"Then Roderick from the Douglas broke,
As flashes flame through sable smoke,
Kindling its wreaths long, dark, and low.
To one broad blaze of ruddy glow;
So the deep anguish of despair
Burst in fierce jealousy to air."
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
"Sure, now, Pedro, the poor young Senor cannot be entirely in his
right mind; he does nothing but tramp, tramp, tramp, the whole night
long, and mutters so fiercely to himself, and such dark words, it
would make one tremble were they not belied by His sweet face and sad
smile," was the observation of old Juana Lopez to her husband some ten
days after Arthur Stanley had been domiciled in their dwelling. The
old man muttered something about his being a foreigner from the Wild
Island, where they had all been busy cutting one another's throats,
and what could she expect otherwise?"
"Expect? why that he must have become Spanish born and bred since he
has been in King Ferdinand's service so long, and was such a boy when
he left England."
"Stuff, woman; there's no taking the foreign blood out of him, try as
you will," growled the old man, who in common with many of his class,
was exceedingly annoyed that a foreigner should possess so much of
the King's confidence, and not a little displeased that his dwelling
should have been fixed on for the young officer's quarters. "It would
not have been Isabella, God bless her! to have chosen such a minion;
she tolerates him for Ferdinand's sake; but they will find him out one
day. Saint Iago forbid the evil don't fall first."
"Now that is all prejudice, Viego Pedro, and you know it. Bless his
beautiful face! there is no thought of evil there, I'd stake my
existence. He is tormented in his mind about something, poor youth;
but his eyes are too bright and his smile too sad for any thing evil."
"Hold your foolish tongue: you women think if a man is better looking
than his fellows, he is better in every respect--poor fools as ye are;
but as for this Englisher, with such a white skin and glossy
curls, and blue eyes--why I'd be ashamed to show myself amongst
men--pshaw--the woman's blind."
"Nay, Viego Pedro, prejudice has folded her kerchief round your eyes,
not mine," retorted the old dame; and their war of words concerning
the merits and demerits of their unconscious lodger continued, till
old Pedro grumbled himself off, and his more light-hearted helpmate
busied herself in preparing a tempting meal for her guest, which, to
her great disappointment, shared the fate of many others, and left his
table almost untouched.
To attempt description of Stanley's feelings would be as impossible as
tedious; yet some few words must be said. His peculiarly enthusiastic,
perhaps romantic disposition, had caused him to cling tenaciously to
the memory of Marie, even after the revelation of a secret which to
other men would have seemed to place an impassable barrier between
them. To Arthur, difficulties in pursuit of an object only rendered
its attainment the more intensely desired. Perhaps his hope rested
on the conviction not so much of his own faithful love as on the
unchangeable nature of hers. He might have doubted himself, but to
doubt her was impossible. Conscious himself that, wrong as it might
be, he could sacrifice every thing for her--country, rank, faith
itself, even the prejudice of centuries, every thing but honor--an
ideal stronger in the warrior's mind than even creed--he could not and
would not believe that her secret was to her sacred as his honor to
him, and that she could no more turn renegade from the fidelity which
that secret comprised, than he could from his honor. She had spoken
of but one relation, an aged father; and he felt in his strong
hopefulness, that it was only for that father's sake she had striven
to conquer her love, and had told him they might never wed, and that
when that link was broken he might win her yet.
Loving and believing thus, his anguish in beholding her the wife of
another may be imagined. The more he tried to think, the more confused
and mystifying his thoughts became. Every interview which he had with
her, and more especially that in the Vale of Cedars, was written in
indelible characters on his heart and brain; and while beholding her
as the wife of Morales contradicted their every word, still it could
not blot them from his memory; and he would think, and think, in the
vain search for but one imaginary reason, however faint, however
unsatisfactory, for her conduct, till his brain turned, and his senses
reeled. It was not the mere suffering of unrequited love; it was the
misery of having been deceived; and then, when racked and tortured
by the impossibility of discovering some cause for this deceit, her
secret would flash across him, and the wild thought arise that both he
and Don Ferdinand were victims to the magic and the sorcery, by means
of which alone her hated race could ever make themselves beloved.
Compelled as he was to mingle with the Court as usual, these powerful
emotions were of course always under strong restraint, except when in
the solitude of his own quarters. That when there he should give them
vent, neither conscious of, nor caring for the remarks they excited
from his host and hostess, was not very remarkable; perhaps he was
scarcely aware how powerfully dislike towards Don Ferdinand shared his
thoughts with his vain suggestions as to the cause of Marie's falsity.
The reason for this suddenly aroused dislike he could not indeed
have defined, except that Morales had obtained without difficulty a
treasure, to obtain which he had offered to sacrifice so much. So
fourteen days passed, and though firmly resolved to have one more
interview with Marie, no opportunity had presented itself, nor in fact
could he feel that he had as yet obtained the self-command necessary
for the cold, calm tone which he intended to assume. It happened that
once or twice the King had made Arthur his messenger to Don Ferdinand;
but since the night of the entertainment he had never penetrated
farther than the audience chamber, there performed his mission
briefly, and departed. Traversing the principal street of Segovia one
morning, he was accosted somewhat too courteously, he thought, for
their slight acquaintance, by Don Luis Garcia.
"And whither so early, Senor Stanley?" he inquired so courteously that
it could not give offence, particularly as it followed other queries
of a graceful greeting, and was not put forth abruptly.
"To the mansion of Don Ferdinand Morales," replied the young
Englishman, frankly.
"Indeed! from the King?"
Stanley answered in the affirmative, too deeply engrossed with his own
thoughts, to attend much to his companion, whose interrogations he
would undoubtedly in a more natural mood have felt inclined to resent.
"Don Ferdinand Morales ranks as high in the favor of the people as
of the King--a marvellous conjunction of qualities, is it not, Senor
Stanley?" continued Garcia, after walking by his side some minutes in
silence. "A Monarch's favorite is seldom that of his subjects; but
Morales is unusually deserving. I wonder not at the love he wins."
"Neither Ferdinand nor Isabella bestows favors on the undeserving,"
briefly, almost sternly answered Stanley, with an unconscious change
of tone and manner, which did not escape his companion.
"And he is so singularly fortunate, every thing he touches seems to
turn to gold--an universal idol, possessed too of such wealth and
splendor, and, above all, with such a being to share them with him.
Fortune has marked him favored in all things. Didst ever behold a
creature equal in loveliness to Donna Marie, Senor Stanley?"
A momentary, and to any other but Don Luis, incomprehensible emotion,
passed over the countenance of Stanley at these words; but though
it was instantly recalled, and indifference both in expression of
countenance and voice resumed, it passed not unobserved; and Don Luis,
rejoicing in the pain he saw he was inflicting, continued an eloquent
panegyric on the wife of Morales, the intense love she bore her
husband, and the beautiful unity and harmony of their wedded life,
until they parted within a short distance of the public entrance to
Don Ferdinand's mansion, towards which Stanley turned.
Don Luis looked after his retreating form, and folding his arms in his
mantle, bent down his head, assuming an attitude which to passers-by
expressed the meek humility of his supposed character. There was a
wild gleam of triumph, in his eyes which he knew, and therefore they
were thus bent down, and there were thoughts in his heart which might
thus be worded:--"I have it all, all. Waiting has done better for me
than acting; but now the watch is over, and the coil is laid. There
have been those who, standing on the loftiest pinnacle, have fallen
by a touch to earth; none knew the how or wherefore." And shrouding
himself closer in his wrapping mantle, he walked rapidly on till he
reached a side entrance into the gardens, which stretched for many
acres around Don Ferdinand's mansion. Here again he paused, looked
cautiously around him, then swiftly entered, and softly closed the
door behind him.
Already agitated by the effort to retain calmness during Garcia's
artful words, it was no light matter for Stanley to compose himself
for his interview with Morales. Vain was the gentle courtesy of the
latter, vain his kindly words, vain his confidential reception of the
young Englishman, to remove from Arthur's heart the wild torrent of
passion called forth by Garcia's allusion to Marie's intense love
for her husband. To any one but Morales, his abrupt and unconnected
replies, his strange and uncourteous manners, must have excited
irritation; but Don Ferdinand only saw that the young man was
disturbed and pained, and for this very reason exerted his utmost
kindliness of words and manner to draw him from, himself. They parted
after an interval of about half an hour, Morales to go to the castle
as requested; Arthur to proceed, as he thought, to the environs of the
city. But in vain did he strive with himself. The window of the room
in which he had met Don Ferdinand looked into the garden, and there,
slowly pacing a shaded path, he had recognized the figure of Marie.
The intense desire to speak with her once more, and so have the fatal
mystery solved, became too powerful for control. Every feeling of
honor and delicacy perished before it, and hardly knowing what he did,
he retraced his steps, entered unquestioned, passed through the hall
to the gardens beyond, and in less than ten minutes after he had
parted from her husband, stood in the presence of Marie.