policarpio and his companion moved, when the sound of their

footsteps would conceal his own. He wished they would hasten, for he

longed to be off, to give the information he had gained; but minute

after minute passed by, and still they continued in the same place. His

impatience prompted him to make a bold push for the window, but his

prudence withheld him. At last they moved away, taking the walk leading

past the window, and he slid behind the summer-house; but what was his

vexation to hear them stop at the only outlet for escape that he was

aware of, one of the men exclaiming, "Curses on this window, 'tis the

second time it has blown open to-night; I will secure the bolts well

this time;" then followed a noise as if the bolts were driven down by a

stone.

The footsteps of the men receding, he again advanced from his

hiding-place, and, seeing no one, hurried to the window. It was

securely closed. He tried to force up the bolts, but they resisted his

efforts. He then groped about for the stone which had served the

purpose of a hammer to the others, and, after some time, having

discovered it, he attempted to drive up the bolts. He knocked away till

one only remained to set him at liberty, when suddenly a gleam of light

fell on the shutter before him, and, turning his head, to his dismay, he

beheld the two persons who he thought had entered the house hurrying

towards him. Not a moment was to be lost, if he would escape with his

life. He knocked away at the bolt, but it had been driven deep down.

"Death to the cursed spy!" shouted the voice of Senhor Policarpio, as he

rushed forward, with his sword gleaming in his hand. The threat did not

the less cause Antonio to endeavour to loosen the obstinate bolt. The

point of the sword was within a few paces of him, when the bolt gave

way. He threw open the shutter, and leaped on the window-sill.

Policarpio made a thrust with his rapier at him; but, jumping fearlessly

down, he alighted safely on the ground. Stopping not to see if any

followed, and diving among the narrow lanes in the neighbourhood, he was

soon safe from pursuit.

Volume 3, Chapter XIII.

The Prime Minister was seated in the private council chamber of the

King, to which we have frequently before introduced our readers. A lamp

stood on the table, throwing its light on numerous packets of papers

strewed around, and on the sheet on which he was earnestly employed in

writing.

Who would, we again ask, seek to occupy such a post as he filled? What

can make a man sacrifice his health, his strength, peace, happiness, and

safety,--to toil for hours while others sleep,--to bear the abuse of his

adversaries, the revilings of the mob, the obstinacy of coadjutors, and

the caprices of the Monarch,--but ambition? The ambition of some leads

them to noble ends; for others, it wins but the hatred of mankind. It

is ambition which excites the warrior to deeds of heroism,--the merchant

to gain wealth,--the poet, the painter, and the sculptor, to win fame;

and it is ambition which causes us to spend day after day, secluded in

our study, employed on this work--the ambition of gaining the

approbation of our countrymen.

Carvalho wrote on, unmindful of the lateness of the hour, when he heard

a knock at the door, and, ordering the person who knocked to enter, a

page appeared, informing him that one waited without who sought an

audience on some important matter, which would admit of no delay.

"Let him be admitted," said the Minister; and before a minute had

elapsed, Antonio stood before him. The attendants who had conducted him

thither, to guard against treachery, were ordered forthwith to retire.

"What information do you bring me, my friend?" inquired the Minister.

"That which you have long sought, please your Excellency," answered

Antonio.

"Ah! let me hear it without delay," said Carvalho, eagerly.

"I have learned the whole of the plot against the lives of your

Excellency and his Majesty, and discovered many of those engaged in it;"

and he gave an exact account of all which had taken place in the

summer-house, and the names of the persons assembled there, of which the

Minister took notes as he proceeded in his description.

"Now, then, ye haughty nobles, I have ye within my power!" exclaimed

Carvalho, exultingly. "Sooner will the vulture abandon his prey than I

will allow you to escape my grasp! Friend, you have well won any reward

you may please to ask,--the treasury shall supply you--"

"Stay, your Excellency," interrupted Antonio. "I before said, I serve

you not for money. I am, as you well know, of the race of Abraham; but

I am not, therefore, of necessity, mercenary. Think you that any gold

you can bestow could repay me for all I have endured to serve you,--for

the degradation, the toil, the dangers I have undergone,--the deceit,

the disguises, the watchfulness I have practised, for many years past,

because you assured me you could find no other to do the work you

required, in whom you could confide? Think you that it was for gold I

abandoned my home and my kindred, to mingle with the most base and vile

on earth, to curb their passions, and to guide them according to your

will?--that for this I introduced myself into the palaces of the rich

and powerful, to learn their secrets, and to act as a spy on their

actions? No! your Excellency has known me long, and knows me better.

What I ask, you have power to grant. I demand freedom for my people!

We have in all things conformed to the customs of those among whom we

dwell; to their religion, in every outward observance, which is all you

can require; we pay tithes to your priests; we give alms to the poor;

our manners, our language, have become the same; we obey the King and

the law; and yet have we not been allowed to enjoy the rights of

citizenship in the land which we enrich by our industry and our

commerce. A mark has been set upon us; and wherever we move, still is

the stigma of being New Christians attached to us. I demand, then, as

my reward, that you should abolish that invidious distinction, and that,

from henceforth, if we conform to the worship of your Church, we may

likewise enjoy all the privileges of the other subjects of his Majesty."

"Your demands, my friend, are somewhat extravagant," returned the

Minister, taken rather by surprise by Antonio's unexpected harangue;

"but I will consult his Majesty on the subject, and be guided by his

decision: if unfavourable to your wishes, you must make some other

request. You know well that, of myself, I have no power to grant this

one."

"Pardon me, your Excellency, I know well the power, both to will and

act, rests with you, and you alone," answered Antonio, vehemently. "And

this is the only reward which I seek, or will receive. If you grant it

me not, my labour has indeed been labour in vain."

Carvalho was secretly pleased with the disinterested, and, more than

that, the dauntless spirit of the speaker, so like his own, and perhaps

also with the confidence he placed in his power to fulfil his wishes.

The measure was, indeed, one he had before contemplated, and which he

was anxious to bring about, though he was too good a diplomatist to

acknowledge his intentions, or to commit himself by making any definite

promise to perform what he might afterwards have reason to wish left

undone; he therefore gave Antonio a vague answer to his petition.

"The matter you propose, my good friend, is one of vast importance,

which will require mature deliberation before I can give you any hopes

favourable to your wishes; but, believe me, I will do my utmost to gain

that justice for your people which has so long been denied them: in the

mean time, you may perform for me many more important services; for to

crush this vile conspiracy at present demands all my attention."

"I would willingly serve your Excellency and the state yet another year,

to gain justice for my people," answered Antonio. "In your word have I

trusted, and in that do I still trust. Has your Excellency any further

commands?"

"None, my friend; for this night you may retire. Call here to-morrow

morning, and I shall claim your services."

As the door closed upon Antonio, the Minister, securing most of his

papers in the bureau, took in his hand the notes he had made from

Antonio's information, and, late as was the hour, repaired to the

chamber of the King.

Joseph was about to retire to his couch when the Minister entered: his

cheek was thinner and paler even than usual, from sickness and

confinement, though he moved his arms without difficulty, as if

perfectly recovered from the wounds he had received. Re-seating himself

in a large, high-backed arm-chair, before a table on which his supper

had been spread, he desired, in rather a querulous tone, to be informed

why business was thus brought before him.

"It is a matter of the utmost importance, which will admit of no delay,

Sire," answered Carvalho. "I have, at length, the strongest evidence of

who were the perpetrators of the sacrilegious outrage against your

Majesty."

The King's tone and manner instantly changed. "Ah! and you can prevent

any like attempt for the future, my good friend," he answered eagerly.

"Let me hear the particulars."

On this the Minister laid before him several papers, with the notes he

had taken of Antonio's account, and a long list of the persons he had

cause to suspect; many of whom Antonio had also mentioned. As the King

read on, Carvalho leaned over him, making his observations on the

different points of the case.

"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed Joseph, his voice trembling with agitation as

his eye glanced down the long list of names. "Here are many of the most

powerful and wealthy nobles of my land. It is impossible that they can

all be traitors. Some of them I have ever deemed the most loyal and

obedient of my subjects."

"Still greater, therefore, is their treachery, Sire; and greater must be

their punishment," returned Carvalho, firmly.

"But what cause can they have to seek my death?" said the King. "Have

they not already all they can desire? Do they not enjoy the highest

rank, and fill all the posts of honour I have to give?"

"As their ambition and pride are boundless, they would create yet higher

ones," answered Carvalho. "If your Majesty would again enjoy security

and repose, these guilty persons, without distinction of their rank or

station, must suffer the penalty of their crimes."

"Alas! I fear it must be so," said the King, hesitatingly; "but I had

never supposed my nobles could have been guilty of so great a crime.

Surely the assassins must have been villains of a lower order. Aveiro,

the Tavoras, never could have done the deed."

"There are strong proofs of their guilt; and on their trial there will

yet appear stronger," answered the Minister. "On my head be their

blood, if they be innocent. I must request your Majesty to sign these

warrants for their apprehension, and I will issue them when I see a

favourable opportunity. We must proceed with caution, for they have a

powerful party in their favour. Unless this is done, I cannot, Sire,

answer from day to day for the security of your life or crown."

The King unwillingly took the blank warrants which the Minister had

brought, and signing them, returned them to him, as he wrote on each the

name of some person from the list before him.

"According to the information I receive, I may have occasion to

apprehend some of these criminals before your Majesty rises to-morrow

morning; but perhaps it may be advisable to allow some days further to

elapse, that any others who are engaged in the conspiracy may further

commit themselves," observed Carvalho, collecting the warrants.

"You have on your list the name of the Marquis of Tavora; but he is not

mentioned as having been present at any of the meetings with the

others," said the King.

"But most of his family were, Sire," returned the Minister. "They must

inevitably suffer, as being the most guilty; and he must not be allowed

to escape, lest he endeavour to avenge their deaths. He, also, in the

eye of the law, is equally criminal, for he might have prevented their

guilt; and the safety of the state demands his punishment."

"Be cautious that none but the guilty suffer," said the King.

"That shall be my care, Sire," answered Carvalho. "Your Majesty's

sacred life has been, and will be still, in jeopardy, if their

punishment is not severe; but I will make their fate such a lesson to

others, that, from thenceforth, treason shall be unknown in the land;

and these proud fidalgos shall no longer insult your Majesty with their

haughty bearing. Have I, Sire, your full authority to act as I deem

requisite on this momentous occasion?"

"You have, you have, my friend," answered the King. "Your judgment is

always right."

"Then, haughty fidalgos, you are mine own," muttered the Minister, as he

retired from the presence of the King.

The meanest subject in those realms slept more calmly that night than

did King Joseph and his Prime Minister.

Volume 3, Chapter XIV.

The young Count d'Almeida had, since his arrival in Lisbon, been leading

a life of complete retirement, at the quiet abode Pedro had selected for

him. He had withdrawn himself from the society of the Tavoras, even

from that of young Joze de Tavora, whom he could not entirely forgive

for the deceit he had practised on him, in leading him into the meeting

of the conspirators on the fatal night of the attempted assassination of

the King. He could not banish from his mind the suspicion that some of

the persons he had there met were, in some way or other, connected with

that diabolical outrage; and he felt assured, from knowing the character

of the Minister, that it would not, as people supposed, be overlooked;

so that, notwithstanding the apparent tranquillity which reigned in the

city, the culprits would, sooner or later, be discovered. Of his own

safety, though innocent of any criminal design, he was not at all

satisfied; and each day that he rose he felt might be the last without

the walls of a prison.

His friend, Captain Pinto, was at sea in the frigate he now commanded;

and she was not, it was said, expected in the Tagus for some time.

When he inquired for Senhor Mendez, he was informed that, as soon as his

health had been restored, he had sailed for England, nor did any one

know when he was likely to return; so that Luis found himself deprived

of the advice of the two persons in whom he could most confide. For his

cousin, the Father Jacinto, he had long conceived the most complete

distrust; and had not, therefore, even informed him of his return to

Lisbon, nor did he believe the holy Jesuit was aware of the

circumstance.

Our fair readers will naturally inquire if he had forgotten Donna Clara.

He would have been unworthy of the pen of an historian if such could

have been possible. He loved her as devotedly as before their

separation, even though the last glow of hope was almost extinguished in

his heart; but the spark still existed, for the fatal vow had not yet

been pronounced, which, like death, must tear her from him for ever,

and, till then, he would hope on: his love, he felt, could end but in

his grave.

After some months of quietude, Lisbon was aroused from a lethargy (into

which she was, in those days, rather more apt to fall than at present,

when, every six months or so, she undergoes the excitement of a

revolution) by the marriage of the eldest daughter of the Prime Minister

with the Count Sampayo, to celebrate which important event preparations

on a grand scale were made throughout the city. The King, who had not

yet appeared in public, would, it was said, give a grand ball at the

palace, to which all the first fidalgos were invited; and the foreigners

had also issued invitations for a magnificent fete, which they purposed

giving on the occasion, at their own ballroom, which might vie with any

other in the kingdom.

The fidalgos, unsuspicious of danger, flocked into Lisbon from all parts

of the country; some really anxious to pay their respects to their

sovereign, and perhaps their court to his Minister; others, from very

different motives, afraid of absenting themselves.

The Count d'Almeida had determined, on this occasion, to enter for the

first time into society, since the death of his father. Late in the

day, he rode out into the country, as was his usual custom; and, after

proceeding some distance, he observed a large body of cavalry advancing

rapidly towards the city. To avoid them, he turned his horse into a

cross road, which led him into another highway, when he found himself in

the rear of a regiment of infantry. By making a still larger circuit he

hoped to escape the annoyance of having to pass them; but, to his

surprise, he again encountered another body of troops.

At last, he determined to return homeward, wondering for what purpose

the garrison of Lisbon was thus so suddenly increased; and, as he

approached the barriers, he found each avenue to the city strongly

guarded; he being allowed to enter, but several persons, who seemed

anxious to go out, were detained without receiving any explanation.

We often blame ourselves that ideas should not have occurred to us, when

after circumstances have proved the great advantage we might have

derived from them; and so Luis had cause to think before he closed his

eyes in sleep on that eventful night. He arrived at his solitary home

without meeting any one from whom to inquire the cause of the sudden

movement of the troops. While dressing for the fete, he inquired of

Pedro if he had heard anything on the subject; but the latter, whose

mind was full of the magnificence of the preparations, could only inform

him that it was reported, a few more military had marched into the city

to attend a review which the King was to hold on the following day.

Satisfied with this answer, Luis drove down to the palace, in front of

which a large body of guards were drawn up, while carriages in great

numbers were thronging to the spot. As he entered the hall of the

palace, his eyes were dazzled by the brilliant illumination which met

his view from hundreds of lights suspended from the roof, and above the

broad staircase in front, glancing on the polished arms of the guards,

who filled every part except a narrow passage for the guests between

them. A military band, stationed on each side, was playing some loud

and martial airs, which drowned the voices of any who attempted to

speak. Luis passed on, and had reached the foot of the stairs, when two

officers stepped forward.

"The Senhor Conde d'Almeida," said one, politely bowing.

"The same," answered Luis.

"You will please step this way, senhor, by the order of the King,"

returned the officer, opening a door on one side, through which Luis was

obliged to pass, and which was closed directly after them. His

attendants then conducted him down a long passage, which appeared truly

gloomy after the blaze of light he had quitted, and to his inquiries as

to where they were going, they held an ominous silence. He could not

but feel alarmed at the extraordinary circumstance, though he had but

short time for reflection, before he reached the opposite side of the

palace, when his former conductors delivered him into the custody of two

others, who seemed prepared to expect him.

"What is the meaning of this, senhores?" he asked.

"You are our prisoner, Senhor Conde, by order of the King," answered one

of his new guards. "Please to accompany us, a carriage awaits you."

The men placing themselves one on each side of him, so that escape was

impossible, led him down a flight of steps to a small door, on the

outside of which more soldiers were stationed, and where a coach was in

waiting. The soldiers then formed round the coach, keeping all

spectators at a distance, while his guards desired him to enter it,

seating themselves, with drawn weapons, opposite to him. The coach then

drove quickly away, while another appeared to take its place.

"Ah!" thought Luis, "I am, alas! not the only wretch who will this night

be deprived of liberty."

He was anxious to learn of his attendants whither they were conducting

him, but the only answer he could draw from them was far from

satisfactory.

"Silence, senhor," said one. "Our orders are to treat you with every

respect but, if you attempt to speak, or to cry out for assistance, we

are to run our swords into your body."

After this, he deemed it the more prudent plan to keep silence, lest

they might think it necessary to obey their orders to the letter.

As he was driven along through the dark and narrow streets, he knew not

whither, without the remotest chance of escape, his meditations were

melancholy in the extreme. He could not doubt that he was going to that

dismal bourne from which so many travellers never return--a dungeon, or

from which, too probably, he might be led forth but to the scaffold.

After driving for a considerable distance, he again ventured to ask his

destination, but a gruff "Silence, senhor! remember!" was the only

answer he received. At length the carriage stopped. He heard the heavy

sound of bolts being withdrawn, and chains dropped, when the mules again

moved onwards a few paces. He could hear the gates, through which he

had passed, again close with a loud grating and clanging noise, which

struck a chill to his heart, and he was presently afterwards desired to

alight. As he stepped from the vehicle, he looked round him, to

endeavour to discover to what place he had been conveyed, and, by the

glare of a torch which one of the under-gaolers held, it seemed to him

that he was in a small court-yard, surrounded by lofty walls, and in

front of a small door thickly studded with iron bolts. His attention

was, however, quickly directed to other subjects, by the door opening,

and the appearance of a personage who announced himself as the Governor

of the prison, and to whom, with the most polite bows, his former

attendants now delivered him. He was a small man, habited in a complete

costume of black, with a placid expression of countenance, and a mild,

conciliating tone of voice, more suited to a physician than the keeper

of a prison, it appeared, on the first glance, as many of those

unfortunate persons who came under his government supposed; but, on a

further acquaintance, a most ominous gleam was observed to shoot from

his cold grey eye, when the smile which usually played round his lips

would vanish, and a frown, in spite of himself, would gather on his

brow, betokening too clearly his real character.

The Governor's first address was cordial in the extreme, though Luis

would willingly have dispensed with his hospitality.

"You are welcome, Senhor d'Almeida, to my abode, and all which it

contains is at your service," he began. "I see you still wear your

sword. I beg your pardon, but I must request you to deliver it up to

me. None here wear arms but the guards, nor will you need it for your

protection. We take very good care of our guests."

Luis, as he was desired, unbuckled his sword, and, without speaking,

delivered it into the hands of the Governor.

"Thank you, Senhor Conde," continued the latter personage. "It is a

pretty weapon, and I will take the greatest care of it for you. I will

now, by your leave, conduct you to your apartment. It is rather small,

and somewhat damp; but, to say the truth, we have but little room to

spare, for we are likely to be crowded soon, and you will have plenty of

companions. However, I am of a hospitable disposition, and I like to

see my mansion full; yet I know not if you will be able to enjoy much of

each other's society, for our rules are rather severe in that respect."

While the Governor was thus running on, he was conducting Luis through

several arched passages, a man preceding them with a lantern, while four

others followed close after, armed with drawn swords, as a slight hint

to the prisoner that his only course must be obedience to orders. They

then descended a flight of stone steps to regions where, it seemed, the

light of day could never penetrate, so damp and chill struck the air

they breathed.

"We lodge you on the ground-floor, Senhor Conde," observed the facetious

Governor. "It has its advantages and disadvantages. You will find some

amusement in hunting the rats and toads, which are said to be rather

numerous, though I confess that, in winter, the climate does not agree

with some constitutions--perhaps it may with yours. Oh, here we are."

Producing a large bunch of keys, he ordered one of the men to unlock a

door, before which they stood.

"Enter, Senhor Conde. You will not find many luxuries, and, as for

conveniences, I must supply those you require."

Luis felt it was useless striving against fate, so he unresistingly

walked into what was, in truth, a wretched dungeon, with little more

than sufficient height to stand upright, and about eight feet square.

It contained a pallet, destitute of any bedding, a single chair, and a

rough deal table, with a pitcher to hold water. The only means of

ventilation was through a narrow aperture, sloping upward, far too small

to allow a human body to pass, even had it not been closely barred both

inside and out.

"I have other guests to attend on, Senhor Conde, so I must beg you to

excuse my rudeness in quitting you so soon," said the Governor, as one

of the under-gaolers lighted a small lamp which stood on the table,

while the others withdrew. "I will send you such bedding as I can

procure. However, for your consolation, I can assure you that some of

your friends will be worse lodged to-night than you are. I wish you

farewell, senhor!"

And, before Luis had time to make any answer to these rather doubtful

expressions, the polite Governor had disappeared, and, the door being

closed, barred, and bolted, he found himself alone, and a state

prisoner. We need not describe how he felt. Most people, in a like

situation, would have felt the same--deprived of liberty, which, with

the greater number of men, next to life, is dearer than all else. To

some, life, without it, is valueless, and eagerly do they look forward

to the moment when, released from all mortal bonds, their fetterless

souls may range through the boundless regions of a happier world, in

wondering admiration of the mighty works of their Creator. Such has

been the dream of many a hapless prisoner, for many years doomed to pine

on in gloom and wretchedness, waiting, in anxious expectation, for the

time of his emancipation, which, day after day, has been cruelly

deferred, till hope and consciousness have together fled.

As the sound of the falling bolts struck his ear, Luis stood for some

minutes gazing at the iron door, like one transfixed. He then took

several rapid steps the length of his narrow prison, and, at last,

throwing himself on the chair, and drawing his cloak, which he had

fortunately retained, around him--for his gala costume was but

ill-suited to protect him against the cold and dampness of the season--

he gave way to bitter and hopeless thought.

The predictions of the Governor were but too correct. During the

greater part of the night, Luis could plainly hear the arrival of

carriage after carriage. Then came the sound of many feet, the barring

and bolting of doors, the fall of chains, and all the accompanying

noises to be expected in a prison. After about an hour, his own door

opened, when he observed a guard of soldiers drawn up in front, and two

attendants entered, with a mattress and coverlids, which they threw on

the bedstead, placing some coarse bread and fish before him on the

table; and then, without uttering a syllable, they again withdrew.

In the mean time, the gaieties in the city continued unabated, though

all people felt a more than usual degree of restraint on their spirits

in the palace. To the great displeasure of many, the King did not make

his appearance. Indeed, some suspected he had never intended to do so,

though his Minister took upon himself to perform the necessary honours,

and, moving among the crowd, he allowed no one of importance to pass

without a word or so of compliment. One witty nobleman, indeed,

whispered to another,--"If King Joseph is dead, King Sebastian has come

to life again!" Before many days were over, he had cause to repent his

words. Several persons who were expected by their friends did not make

their appearance, though it was affirmed some were even seen on their

way thither.

"Where is the Conde d'Atouquia?" asked the young Count Villela. "He

owes me two hundred crowns; the dice were unfortunate to him, but I wish

to give him his revenge, or I may, perhaps, double the sum."

"He followed me through the hall of the passage, but I saw no more of

him," was the answer.

It was an admirable device of the Minister's to prevent a disturbance,

had he dreaded one; for all those whom he had reason to suspect were,

like Luis, requested to walk on one side, when they were quietly

apprehended, and driven off to prison, without any of their friends

suspecting what had become of them.

The residences of the various members of the Tavora family were

surrounded by troops, so that none could escape. The old Marchioness

was one of the first seized. She had retired to her chamber, where her

attendants were unrobing her, when a party of men burst into the palace

and, without ceremony, entering her room, the chief of the police

commanded her to accompany them without delay. Allowing her scarcely

time to resume her gown, she was hurried to a carriage in waiting for

her, and, without permitting her to communicate with any one, was driven

to the Convent of Grillos, at some little distance from Lisbon. This

convent was one belonging to the most rigid of all the monastic orders

in Portugal; and tales were told of the deeds done within its walls,

which make one shudder at their bare recital. It possessed damp and

gloomy passages, and subterraneous chambers, into which the light of day

never penetrated. The only garment which the hapless recluses wore was

one of the coarsest cloth; their food, which they ate off plates of

rough earthenware, was vegetables, without salt; and the singing of

hymns, and the monotonous service of the Church, was their only

employment. In this lugubrious retreat every warm affection of the

heart was chilled--the thoughts of all its inmates were sad and

mournful; for no one would have willingly entered it, unless impelled by

the remorse of conscience, for some heavy crime, in hopes of gaining

forgiveness from Heaven, by penance and fasting. The unfortunate Donna

Leonora was committed to the charge of the Lady Abbess of this

establishment, with strict orders to allow her no possible chance of

escape, to ensure which a guard was also stationed outside the building.

Here she was left, after being informed that every member of her family

was likewise imprisoned.

When the officers sent to apprehend the Marquis arrived at his palace,

they found that he had quitted home, and was supposed to be at the house

of his sister, the Countess of --, whither they immediately proceeded.

He was engaged in conversation with that lady, when a servant entered,

with alarm on his countenance, to inform him that some persons were

inquiring for him below, who were evidently emissaries of the Minister.

"Oh! do not venture down, then," exclaimed the Countess. "Conceal

yourself here till you can fly elsewhere for safety; for, depend on it,

the Minister contemplates some injury to you."

"I feel myself guiltless of any crime against the state, and fear not

his malice," replied the Marquis. "I will see what the persons require,

and return to you directly."

"Oh, in mercy, do not go, my brother," reiterated the Countess,

endeavouring to detain him. "I have lately had sad forebodings that

some danger was impending over you, and now, alas! they are about to be

fulfilled."

The Marquis having with difficulty, for the moment, calmed his sister's

fears, proceeded down stairs, when, no sooner had he reached the hall,

than he was surrounded by armed men, the leader of whom peremptorily

demanded his sword.

"I shall give that to no one but my sovereign, to whom I shall this

instant go, to learn the cause of this insolent outrage," answered the

Marquis, endeavouring to pass on. "Let my carriage be brought to the

door this instant."

"My orders are peremptory," returned the officer. "I must conduct you

forthwith to prison."

"To prison!" said the Marquis, starting, "of what crime am I accused?"

"Of high treason," answered the officer. "Thus much I am permitted to

inform you; the other members of your family are already in custody, and

I am ordered to conduct your Excellency to the same prison--this is my

warrant;" and he presented a paper, which the Marquis took, glancing his

eye over it.

"I see it possesses his Majesty's signature, and that I never disobey,"

he answered. "Do your duty, senhor; I am ready to accompany you; but I

should first wish to change my dress at my own palace."

"I have no power to permit it: your Excellency must repair forthwith to

the prison."

The Marquis, without deigning further reply, stepped at once into his

carriage, which, surrounded by a body of cavalry, drove quickly away.

It stopped at length before a building lately repaired by orders of the

Minister,--no one had been able to understand for what purpose; where,

before the earthquake, wild beasts had been confined, as objects of

curiosity; but at the time of that event it had been thought necessary

to destroy them, for fear of their getting loose. He was here

unceremoniously ordered to alight, and conducted, between guards, into

the interior, where a person who acted as governor of the new prison--a

creature of the Minister--led the way, without speaking, to a cell, the

last occupant of which had been an untamed lion. It contained no other

furniture than such as had served the wild beast of the forest, a bundle

of straw scattered on one side forming the only couch. Into this place

the unhappy nobleman was thrust, the door was closed upon him, and he

was left to ruminate on the cause of his apprehension, and the probable

fate he might expect, judging from the barbarous treatment he now

experienced.

Volume 3, Chapter XV.

Our history carries us once more to the country-house of the Duke of

Aveiro at Azeitao, where the noble owner had arrived the morning after

the family meeting at the Quinta of the Marquis of Tavora, of which

Antonio had so unexpectedly become a witness. The Duke, who was

supposed to be still in the country at that time, had secretly visited

Lisbon for the occasion, where he had now left his confidant, Senhor

Policarpio, to watch the progress of events, and to give him timely

notice of what was taking place. So confident was he of the success of

their plans, and of the Minister's entire want of suspicion that he was

in any way connected with the attempt on the life of the King, that he

would listen to none of the warnings which some of his more sagacious

friends had lately sent him. One contained but the following

lines:--"Beware of the tiger and the lion!--if, perchance, you fall into

their den, they will devour you." Another letter was rather more

explicit:--"I fear that our meeting will be rather more numerous than it

ought to be. A secret is out when many people know it, and on these

occasions a man requires three heads under his cap."

These letters arrived by the post, and had the infatuated Duke examined

them well, he would have discovered that the seals had been previously

broken. After reading them, he threw them aside, with an exclamation of

disdain. "My worthy friend truly seems to have a mighty fear of this

Sebastiao Joze; but we will soon show him which is the tiger to be

dreaded," he observed.

The very day previous to the apprehension of the Marquis of Tavora and

his family, the Duke received notice from a friend that a vessel was

prepared, and would sail that evening, recommending him to escape in

time from the storm which was then brewing; but, with the most

extraordinary infatuation, he refused to take advantage of the offer,

declaring his conviction that no injury could possibly be done him. His

Duchess, in whom he had not ventured to confide, and who had long

suffered from dreadful suspicions that he was implicated in the

conspiracy, in vain also urged him to fly the country.

"What! fair lady, and quit these realms which may soon be my own?" he

answered. "No!--I put more confidence in the prophecies of the holy

Father Malagrida than to do so--his promises will not fail me."

His friend set sail without him, and escaped. We shall see how far

Malagrida's words were made good. Yet, reader, condemn not the mad

Jesuit alone; there are many of his class, in the present day, who would

equally lead their deluded followers to destruction, did they not,

fortunately for themselves, live in happier times, and under a more

enlightened government, without having their own wisdom, we suspect, to

thank for their safety.

The Duke had just risen, and was seated, in his morning-gown, in the

room he usually inhabited, when his son, the young Marquis of Gouvea,

entered, with a gun in his hand, equipped for a shooting expedition.

The youth was in high spirits at the thoughts of his day's sport; and

the father, with his many faults, was proud of his noble boy, and

blessed him as he parted from him.

Scarcely had the young Marquis quitted the house, when Senhor

Policarpio, with disordered dress, and covered with dust, rushed into

the presence of his master. "Fly, my lord!" he exclaimed,--"we are

betrayed, and all is discovered! There is not a moment to lose: the

Marquis of Tavora and all his family were apprehended last night, and

the moment I heard of it I hurried off here to warn you of your danger."

"Whither can I fly?" exclaimed the Duke. "It is useless; besides, no

one will dare to injure me. Even that bold plebeian, Sebastiao Joze,

would not venture so far."

"Pardon me, your Excellency, then," answered Policarpio; "I feel very

certain that he will venture to hang me, if he can catch me, so I must

take care of my own life." And, without waiting to hear anything his

master might wish to say further, he hurried from the apartment.

His first care was to go to his own room, and to collect in a bag all

the money he had hoarded up. He then threw off the garments he wore,

and dressed himself in some ragged ones, which he had brought under his

cloak. The latter garment served to conceal his new costume, as,

seizing his bag of coin, he hastened from the house, unnoticed by any

one. He took the least frequented way across the estate, stopping every

now and then to listen and to look around, lest any guards might be

approaching. He then, after quitting his master's property, hurried

across the country, and halted not for many miles, till he arrived in

the centre of a pine-forest, through which ran a clear and tranquil

brook. Having looked carefully around, he sat himself down on the bank,

and, drawing a knife from his pocket, he deliberately cut off every

particle of his hair, throwing it, as he did so, into the water. His

next operation was to scratch the entire surface of his face and neck,

and the greater part of his legs and hands, with his knife, rubbing them

over at the same time with an ointment he had provided. With this

application the skin became swollen and discoloured to a frightful

degree, so that, after a few minutes had passed, it would have been

utterly impossible, even for the most intimate acquaintance, to have

recognised him. He next tore and dirtied still more the garments he

wore, and, cutting a rough staff from a branch of a fallen tree, he left

the spot with the exact appearance of a loathsome and wandering beggar.

For many years was that wretched figure seen roaming from spot to spot,

expecting every instant to be recognised, daring to confide in no one,

without a friend in the world, conscience-stricken and miserable, yet

clinging to life--no one suspecting that beneath those rags was hidden

the atrocious criminal, Joseph Policarpio.

We must now return to the Duke of Aveiro. For some time he would not

believe the account Policarpio had given him; but sat waiting, every

instant expecting his return, to give him further information, when his

servant, Manoel Ferreira (who, at the particular desire of Policarpio,

had, for obvious reasons, transferred his services from the Marquis to

him), rushed into the room with the information, that an officer of

justice, and a considerable body of armed men, were approaching the

house.

He now, for the first time, showed some symptoms of comprehending his

danger; and, when his Duchess, entering the apartment, and throwing

herself at his feet, entreated him to fly, he no longer hesitated to

comply with her urgent prayer. He hastened to the window, which

commanded a view of the entrance to the grounds, and there, at a few

paces off only, he beheld a body of cavalry, advancing rapidly up the

avenue. He stood for a moment, irresolute what course to pursue.

"Come, my lord, we must not stay here to be taken like rats in a trap,"

exclaimed Manoel, whose impatience had become excessive. "We have yet

time to escape into the woods, where we may remain concealed till we

learn the worst that is likely to happen to us."

"Oh! follow Manoel's advice," added the Duchess. "I will stay, and

endeavour to delay the police."

"Close every door and window in the house," she cried to the other

servants, who crowded in to learn what was the matter. "Haste, haste!

not a moment is to be lost--your master's life depends on your alacrity.

We may hold out for some time, before they suspect we are deceiving

them."

While the servants hurried off to obey her orders, she took her

husband's hand, and led him to a small door, at the back of the

building, whence he might escape across a field, into the woods which

surrounded the Quinta. She here resigned him to Manoel; for so

completely had terror now mastered him, that he seemed incapable of

guiding his own steps, while she retired to an upper window to watch his

progress.

The Duchess gazed anxiously from the window. She saw her husband pass

through the garden, without being observed; and he had already crossed

more than half way the field which separated it from the wood, when the

tramp of horses sounded in the paved court, in front of the building.

No one yet followed him. A loud knocking was now heard at the

hall-door, and a voice, in an authoritative tone, demanded admittance in

the King's name. She longed to watch, until he was in comparative

safety; yet she feared, lest the servants, becoming alarmed, might open

the door to his pursuers, when his capture must be inevitable; for,

exposed to view, as he now was, from every upper window at the back of

the house, they could scarcely avoid seeing him, as they hurried through

the rooms in search of him. Casting a last glance in the direction he

was pursuing, she hastened down stairs, where she found most of the

servants collected in the hall, consulting as to the prudence of

admitting the emissaries of justice. The blows on the door were

repeated with greater violence; the old major-domo, trembling with

alarm, had his hand on a bolt, about to withdraw it.

"Would you murder your master?" she exclaimed, seizing the old man's

arm. "If you are men, protect him to the last; I will be answerable to

these people for all that may happen."

With prayers and commands, she then persuaded the domestics to retire to

the upper part of the house, whither she followed them; and, throwing

open a window, she inquired, in a calm voice, the object of the visit of

the military.

"We come to demand the body of Don Joze de Mascarenhas, Duke of Aveiro,"

answered the Desembargador, the officer of justice, who had charge of

the party. "If he does not forthwith deliver himself up to our lawful

authority, we shall instantly proceed to force open the door."

"Let me first see the warrant for his apprehension, and I will then obey

your commands, if I find you speak the truth," returned the Duchess,

anxious by any excuse to gain time.

"That cannot be," answered the officer. "Either at once open the door,

or we must find some other means to make an entrance."

"Do so at your peril," said the Duchess, firmly. "The Duke does not

feel disposed to allow any stranger to enter his house; but, if you will

wait, I will go and consult his wishes with regard to our proceedings;"

and, closing the window, she hurried away to the back of the house,

leaving her enemies under the belief that the Duke was still within.

The servants were running backwards and forwards, wringing their hands,

and sobbing with alarm, as they entreated her to allow them to throw

open the door. Again insisting on their obeying her orders, she looked

forth towards the wood.

"Oh! Heaven protect him!" she exclaimed, as she saw the Duke and his

attendant, still at some short distance from the wood. "In two minutes

more he will be hidden from their view."

Scarcely had the Duchess uttered these words, when again the loud blows

on the door resounded through the house. Again they were repeated; a

crashing noise, as of wood rent asunder, was heard. The women shrieked,

and fled in all directions to hide themselves, followed by the

men-servants, except a page of the Duke's, who, seizing a sword, seemed

determined to defend his mistress from insult. The door was thrown

down, the tramp of feet echoed through the hall, heavy steps were heard

ascending the stairs, but the Duchess heeded them not; her gaze was

fixed on her lord. A few paces more and the trees would have concealed

him, when the door of the apartment was thrown open, and several men

rushed in. She could endure no longer, and uttering a cry of despair,

she sank, fainting, on the ground. The page in vain attempted to

prevent the soldiers from approaching the window; he was soon disarmed

and bound, when, at that moment, the officer of justice entering, his

keen eye caught sight of the persons of the fugitives in the distance.

He at once guessing who they were, and the reason of the Duchess's

refusal to admit the party, despatched some of his followers in pursuit.

The Duke's courage had revived on finding that no one followed, and he

was congratulating himself on his chance of escape, when, as he and

Manoel had just entered the wood, the latter, turning a glance towards

the house, beheld, to his dismay, several persons emerging from the

garden.

"On, on, my lord! we are pursued!" he exclaimed.

"Then all is lost!" cried the Duke, abandoning himself to despair.

"Not so, your Excellency. By plunging deeper into the wood, we may find

some spot where, throwing ourselves on the ground, we may remain

concealed till the soldiers have passed by," the servant answered.

The Duke caught at the idea as a drowning man will at a straw; and, his

courage once more reviving, they ran forward among the trees, completely

screened from the view of those who were on the other side of the field.

They ran for life and liberty, straining every nerve, and exerting

every faculty, to escape, while their pursuers were urged on in the

chase by the hopes of the reward they expected to receive, and the

excitement of hunting a fellow-creature. We leave the case to moral

philosophers to determine which have the most powerful incentive, the

hunted, or the blood-hounds thirsting for their blood; though we should

be inclined to award it to the latter. The first can but, at the worst,

be captured and slain, while the hunters may gloat over their prey, and

talk in after times of the deeds they have done.

The Duke and his servant now reached a deep dell, to cross which was

absolutely necessary; yet, on mounting on the opposite side, they must

be exposed to observation.

"We are lost!" cried the Duke again.

"No, no, your Excellency," returned Manoel. "Quick! quick! it may prove

our salvation. See those piles of wood heaped up at the bottom, which

the wood-cutters have left, we may crawl beneath some of them, and the

soldiers will, probably, in their haste, not think of stopping to search

for us."

This being the only feasible plan, they hurried down the bank towards

the piles of wood. They could hear the shouts of their pursuers, just

entering the forest, as they reached their place of refuge. A quantity

of branches and brushwood had been cut down, and lay scattered about.

These they hastily collected together against the piles of newly-cut

wood, when, an instant before the foremost pursuer had reached the

summit of the bank, they crept beneath the heap. Onward came the

hunters in full cry. They rushed down the glen.

"He has gained the opposite bank," cried one.

"Yes, I just now caught sight of his dress among the trees," shouted

another.

"Hurra for the reward of the lucky one who captures him!" echoed

several.

"Courage, comrades! Onward, on!"

The Duke trembled with alarm, as these sounds reached his ear. The

tramp of feet was heard hurrying close by the place of their

concealment--they passed--they mounted the bank,--their voices grew less

distinct, and at greater distances from each other, as if they had

extended their line. Gradually the noises altogether ceased, and the

Duke and his companion breathed more freely. Manoel ventured to look

out, and, as far as he could see, no one appeared.

"What shall we now do, my good Manoel?" asked his master.

"We must remain quietly here till the night," was the answer; "we may

then with some degree of safety be able to reach the interior of the

country before the morning breaks; but never must we allow ourselves to

be discovered by daylight on the road."

"This is a very uneasy posture I am in," observed the Duke.

"It is better than your Excellency would enjoy on the scaffold," pithily

answered the servant; and the master made no further complaints. "Hark!

what sound is that? Footsteps approach--silence, for our lives!"

whispered Manoel.

When the Desembargador had despatched the soldiers in pursuit of the

fugitives, he had also ordered the Notary, Senhor de Leiro, to accompany

them, an office that respectable personage was not very well qualified

to perform, seeing that, although his fingers, from constant practice,

were active and pliant, his legs, as for many years they had never moved

faster than a sedate walk, were very far from being so. He had also

read that the van of an advancing army was a far more dangerous post

than the rear; and, as it was said that the terrible Duke had fired at

the King, he felt that he would make very little ceremony in shooting

him outright; he therefore allowed the fighting party to precede him,

while he advanced in a more dignified way in the same direction. By the

time, however, that he reached the side of the dell, the soldiers had

already run completely out of sight. He sighed as he thought of the

toil before him; but his duty peremptorily called on him to proceed; or

it might have been that he dreaded the loss of his situation if he

neglected it; so he managed to reach the bottom of the glen, and to

scramble again up the opposite side. Here, however, fatigue overpowered

him, and he was obliged to seat himself down on the bank to rest. While

there, hoping that the soldiers would quickly return with the prisoners,

and thus save him further exertion, and, bemoaning his hard fate, he

observed a heap of dried boughs at the bottom of the glen begin to move,

and a man's head protrude beyond it.

"Ah!" he thought, "that head belongs to one of the criminals, to a

certainty. Now, if I were a strong man, I would capture him myself; but

as I am not, I had better not attempt it, for he may think fit to give

me a quietus instead."

The Notary having come to this judicious resolution, kept a vigilant

watch on the heap of branches, in the hopes that some one would pass

that way to afford him assistance in capturing the prey; nor had he long

to wait before chance led a farmer and his servant to cross the wood at

no great distance from where he sat. On his beckoning to them, they

immediately came up to him; when, in a few words, he explained that he

was on the watch for an atrocious criminal, and promised them a reward

if they would assist in capturing him. They immediately assented, when

they all three set forward towards the spot where the wretched Duke was

concealed.

"Seize the traitor, alive or dead!" exclaimed Senhor de Leiro, in a loud

voice, as he pointed to the underwood.

On hearing these words, Manoel, finding further concealment was

hopeless, sprang up, determined to make one struggle for life, the Duke

following his example, with the intention of flying. The appearance of

two desperate men somewhat staggered the valour of the Notary,

particularly when Manoel, rushing towards him, seized the sword from his

side, and would have run him through with his own weapon, when a cry

from the Duke drew off his attention for the moment. On turning round,

he beheld his master dragged away by the farmer and his servant.

"Release him, villains!" he cried; "he is the Duke of Aveiro!"

"We know that well enough," answered the farmer. "He shot at our

gracious King!"

Manoel was about to avenge his master, or endeavour to release him, when

the shouts of the soldiers, returning through the wood, struck his ear.

He now saw that all further attempts to save the Duke would be hopeless;

so, abandoning him to his fate, he rushed past the Notary, who tried to

impede him, and sought his own safety in flight. He was still in sight

when the soldiers appeared on the top of the bank, and the Notary,

pointing in the direction of the fugitive, some set off in pursuit,

while others hastened forward to secure the greater prize.

The unfortunate Duke was dragged back to his mansion, and, without being

allowed even to alter his dress, or to see his Duchess, he was hurried

into a carriage, waiting ready in the court-yard to receive him. Just

as he was driven off, he saw his young son brought in, vainly struggling

in the grasp of the rude soldiers who held him.

No sooner had the Duke disappeared, than the Duchess was led down

stairs, and desired to enter her own carriage, which was now brought

round to the door. Almost fainting with grief and terror--for she had

beheld her husband a prisoner, and her fears pictured his too probable

fate--she requested that her son might accompany her; but this was

peremptorily refused. She then entreated that she might be allowed to

see him.

"Such cannot be, madam," answered the Desembargador. "My orders are

explicit to allow no communication between the prisoners. Your

destination is the Convent of the Grillos; the young Marquis must

accompany me." Without waiting to hear the answer of the unhappy lady,

he ordered the driver to proceed.

A third carriage was in attendance to convey the young Marquis to the

prison intended for him. He was now brought out of the house in the

custody of some soldiers. The news of his parent's apprehension had

come on him like a thunderbolt; but he neither shed a tear, nor uttered

a complaint. On being informed that he must quit his home, he insisted

on being allowed to prepare for his journey: this was refused him. He

then desired to return to his room, to procure some money and

necessaries.

"No, senhor," answered the Desembargador, "you will require no money

where you are going, and all necessaries will be supplied you. Come,

quick, young sir; I am hurried."

"You seem to have the power to enforce your commands, so I must obey,"

said the young noble, haughtily, as he stepped into the carriage.

Looking from the window, to take a last farewell of the house, destined,

poor youth, never to be his own, he saw, to his sorrow, the servant

Manoel dragged forward bleeding, with his hands bound, and, with his

father's page, thrown into a cart, which had been provided for the

occasion. All the other men-servants were, likewise, carried as

prisoners to Lisbon, while the officers of the crown took possession of

the house.

The Desembargador then took his seat by the side of the young Marquis,

and, as they drove towards Lisbon, he endeavoured, by a variety of

questions, to gain as much information from him as possible respecting

the Duke's movements; but the son was on his guard, and refused firmly

to answer a word. He was then offered his liberty, if he would agree to

assume the cowl of a monk.

"No," he answered, boldly, "I was born to be a noble of Portugal; and

never will I consent to become a lazy monk. Lead me to prison: I am

innocent, and fear you not."

"We shall see, young sir, if in a few days you do not change your tone,"

said the Desembargador, as the carriage stopped before the gloomy walls

of the Jungueira.

"Never!" answered the young Marquis, firmly: nor could the dungeon into

which he was thrown, and the barbarous treatment he received, compel him

to change his determination.

Much of the above description we have extracted from a manuscript work

written by the unfortunate Marquis d'Alorna, who was confined for many

years in the Jungueira.

Volume 3, Chapter XVI.

Luis d'Almeida had already spent some time in prison, each successive

day expecting to be informed of the cause of his detention, and to be

brought to trial; but nothing of the sort occurred. He received, it is

true, several visits from the polite and complaisant Governor, who

appeared to take great pleasure in his conversation, and who was most

liberal in his promises of a more airy and commodious lodging, and of

every luxury which he had the power to bestow; but his memory appeared

to be very bad, for the prisoner found no improvement in any way in his

treatment. It is true that, on the night of his incarceration, he had

been supplied with bedding, which the Governor, on his first visit,

assured him was procured with considerable difficulty and expense,

hinting that his most advisable plan would be to pay for it at once,

lest it might be required for some other person, who might possess

sufficient means to purchase it. Luis at once paid the exorbitant

demand, requesting, at the same time, to be furnished with writing

materials, which, though they were at once promised him, never made

their appearance. He begged also to be allowed to send to his lodgings

for a change of linen and clothes; but this was at once refused, he

being informed that his friends must not learn even the place of his

imprisonment.

On the first night after his incarceration, when the outer world was

hushed in silence, as he lay awake on his wretched pallet, he fancied

that he heard suppressed groans, as if proceeding from the ground

beneath his cell. He listened attentively, and became certain that his

senses had not deceived him. "Alas!" he thought, "can a human being be

confined in a yet more wretched abode than I inhabit?" The groans were

continued at intervals, and proceeded, apparently, from some unfortunate

prisoner suffering from pain and sickness. Day after day they

continued, but Luis was left in vain conjecture as to their origin.

One day, at about the usual hour, the Governor, with a complaisant smile

on his countenance, made his appearance, and bowing politely to his

prisoner, he seated himself on the bed, begging him to occupy the chair

near the table.

"You must excuse ceremony, Senhor Conde," he began; "but though, to say

the truth, I am rather hurried, I wished to enjoy the pleasure of a

little conversation with you. I fear you must find it very solitary

here, and must be getting heartily tired of your present life."

"Indeed I am, senhor," answered Luis; "and I shall much rejoice to find

myself at liberty."

"Very naturally. Most prisoners think the same; but do not despair; you

will, in the course of time, get perfectly accustomed to it. I have

heard of people living twenty years in prison very happily, so that, at

last, when they were allowed to quit it, they preferred remaining where

they were."

"I trust that will not be my case," observed Luis.

"That depends on circumstances," said the Governor. "I might, indeed,

point out a way by which you might instantly gain your freedom."

"Pray then inform me what it is, for I would do much to be set at

liberty," said the prisoner.

"I am glad, at length, to hear you talk so reasonably," said the

Governor. "I need not tell you an execrable conspiracy has been

discovered against the life of his Majesty, in which several known

friends of yours are implicated; now, if you will give information on

the subject to the Minister, he will not only overlook any share you

have taken in it, but will reward you in any way you may wish."

"As I have entered into no conspiracy against his Majesty, it is

impossible that I should give information, which, in fact, I do not

possess," answered Luis; "but assure the Minister, that my very soul

revolts against the foul crime which was almost perpetrated, and that I

would gladly assist in bringing the criminals to punishment."

"All prisoners speak much in the same strain, my dear sir; but, when

once at liberty, they are very apt to forget their former promises,"

returned the Governor. "Though you may, for many reasons, not like to

give any information direct to the Minister, if you will confide it to

my ear, you may depend on my making a favourable report of your case to

him; if not--I speak as a sincere friend--I fear that you will be

deprived for ever of your liberty, if a worse fate does not await you."

Luis at once saw completely the object of the Governor's observations,

and was ready to answer them. "I must prepare, then, to meet my fate to

the best of my power, for information of any sort I am unable to give,"

he said.

"That is the answer many gentlemen similarly situated make at first,"

observed the Governor, smiling; "we find, however, that when put to the

question, their powers of recollection are wonderfully stimulated. Of

course it will not be necessary with you, Senhor Conde. Heaven forbid

it, for the agony few people can support. To be sure, there are

occasions when but little respect is paid to persons; indeed, to tell

you the truth, such is the case at present; for the Minister has

determined to sift this mysterious affair to the bottom, and he is not,

you know, very scrupulous about the means he employs. It is whispered

about in the prison circles, that the Duke of Aveiro, the Marquis of

Tavora, with his sons and sons-in-law, and a few other individuals,

underwent the question yesterday. The Duke suffered the most severely,

and made extensive confessions; in consequence, several other persons

were apprehended during the night. Oh, there is nothing to be compared

to the question, for extracting the truth!" and the Governor fixed his

keen grey eye upon his prisoner's countenance; but Luis retained his

composure, as he answered calmly,--

"I cannot doubt, senhor, your wisdom and experience; but I do the

efficacy of the measure you propose for learning the truth. Some men

will endure the most excruciating tortures rather than reveal what they

have vowed to keep secret; and others, again, who are unable to bear

pain, will, in the hopes of avoiding further suffering, even invent a

story, and accuse others falsely to save themselves."

"Silence! silence! Senhor Conde, this is blasphemy and treason you are

talking," interrupted the Governor. "What! dare to doubt the efficacy

of the rack and the thumb-screw? Horrible sacrilege! How could a good

wholesome despotism exist without them, I should like to know? Take

care,--such expressions are strongly confirmatory of your own guilt.

Beware!"

A cold shudder passed through Luis's frame as his eye met the

threatening glance of the Governor fixed on him, but he winced not under

it, and, folding his arms on his breast, he prepared to listen in

silence to whatever observations his unwelcome visitor might think

proper to make.

The Governor, however, appeared satisfied that he could gain nothing

from him by ordinary conversation, and therefore rose to take his leave,

with his usual mock civility, after looking at him with the same sort of

eye with which an experienced butcher regards the calf he has just

bought, and is leading home to slaughter. "He is a tough subject, and

will endure much before he utters a syllable," he muttered loud enough

to be heard, as he left the cell, though Luis fortunately did not

understand the tenor of his words.

The next day passed, much to his satisfaction, without a visit from the

Governor, though an under-gaoler brought him his food, and cleaned his

cell, as usual. This man, whose manner and words showed him not to have

been completely-hardened by the sufferings he had witnessed, would

generally stop a few minutes more than his strict duty required, to

offer a few expressions of comfort to the prisoner, for whom he had

conceived a compassionate feeling.

Luis now took the opportunity to inquire from whence and from what

unhappy prisoner the groans he had heard for several days past

proceeded.

"Ah, senhor, I, am sorry they disturb you," answered the gaoler. "There

is a poor gentleman confined in the very next cell to yours, who is

continually groaning with pain, and bemoaning his hard fate, at being

shut up for no crime at all; but the walls are so thick, that I should

have thought you could not have heard the sounds."

"Know you his name?" asked Luis.

"I have never heard it, senhor, and never thought of asking him, but I

will do so, and tell you. Poor young gentleman, I fear he will not last

long."

"Do you think, my friend, that you could manage to let me see my

fellow-prisoner?" asked Luis, who felt that it was his duty to offer

every consolation in his power to the sick man, besides a natural

curiosity to learn more of one whose voice had sounded in his ear for so

many days past; "you may trust to my discretion, and that I will not

betray your kindness."

"I am not afraid of you, senhor; but if it was by any means discovered

that I allowed such a thing, I should not only lose my situation, but be

imprisoned in one of the darkest cells, as a warning to my brother

gaolers, though I wish that I could do as you desire, for I do not see

that any harm can come of it."

Luis was, however, determined not to be defeated in his project; and

taking the opportunity to make a present, which he had before intended,

to the kind-hearted gaoler, he at length induced him to promise that he

would allow him to pay a visit to the neighbouring cell on the first

safe opportunity; probably directly after the Governor had gone his

rounds,--the time which, in all prisons, gaolers seize to afford similar

favours to their captives, as our readers have no doubt observed while

perusing every history or romance on the subject.

To a prisoner, the slightest variation in the monotonous routine of his

life affords subject of interest; and thus Luis looked forward with

anxiety to the time when he was to be allowed to pay a visit to his

companion in captivity, though he was aware that but little benefit

could be expected to result to either of them from the interview. The

Governor at last came his rounds; Luis heard the bolts of his cell door

withdrawn, but that worthy personage, merely putting his head in to see

that his prisoner was safe, wished him good night, and again retired.

After he had been gone about half an hour, the under-gaoler, faithful to

his promise, made his appearance, having carefully opened the door,

which, by long practice, he was able to do without any noise, and

telling Luis to follow, he gently opened the door of the cell in which

the sick man was confined, when, desiring him to enter, he closed and

bolted it as before.

The sick man scarcely noticed the entrance of a stranger, as Luis placed

himself by the side of the rude couch whereon he lay; but continued his

groaning and piteous cries for fresh air and liberty. A lamp, burning

on the table, shed its feeble rays around the cell. Luis rose to trim

it, and again seated himself, the sick man continuing with his face

averted towards the wall. Luis spoke to draw his attention.

"I have come, as a brother in affliction, to offer every assistance in

my power to a fellow-prisoner," he said.

Suddenly the sick man turned round, when the light falling on his thin

and emaciated countenance, Luis started with amazement, a thrill of joy

shooting through his frame; for in those features, though sadly altered

by disease and confinement, he beheld the long-lost brother of his

beloved Clara, of whose death he had been accused,--the younger Goncalo

Christovao. He pronounced his name.

"Who is it that calls on one long-lost to the joyous world?" exclaimed

the young Fidalgo, in a feeble voice, raising himself on his arm, and

gazing wildly at his visitor.

"One you have seen but seldom, who has been vilely traduced, and accused

of your death--Luis d'Almeida."

"You have been amply avenged, then, senhor, for the evil thoughts I

entertained of you," answered the young Goncalo. "This is true

charity--thus to visit, in a loathsome dungeon, one who has so wronged

and injured you. Ah! It is too late now--I have but short time to

survive." And he again sunk down exhausted.

"I have never for a moment had a hostile feeling towards you," said

Luis, offering his hand, which the other took, with a grateful

expression on his countenance.

"Thanks, thanks! it is a consolation to know that a friend of those dear

to me will receive my dying breath, and convey my last wishes to my

father and sweet sister,--or do I see in you the husband of Clara?"

"Alas! no, my friend," replied Luis, deeply affected. "I am a prisoner

like yourself, and, perchance, shall be released but by death."

"What! have you also fallen a victim to the wiles of that vile

miscreant, San Vincente?"

"I know not even of what crime I am accused," answered Luis; and he

explained, in a few words, the supposed conspiracy, and its fatal

consequences. "But tell me by what extraordinary circumstances I see

you here?" he continued.

"By the machinations of a villain!" returned the young Fidalgo. "But I

am faint, and can scarce tell my tale. A few drops from yonder flask of

wine, supplied me by the charity of my kind gaoler, will give me

strength to proceed, if you will hand it to me."

Luis brought the flask, when Goncalo, somewhat revived by a draught of

the light refreshing wine of Lisbon, commenced an account of his

adventures since the fatal night when Luis had so unintentionally

wounded him. His sentences were short and broken, he frequently being

obliged to stop, in order to recover strength to proceed.

"I was half mad with intoxication and the excitement of revelry, when,

urged on by my evil counsellor, San Vincente, I made that wanton assault

upon you, for which I have been so severely punished; but I must

confess, that when your sword entered my side, I felt that I deserved my

fate. When I returned to consciousness,--for in my fall I must have

struck my head, which, aided by the effects of wine, had rendered me

insensible--I found myself borne rapidly along the streets by several

men. I inquired where they were carrying me; but, though I repeated the

question several times, I received no answer; and at length, from the

copious effusion of blood, I again fainted. When I once more recovered

my senses, I found myself in a low vaulted chamber, on a mean pallet,

with the rest of the scanty furniture of the commonest description, and

a wrinkled old hag, of the most sinister expression of countenance,

sitting in one corner, occupied in spinning. I anxiously inquired where

I was; but, putting her finger to her mouth, she pretended to be dumb,

to prevent my asking further questions; nor had I the slightest means of

conjecturing to what part of the city I had been conveyed. When I

endeavoured to rise, I found myself too weak to stand, and was obliged

to give up the attempt in despair. It now occurred to me that I had

been brought to this place for some sinister motive, and, though I

acquitted you of having any share in my detention, I began strongly to

suspect that San Vincente was the author of the outrage. I had for some

days previously entertained uneasy doubts as to his character, which, in

my more serious moments, made me regret that I had favoured his suit to

my sister. I recollected, also, that I had lately won from him, at the

gambling-table, some large sums of money; and now, incensed against him,

I deemed him capable of the darkest acts. It struck me that he

supposed, if he married my sister, I should release him from his debt,

or, if he could get me out of the way, he should be equally free.

Subsequent events proved the correctness of my supposition. Why he did

not murder me at once, when I was so entirely in his power, I have never

been able, to this day, to determine. Either he is not so bad as I

suspected, and felt some compunction at killing an old friend, and the

brother of his intended wife, or the fear of discovery and punishment

deterred him. I remained thus for two days, without seeing anybody but

the old woman, who still retained her taciturnity, and even when she

brought me a scanty allowance of food, did so with a morose and

unwilling air.

"Never could I forget, if life were prolonged, the awful sensations I

experienced when the first shock of the earthquake was felt. I was

alone, unable to move,--the terrific sound rang in my ears,--the groans

of the dying, the shrieks of despair, reached even that remote spot,--

the walls and roof trembled and cracked,--pieces fell around and on

me,--I was almost stifled by the dust; yet, utterly helpless, I resigned

myself to my fate. Shock after shock occurred, yet still, to my

surprise, the walls stood uninjured. I was reserved for more severe

suffering."

He ceased speaking, from exhaustion.

"Ah!" thought Luis, as this account brought back the recollection of

that dire event, "at that time was I rescuing your sweet sister from

destruction. Both our fates have been cruel; yet yours, poor youth,

even worse than mine."

Goncalo, now recovering, continued. "For the whole of that day of

horrors, and the following one, I continued without food, becoming each

moment more weak, till I thought death must put an end to my suffering,

when a tall masked figure entered the vault, a few streams of light,

entering from a barred window near the roof, enabling me to distinguish

him. At a glance, notwithstanding his disguise, I recognised the Count

San Vincente. He looked eagerly towards the spot where I lay, and

Heaven forgive me, if I wrong him in believing that he felt disappointed

on discovering I was still in existence. Without uttering a word, he

directly quitted the vault, and soon afterwards returned with a basket

of provisions, which he placed within my reach. He remained not a

moment longer than was necessary, nor did I venture to trust myself in

speaking to him. I heard him lock and bolt the door after him, as he

retired. The old woman never returned; and for the two following days I

was left entirely alone.

"During the third night, I was aroused from slumber by a noise near me,

and, looking up, by the light of a lantern I beheld several men standing

round my bed; a cloth was then thrown over my head, my arms were bound,

and I felt myself lifted up, and placed upon a sort of litter, as I

concluded, for immediately I perceived that I was being borne along at a

rapid rate, and in the open air. I was too feeble to raise my voice;

but once, when I attempted to cry out, a person whispered in my ear a

warning to be silent, or that death would be my fate. The motion

continued for some time, till at last it stopped, and I found myself

again placed upon a bed. My arms were then released, but, before I

could remove the cloth from my head, my bearers had disappeared, and I

found myself in total darkness and silence. Here was new matter for

speculation, but I was still utterly at a loss to comprehend the reasons

for my removal, or whither I had been conveyed; indeed, I have never

learnt to a certainty, though I suspect it was to some house belonging

to my persecutor, San Vincente. When the morning dawned, I found that I

was in an apartment rather better furnished than my last place of

imprisonment, but with only one small window, high up in the wall, and

that closely barred with iron. A surly-looking ruffian made his

appearance twice a day to bring me food and make my bed, but, like the

old woman, he never uttered a word. He, however, brought me a

collection of books, which solaced my captivity, and I verily believe

prevented me from losing my senses altogether. Several months thus

passed away, and I was at length able to rise and walk about my room.

The first use I made of my renewed strength was to try the door, but I

found it secured by bolts, and plated with iron. I then climbed up to

the window, but the walls were thick, and a board sloping upwards from

the lower part prevented me seeing aught but a broad expanse of sky.

This was a grievous disappointment; indeed, my spirits sank under it,

though my strength continued to improve. When my surly attendant

perceived that I was strong enough to attempt to, escape, I observed

that he invariably came into my room armed with a pistol and dagger,

keeping a wary eye, during the time he remained, on every movement I

made. This dreadful life of solitude I could no longer endure; my

health gave way under it, and I again took to my bed. I entreated the

ruffian to send a physician to me, or a priest, to give me the

consolations of religion, but he looked at me with a grim smile, without

answering, and no one appeared. Gradually I became worse and worse,

till I fully believed myself to be dying, so thought also my attendant.

One night I awoke from my sleep to find my eyes blinded, and my hands

bound as before, when I was brought thither. I was then gagged, while a

voice whispered in my ear, `If one sound escapes you, this dagger shall

silence you for ever!' and, at the same time, I felt its sharp point at

my breast. I was now lifted up, and found myself suddenly placed in a

carriage, which immediately drove on for a considerable time; when it

stopped, I was once more lifted from it, and borne along till I heard

the sound of bolts and bars withdrawn, when I was placed on the bed

where I now lie, and from which I never more expect to rise. Here I

have for months been confined, and it seems a miracle to myself that I

have existed so long. Except the compassionate gaoler's, yours is the

first friendly face I have seen since you last beheld me with my sword

raised against your life. Pardon me, my friend, for that deed, for I

have bitterly expiated it."

Luis assured the unfortunate youth not only of his forgiveness, but of

his sincere commiseration for his sufferings.

"Soon after my arrival here, I gained a clue to ascertain the reason of

my last removal," continued Goncalo. "The Governor of the prison came

one evening into my cell, and no sooner did my eye fall upon him, than I

recognised a person on whom I had once inflicted chastisement for an

insult he had offered me, and whom I well knew to have been at one time

an intimate acquaintance of San Vincente's, though he had latterly

pretended to have discarded him. I knew why he came--it was to gloat

over my sufferings--to reap his revenge. He is a wretch capable of any

atrocity--base, mercenary, and avaricious. He told me that I was a

prisoner for life, accused of treason; that my name was Diogo Lopez, and

that I was spared under the plea of insanity. He then quitted me with a

grin of gratified malice on his countenance. I feel confident that the

plot was concerted between the two. San Vincente has easily bribed him

to engage in it, and gratify his own revenge at the same time; he

probably feared that I should die in his custody, when he might have

some difficulty in disposing of my body; or, perhaps, he was anxious to

destroy me sooner, which he knew sending me here would do. Once

incarcerated under a false name, as a condemned criminal, I should here

remain without a hope of release, all responsibility being removed from

him; and dying, as he knew I soon must, I shall be buried with the other

wretches who end their lives here. This is my allotted fate, and, had

you not discovered me, it would never have been known. You will, I

know, inform my father, and aid him to bring the miscreant San Vincente

to the punishment he deserves."

Luis promised to obey his wishes, if he himself ever escaped from

prison.

"I have one more request to make," said Goncalo: "I long, ere I die, to

perform the last duties of religion, but I have, in vain, asked for a

confessor. The Governor knows I have nothing to reveal. You may in

this assist me, by desiring to see one yourself, and you may then, in

the same way that you have come, conduct him hither."

"I will use my utmost endeavours to do so," answered Luis, "though I

fear much I shall be unsuccessful."

Goncalo now made many inquiries about his family, to which Luis answered

to the best of his knowledge; and when he told him that Clara was about

to take the veil, his self-reproach knew no bounds.

"Alas, alas!" he exclaimed, "this has happened through my own mad

obstinacy: had I not praised San Vincente to my father, she might even

now have been your bride, and both might have been happy."

"Heaven willed it otherwise," said Luis, checking his rising emotion,

when he endeavoured to console his unhappy friend; and so far succeeded,

that he already appeared to have recovered strength--his spirits, more

than his body, had suffered. The gaoler, now softly opening the door,

beckoned away Luis, who, pressing Goncalo's hand, returned to his own

cell, reflecting, that if he himself had suffered much, others had yet

more to endure.

The following day the Governor thought fit to honour the Count d'Almeida

with a visit. He entered, bowing and flourishing his little

three-cornered hat, as usual, smirking as he seated himself on the bed.

"I fear that you find your life in prison a very dull one, my young

friend," he began; "most people do, yet such is the fate of those who

will disobey the laws. In the course of a year or two you will become

more habituated to it, and then you will learn to like it, if--for I am

sorry to say there is an alternative--you are not proved guilty of a

crime of the first magnitude;--but, in the latter case, you must prepare

for death! Ah, you start;--it is very sad to die, but, I wished to

spare your feelings, and therefore concealed your fate from you till

now; however, feeling a sincere friendship for you, I would point out

the only means you have of escaping. Make a complete confession of all

you know, and then, probably, a short imprisonment will be your only

punishment."

Luis watched the Governor's eye while he spoke, and although he did not

believe his assertions, he felt that they might too probably be founded

on truth. Not disconcerted, however, by unmanly fears, he, recollecting

his promise to Goncalo, pretended to credit them; and, on the plea that,

perhaps, his death was near, he petitioned to have the consolation of

religion afforded him.

"I rejoice, my young friend, to hear you speak in so proper a frame of

mind," said the Governor, sententiously. "Even to the prisoner's cell

the Church extends her benign influence, and Heaven will be pleased if

you confess your sins to the holy man I will send you. He shall visit

you this very day, and, putting full confidence in him, let me advise

you, as a sincere friend, to follow implicitly his counsels." The

Governor, flattering himself that he had gained the very point at which

he was aiming, bidding his prisoner be of good cheer, withdrew.

The Governor was in this case true to his word; late in the evening the

friendly gaoler entering Luis's cell to inform him that a Friar waited

without to see him.

"Beg him to enter," said Luis.

The gaoler retired, and directly after returned, ushering in a cowled

and bare-footed Friar.

"Pax vobiscum," said the holy man, as he entered. "I come, my son, to

bring food and comfort to your soul. Leave us," he added, turning to

the gaoler, "I would be alone with the prisoner."

No sooner had the gaoler withdrawn, than the Friar, throwing back his

hood, exhibited to the astonished gaze of his intended penitent, the

rotund and ruddy countenance of the holy Fre Diogo Lopez.

"Hush!" said that worthy person, putting his finger to his lips. "I am

sorry to find you a prisoner here, though I am glad that it is I who

have been sent to you. Come, give me an embrace, to convince me that

you retain a kindly recollection of me."

Luis, scarcely able to speak with surprise, performed the ceremony;

indeed, the face of one who, though he considered him a rogue, had

always shown a friendly disposition towards himself, could not but

afford him pleasure.

"Now, we will make ourselves as happy as circumstances will permit,"

continued the Friar, at the same time producing from beneath his gown a

good sized flask, and a couple of glasses, which he placed on the table,

a smile curling his lips, and his eyes glistening the while. "Stand

there, my friends, till you are wanted," he added, as he seated himself

on the bed. "Now, Don Luis, I wish to convince you that, although you

once thought me a rogue, I can, at all events, be honest towards you. I

am sent here to pump you, to discover all your secrets, and to betray

them to the Governor. Now, take my advice; do not tell them to me, or

any other confessor; and as there are no proofs against you, as far as I

can learn, you have a chance of escaping the punishment many others are

about to suffer. This plan will prevent either of us incurring any

risk, and I shall feel a wonderful satisfaction in deceiving that

cunning devil of a Governor. Ha, ha! the very thought amuses me. I

little thought that you were among the unfortunate prisoners shut up in

this horrid place, till the Governor sent for me to-day, and informed me

that one of his pets desired to see a priest, in order to make

confession, desiring me to learn all I could, and let him know without

delay. I have done so often before, without feeling any compunction on

the subject; for there are so many knaves in the world, that I

considered it as merely telling one rogue's secrets to another rogue,

besides being well paid into the bargain. I do not wish to know yours,

in case I might be tempted to betray them. With me the old weakness is

as strong as ever. I cannot resist temptation, though I bitterly repent

it afterwards. I, by chance, inquired the name of my penitent, when, to

my surprise and sorrow, I learnt it was you. However, I soon made up my

mind how to act, and, providing myself with that flask of good wine, I

determined to make a jovial evening of it with a clear conscience,

instead of hypocritically drawing the secrets from some poor wretch, to

betray him afterwards. So now, my dear Don Luis, or rather I ought to

say Count, let us to business. I can give you a short shrift

afterwards, if you require it, when we have finished the bottle."

So saying, the Friar drew the table between himself and Luis, and

filling both glasses with wine, he nodded familiarly to his penitent,

draining his off, and smacking his lips, to set him an example. He then

indulged in a low quiet chuckle at the young Count's astonishment.

Luis first felt inclined to be disgusted with the Friar's open

acknowledgment of his contempt for the sacred office he performed; but

the imperturbable coolness and thorough good nature of the latter, at

last conquered that feeling, and, forgetting that he had come to perform

a religious rite, he could no longer refrain from pledging him in

return.

"Well, my dear Count, I am glad to find that you have at length

conquered your scruples," said Fre Diogo, laughing. "I have always said

it is impossible to know what a man really is till you learn his works.

Now, if I had put on a sanctimonious face, played shriver, and betrayed

you, you would have considered me a very pious man; and now, because I

tell you the truth, and kick hypocrisy to the devil who invented it,

you, in your heart of hearts, believe me a knave. Well, it cannot be

helped, such is the way of the world. Come, Count, don't be cast down,

you have many years to enjoy life yet before you, if I mistake not.

Fill your glass, and drive away care. I wish I could venture to sing a

stave, it would wonderfully rouse your spirits, but it would not do to

be heard--even I could not pass it off as a hymn." And the Friar hummed

a few lines of a song in a low tone. "Bah! the effect is spoilt; you

ought to hear it trolled forth by a jovial set of us, the roof of the

old hall of our convent rings again. Oh, that would do your heart

good!"

Luis, in spite of himself, could not help joining in the Friar's

merriment, which seemed to give the latter much satisfaction. "That is

as it should be, my friend; I wish the gaolers were deaf, and that the

rascally Governor was not likely to be prowling this way, for we might

drink and sing away to our heart's content. Come, help me to finish the

bottle, or I shall not be quite in a clerical state to make a clear

report to the Governor of your confession."

There was such a laughing devil in the Friar's eye all the time, that it

struck Luis he might even then be playing off some trick upon him.

"How comes it, Fre Diogo, that I see you here in Lisbon as a professed

Friar, when, the last time we met, you acknowledged you had never taken

the vows?" he asked.