"It is a weary task to school the heart,
Ere years or griefs have tamed its fiery throbbings,
Into that still and passive fortitude
Which is but learned from suffering."--Hemans
Shortly afterwards, the son and heir of Dona Inez was baptized, with the
usual amount of ceremony and rejoicing. After the event, the family and
friends partook of a merienda of fruit, confectionery, and wine, in the
patio of Don Garcia's house. Much against his inclination, Carlos was
obliged to be present, as his absence would have occasioned remark and
inquiry.
When the guests were beginning to disperse, the hostess drew near the
spot where he stood, near to the fountain, admiring, or seeming to
admire, a pure white azalia in glorious bloom.
"In good sooth, cousin Don Carlos," she said, "you forget old friends
very easily. But I suppose it is because you are going so soon to take
Orders. Every one knows how learned and pious you are. And no doubt
you are right to wean yourself in good time from the concerns and
amusements of this unprofitable world."
No word of this little speech was lost upon one of the neatest gossips
in Seville, a lady of rank, who stood near, leaning on the arm of
Losada's former patient, the wealthy Canon. And this was what the
speaker, in her good nature, probably intended.
Carlos raised to her face eyes beaming with gratitude for the friendly
notice.
"No change of state, senora, can ever make me forget the kindness of my
fair cousin," he responded with a bow.
"Your cousin's little daughter," said the lady, "had once a place in
your affections. But with you, as with all the rest, I presume the boy
is everything. As for my poor little Inez, her small person is of small
account in the world now. It is well she has her mother."
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to renew my acquaintance
with Dona Inez, if I may be permitted so to do."
This was evidently what the mother desired. "Go to the right then,
amigo mio," she said promptly, indicating the place intended by a quick
movement of her fan, "and I will send the child to you."
Carlos obeyed, and for a considerable time paced up and down a cool
spacious apartment, only separated from the court by marble pillars,
between which costly hangings were suspended. Being a Spaniard, and
dwelling among Spaniards, he was neither surprised nor disconcerted by
the long delay.
At last, however, he began to suspect that his cousin had forgotten him.
But this was not the case. First a painted ivory ball rolled in over
the smooth floor; then one of the hangings was hastily pushed aside, and
the little Dona Inez bounded gaily into the room in search of her toy.
She was a merry, healthy child, about two years old, and really very
pretty, though her infantine charms were not set off to advantage by the
miniature nun's habit in which she was dressed, on account of a vow made
by her mother to "Our Lady of Carmel," during the serious illness for
which Carlos had summoned Losada to her aid.
She was followed almost immediately, not by the grave elderly nurse who
usually waited on her, but by a girl of about sixteen, rather a beauty,
whose quick dark eyes bestowed, from beneath their long lashes, bashful
but evidently admiring glances on the handsome young nobleman.
Carlos, ever fond of children, and enjoying the momentary relief from
the painful tension of his daily life, stooped for the ball and held it,
just allowing its bright red to appear through his fingers. As the
child was not in the least shy, he was soon engaged in a game with her.
Looking up in the midst of it, he saw that the mother had come in
silently, and was watching him with searching anxious eyes that brought
back in a moment all his troubles. He allowed the ball to slide to the
ground, and then, with a touch of his foot, sent it rolling into one of
the farthest corners of the spacious hall. The child ran gleefully
after it; while the mother and the attendant exchanged glances. "You
may take the noble child away, Juanita," said the former.
Juanita led off her charge without again allowing her to approach
Carlos, thus rendering unnecessary the ceremony of a farewell. Was this
the mother's contrivance, lest by spell of word or gesture, or even by a
kiss, the heretic might pollute or endanger the innocent babe?
When they were alone together, Dona Inez was the first to speak. "I do
not think you can be so wicked after all; since you love children, and
play with them still," she said in a low, half-frightened tone.
"God bless you for those words, senora," answered Carlos with a
trembling lip. He was learning to steel himself to scorn; but kindness
tested his self-control more severely.
"Amigo mio," she resumed, drawing nearer and speaking more rapidly, "I
cannot quite forget the past. It is very wrong, I know, and I am weak.
Ay de mi! If it be true you really are that dreadful thing I do not
care to name, I ought to have the courage to stand by and see you
perish."
"But my kinsfolk," said Carlos, "do not intend me to perish. And for
the protection they afford me I am grateful. More I could not have
expected from them; less they might well have done for me. But I would
to God I could show them and you that I am not the foul dishonoured
thing they deem me."
"If it had only been something _respectable_," said Dona Inez, with a
sort of writhe, "such as some youthful irregularity, or stabbing or
slaying somebody!--but what use in words? I would say, I counsel you to
look to your own safety. Do you not know my brothers?"
"I think I do, senora. That an Alvarez de Menaya should be defamed of
heresy would be more than a disgrace--it would be a serious injury to
them."
"There be more ways than one of avoiding the misfortune."
Carlos looked inquiringly at her. Something in her half-averted face
and the quick shrug of her shoulders prompted him to ask, "Do you think
they mean me mischief?"
"Daggers are sharp to cut knots," said the lady, playing with her fan
and avoiding his eye.
With so many ghastlier terrors had the mind of Carlos grown familiar,
that this one came to him in the guise of a relief. So "the sharpness
of death" for him might mean no more than a dagger's thrust, after all!
One moment here, the next in his Saviour's presence. Who that knew
aught of the tender mercies of the Holy Office could do less than thank
God on his bended knees for the prospect of such a fate!
"It is not _death_ that I fear," he answered, looking at her steadily.
"But you may as well live; nay, you had better live. For you may
repent, may save your unhappy soul. I shall pray for you."
"I thank you, dear and kind senora; but, through the grace of God, my
soul is saved already. I believe in Jesus Christ--"
"Hush! for Heaven's sake!" Dona Inez interrupted, dropping her fan and
putting her fingers in her ears. "Hush! or ere I am aware I shall have
listened to some dreadful heresy. The saints help me! How should I know
just where the good Catholic words end, and the wicked ones begin? I
might be caught in the web of the evil one; and then neither saint nor
angel, no, nor even Our Lady herself, could deliver me. But listen to
me, Don Carlos, for at all events I would save your life."
"I will listen gratefully to aught from your lips."
"I know that you dare not attempt flight from the city at present. But
if you could lie concealed in some safe and quiet place within it till
this storm has blown over, you might then steal away unobserved. Don
Garcia says that now there is such a keen search made after the
Lutherans, that every man who cannot give a good account of himself is
like to be taken for one of the accursed sect. But that cannot last for
ever; in six months or so the panic will be past. And those six months
you may spend in safety, hidden away in the lodging of my
_lavandera_."[#]
[#] Washerwoman.
"You are kind--"
"Peace, and listen. I have arranged the whole matter. And once you are
there, I will see that you lack nothing. It is in the Morrero;[#] a
house hidden in a very labyrinth of lanes, a chamber in the house which
a man would need to look for very particularly ere he found it."
[#] Moorish quarter of the city.
"How shall _I_ succeed in finding it?"
"You noticed the pretty girl who led in my little Inez? Pepe, the
lavandera's son, is ready to die for the love of her. She will describe
you to him, and engage his assistance in the adventure, telling him the
story I have told her, that you wish to conceal yourself for a season,
having stabbed your rival in a love affair."
"O Dona Inez! _I?_--almost a priest!"
"Well, well; do not look so horror-stricken, amigo mia. What could I do?
I dared not give them a hint of the truth, or both my hands full of
double ducats would not have tempted them to stir in the affair. So I
thought no shame of inventing a crime for you that would win their
interest and sympathy, and dispose them to aid you."
"Passing strange," said Carlos. "Had I only sinned against the law of
God and the life of my neighbour, they would gladly help me to escape;
did they dream that I read his words in my own tongue, they would give
me up to death."
"Juanita is a good little Christian," remarked Dona Inez; "and Pepe also
is a very honest lad. But perhaps you may find some sympathy with the
old crone of a lavandera, who is of Moorish blood, and, it is whispered,
knows more of Mohammed than she does of her Breviary."
Carlos disclaimed all connection with the followers of the false
prophet.
"How should I know the difference?" said Dona Inez. "I thought it was
all the same, heresy and heresy. But I was about to say, Pepe is a
gallant lad, a regular _majo_; his hand knows its way either amongst the
strings of a guitar, or on the hilt of a dagger. He has often served
caballeros who were out of nights serenading their ladies; and he will
go equipped as if for such an adventure. You, also, bind a guitar on
your shoulder (you could use one in old times, and to good purpose too,
if you have not forgotten all Christian accomplishments together); bribe
old Sancho to leave the gates open, and sally forth to-morrow night when
the clock strikes the midnight hour. Pepe will wait for you in the
Calle del Candilejo until one."
"To-morrow night?"
"I would have named to-night, but Pepe has a dance to attend. Moreover,
I knew not whether I could arrange this interview in sufficient time to
prepare you. Now, cousin," she added anxiously, "you understand your
part, and you will not fail in it."
"I understand everything, senora my cousin. From my heart I thank you
for the noble effort to save me. Whether in its result it shall prove
successful or no, already it is successful in giving me hope and
strength, and renewing my faith in old familiar kindness."
"Hush! that step is Don Garcia's. It is best you should go."
"Only one word more, senora. Will my generous cousin add to her
goodness by giving my brother, when it can be done with safety, a hint
of how it has fared with me?"
"Yes; that shall be cared for. Now, adios."
"I kiss your feet, senora,"
She hastily extended her hand, upon which he pressed a kiss of
friendship and gratitude. "God bless you, my cousin," he said.
"Vaya con Dios," she responded. "For it is our last meeting," she added
mentally.
She stood and watched the retreating figure with tears in her bright
eyes, and in her heart a memory that went back to old times, when she
used to intercede with her rough brothers for the delicate shrinking
child, who was younger, as well as frailer, than all the rest. "He was
ever gentle and good, and fit to be a holy priest," she thought. "Ay de
mi, for the strange, sad change! Yet, after all, I cannot see that he
is so greatly changed. Playing with the child, talking with me, he is
just the same Carlos as of old. But the devil is very cunning. God and
Our Lady keep us from his wiles!"