"Slight are the outward signs of evil thought:
Within, within--'twas there the spirit wrought.
Love shows all changes: hate, ambition, guile,
Betray no further than the bitter smile."
BYRON.
Our readers must imagine that nearly a year and a half has elapsed
since the conclusion of our last chapter. During that interval the
outward life of Marie had passed in a calm, even stream; which, could
she have succeeded in entirely banishing thoughts of the past, would
have been unalloyed enjoyment. Her marriage, as we hinted in our
fourth chapter, had been solemnized in public, with all the form and
ceremony of the Catholic Church, and with a splendor incumbent on the
high rank and immense wealth of the bridegroom. In compliance with
Marie's wishes, however, she had not yet been presented to the
Queen; delicate health (which was the fact, for a terrible fever
had succeeded the varied emotions of her wedding day) and her
late bereavement, was her husband's excuse to Isabella for her
non-appearance--an excuse graciously accepted; the rather that the
Queen of Castile was then much engrossed with political changes and
national reforms, than from any failing of interest in Don Ferdinand's
bride.
Changed as was her estate, from her lovely home in the Vale of Cedars,
where she had dwelt as the sole companion of an ailing parent, to the
mistress of a large establishment in one of the most populous cities
of Castile; the idolized wife of the Governor of the town--and, as
such, the object of popular love and veneration, and called upon,
frequently, to exert influence and authority--still Marie did not fail
performing every new duty with a grace and sweetness binding her more
and more closely to the doting heart of her husband. For her inward
self, Marie was calm--nay, at intervals, almost happy. She had neither
prayed nor struggled in vain, and she felt as if her very prayer was
answered in the fact that Arthur Stanley had been appointed to some
high and honorable post in Sicily, and they were not therefore likely
yet to meet again. The wife of such a character as Morales could not
have continued wretched unless perversely resolved so to be. But his
very virtues, while they inspired the deepest reverence towards him,
engendered some degree of fear. Could she really have loved him as--he
believed she did--this feeling would not have had existence; but its
foundation was the constant thought that she was deceiving him--the
remorse, that his fond confidence was so utterly misplaced--the
consciousness, that there was still something to conceal, which, if
discovered, must blight his happiness for ever, and estrange him from
her, were it only for the past deceit. Had his character been less
lofty--his confidence in her less perfect--his very love less fond
and trusting--she could have borne her trial better; but to one true,
ingenuous, open as herself, what could be more terrible than the
unceasing thought that she was acting a part--and to her husband?
Often and often she longed, with an almost irresistible impulse, to
fling herself at his feet, and beseech him not to pierce her heart
with such fond trust; but the impulse was forcibly controlled. What
would such confession avail her now?--or him, save to wound?
Amongst the many Spaniards of noble birth who visited Don Ferdinand's,
was one Don Luis Garcia, whose actual rank and office no one seemed to
know; and yet, in affairs of church or state, camp or council, he was
always so associated, that it was impossible to discover to which of
these he was allied; in fact, there was a mystery around him, which no
one could solve. Notwithstanding his easy--nay, it was by some thought
fascinating manners, his presence generally created a restraint, felt
intuitively by all, yet comprehended by none. That there is such, an
emotion as antipathy mercifully placed within us, often as a warning,
we do most strenuously believe; but we seldom trace and recognize it
as such, till circumstances reveal its truth.
The real character of Don Luis, and the office he held, our future
pages will disclose; suffice it here to state, that there was no
lack of personal attractions or mental graces, to account for the
universal, yet unspoken and unacknowledged dislike which he inspired.
Apparently in the prime of life, he yet seemed to have relinquished
all the pleasures and even the passions of life. Austere, even rigid,
in those acts of piety and personal mortifications enjoined by his
religion--voluntary fasts, privations, nights supposed to be past in
vigil and in penance; occasional rich gifts to patron saints, and
their human followers; an absence of all worldly feeling, even
ambition; some extraordinary deeds of benevolence--all rendered him an
object of actual veneration to the priests and monks with which the
goodly city of Segovia abounded; and even the populace declared him
faultless, as a catholic and a man, even while their inward shuddering
belied the words.
Don Ferdinand Morales alone was untroubled with these contradictory
emotions. Incapable of hypocrisy himself, he could not imagine it
in others: his nature seemed actually too frank and true for the
admission even of a prejudice. Little did he dream that his name,
his wealth, his very favor with the Queen, his influence with her
subjects, had already stamped him, in the breast of the man to whom
his house and heart alike were open, as an object of suspicion and
espial; and that ere a year had passed over his wedded life, these
feelings were ripened, cherished--changed from the mere thought of
persecution, to palpable resolve, by personal and ungovernable hate.
Don Luis had never known love; not even the fleeting fancy, much less
the actual passion, of the sensualist, or the spiritual aspirings of
true affection. Of the last, in fact, he was utterly incapable.
No feeling, with him, was of an evanescent nature: under the cold
austerity of the ordinary man, lay coals of living fire. It mattered
not under what guise excited--hate, revenge, ambition, he was capable
of all. At love, alone, he had ever laughed--exulting in his own
security.
The internal condition of Spain, as we have before said, had been,
until the accession of Isabella and Ferdinand, one of the grossest
license and most fearful immorality. Encouraged in the indulgence of
every passion, by the example of the Court, no dictates of either
religion or morality ever interfered to protect the sanctity of home;
unbridled desires were often the sole cause of murderous assaults; and
these fearful crimes continually passing unpunished, encouraged the
supposition that men's passions were given to be their sole guide,
before which, honor, innocence, and virtue fell powerless.
The vigorous proceedings of Ferdinand and Isabella had already
remedied these terrible abuses. Over the public safety and reform they
had some power; but over the hearts of individuals they had none; and
there were still some with whom past license was far more influencing
than present restraint and legal severity; still some who paused at
no crime so that the gratification of their passions was ensured; and
foremost amongst these, though by his secret office pledged to the
annihilation of all domestic and social ties, as regarded his own
person, was Don Luis Garcia.
For rather more than a year, Don Ferdinand Morales had enjoyed the
society of his young wife uninterruptedly, save by occasional visits,
of brief duration, to Valladolid and Leon, where Isabella alternately
held her court. He was now, however, summoned to attend the
sovereigns, on a visit to Ferdinand's paternal dominions, an office
which would cause his absence for a much longer interval. He obeyed
with extreme reluctance--nor did Marie feel the separation less. There
was, in some measure, a feeling of security in his presence, which,
whenever he was absent, gave place to fearful tremblings as to what
might transpire to shake her faith in her, ere he returned.
Resolved that not the very faintest breath of scandal should touch
_his_ wife, Marie, during the absence of Morales, always kept herself
secluded. This time her retirement was stricter than ever; and great,
then, was her indignation and astonishment, when about a fortnight
before her husband's expected return, and in direct contradiction
to her commands, Don Luis Garcia was admitted to her presence; and
nothing but actual flight, for which she was far too proud and
self-possessed, could have averted the private interview which
followed. The actual words which passed we know not, but, after a very
brief interval of careless converse on the part of Garcia--something
he said earnestly, and in the tones of pitying sympathy, which caused
the cheek and lips of Marie to blanch to marble, and her whole frame
to shiver, and then grow rigid, as if turned to stone. Could it be
that the fatal secret, which she believed was known only to herself
and Arthur, that she had loved another ere she wedded Ferdinand, had
been penetrated by the man towards whom she had ever felt the most
intense abhorrence? and that he dared refer to it as a source of
sympathy--as a proof that he could feel for her more than her
unsuspecting husband? Why was speech so frozen up within her, that she
could not, for the moment, answer, and give him back the lie? But that
silence of deadly terror lasted not long: he had continued to speak;
at first she was unconscious of his change of tone, words, and even
action; but when his actual meaning flashed upon her, voice, strength,
energy returned in such a burst of womanly indignation, womanly
majesty, that Garcia himself, skilled in every art of evil as he was,
quailed beneath it, and felt that he was powerless, save by violence
and revenge.
While that terrible interview lasted, the wife of Morales had not
failed; but when once more alone, the most deadly terror took
possession of her. She had, indeed, so triumphed as to banish Garcia,
defeated, from her presence; but fearful threats of vengeance were in
that interview divulged--allusions to some secret power, over which
he was the head, armed with authority even greater than that of
the sovereign's--mysteriously spoken, but still almost strangely
intelligible, that in her betrayal or her silence lay the safety or
the danger of her husband--all compelled the conviction that her
terror and her indignation at the daring insult must be buried deep in
her own breast; even while the supposition that Don Luis knew all the
past (though how, her wildest imagination could not discover), and
that therefore she was in his power, urged her yet more to a full
confession to her husband. Better if his heart must be wrung by her,
than by a foe; and yet she shrunk in anguish from the task.
She was, however, deceived as to the amount of Garcia's knowledge of
her past life. Accustomed to read human nature under all its varied
phases--employing an unusually acute penetration so to know his
fellows as to enable him, when needed, to create the greatest amount
of misery--he had simply perceived that Marie's love for her husband
was of a different nature to his for her, and that she had some secret
to conceal. On this he had based his words: his suspicions were,
unhappily, confirmed by the still, yet expressive agony they had
occasioned. Baffled, as in some measure he had been, his internal rage
that he should have so quailed before a woman, naturally increased the
whirlwind of contending passions: but schooled by his impenetrable
system of hypocrisy to outward quietness and control, he waited,
certain that circumstances would either of themselves occur, or be so
guided by him as to give him ample means of triumph and revenge.