Something Ended and Something Begun.
"O sweet and strange it is to think that ere this day is done.
The voice that now is speaking may be beyond the sun:
For ever and for ever with those just souls and true--
And what is life that we should mourn, why make we such
ado?"--Tennyson
Late in the afternoon of that day, Dona Inez entered her sick brother's
room. A glitter of silk, rose-coloured and black, of costly lace and of
gems and gold, seemed to surround her. But as she threw aside the
mantilla that partially shaded her face, and almost sank on a seat
beside the bed, it was easy to see that she was very faint and weary, if
not also very sick at heart.
"Santa Maria! I am tired to death," she murmured. "The heat was
killing; and the whole business interminably long."
Gonsalvo gazed at her with eager eyes, as a man dying of thirst might
gaze on one who holds a cup of water; but for a while he did not speak.
At last he said, pointing to some wine that lay near, beside an untasted
meal,--
"Drink, then."
"What, my brother!" said Dona Inez, reproachfully, "you have not touched
food to-day! You--so ill and weak?"
"I am a man--even still," said Gonsalvo with a little bitterness in his
tone.
Dona Inez drank, and for a few moments fanned herself in silence,
distress and embarrassment in her face.
At last Gonsalvo, who had never withdrawn his eager gaze, said in a low
voice,--
"Sister, remember your promise."
"I am afraid--for you."
"You need not," he gasped. "Only tell me _all_."
Dona Inez passed her hand wearily across her brow.
"Everything floats before me," she said. "What with the music, and the
mass, and the incense; and the crosses, and banners, and gorgeous robes;
and then the taking of the oaths, and the sermon of the faith."
"Still--you kept my charge?"
"I did, brother." She lowered her voice. "Hard as it was, I looked at
_her_. If it comforts you to know that, all through that long day, her
face was as calm as ever I have seen it listening to Fray Constantino's
sermons, you may take that comfort to your heart When her sentence had
been read, she was asked to recant; and I heard her answer rise clear
and distinct, 'I neither can nor will recant.' Ave Maria Sanctissima!
it is all a great mystery."