"Since she loved him, he went carefully,
Bearing a thing so precious in his hand."--George Eliot
About a week afterwards, Don Juan Alvarez dismounted at the door of his
uncle's mansion. His shout soon brought the porter, a "pure and ancient
Christian," who had spent nearly all his life in the service of the
family.
"God save you, father," said Juan. "Is my brother in the house!"
"No, senor and your worship,"--the old man hesitated, and looked
confused.
"Where shall I find him, then?" cried Juan; "speak at once, if you
know."
"May it please your noble Excellency, I--I know nothing. At least--the
Saints have mercy on us!" and he trembled from head to foot.
Juan thrust him aside, nearly knocking him down in his haste, and dashed
breathless into his uncle's private room, on the right hand side of the
patio.
Don Manuel was there, seated at a table, looking over some papers.
"Where is my brother?" asked Juan sternly and abruptly, searching his
face with his keen dark eyes.
"Holy Saints defend us!" cried Don Manuel, nearly startled out of his
ordinary decorum. "And what madness brings you here?"
"Where is my brother?" Juan repeated, in the same tone, and without
moving a muscle.
"Be quiet--be reasonable, nephew Don Juan. Do not make a disturbance;
it will be worse for all of us. We did all we could--"
"For Heaven's sake, senor, will you answer me?"
"Have patience. We did all we could for him, I was about to say; and
more than we ought. The fault was his own, if he was suspected and
taken--"
"_Taken_! Then I come too late." Sinking into the nearest seat, he
covered his face with both hands, and groaned aloud.
Don Manuel Alvarez had never learned to reverence the sacredness of a
great sorrow. "Rushing in" where such as he might well fear to tread,
he presumed to offer consolation. "Come, then, nephew Don Juan," he
said, "you know as well as I do that 'water that has run by will turn no
mill,' and that 'there is no good in throwing the rope after the
bucket.' No man can alter that which is past. All we can do is to
avoid worse mischief in future."
"When was it?" asked Juan, without looking up.
"A week agone."
"Seven days and nights!"
"Thereabouts. But _you_--are you in love with destruction yourself,
that, when you were safe and well at Nuera, you must needs come hither
again?"
"I came to save him."
"Unheard of folly! If _you_ have been meddling with these matters--and
it is but too likely, seeing you were always with him (though, the
Saints forbid I should suspect an honourable soldier like you of
anything worse than imprudence)--do you not know they will wring the
whole truth out of _him_ with very little trouble, and your life is not
worth a brass maravedi?"
Juan started to his feet, and glared scorn and defiance in his uncle's
face. "Whoever dares to hint so vile a slander," he cried, "by my faith
he shall repent it, were he my uncle ten times over. Don Carlos Alvarez
never did, and never will, betray a trust, let those wretches deal with
him as they may. But I know him; he will die, or worse,--they will make
him mad." Here Juan's voice failed, and he stood in silent horror,
gazing on the dread vision that rose before his mind.
Don Manuel was daunted by his vehemence. "You are the best judge
yourself of what amount of danger you may be incurring," he said. "But
let me tell you, Senor Don Juan, that I hold you rather a dangerous
guest to harbour under the circumstances. To have the Alguazils of the
Holy Office twice in my house would be enough to cost me all my places,
not to mention the disgrace of it."
"You shall not lose a real by me or mine," returned Juan proudly.
"I did not mean, however, to refuse you hospitality," said Don Manuel,
relieved, yet a little uneasy, perhaps even remorseful.
"But I mean to decline it, senor. I have only two favours to ask of
you," he continued: "one, to allow me free intercourse with my
betrothed; the other, to permit me"--his voice faltered, stopped. With
a great effort he resumed--"to permit me to examine my brother's room,
and whatever effects he may have left there."
"Now you speak more rationally," said his uncle, mistaking the
self-control of indignant pride for genuine calmness. "But as to your
brother's effects, you may spare your pains; for the Alguazils set the
seal of the Holy Office upon them on the night of his arrest, and they
have since carried them away. As to the other matter, what Dona Beatriz
may think of the connection, after the infamy in which your branch of
the family is involved, I cannot tell."
A burning flush mounted to Juan's cheek as he answered, "I trust my
betrothed; even as I trust my brother."
"You can see the lady herself. She may be better able than I to
persuade you to consult for your own safety. For if you are not a
madman, you will return at once to Nuera, which you ought never to have
quitted; or you will take the earliest opportunity of rejoining the
army."
"I shall not stir from Seville till I obtain my brother's deliverance;
or--" Juan did not name the other alternative. Involuntarily he placed
his hand on his belt, in which he had concealed certain old family
jewels, which he believed would produce a considerable sum of money; for
his last faint hope for Carlos lay in a judicious appeal to the
all-powerful "Don Dinero."[#]
[#] The Lord Dollar.
"You will _never_ leave it, then," said Don Manuel. "And you must hold
me excused from aiding and abetting your folly. Your brother's business
has cost me and mine more than enough already. I had rather ten
thousand times that a man had died of the plague in my house, were it
for the scandal's sake alone! Nor, bad as it is, is the scandal all.
Since that miserable night, my unhappy son Gonsalvo, in whose apartment
the arrest took place, has been sick unto death, and out of his mind."
"Don Gonsalvo! What brought my brother to his room?"
"The devil, whose servant he is, may know; I do not. He was found
there, in his sword and cloak, as if ready to go forth, when the
officers came."
"Did he leave no message--no word for me?"
"Not one word. I know not if he spoke at all, save to offer to show the
Alguazils his personal effects. To do him justice, nothing suspicious
was found amongst them. But the less said on the subject the better. I
wash my hands of it, and of him. I thought he would have done honour to
the family; but he has proved its sorest disgrace."
"Senor, what you say of him you say of me also," said Juan, glowing
white with anger. "And already I have heard quite enough."
"That is as you please, Senor Don Juan."
"I shall only trespass upon you for the favour you have promised
me--permission to wait upon Dona Beatriz."
"I shall apprise her of your presence, and give her leave to act as she
sees fit." And glad to put an end to the interview, Don Manuel left the
room.
Juan sank into a seat once more, and gave himself up to an agony of
grief for his brother.
So absorbed was he in his sorrow, that a light footstep entered and
approached unheard by him. At last a small hand touched his arm. He
started and looked up. Whatever his anguish of heart might be, he was
still the loyal lover of Dona Beatriz. So the next moment found him on
his knees saluting that hand with his lips. And then followed certain
ceremonies abundantly interesting to those who enact them, but apt to
prove tedious when described.
"My lady's devoted slave," said Don Juan, using the ordinary language of
the time, "bears a breaking heart to-day. We knew neither father nor
mother; there were but the two of us."
"Did you not receive my letter, praying you to remain at Nuera?" asked
the lady.
"Pardon me, queen of my heart, in that I dared to disregard a wish of
yours. But I knew _his_ danger, and I came to save him. Alas! too
late."
"I am not sure that I do pardon you, Don Juan."
"Then, I presume so far as to say, that I know Dona Beatriz better than
she knows herself. Indeed, had I acted otherwise, she would scarce have
pardoned me. How would it have been possible for me to consult for my
own safety, leaving him alone and unaided, in such fearful peril?"
"You acknowledge there is peril--_to you_?"
"There may be, senora."
"Ay de mi! Why, in Heaven's name, have you thus involved yourself? O
Don Juan, you have dealt very cruelly with me!"
"Light of my eyes, life of my life, what mean you by these words?"
"Was it not cruel to allow your brother, with his gentle, winning ways,
and his soft specious words, to lead you step by step from the faith of
our fathers, until he had you entangled in I know not what horrible
heresies, and made you put in peril your honour, your liberty, your
life--everything?"
"We only sought Truth."
"Truth!" echoed the lady, with a contemptuous stamp of her small foot
and twirl of her fan. "What is Truth? What good will Truth do me if
those cruel men drag you from your bed at midnight, take you to that
dreadful place, stretch you on the rack?" But that last horror was too
much to bear; Dona Beatrix hid her face in her hands, and wept and
sobbed passionately.
Juan soothed her with every tender, lover-like art. "I will be very
prudent, dearest lady," he said at last; adding, as he gazed on her
beautiful face, "I have too much to live for not to hold life very
precious."
"Will you promise to fly--to leave the city now, before suspicions are
awakened which may make flight impossible?"
"My first and my only love, I would die to fulfil your slightest wish.
But this thing I cannot do."
"And wherefore not, Senor Don Juan?"
"Can you ask? I must hazard everything, spend everything, in the
chance--if there be a chance--of saving him, or, at least, of softening
his fate."
"Then God help us both," said Dona Beatriz.
"Amen! Pray to him day and night, senora. Perhaps he may have pity on
us."
"There is no chance of saving Don Carlos. Know you not that of all the
prisoners the Holy House receives, scarce one in a thousand goes forth
again to take his place in the world?"
Juan shook his head. He knew well that his task was almost hopeless;
yet, even by Dona Beatriz, he was not to be moved from his
determination.
But he thanked her in strong, passionate words for her faith in him and
her truth to him. "No sorrow can divide us, my beloved," he said, "nor
even what they call shame, falsely as they speak therein. You are my
star, that shines on me throughout the darkness."
"I have promised."
"My uncle's family may seek to divide us, and I think they will. But
the lady of my heart will not heed their idle words?"
Dona Beatriz smiled. "I am a Lavella," she said. "Do you not know our
motto?--'True unto death.'"
"It is a glorious motto. May it be mine too."
"Take heed what you do, Don Juan. If you love me, you will look well to
your footsteps, since, wherever they lead, mine are bound to follow."
Saying this, she rose, and stood gazing in his face with flushed cheek
and kindling eyes.
The words were such as might thrill any lover's heart with joy and
gratitude. Yet there was something in the look which accompanied them
that changed joy and gratitude into vague fear and apprehension. The
light in that dark eye seemed borrowed from the fire of some sublime but
terrible resolve within. Juan's heart quailed, though he knew not why,
as he said, "My queen should never tread except through flowery paths."
Dona Beatriz took up a little golden crucifiz that, attached to a rosary
of coral beads, hung from her girdle. "You see this cross, Don Juan?"
"Yes, senora mia."
"On that horrible night when they dragged your brother to prison, I
swore a sacred oath upon it. You esteemed me a child, Don Juan, when
you read me chapters from your book, and talked freely to me about God,
and faith, and the soul's salvation. Perchance I was a child in some
things. For I supposed them good words; how could they be otherwise,
since you spoke them? I listened and believed, after a fashion; half
thinking all the time of the pretty fans and trinkets you brought me, or
of the pattern of such and such an one's mantilla that I had seen at
mass. But your brother tore the veil from my eyes at last, and made me
understand that those specious words, with which a child played
childishly, were the crime that finds no pardon here or hereafter. Of
the hereafter I know not; of the here I know too much, God help me!
There be fair ladies, not more deeply involved than I, who have changed
their gilded saloons for the dungeons of the Triana. But then it
matters not so much about me. For I am not like other girls, who have
fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers to care for them. Saving Don
Carlos (who was good to me for your sake), no one ever gave me more than
the half-sorrowful, half-pitying kindness one might give a pet parrot
from the Indies. Therefore, thinking over all things, and knowing well
your reckless nature, Senor Don Juan, I swore that night upon this holy
cross, that if by evil hap _you_ were attainted for heresy, _I_ would go
next day to the Triana and accuse myself of the same crime."
Juan did not for a moment doubt that she would do it; and thus a chain,
light as silk but strong as adamant, was flung around him.
"Dona Beatriz, for my sake--" he began to plead.
"For _my_ sake, Don Juan will take care of his life and liberty," she
interrupted, with a smile that, if it had a little sadness, had very far
more of triumph in it. She knew the power her resolve gave her over
him: she had bought it dearly, and she meant to use it. "Is it _still_
your wish to remain here," she continued; "or will you go abroad, and
wait for better times?"
Juan paused for a moment.
"No choice is left me while Carlos pines uncomforted in a dungeon," he
said at last, firmly, though very sorrowfully.
"Then you know what you risk, that is all," answered the lady, whose
will was a match for his.
In a marvellously short time had love and sorrow transformed the young
and childish girl into a passionate, determined woman, with all the fire
of her own southern skies in her heart.
Ere he departed, Juan pleaded for permission to visit her frequently.
But here again she showed a keen-sighted apprehensiveness for _him_,
which astonished him. She cautioned him against their cousins, Manuel
and Balthazar; who, if they thought him in danger of arrest, were quite
capable of informing against him themselves, to secure a share of his
patrimony. Or they might gain the same end, without the disgrace of
such a baseness, by putting him quietly out of the way with their
daggers. On all accounts, his frequent presence at the house would be
undesirable, and might be dangerous; but she agreed to inform him, by
means of certain signals (which they arranged together), when he might
pay a visit to her with safety. Then, having bidden her farewell, Don
Juan turned his back on his uncle's house with a heavy heart.