THE VALE OF CEDARS;

or, The Martyr

BY GRACE AGUILAR, AUTHOR OF "HOME INFLUENCE, " "WOMAN'S FRIENDSHIP, " ETC. 

1851

 "The wild dove hath her nest--the fox her cave-- Mankind their country--Israel but the grave. "

 BYRON. 

MEMOIR OF GRACE AGUILAR. 

Grace Aguilar was born at Hackney, June 2nd, 1816. She was the eldestchild, and only daughter of Emanuel Aguilar, one of those merchantsdescended from the Jews of Spain, who, almost within the memory ofman, fled from persecution in that country, and sought and found anasylum in England. 

The delicate frame and feeble health observable in Grace Aguilarthroughout her life, displayed itself from infancy; from the ageof three years, she was almost constantly under the care of somephysician, and, by their advice, annually spending the summer monthsby the sea, in the hope of rousing and strengthening a naturallyfragile constitution. This want of physical energy was, however, indirect contrast to her mental powers, which developed early, andreadily. She learned to read with scarcely any trouble, and when oncethat knowledge was gained, her answer when asked what she would likefor a present, was invariably "A book, " which, was read, re-read, and preserved with a care remarkable in so young a child. With theexception of eighteen months passed at school, her mother was her soleinstructress, and both parents took equal delight in directing herstudies, and facilitating her personal inspection of all that wascurious and interesting in the various counties of England to whichthey resorted for her health. 

From the early age of seven she commenced keeping a journal, which wascontinued with scarce any intermission throughout her life. In 1825she visited Oxford, Cheltenham, Gloucester, Worcester, Ross, and Bath, and though at that time but nine years old, her father took her toGloucester and Worcester cathedrals, and also to see a porcelain andpin manufactory, &c. , the attention and interest she displayed onthese occasions, affording convincing proof that her mind was aliveto appreciate and enjoy what was thus presented to her observation. Before she had completed her twelfth year she ventured to try herpowers in composition, and wrote a little drama, called Gustavus Vasa, never published, and only here recorded as being the first germ ofwhat was afterwards to become the ruling passion. 

In September, 1828, the family went to reside in Devonshire for thehealth of Mr. Aguilar, and there a strong admiration for the beautiesand wonders of nature manifested itself: she constantly collectedshells, stones, seaweed, mosses, &c. , in her daily rambles; and notsatisfied with admiring their beauty, sedulously procured whateverlittle catechisms or other books on those subjects she could purchase, or borrow, eagerly endeavoring by their study, to increase herknowledge of their nature and properties. 

When she had attained the age of fourteen, her father commenced aregular course of instruction for his child, by reading aloud, whileshe was employed in drawing, needlework, &c. History was selected, that being the study which now most interested her, and the first workchosen was Josephus. 

It was while spending a short time at Tavistock, in 1830, that thebeauty of the surrounding scenery led her to express her thoughts inverse. Several small pieces soon followed her first essay, and shebecame extremely fond of this new exercise and enjoyment of heropening powers, yet her mind was so well regulated, that she neverpermitted herself to indulge in original composition until her duties, and her studies, were all performed. 

Grace Aguilar was extremely fond of music; she had learned the pianofrom infancy, and in 1831 commenced the harp. She sang pleasingly, preferring English songs, and invariably selecting them for the beautyor sentiment of the words; she was also passionately fond of dancing, and her cheerful lively manners in the society of her young friends, would scarcely have led any to imagine how deeply she felt andpondered upon the serious and solemn subjects which afterwards formedthe labor of her life. She seemed to enjoy all, to enter into all, buta keen observer would detect the hold that sacred and holy principleever exercised over her lightest act, and gayest hour. A sense of dutywas apparent in the merest trifle, and her following out of the divinecommand of obedience to parents, was only equalled by the unboundedaffection she felt for them. A wish was once expressed by her motherthat she should not waltz, and no solicitation could afterwards tempther. Her mother also required her to read sermons, and study religionand the Bible regularly; this was readily submitted to, first as atask, but afterwards with much delight; for evidence of which wecannot do better than quote her own words in one of her religiousworks. 

"This formed into a habit, and persevered in for a life, would intime, and without labor or weariness, give the comfort and theknowledge that we seek; each year it would become lighter, and moreblest, each year we should discover something we knew not before, andin the valley of the shadow of death, feel to our heart's core thatthe Lord our God is Truth. "--_Women of Israel_, Vol. II, page 43. 

Nor did Grace Aguilar only study religion for her own personalobservance and profit. She embraced its _principles_ (the principlesof all creeds) in a widely extended and truly liberal sense. Shecarried her practice of its holy and benevolent precepts into everyminutiae of her daily life, doing all the good her limited means wouldallow, finding time, in the midst of her own studies, and mostvaried and continual occupations, to work for, and instruct her poorneighbors in the country, and while steadily venerating and adheringto her own faith, neither inquiring nor heeding the religious opinionsof the needy whom she succored or consoled. To be permitted to helpand comfort, she considered a privilege and a pleasure; she left therest to God; and thus bestowing and receiving blessings and smilesfrom all who had the opportunity of knowing her, her young life flowedon, in an almost uninterrupted stream of enjoyment, until she hadcompleted her nineteenth year. 

Alas! the scene was soon to change, and trials awaited that spiritwhich, in the midst of sunshine, had so beautifully striven to prepareitself a shelter from the storm. The two brothers of Miss Aguilar, whom she tenderly loved, left the paternal roof to be placed far fromtheir family at school. Her mother's health necessitated a painful anddangerous operation, and from that time for several years, alternatehopes and fears through long and dreary watchings beside the sick bedof that beloved mother, became the portion of her gifted child. Buteven this depressing and arduous change in the duties of her existencedid not suspend her literary pursuits and labors. She profited by allthe intervals she could command, and wrote the tale of the "Martyr, "the "Spirit of Judaism, " and "Israel Defended;" the latter translatedfrom the French, at the earnest request of a friend, and printed onlyfor private circulation. The "Magic Wreath, " a little poetical work, and the first our authoress ever published, dedicated to the RightHonorable the Countess of Munster, also appeared about this time. 

In the Spring of 1835, Grace Aguilar was attacked with measles, andnever afterwards recovered her previous state of health, sufferingat intervals with such exhausting feelings of weakness, as to becomewithout any visible disease really alarming. 

The medical attendants recommended entire rest of mind and body; shevisited the sea, and seemed a little revived, but anxieties weregathering around her horizon, to which it became evidently impossibleher ardent and active mind could remain passive or indifferent, andwhich recalled every feeling, every energy of her impressible natureinto action. Her elder brother, who had long chosen music as hisprofession, was sent to Germany to pursue his studies; the youngerdetermined upon entering the sea service. The excitement of thesechanges, and the parting with both, was highly injurious to theiraffectionate sister, and her delight a few months after, at welcomingthe sailor boy returned from his first voyage, with all his tales ofdanger and adventure, and his keen enjoyment of the path of life hehad chosen, together with her struggles to do her utmost to share hiswalks and companionship, contributed yet more to impair her inadequatestrength. 

The second parting was scarcely over ere her father, who had longshown symptoms of failing health, became the victim of consumption. Hebreathed his last in her arms, and the daughter, while sorrowing overall she had lost, roused herself once more to the utmost, feeling thatshe was the sole comforter beside her remaining parent. Soon after, when her brother again returned, finding the death of his father, heresolved not to make his third voyage as a midshipman, but endeavorto procure some employment sufficiently lucrative to prevent hisremaining a burthen upon his widowed mother. Long and anxiously did hepursue this object, his sister, whose acquaintance with literary andtalented persons had greatly increased, using all her energy andinfluence in his behalf, and concentrating all the enthusiasticfeelings of her nature in inspiring him with patience, comfort, andhope, as often as they failed him under his repeated disappointments. At length his application was taken up by a powerful friend, for hersake, and she had the happiness of succeeding, and saw him departat the very summit of his wishes. Repose, which had been so longnecessary, seemed now at hand; but her nerves had been too long andtoo repeatedly overstrung, and when this task was done, the worn andweary spirit could sustain no more, and sank under the labor that hadbeen imposed upon it. 

Severe illness followed, and though it yielded after a time to skilfulremedies and tender care, her excessive languor and severe headaches, continued to give her family and friends great uneasiness. 

During all these demands upon her time, her thoughts, and her health, however, the ruling passion neither slumbered nor slept. She completedthe Jewish Faith, and also prepared Home Influence for the press, though very unfit to have taxed her powers so far. Her medicalattendant became urgent for total change of air and scene, and againstrongly interdicted _all_ mental exertion--a trip to Frankfort, tovisit her elder brother, was therefore decided on. In June, 1847, sheset out, and bore the journey without suffering nearly so much asmight have been expected. Her hopes were nigh, her spirits raised--thenovelty and interest of her first travels on the Continent gave herfor a very transient period a gleam, as it were, of strength. For aweek or two she appeared to rally, then again every exertion becametoo much for her, every stimulating remedy to exhaust her. Shewas ordered from Frankfort to try the baths and mineral waters ofSchwalbach, but without success. After a stay of six weeks, andpersevering with exemplary patience in the treatment prescribed, shewas one night seized with alarming convulsive spasms, so terrible thather family removed her next morning with all speed back to Frankfort, to the house of a family of most kind friends, where every attentionand care was lavishly bestowed. 

In vain. She took to her bed the very day of her arrival, and neverrose from it again; she became daily weaker, and in three weeks fromthat time her sufferings ceased for ever. She was perfectly consciousto within less than two hours before her death, and took anaffectionate leave of her mother and brother. Speech had been amatter of difficulty for some time previous, her throat being greatlyaffected by her malady; but she had, in consequence, learned to useher fingers in the manner of the deaf and dumb, and almost the lasttime they moved, it was to spell upon them feebly, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him. "

She was buried in the cemetery of Frankfort, one side of which is setapart for the people of her faith. The stone which marks the spotbears upon it a butterfly and five stars, emblematic of the soul inheaven, and beneath appears the inscription--

 "Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her own works praise her in the gates. "--Prov. Ch. Xxxi, v. 31. 

And thus, 16th September, 1847, at the early age of thirty-one, GraceAguilar was laid to rest--the bowl was broken, the silver cord wasloosed. Her life was short and checkered with pain and anxiety, but she strove hard to make it useful and valuable, by employingdiligently and faithfully the talents with which she had been endowed. Nor did the serious view with which she ever regarded earthlyexistence, induce her to neglect or despise any occasion of enjoyment, advantage, or sociality which presented itself. Her heart was everopen to receive, her hand to give. 

Inasmuch as she succeeded to the satisfaction of her fellow beings, let them be grateful; inasmuch as she failed, let those who perceiveit deny her not the meed of praise, for her endeavor to open the pathshe believed would lead mankind to practical virtue and happiness, andstrive to carry out the pure philanthropic principles by which she wasactuated, and which she so earnestly endeavored to diffuse. 

OCTOBER, 1849. 

THE VALE OF CEDARS;

OR, THE MARTYR. 

CHAPTER I. 

 "They had met, and they had parted; Time had closed o'er each again, Leaving lone the weary hearted Mournfully to wear his chain. "--MS. 

A deliciously cool, still evening, had succeeded the intense heat of aSpanish summer day, throwing rich shadows and rosy gleams on a wild, rude mountain pass in central Spain. Massive crags and gigantic treesseemed to contest dominion over the path, if path it could be called;where the traveller, if he would persist in going onwards, could onlymake his way by sometimes scrambling over rocks, whose close approachfrom opposite sides presented a mere fissure covered with flowers andbrushwood, through which the slimmest figure would fail to penetrate;sometimes wading through rushing and brawling streams, whose rapidcurrents bore many a jagged branch and craggy fragment along withthem; sometimes threading the intricacies of a dense forest, recognizing the huge pine, the sweet acorn oak, the cork tree, interspersed with others of lesser growth, but of equally wildperplexing luxuriance. On either side--at times so close that twocould not walk abreast, at others so divided that forests and streamsintervened--arose mountain walls seeming to reach the very heavens, their base covered with trees and foliage, which gradually thinning, left their dark heads totally barren, coming out in clear reliefagainst the deep blue sky. 

That this pass led to any inhabited district was little probable, forit grew wilder and wilder, appearing to lead to the very heart of theSierra Toledo--a huge ridge traversing Spain. By human foot it hadevidently been seldom trod; yet on this particular evening a travellerthere wended his solitary way. His figure was slight to boyishness, but of fair proportion, and of such graceful agility of movement, that the obstacles in his path, which to others of stouter mould andheavier step might have been of serious inconvenience, appeared by himas unnoticed as unfelt. The deep plume of his broad-rimmed hat couldnot conceal the deep blue restless eyes, the delicate complexion, andrich brown clustering hair; the varying expression of features, whichif not regularly handsome, were bright with intelligence andtruth, and betraying like a crystal mirror every impulse of theheart--characteristics both of feature and disposition whollydissimilar to the sons of Spain. 

His physiognomy told truth. Arthur Stanley was, as his name implied, an Englishman of noble family; one of the many whom the disastrouswars of the Roses had rendered voluntary exiles. His father and fourbrothers had fallen in battle at Margaret's side. Himself and a twinbrother, when scarcely fifteen, were taken prisoners at Tewkesbury, and for three years left to languish in prison. Wishing to conciliatethe still powerful family of Stanley, Edward offered the youthsliberty and honor if they would swear allegiance to himself. Theyrefused peremptorily; and with a refinement of cruelty more likeRichard of Gloucester than himself, Edward ordered one to the block, the other to perpetual imprisonment. They drew lots, and Edwin Stanleyperished. Arthur, after an interval, succeeded in effecting hisescape, and fled from England, lingered in Provence a few months, and then unable to bear an inactive life, hastened to the Courtof Arragon; to the heir apparent of which, he bore letters ofintroduction, from men of rank and influence, and speedilydistinguished himself in the wars then agitating Spain. The characterof the Spaniards--impenetrable and haughty reserve--occasioned, ingeneral, prejudice and dislike towards all foreigners. But powerfulas was their pride, so was their generosity; and the young and lonelystranger, who had thrown himself so trustingly and frankly on theirfriendship, was universally received with kindness and regard. In menof lower natures, indeed, prejudice still lingered; but this wasof little matter; Arthur speedily took his place among the noblestchivalry of Spain; devoted to the interests of the King of Sicily, butstill glorying in the name and feeling of an Englishman, he resolved, in his young enthusiasm, to make his country honored in himself. 

He had been five years in Spain, and was now four and twenty; butfew would have imagined him that age, so frank and free and full ofthoughtless mirth and hasty impulse was his character. These lastfifteen months, however, a shadow seemed to have fallen over him, notdeep enough to create remark, but _felt_ by himself. His feelings, always ardent, had been all excited, and were all concentrated, on asubject so wrapt in mystery, that the wish to solve it engrossed hiswhole being. Except when engaged in the weary stratagem, the rapidmarch, and actual conflict, necessary for Ferdinand's interest, butone thought, composed of many, occupied his mind, and in solitude sodistractingly, that he could never rest; he would traverse the countryfor miles, conscious indeed of what he _sought_, but perfectlyunconscious where he _went_. 

It was in one of these moods he had entered the pass we havedescribed, rejoicing in its difficulties, but not thinking where itled, or what place he sought, when a huge crag suddenly rising almostperpendicularly before him, effectually roused him from his trance. Outlet there was none. All around him towered mountains, reachingto the skies. The path was so winding, that, as he looked roundbewildered, he could not even imagine how he came there. To retracehis steps, seemed quite as difficult as to proceed. The sun too haddeclined, or was effectually concealed by the towering rocks, forsudden darkness seemed around him. There was but one way, and Stanleyprepared to scale the precipitous crag before him with more eagernessthan he would a beaten path. He threw off his cloak, folded it inthe smallest possible compass, and secured it like a knapsack to hisshoulders, slung his sword over his neck, and, with a vigorous spring, which conquered several paces of slippery rock at once, commenced theascent. Some brushwood, and one or two stunted trees, gave him nowand then a hold for his hands; and occasional ledges in the rock, aresting for his foot; but still one false step, one failing nerve, andhe must have fallen backwards and been dashed to pieces; but to Arthurthe danger was his safety. Where he was going, indeed he knew not. Hecould see no further than the summit of the crag, which appeared likea line against the sky; but any bewilderment were preferable to thestrange stagnation towards outward objects, which had enwrapped himten minutes before. 

Panting, breathless, almost exhausted, he reached the summit, andbefore him yawned a chasm, dark, fathomless, as if nature in some wildconvulsion had rent the rock asunder. The level ground on whichhe stood was barely four feet square; behind him sloped the mostprecipitous side of the crag, devoid of tree or bush, and slipperyfrom the constant moisture that formed a deep black pool at its base. Stanley hazarded but one glance behind, then looked steadily forward, till his eye seemed accustomed to the width of the chasm, which didnot exceed three feet. He fixed his hold firmly on a blasted trunkgrowing within the chasm; It shook--gave way--another moment and hewould have been lost; but in that moment he loosed his hold, claspedboth hands above his head, and successfully made the leap--aware onlyof the immense effort by the exhaustion which followed compelling himto sink down on the grass, deprived even of energy to look around him. 

So marvellous was the change of scenery on which his eyes unclosed, that he started to his feet, bewildered. A gradual hill, partlycovered with rich meadow grass, and partly with corn, diversifiedwith foliage, sloped downwards, leading by an easy descent to a smallvalley, where orange and lime trees, the pine and chestnut, palm andcedar, grew in beautiful luxuriance. On the left was a small dwelling, almost hidden in trees. Directly beneath him a natural fountain threwits sparkling showers on beds of sweet-scented and gayly-coloredflowers. The hand of man had very evidently aided nature in formingthe wild yet chaste beauty of the scene; and Arthur bounded down theslope, disturbing a few tame sheep and goats on his way, determined ondiscovering the genius of the place. 

No living object was visible, however; and with his usual recklessspirit, he resolved on exploring further, ere he demanded thehospitality of the dwelling. A narrow path led into a thicker wood, and in the very heart of its shade stood a small edifice, the natureof which Arthur vainly endeavored to understand. It was square, andformed of solid blocks of cedar; neither carving nor imagery of anykind adorned it; yet it had evidently been built with skill and care. There was neither tower nor bell, the usual accompaniments of achapel, which Stanley had at first imagined it; and he stood gazingon it more and more bewildered. At that moment, a female voice ofsingular and thrilling beauty sounded from within. It was evidentlya hymn she chanted, for the strain was slow and solemn, but though_words_ were distinctly intelligible, their language was entirelyunknown. The young man listened at first, conscious only of increasingwonderment, which was quickly succeeded by a thrill of hope, sostrange, so engrossing, that he stood, outwardly indeed as if turnedto stone; inwardly, with every pulse so throbbing that to move orspeak was impossible. The voice ceased; and in another minute a door, so skilfully constructed as when closed to be invisible in the solidwall, opened noiselessly; and a female figure stood before him. 

CHAPTER II. 

 "Farewell! though in that sound be years Of blighted hopes and fruitless tears-- Though the soul vibrate to its knell Of joys departed--yet farewell. "

 MRS. HEMANS. 

To attempt description of either face or form would be useless. Theexquisite proportions of the rounded figure, the very perfection ofeach feature, the delicate clearness of the complexion--brunette whenbrought in close contact with the Saxon, blonde when compared with theSpaniard--all attractions in themselves, were literally forgotten, orat least unheeded, beneath the spell which dwelt in the _expression_of her countenance. Truth, purity, holiness, something scarcely ofthis nether world, yet blended indescribably with all a woman'snature, had rested there, attracting the most unobservant, andriveting all whose own hearts contained a spark of the same loftyattributes. Her dress, too, was peculiar--a full loose petticoat ofdark blue silk, reaching only to the ankle, and so displaying thebeautifully-shaped foot; a jacket of pale yellow, the texture seemingof the finest woven wool, reaching to the throat; with sleeves tighton the shoulders, but falling in wide folds as low as the wrist, andso with every movement displaying the round soft arm beneath. Anantique brooch of curiously wrought silver confined the jacket at thethroat. The collar, made either to stand up or fall, was this eveningunclosed and thrown black, its silver fringe gleaming through theclustering tresses that fell in all their native richness and ravenblackness over her shoulders, parted and braided on her brow, so as toheighten the chaste and classic expression of her features. 

On a stranger that beautiful vision must have burst with bewilderingpower: to Arthur Stanley she united _memory_ with _being_, the _past_with the _present_, with such an intensity of emotion, that for a fewminutes his very breath was impeded. She turned, without seeing him, in a contrary direction; and the movement roused him. 

"Marie!" he passionately exclaimed, flinging himself directly in herpath, and startling her so painfully, that though there was a strongand visible effort at self-control, she must have fallen had he notcaught her in his arms. There was an effort to break from his hold, amurmured exclamation, in which terror, astonishment, and yet joy, werepainfully mingled, and then the heroine gave place to the woman, forher head sunk on his shoulder and she burst into tears. 

Time passed. Nearly an hour from that strange meeting, and still theywere together; but no joy, nor even hope was on the countenance ofeither. At first, Arthur had alluded to their hours of happy yetunconfessed affection, when both had felt, intuitively, that they wereall in all to each other, though not a syllable of love had passedtheir lips; on the sweet memories of those blissful hours, so brief, so fleeting, but still Marie wept: the memory seemed anguish more thanjoy. And then he spoke of returned affection, as avowed by her, whenhis fond words had called it forth; and shuddered at the recollectionthat that hour of acknowledged and mutual love, had proved the signalof their separation. He referred again to her agonized words, that aunion was impossible, that she dared not wed him; it was sin evento love him; that in the tumultuary, yet delicious emotions she hadexperienced, she had forgotten, utterly forgotten in what it mustend--the agony of desolation for herself, and, if he so loved her, forStanley also--and again he conjured her to explain their meaning. Theyhad been separated, after that fearful interview, by a hasty summonsfor him to rejoin his camp; and when he returned, she had vanished. He could not trace either her or the friend with whom she had beenstaying. Don Albert had indeed said, his wife had gone to one of thesouthern cities, and his young guest returned to her father's home;but where that home was, Don Albert had so effectually evaded, thatneither direct questionings nor wary caution could obtain reply. Buthe had found her now; they had met once more, and oh, why need theypart again? Why might he not seek her father, and beseech his blessingand consent?

His words were eloquent, his tone impassioned, and hard indeed thestruggle they occasioned. But Marie wavered not in the repetitionof the same miserable truth, under the impression of which theyhad separated before. She conjured him to leave her, to forget theexistence of this hidden valley, for danger threatened her father andherself if it was discovered. So painful was her evident terror, thatArthur pledged his honor never to reveal it, declaring that toretrace the path by which he had discovered it, was even to himselfimpossible. But still he urged her, what was this fatal secret? Whywas it sin to love him? Was she the betrothed of another? and thelarge drops starting to the young man's brow denoted the agony of thequestion. 

"No, Arthur, no, " was the instant rejoinder: "I never could love, never could be another's, this trial is hard enough, but it is all Ihave to bear. I am not called upon to give my hand to another, whilemy heart is solely thine. "

"Then wherefore join that harsh word 'sin, ' with such pure love, myMarie? Why send me from you wretched and most lonely, when no humanpower divides us?"

"No human power!--alas! alas!--a father's curse--an offendedGod--these are too awful to encounter, Arthur. Oh do not try me more;leave me to my fate, called down by my own weakness, dearest Arthur. If you indeed love me, tempt me not by such fond words; they do butrender duty harder. Oh, wherefore have you loved me!"

But such suffering tone, such broken words, were not likely to checkyoung Stanley's solicitations. Again and again he urged her, at leastto say what fatal secret so divided them; did he but know it, itmight be all removed. Marie listened to him for several minutes, withaverted head and in unbroken silence; and when she did look on himagain, he started at her marble paleness and the convulsive quiveringof her lips, which for above a minute prevented the utterance of aword. 

"Be it so, " she said at length; "you shall know this impassablebarrier. You are too honorable to reveal it. Alas! it is not that fearwhich restrained me; my own weakness which shrinks from being to theeas to other men, were the truth once known, an object of aversion andof scorn. "

"Aversion! scorn! Marie, thou ravest, " impetuously exclaimed Stanley;"torture me not by these dark words: the worst cannot be moresuffering. "

But when the words were said, when with blanched lips and cheeks, andyet unfaltering tone, Marie revealed the secret which was to separatethem for ever, Arthur staggered back, relinquishing the hands he hadso fondly clasped, casting on her one look in which love and aversionwere strangely and fearfully blended, and then burying his face in hishands, his whole frame shook as with some sudden and irrepressibleanguish. 

"Thou knowest all, now, " continued Marie, after a pause, and she stoodbefore him with arms folded on her bosom, and an expression of meekhumility struggling with misery on her beautiful features. "SeñorStanley, I need not now implore you to leave me; that look wassufficient, say but you forgive the deception I have been compelled topractise--and--and forget me. Remember what I am, and you will sooncease to love. "

"Never, never!" replied Stanley, as with passionate agony he flunghimself before her. "Come with me to my own bright land; who shallknow what thou art there? Marie, my own beloved, be mine. What to meis race or blood? I see but the Marie I have loved, I shall ever love. Come with me. Edward has made overtures of peace if I would return toEngland. For thy sake I will live beneath his sway; be but mine, andoh, we shall be happy yet. "

"And my father, " gasped the unhappy girl, for the generous nature ofArthur's love rendered her trial almost too severe. "Wilt thou protecthim too? wilt thou for my sake forget what he is, and be to him ason?" He turned from her with a stifled groan. "Thou canst not--I knewit--oh bless thee for thy generous love; but tempt me no more, Arthur;it cannot be; I dare not be thy bride. "

"And yet thou speakest of love. 'Tis false, thou canst not love me, "and Stanley sprung to his feet disappointed, wounded, till he scarceknew what he said. "I would give up Spain and her monarch's love forthee. I would live in slavery beneath a tyrant's rule to give thee ahome of love. I would forget, trample on, annihilate the prejudicesof a life, unite the pure blood of Stanley with the darkened torrentrunning through thy veins, forget thy race, descent, all but thine ownsweet self. I would do this, all this for love of thee. And forme, what wilt thou do?--reject me, bid me leave thee--and yet thouspeakest of love: 'tis false, thou lovest another better!"

"Ay!" replied Marie, in a tone which startled him, "ay, thou hastrightly spoken; thy words have recalled what in this deep agony I hadwell nigh forgotten. There is a love, a duty stronger than that I bearto thee. I would resign all else, but not my father's God. "

The words were few and simple; but the tone in which they were spokenrecalled Arthur's better nature, and banished hope at once. A pauseensued, broken only by the young man's hurried tread, as he traversedthe little platform in the vain struggle for calmness. On him thisblow had fallen wholly unprepared; Marie had faced it from the momentthey had parted fifteen months before, and her only prayer had been (afearful one for a young and loving heart), that Stanley would forgether, and they might never meet again. But this was not to be; andthough she had believed herself prepared, one look on his face, onesound of his voice had proved how vain had been her dream. 

"I will obey thee, Marie, " Stanley said, at length, pausing beforeher. "I will leave thee now, but not--not for ever. No, no; if indeedthou lovest me time will not change thee, if thou hast one sacred tie, when nature severs that, and thou art alone on earth, thou shalt bemine, whatever be thy race. "

"Hope it not, ask it not! Oh, Arthur, better thou shouldst hate me, asthy people do my race: I cannot bear such gentle words, " faltered poorMarie, as her head sunk for a minute on his bosom, and the pent-uptears burst forth. "But this is folly, " she continued, forcing backthe choking sob, and breaking from his passionate embrace. "There isdanger alike for my father and thee, if thou tarriest longer. Not thatway, " she added, as his eye glanced inquiringly towards the hill bywhich he had descended; "there is another and an easier path; followme--thou wilt not betray it?"

"Never!" was the solemn rejoinder, and not a word more passed betweenthem. He followed her through what seemed to be an endless maze, andpaused before a towering rock, which, smooth and perpendicular as awall built by man, ran round the vale and seemed to reach to heaven. Pushing aside the thick brushwood, Marie stood beside the rock, and bysome invisible movement, a low door flew open and disclosed a windingstaircase. 

"Thou wilt trust me, Arthur?"

"Ay, unto death, " he answered, springing after her up the ruggedstair. Narrow loopholes, almost concealed without by trees andbrushwood, dimly lighted the staircase, as also a low, narrow passage, which branched off in zig-zag windings at the top, and terminated, astheir woody path had done, in a solid wall. But again an invisibledoor flew open, closing behind them; and after walking about a hundredyards through prickly shrubs and entangled brushwood that obscured hissight, Marie paused, and Arthur gazed round bewildered. A seeminglyboundless plain stretched for miles around him, its green levelonly diversified by rocks scattered about in huge masses and wildconfusion, as if hurled in fury from some giant's hand. The rockwhence he had issued was completely invisible. He looked around againand again, but only to bewilder himself yet more. 

"The way looks more dreary than it is. Keep to the left: though itseems the less trodden path thou wilt find there a shelter for thenight, and to-morrow's sun will soon guide thee to a frontier town;thy road will be easy then. Night is falling so fast now, thou hadstbest not linger, Arthur. "

But he did linger, till once more he had drawn from her a confessionof her love, that none other could take his place, even while sheconjured him never to seek her again--and so they parted. Five minutesmore, and there was not a vestige of a human form on the wide-extendedplain. 

CHAPTER III. 

 "Now History unfolds her ample page, Rich with the spoils of Time. "

Clearly to comprehend the internal condition of Spain at the periodof our narrative (1479)--a condition which, though apparently purelynational, had influence over every domestic hearth--it is necessary toglance back a few years. The various petty Sovereignties into whichSpain had been divided never permitted any lengthened period of peace;but these had at length merged into two great kingdoms, under thenames of Arragon and Castile. The _form_ of both governments wasmonarchical; but the _genius_ of the former was purely republican, and the power of the sovereign so circumscribed by the Junta, theJusticia, and the Holy Brotherhood, that the vices or follies of themonarch were of less consequence, in a national point of view, inArragon, than in any other kingdom. It was not so with Castile. Fromthe death of Henry the Third, in 1404, a series of foreign and civildisasters had plunged the kingdom in a state of anarchy and misery. John the Second had some virtues as an individual, but none as a king;and his son Henry, who succeeded him in 1450, had neither the one northe other. Governed as his father had been, entirely by favorites, the discontent of all classes of his subjects rapidly increased; thepeople were disgusted and furious at the extravagance of the monarch'sminion; the nobles, fired at his insolence; and an utter contempt ofthe king, increased the virulence of the popular ferment. Unmindful ofthe disgrace attendant on his divorce from Blanche of Navarre, Henrysought and obtained the hand of Joanna, Princess of Portugal, whoseambition and unprincipled intrigues heightened the ill-favor withwhich he was already regarded. The court of Castile, once so famousfor chastity and honor, sank to the lowest ebb of infamy, the shadowof which, seeming to extend over the whole land, affected nobles andpeople with its baleful influence. All law was at an end: the people, even while they murmured against the King, followed his evil example;and history shrinks from the scenes of debauchery and licentiousness, robbery and murder, which desecrated the land. But this state ofthings could not last long, while there still remained some noblehearts amongst the Castilians. Five years after their marriage, theQueen was said to have given birth to a daughter, whom Henry declaredshould be his successor, in lieu of his young brother Alfonso (John'sson, by a second wife, Isabella of Portugal). This child the noblesrefused to receive, believing and declaring that she was not Henry'sdaughter, and arrogated to themselves the right of trying and passingsentence on their Sovereign, who, by his weak, flagitious conduct had, they unanimously declared, forfeited all right even to the presentpossession of the crown. 

The confederates, who were the very highest and noblest officers ofthe realm, assembled at Avita, and with a solemnity and pomp whichgave the whole ceremony an imposing character of reality, dethronedKing Henry in effigy, and proclaimed the youthful Alfonso sovereign inhis stead. All present swore fealty, but no actual good followed: theflame of civil discord was re-lighted, and raged with yet greaterfury; continuing even after the sudden and mysterious death of theyoung prince, whose extraordinary talent, amiability, and firmness, though only fourteen, gave rise to the rumor that he had actually beenput to death by his own party, who beheld in his rising genius theutter destruction of their own turbulence and pride. Be this asit may, his death occasioned no cessation of hostilities, theconfederates carrying on the war in the name of his sister, theInfanta Isabella. Her youth and sex had pointed her out as one notlikely to interfere or check the projects of popular ambition, andtherefore the very fittest to bring forward as an excuse for theirrevolt. With every appearance of humility and deference, they offeredher the crown; but the proudest and boldest shrank back abashed, before the flashing eye and proud majesty of demeanor with which sheanswered, "The crown is not yours to bestow; it is held by Henry, according to the laws alike of God and man; and till his death, youhave no right to bestow, nor I to receive it. "

But though firm in this resolution, Isabella did not refuse tocoincide in their plans for securing her succession. To this measureHenry himself consented, thus appearing tacitly to acknowledge thetruth of the reports that Joanna was a surreptitious child, and fora brief period Castile was delivered from the horrors of war. Oncedeclared heiress of Castile and Leon, Isabella's hand was sought bymany noble suitors, and her choice fell on Ferdinand, the youngKing of Sicily, and heir-apparent to the crown of Arragon. Love wasIsabella's incentive. Prudence, and a true patriotic ambition, urgedthe Archbishop of Toledo not only to ratify the choice, but to smoothevery difficulty in their way; he saw at once the glory which mightaccrue to Spain by this peaceful union of two rival thrones. Everypossible and impossible obstacle was privately thrown by Henry toprevent this union, even while he gave publicly his consent; hisprejudice against Ferdinand being immovable and deadly. But themanoeuvres of the Archbishop were more skilful than those of the King. The royal lovers--for such they really were--were secretly unitedat Valladolid, to reach which place in safety Ferdinand had beencompelled to travel in disguise, and attended only by four cavaliers;and at that period so straitened were the circumstances of the Princeand Princess, who afterwards possessed the boundless treasures of thenew world, that they were actually compelled to borrow money to defraythe expenses of their wedding!

The moment Henry became aware of this marriage, the civil strugglerecommenced. In vain the firm, yet pacific Archbishop of Toledorecalled the consent he had given, and proved that the union not onlysecured the after-glory of Spain, but Henry's present undisturbedpossession of his throne. Urged on by his wife, and his intriguingfavorite, the Marquis of Villena, who was for ever changing sides, hepublished a manifesto, in which he declared on oath that he believedJoanna to be his daughter, and proclaimed her heiress of Castile. Ferdinand and Isabella instantly raised an array, regardless of theforces of Portugal (to whose monarch Joanna had been betrothed), whowere rapidly advancing to the assistance of Henry. Ere, however, warhad regularly commenced, a brief respite was obtained by the death ofHenry, and instantly and unanimously Isabella was proclaimed Queen ofLeon and Castile. Peace, however, was not instantly regained; the Kingof Portugal married Joanna, and resolved on defending her rights. Someskirmishing took place, and at length a long-sustained conflict nearFero decided the point--Ferdinand and the Castilians were victorious;the King of Portugal made an honorable retreat to his own frontiers, and the Marquis of Villena, the head of the malcontents, and by manysupposed to be the real father of Joanna, submitted to Isabella. Peacethus dawned for Castile; but it was not till three years afterwards, when Ferdinand had triumphed over the enemies of Arragon, andsucceeded his father as Sovereign of that kingdom, that any vigorousmeasures could be taken for the restoration of internal order. 

The petty Sovereignties of the Peninsular, with the sole exception ofthe mountainous district of Navarre, and the Moorish territories inthe south, were now all united; and it was the sagacious ambition ofFerdinand and Isabella to render Spain as important in the scale ofkingdoms as any other European territory; and to do this, they knew, demanded as firm a control over their own subjects, as the subjectionof still harassing foes. 

Above a century had elapsed since Spain had been exposed to the swayof weak or evil kings, and all the consequent miseries of misrule andwar. Rapine, outrage, and murder had become so frequent and unchecked, as frequently to interrupt commerce, by preventing all communicationbetween one place and another. The people acknowledged no law buttheir own passions. The nobles were so engrossed with hatred of eachother, and universal contempt of their late sovereign, with personalambition and general discontent, that they had little time or leisureto attend to any but their own interest. But a very brief intervalconvinced both nobles and people that a new era was dawning for them. In the short period of eighteen months, the wise administration ofIsabella and Ferdinand, had effected a sufficient change to startleall ranks into the conviction that their best interests lay in promptobedience, and in exerting themselves in their several spheres, tosecond the sovereign's will. The chivalric qualities of Ferdinand, hisundoubted wisdom and unwavering firmness, excited both love and fear;while devotion itself is not too strong a term to express the nationalfeeling entertained toward Isabella. Her sweet, womanly gentleness, blended as it was with the dignity of the sovereign; her readysympathy in all that concerned her people--for the lowest of hersubjects; doing justice, even if it were the proud noble who injured, and the serf that suffered--all was so strange, yet fraught with suchnational repose, that her influence every year increased; while everyemotion of chivalry found exercise, and yet rest in the heart of thearistocracy for their Queen; her simple word would be obeyed, on theinstant, by men who would have paused, and weighed, and reasoned, if any other--even Ferdinand himself--had spoken. Isabella knew herpower; and if ever sovereign used it for the good, the happiness ofher people, that proud glory was her own. 

In spite of the miserable condition of the people during the civilstruggles, the wealth of Spain had not decreased. It was protectedand increased by a class of people whose low and despised estate was, probably, their safeguard--these were the Jews, who for many centurieshad, both publicly and secretly, resided in Spain. There were manyclasses of this people in the land, scattered alike over Castile, Leon, Arragon, Navarre, and also in the Moorish territories; somethere were confined to the mystic learning and profound studies of theschools, whence they sent many deeply learned men to other countries, where their worth and wisdom gained them yet greater regard than theyreceived in Spain: others were low and degraded in outward seeming, yet literally holding and guiding the financial and commercialinterests of the kingdom;--whose position was of the lowest--scornedand hated by the very people who yet employed them, and exposed toinsult from every class; the third, and by far the largest body ofSpanish Jews, were those who, Israelites in secret, were so completelyCatholic in seeming, that the court, the camp, the council, even themonasteries themselves, counted them amongst them. And this had beenthe case for years--we should say for centuries--and yet so inviolablewas the faith pledged to each other, so awful the dangers around them, were even suspicion excited, that the fatal secret never transpired;offices of state, as well as distinctions of honor, were frequentlyconferred on men who, had their faith or race been suspected, wouldhave been regarded as the scum of the earth, and sentenced to tortureand death, for daring to pass for what they were not. At the periodof which we write, the fatal enemy to the secret Jews of more moderntimes, known as the Holy Office, did not exist; but a secret andterrible tribunal there was, whose power and extent were unknown tothe Sovereigns of the land. 

The Inquisition is generally supposed to have been founded byFerdinand and Isabella, about the year 1480 or '82; but a deeperresearch informs us that it had been introduced into Spain severalcenturies earlier, and obtained great influence in Arragon. Confidingin the protection of the papal see, the Inquisitors set no bounds totheir ferocity: secret informations, imprisonments, tortures, midnightassassinations, marked their proceedings; but they overreachedthemselves. All Spain, setting aside petty rivalships, rose up againstthem. All who should give them encouragement or assistance weredeclared traitors to their country; the very lives of the Inquisitorsand their families were, in the first burst of fury, endangered; butafter a time, imagining they had sunk into harmless insignificance, their oppressors desisted in their efforts against them, andwere guilty of the unpardonable error of not exterminating thementirely. [A]

[Footnote A: Stockdale's History of the Inquisition. ]

According to the popular belief, the dreaded tribunal slept, and sosoundly, they feared not, imagined not its awakening. They littleknew that its subterranean halls were established near almost all theprincipal cities, and that its engines were often at work, even in thepalaces of kings. Many a family wept the loss of a beloved member, they knew not, guessed not how--for those who once entered those fatalwalls were never permitted to depart; so secret were their measures, that even the existence of this fearful mockery of justice andReligion was not known, or at that time it would have been whollyeradicated. Superstition had not then gained the ascendency which inafter years so tarnished the glory of Spain, and opened the wide gatesto the ruin and debasement under which she labors now. The fiercewars and revolutions ravaging the land had given too many, and toofavorable opportunities for the exercise of this secret power; butstill, regard for their own safety prevented the more public displayof their office, as ambition prompted. The vigorous proceedings ofFerdinand and Isabella rendered them yet more wary; and little did theSovereigns suspect that in their very courts this fatal power heldsway. The existence of this tribunal naturally increased the dangersenvironing the Israelites who were daring enough to live amongstthe Catholics as one of them; but of this particular danger theythemselves were not generally aware, and their extraordinary skillin the concealment of their faith (to every item of which they yetadhered) baffled, except in a very few instances, even these ministersof darkness. 

CHAPTER IV. 

 "In war did never lion rage more fierce-- In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, Than was that young and princely gentleman. "

 SHAKSPEARE. 

The wars ravaging Spain had nursed many a gallant warrior, and givenample opportunities for the possession and display of those chivalricqualities without which, in that age, no manly character wasconsidered perfect. The armies of Ferdinand and Isabella counted someof the noblest names and most valiant knights of Christendom. TheSpanish chivalry had always been famous, and when once organized undera leader of such capacity and firmness as Ferdinand; when the noticeand regard of the Queen they idolized could only be obtained by manlyvirtue as well as the warrior's ardor, a new spirit seemed to wakewithin them; petty rivalships and jealousies were laid aside, all theysought was to become distinguished; and never had chivalry shone withso pure and glorious a lustre in the court of Spain as then, when, invisibly and unconsciously, it verged on its decline. 

It was amongst all this blaze of chivalry that Arthur Stanley had hadample opportunity to raise, in his own person, the martial glory ofhis own still much loved and deeply regretted land. Ferdinand hadhonored him with so large a portion of his coveted regard, thatno petty feelings on the part of the Spaniards, because he was astranger, could interfere with his advancement; his friends, however, were mostly among the Arragonese; to Isabella, and the Castilians, hewas only known as a valiant young warrior, and a marked favorite ofthe king. There was one person, however, whom the civil contentions ofSpain had so brought forward, that his name was never spoken, eitherin council, court, or camp, palace or hut--by monarch or captive, soldier or citizen--without a burst of such warm and passionateattachment that it was almost strange how any single individual, andcomparatively speaking, in a private station, could so have won thehearts of thousands. Yet it had been gradually that this pre-eminencehad been attained--gradually, and entirely by the worth of itsobject. At the early age of sixteen, and as page to Gonzalos deLara, Ferdinand Morales had witnessed with all the enthusiasm ofa peculiarly ardent, though outwardly quiet nature, the excitingproceedings at Avila. His youth, his dignified mien, his earnestness, perhaps even his striking beauty, attracted the immediate attention ofthe young Alfonso, and a bond of union of reciprocal affection fromthat hour linked the youths together. It is useless arguing on thefolly and frivolity of such rapid attachments; there are those withwhom one day will be sufficient, not only to awaken, but to rivet, those mysterious sympathies which are the undying links of friendship;and others again, with whom we may associate intimately formonths--nay, years--and yet feel we have not one thought in common, nor formed one link to sever which is pain. 

During Alfonso's brief career, Ferdinand Morales displayed personalqualities, and a wisdom and faithfulness in his cause, well deservingnot only the prince's love, but the confidence of all those who werereally Alfonso's friends. His deep grief and ill-concealed indignationat the prince's mysteriously sudden death might, for the time, haveobtained him enemies, and endangered his own life; but the favorof Isabella, whom it was then the policy of the confederates toconciliate in all things possible, protected and advanced him. Thelove borne by the Infanta for her young brother surpassed even thetenderest affection of such relatives; all who had loved and servedhim were dear to her; and at a time when so much of treachery andinsidious policy lurked around her, even in the garb of seemingdevotion to her cause, the unwavering fidelity and straightforwardconduct of Morales, combined as it was with his deep affection forAlfonso, permitted her whole mind to rest on him, secure not only ofhis faithfulness, but of vigilance which would discover and counteractevery evil scheming of seeming friends. Her constantly chosenmessenger to Ferdinand, he became known and trusted by both thatprince and his native subjects. His wealth, which, seemed exhaustless, independent of his preferments, was ever at the service of eitherIsabella or her betrothed; he it was from whom the necessary means forher private nuptials were borrowed. At that scene he was, of course, present, and, at his own desire, escorted Ferdinand back to his owndomains--an honorable but most dangerous office, performed with hisusual unwavering fidelity and skill. That one so faithful in adversityshould advance from post to post as soon as dawning prosperitypermitted Isabella and Ferdinand to reward merit as well as to evincegratitude, was not surprising; but no royal favor, no coveted honors, no extended power, could alter one tittle of his single-heartedtruth--his unrestrained intercourse with and interest in his equals, were they of the church, court, or camp--his gentle and unassumingmanner to his inferiors. It was these things that made him souniversally beloved. The coldest natures, if thrown in contact withhim, unconsciously to themselves kindled into warmth; vice itselfcould not meet the glance of that piercing eye without shrinking, forthe moment, in loathing from itself. 

Until Isabella and Ferdinand were firmly established on the throne, and Arragon and Castile united, there had been little leisure amongsttheir warriors to think of domestic ties, otherwise it might perhapshave been noticed as somewhat remarkable that Ferdinand Moralesappeared to stand alone; kindred, indeed, he claimed with four or fiveof the noblest amongst the Castilians, but he seemed to have no nearrelative; and though he mingled courteously, and to some young heartsfar too pleasingly, amongst Isabella's court, it seemed as if hewould never stoop to love. The Queen often jested him on his apparentinsensibility, and entreating him to wed. At first he had smiled awaysuch words; but two or three months after the commencement of ourtale, he acknowledged that his affections had been for some yearsengaged to one living so completely in retirement as to be unknown toall; he had but waited till peace had dawned for Spain, and he mightoffer her not only his love, but a secure and quiet home. He spokein confidence, and Isabella, woman-like, had listened with no littleinterest, giving her royal approval of his choice, without knowingmore than his own words revealed; but feeling convinced, she said, that Ferdinand Morales would never wed one whose birth or lineagewould tarnish his pure Castilian blood, or endanger the holy faithof which he was so true a member. A red flush might have stained thecheek of the warrior at these words, but the deep obeisance withwhich he had departed from the royal presence concealed the unwontedemotion. Ere a year from that time elapsed, not only the ancient cityof Segovia, where his large estates lay, but all Castile were throwninto a most unusual state of excitement by the marriage of the popularidol, Don Ferdinand Morales, with a young and marvellously lovelygirl, whom few, if any, had ever seen before, and whose very name, Donna Marie Henriquez, though acknowledged as essentially Castilian, was yet unfamiliar. The mystery, however, as to who she was, and wherehe could have found her, was speedily lost in the universal admirationof her exceeding and remarkable loveliness, and of the new yetequally attractive character which, as a devoted husband, Moralesthenceforward displayed. Many had imagined that he was too grave, toowrapt in his many engrossing duties, alike as statesman and general, ever to play the lover; and he had seemed resolved that thisimpression should remain, and shrunk from the exposure of such sacredfeelings; for none, save Isabella, knew he loved until they saw hisbride. 

CHAPTER V. 

 "And we have won a bower of refuge now In this fresh waste. "

 MRS. HEMANS. 

The Vale of Cedars, as described in our first chapter, had beenoriginally the work of a single individual, who had found there arefuge and concealment from the secret power of the Inquisition, fromwhose walls he had almost miraculously escaped: this individual wasJulien Henriquez, the grandfather of Marie. For five years he remainedconcealed, working unaided, but successfully, in forming a comfortablehome and concealed retreat, not only for himself but for his family. Nature herself appeared to have marked the spot as an impenetrableretreat, and Julien's skill and energy increased and strengthened thenatural barriers. During these five years the secret search for hisperson, at first carried on so vigilantly that his enemies supposednothing but death could have concealed him, gradually relaxed, andthen subsided altogether. Foes and friends alike believed him dead, and when he did re-appear in the coarse robe, shrouding cowl, andhempen belt, of a wandering friar, he traversed the most populoustowns in safety, unrecognized and unsuspected. It was with somedifficulty he found his family, and a matter of no little skill toconvey them, without exciting suspicion by their disappearance, to hisretreat; but all was accomplished at length, and years of domesticfelicity crowned every former effort, and inspired and encouragedmore. 

Besides his own immediate family, consisting of his wife, a son, and daughter, Henriquez had the charge of two nephews and a niece, children of his sister, whose husband had perished by the arm of thesame secret power from which Henriquez had escaped; their mother haddied of a broken heart, from the fearful mystery of her husband'sfate, and the orphans were to Julien as his own. 

As years passed, the Vale of Cedars became not only a safe, but aluxurious home. Every visit to the world Julien turned to profit, bythe purchase first of necessaries, then of luxuries. The little templewas erected by the active aid of the young men, and the solemn ritesof their peculiar faith adhered to in security. Small as the familywas, deaths, marriages, and births took place, and feelings andsympathies were excited, and struggles secretly endured, making thatsmall spot of earth in very truth a world. The cousins intermarried. Ferdinand and Josephine left the vale for a more stirring life;Manuel, Henriquez's own son, and Miriam, his niece, preferred thequiet of the vale. Julien, his nephew, too, had loved; but hiscousin's love was given to his brother, and he departed, unmurmuringlyindeed, but he dared not yet trust himself to associate calmly withthe object of his love: he had ever been a peculiarly sad and silentboy; the fate of his father never for an instant seemed to leave hismind, and he had secretly vowed to avenge him. Love, for a while, hadbanished these thoughts; but when that returned in all the misery ofisolation to his own breast, former thoughts regained dominion, and hetried to conquer the one feeling by the encouragement of the other. His brother and his wife constantly visited the vale; if at no othertime, almost always at those solemn festivals which generally fellabout the period of the Catholic Easter and Michaelmas; oftenaccompanied by faithful friends, holding the same mysterious bond ofbrotherhood, and to whom the secret of that vale was as precious andsecure as to its natural inmates. Its aged founder had frequently thehappiness of gathering around him from twenty to thirty of his secretrace, and of feeling that his work would benefit friends as well asoffspring. Julien alone never returned to the vale, and his family atlength mourned him as one amongst the dead. 

The career of his brother was glorious but brief; he fell fightingfor his country, and his widow and young son returned to the parentalretreat. Though the cousins had married the same day, the son ofFerdinand was ten years older than his cousin Marie; Manuel and Miriamhaving lived twelve years together ere the longed-for treasure wasbestowed. At first, therefore, she had been to the youthful Ferdinandbut as a plaything, to pet and laugh with: he left the vale as pageto his father's companion in arms, Gonzalos de Lara, when Marie waslittle more than five years old; but still his love for her and hishome was such that whenever it was possible, he would snatch if itwere but half a day to visit them. Gradually, and to him it seemedalmost strangely, the plaything child changed into the graceful girl, and then again into the lovely woman; and dearer than ever became hisboyhood's home, though years had snatched away so many of its belovedinmates, that, at the period of our story, its sole occupants wereMarie and her father. 

Had her mother lived, perchance Marie had never been exposed to thedangers of an introduction to the world. Betrothed, in the secrethearts of not only her own parents, but of Ferdinand's mother, to hercousin, if she lived to attain sufficient age, Miriam would not havethought it so impossible as Manuel did, that the affections of hischild might be sought for by, and given to another, if she mingledwith the world; she would at least have waited till she wasFerdinand's wedded wife, and then sent her forth secure. But suchsubtle fears and feelings are peculiarly _woman's_; not the tenderest, most devoted father, could of himself have either thought of, orunderstood them. He might perhaps have owned their justice had theybeen presented to him by the affectionate warnings of an almostidolized wife; but that voice was hushed, her sweet counsels buriedin the grave; and the fond, proud father, only thought of his child'sbrilliant beauty, and how she would be admired and beloved, could shebe but generally known. And so, for her sake, he actually did violenceto his own love for the quiet retirement of the vale, and bore her tothe care of Donna Emilie de Castro; seeing nothing, feeling nothing, but the admiration she excited, and that she was indeed the loveliestthere. One wish he had, and that was, that his nephew could have beenthere likewise; but being engaged at that time on some importantprivate business for the Queen, Ferdinand did not even know that hiscousin had ever left the vale. 

That his child's affections could be excited towards any but those ofher own race was a circumstance so impossible, and moreover a sin sofearful, that it never entered Manuel's mind: he knew not woman'snature, dreamed not of its quick impulses, its passionate yearnings, its susceptibility towards all gentle emotions, or he could not haveso trustingly believed in the power of her peculiar faith and creedto guard her from the danger. Even his dearest desire that she shouldbecome the wife of her cousin she knew not; for the father shrunk fromrevealing it to either his child or nephew, unless Ferdinand lovedand sought her himself. What therefore had she to warn her from theprecipice on which she stood, when new, strange, yet most exquisitelysweet emotions gradually obtained possession of her heart in her dailyintercourse with Arthur Stanley? What they were indeed she knew not;the word love was never uttered by either; she only knew that hispresence, his voice, the pressure of his hand, brought with it athrilling sensation of intense happiness, such as she had never known, never imagined before. It was indeed but a brief dream, for whenhe spoke, when he besought her to be his, then indeed she woke toconsciousness, not only that she loved, but of the dark and fatalbarrier between them, which no human effort could o'erleap. Thesacrifice of race, of faith, of family, indeed might be made; but todo this never entered the mind and heart of Marie, so utterly was itimpossible. To her peculiar feelings it was sin enough thus to haveloved. 

Manuel Henriquez bore his child back to the vale, little dreaming ofthe anguish to which his unguarded love had exposed her. She had everbeen rather a pensive and gentle girl, and therefore that she shouldbe still serious was no matter of surprise. For fifteen months shehad sought to banish every dream of Arthur, every thought but that inloving him she had sinned against her God. Time and prayer had in somemeasure softened the first acute agony of her feelings; she thoughtshe was conquering them altogether, when his unexpected appearanceexcited every feeling anew. Yet in that harrowing interview still shehad been firm. She had even told him a secret, which it was almostdeath to reveal, that he might forget her; for how could he wed withher? And yet even that barrier he would have passed, and his generous, his determined love, would linger on her memory spite of every effortto think of him no more. 

It was a fearful struggle, and often and often she yearned to confessall to her father, whom she loved with no common love; but she knewtoo well, not only the grief such tidings would be to him, but whathis judgment must be, and she shrunk in agony from the condemnationof her feelings by another, constantly as she was condemning themherself. 

Henriquez had been absent from the vale during Stanley's unexpectedvisit, and he tarried long enough to excite the alarm, not only of hischild but of their domestics; nor was its cause when explained likelyto ease Marie's anxiety. He had been attacked on the day of hisintended return by a strange sensation of giddiness, followed byinsensibility, which appeared to have weakened him more than he hadthought compatible with so brief an illness. He made light of it, butstill he was uneasy, not that he feared death himself, but that itmight take him from his Marie ere his wishes were accomplished, andher earthly happiness, as he thought, secured. The first attack wasbut the forerunner of others, sometimes very slight and brief, atothers longer and more alarming, rendering Marie more and moredetermined to keep her fatal secret from him; for it appeared to herthat any stronger emotion than customary would be followed by thoseattacks; and as her love for him seemed to increase in intensity withthe anxiety his precarious health occasioned, so did her dread ofoccasioning him aught of grief. But how fruitless are our best andwisest resolutions! One little hour, and every thought was changed. 

CHAPTER VI. 

 "Oh! praise me not-- Look gently on me, or I sink to earth Not thus. "

 DE CHATILLON. 

It was the custom of the inmates of the Vale of Cedars, once in everyyear, and generally about the season of Michaelmas, to celebrate afestival, which ordained the erection of a booth or tent of "branchesof thick trees, " in which for seven days every meal was taken, andgreater part of the day (except the time passed in the little Temple)was spent. Large branches of the palm and cedar, the willow, acacia, and the oak, cut so as to prevent their withering for the seven days, formed the walls of the tent; their leaves intermingling over head, soas to form a shelter, and yet permit the beautiful blue of the heavensto peep within. Flowers of every shade and scent formed a borderingwithin; and bouquets, richly and tastefully arranged, placed in vasesfilled with scented earth, hung from the branches forming the roof. Fruit, too, was there--the purple grape, the ripe red orange, thepaler lemon, the lime, the pomegranate, the citron, all of which thevale afforded, adorned the board (which for those seven days wasalways spread within the tent), intermingled with cakes made by Marie. 

This was one of the festivals for which many of the secret race wouldvisit the vale; but it so happened that, this year, Manuel, his child, and their retainers, kept it alone--a source of disappointment andanxiety to the former, whose health was rapidly (but still to hischild almost invisibly) failing. At the close of the solemn fast whichalways preceded by five days this festival of rejoicing, he had hada recurrence of his deathlike fits of insensibility, longer andmore alarming than usual; but he had rallied, and attributed it sonaturally to his long fast, that alarm once more gave place to hopein the heart of his daughter. Not thus, however, felt herfather--convinced that death could not be long delayed, he but waitedfor his nephew's appearance and acknowledged love for his cousin, at once to give her to him, and prepare her for the worst. Parentalanxiety naturally increased with every hour that passed, and Ferdinandappeared not. 

It was the eve of the Sabbath; one from which in general all earthlycares and thoughts were banished, giving place to tranquil andspiritual joy. The father and daughter were alone within their lovelytent, but both so wrapt in evidently painful thought, that a strangesilence usurped the usual cheerful converse. So unwonted was theanxious gloom on Manuel's brow, that his child could bear it nolonger, and flinging her arms round his neck, she besought him in thetenderest accents to confide in her, as he had ever done, since hermother's death, to tell her what so pained him--might she not removeit? Henriquez could not resist that fond yet mournful pleading. Hetold her, that he felt health was departing, that death seemed everhovering near, but that its pain, its care, would all depart, could hebehold his long-cherished wish fulfilled, and his Marie the wifeof Ferdinand, whose every look and tone during his last visit hadbetrayed his devoted love. 

Marie heard; and her cheek and lips blanched to such ashy whiteness, that her father in alarm folded her to his breast; and sought tosoothe a grief, which he believed was occasioned merely by the suddenand fearful thought of his approaching death; and sought to soothe, by a reference to the endearing love, the cherished tenderness whichwould still be hers; how Ferdinand would be to her all, aye morethan all that he had been, and how, with love like his, she would behappier than she had been yet. Much he said, and he might have saidstill more, for it was long ere the startled girl could interrupt him. But when he conjured her to speak to him, not to look upon his deathso fearfully, the beautiful truth of her nature rose up against theinvoluntary deceit. It was not his death which thus appalled her;alas--alas!--and she hated herself for the fearful thought--she hadalmost lost sight of that, in the words which followed. Breaking fromhis embrace, she sunk down on her knees before him, and buying herface upon his hand, in broken accents and with choking sobs, revealedthe whole. How could she do her noble kinsman such fearful wrong asto wed him, when her whole heart, thoughts, nay, life itself, seemedwrapt in the memory of another? And that other! Oh! who, what washe? Once she looked up in her father's face, but so fearful were theemotions written there--wrath struggling with love, grief, pity, almost terror--that hastily she withdrew her glance, and remainedkneeling, bent even to the dust, long after the confession had beenpoured forth, waiting in fear and anguish for his words. 

"Marie, Marie! is it my Marie, my sainted Miriam's, child, who thusspeaks? who hath thus sinned sole representative of a race of ages, inwhose pure thoughts such fearful sin hath never mingled. My child soto love the stranger as to reject, to scorn her own! Oh God, my God, why hast thou so forsaken me? Would I had died before!" And the heavygroan which followed, confirmed the anguish breathed in those brokenwords. 

"Father!" implored the unhappy girl, clasping his knees in an agony ofsupplication, though she raised not her head--"Oh my father! in mercydo not speak thus! Words of wrath, of reproach, fearful as they arefrom thee, yet I can bear them, but not such woe! Oh, think what Ihave borne, what I must still bear. If I have sinned, my sin willbring, nay, it has already brought its own chastisement. Speak to mebut one word of love--or, if it must be, wrath. --but not, not suchaccents of despair!"

Her father struggled to reply; but the conflux of strong emotion wastoo powerful, and Marie sprung up to support him as he fell. She hadoften seen him insensible before, when there appeared no cause forsuch attacks; but was it strange that at such a moment she shouldfeel that _she_ had caused it?--that her sin perchance had killedher father; he might never wake more to say he forgave, he blessedher, --or that in those agonized moments of suspense she vowed, ifhe might but speak again, that his will should be hers, even did itdemand the annihilation of every former treasured thought! And the vowseemed heard. Gradually and, it appeared, painfully life returned. Hisfirst action was to clasp her convulsively to his heart; his next, toput her gently yet firmly from him, and bury his face in his hands, and weep. 

No sight is more terrible, even to an indifferent spectator, thanto behold tears wrung from the eyes of man--and to his child it wasindeed torture. But she controlled the choking anguish--calmly andfirmly she spoke, and gradually the paroxysm subsided. 

"That I have sinned in loving a stranger thus, I have long felt, " shesaid; "and had I been aware of the nature of these feelings, theyshould never have gained ascendency. But I awoke too late--myvery being was enchained. Still I may break from these engrossingthoughts--I would do so--pain shall be welcome, if it may in timeatone for the involuntary sin of loving the stranger, and the yetmore terrible one of grieving thee. Oh, my father, do what thou wilt, command me as thou wilt--I am henceforth wholly thine. "

"And thou wilt wed Ferdinand, my child?"

"Would he still wish it, father, if he knew the whole? And is itright, is it just, to wed him, and the truth still unrevealed? Oh, ifhe do love me, as you say, how can I requite him by deceit?"

"Tell him not, tell him not, " replied Henriquez, again fearfullyagitated; "let none other know what has been. What can it do, save togrieve him beyond thy power to repair? No, no. Once his, and all thesefearful thoughts will pass away, and their sin be blotted out, in thytrue faithfulness to one who loves thee. His wife, and I know thatthou wilt love him, and be true, as if thou hadst never lovedanother--"

"Ay, could I not be true, I would not wed, " murmured Marie, more toherself than to her father; "and if suffering indeed, atone for sin, terribly will it be redeemed. But oh, my father, tell me--I have swornto be guided by thee, and in all things I will be--tell me, in weddinghim whom thou hast chosen, do I not still do foul wrong, if not to him(her voice faltered), unto another, whose love is mine as well?"

"Better for him, as for thee, to wed another, Marie! Would'st thou wedthe stranger, wert thou free?"

She buried her face in his bosom, and murmured, "Never!"

"Then in what can this passion end, but in misery for both? Inconstant temptation to perjure thy soul, in forsaking all for him. Andif thou didst, would it bring happiness? My child, thou art absolved, even had aught of promise passed between you. Knowest thou not thata maiden of herself hath no power to vow? Her father's will aloneabsolves it or confirms. Thou doest him no wrong. Be Ferdinand'sbride, and all shall be forgiven, all forgotten--thou art my child, myMiriam's child once more!"

He pressed her again fondly to him; but though she made no reply, hisarguments could not convince her. She had indeed told Arthur that shenever could be his, but yet avowed that she loved him; and if hedid meet her as the wife of another, what must he believe her? AndFerdinand, if he did so love her, that preoccupied heart was indeed asad requital. She had, however, that evening but little time to think, for ere either spoke again, the branches at the entrance of the tentwere hastily pushed aside, and a tall manly form stood upon thethreshold. Marie sprang to her feet with a faint cry--could it be thatthe vow of an hour was already called upon to be fulfilled?--butthe intruder attributed her alarm to a different cause, and hastilyflinging off his wrapping mantle and deep plumed morion, he exclaimed, "What! alarmed by me, my gentle cousin? dearest Marie! am Iforgotten?" And Henriquez, forgetting all of bodily exhaustion, all ofmental suffering, in the deep joy his sudden appearance caused, couldonly fold the warrior in his feeble arms, and drooping his head on hisshoulder, sob forth expressively, "My son! my son!"

CHAPTER VII. 

 "And thus how oft do life and death Twine hand in hand together; And the funeral shroud, and bridal wreath, How small a space may sever!"

 MS. 

One little week did Ferdinand spend within the home of his boyhood;and in that brief interval the earthly fate of Marie Henriquez wasdecided. He had deferred his visit till such peace and prosperity haddawned for Spain, that he could offer his bride not only a home suitedto his rank, but the comfort of his presence and protection foran indeterminate time. He had come there purposely to reveal hislong-cherished love; to conjure Marie to bless him with the promise ofher hand; and, if successful, to return, in two short months, for thecelebration of their marriage, according to their own secret rites, ere the ceremony was performed in the sight of the whole Catholicworld. The intermarriages of first cousins had been so common anoccurrence in his family, that Ferdinand, in spite of some tremblings, as a lover, had regarded his final union with Marie with almost asmuch certainty, and as a thing of course, as his uncle himself. 

The effects of that agitating interview between father and daughterhad been visible to Ferdinand; but he attributed it, very naturally, to the cause privately assigned for it by his kinsman--Marie's firstconviction that her father's days were numbered. He had been greatlyshocked at the change in Henriquez's appearance, and deeply affectedat the solemn and startling earnestness with which he consigned hischild to his care, beseeching him, under all circumstances, to loveand cherish her. His nephew could scarcely understand, then, suchearnest pleadings. Alas! ere his life closed, their cause was clearenough. 

Unconscious that her father and cousin were together, or of the natureof their conversation, Marie had joined them, unexpectedly, ere theinterview was over. From her father's lips, and in a tone of tremblingagitation, she heard that his long-cherished prayer was granted, andthat she was his nephew's plighted, bride. He joined their hands, blessed them, and left them alone together, ere she had had powerto utter a single word; and when voice was recalled by the tender, earnest accents of her cousin, beseeching her to ratify her father'sconsent--to say she would learn to love him, if she did not then; thatshe would not refuse the devotedness he proffered--what could sheanswer? She had so long loved him, venerated him, gloried in hisachievements, his honors, as of an elder and much-loved brother, that, had she followed the impulse of her nature, she would have thrownherself as a sister on his neck, and poured forth her tale of sorrow. But she had sworn to be guided by her father, and he had besought herto reveal nothing; and therefore she promised to be his, even whilewith tears she declared herself unworthy. But such words were oflittle meaning to her enraptured lover save to bid him passionatelydeny them, and excite his ardent affection more than ever--satisfiedthat she could be not indifferent, listening as she did, with suchflushed cheek and glistening eye, to the theme of his life since theyhad parted--the favor of the sovereigns, and the station he had won. 

During the two months which intervened between Don Ferdinand'sdeparture and promised return, Marie strained every nerve to face herdestiny, and so meet it with calmness. Had she not loved, it wouldhave been impossible to feel herself the cherished object of hercousin's love without returning it, possessing, as he did, alikeinward and outward attraction to win regard. She studiously andearnestly banished every thought of Arthur as it rose; she prayed onlyfor strength to be faithful, not only in outward seeming but in inwardthought; that Stanley might never cross her path again, or, if he did, that his very affections might be estranged from her; that the secretshe had revealed might alone be thought upon, till all of love hadgone. The torture of such prayer, let those who love decide; but itwas the thought of his woe, did he ever know she was another's bride, that haunted her. Her own suffering it was comparitively easy to bear, believing as she did, that they were called for by her involuntarysin: but his--so successfully had she conquered herself; that it wasonly when his countenance of reproach would flit before her, that thegroan burst from her heart, and she felt bowed unto the earth. 

Infirmity itself seemed conquered in the rejoicing thankfulness withwhich Henriquez regarded this fulfilment of his wishes. He appearedactually to regain strength and energy; his alarming fainting fits hadnot recurred since his nephew's visit, and Marie hoped he wouldbe spared her longer than he believed. He never recurred to herconfession, but lavished on her, if possible, yet more endearing love, and constantly alluded to the intense happiness which her consent tobe her cousin's bride had given him. Once he left the vale, despitehis precarious health, taking with him his old retainer, Reuben, andreturned, laden with the richest gems and costliest silks, to adornhis child, on her bridal day, as befitted the bride of Ferdinand. 

Time passed: the day specified by Ferdinand rapidly approached. He wasthere to meet it--and not alone. Thoughtful of his Marie's feeling, hehad resolved that she should not stand beside the altar withoutone female friend; and he brought one, the sight of whom awakenedassociations with such overpowering strength, that Marie could onlythrow herself upon her bosom, almost convulsed with tears. It wasDonna Emelie de Castro, at whose house she had joined the world; buther emotion, supposed natural to the agitating ceremony impending, and her father's precarious health, happily for her, passed withoutfurther notice than sympathy and love. 

Henriquez, for once, was indifferent alike to the agitation of Marie, or the presence of Ferdinand. His glance was fixed on one of a littlegroup, all of whom, with the exception of this individual, werefamiliar to his home and heart. He was clothed as a monk; but hiscowl was thrown back, and his gaze so fixed on Marie that she blushedbeneath it, and turned away. 

"Do not turn from me, my child, " he said; and Henriquez started at thevoice, it was so fraught with memories of the departed. "Stranger asI must be, save in name, to thee--thou art none such to me. I seemto feel thy mother once again before me--and never was sister morebeloved!--Manuel, hast thou, indeed, forgotten Julien?"

Almost ere he ceased to speak, the long separated relatives wereclasped in each, other's arms. The five-and-twenty years, which hadchanged the prime of manhood into advancing age, and blanched the hairof each, had had no power to decrease the strong ties of kindred, so powerful in their secret race. The agitation and excitement ofHenriquez was so excessive, not only then, but during the few daysintervening before the celebration of the bridal, that Marie, in spiteof the near approach of the dreaded day, could only think of him. 

Ferdinand was no exacting lover: his affection for her was so intense, so true; his confidence in her truth so perfect, that, though he mightat times have fancied that she loved not then with fervor equal tohis own, he was contented to believe that his devotion would in timecreate in her as powerful a feeling. He had so watched, so tended herfrom infancy: she had so clung to and reverenced him, so opened heryoung heart, without one reservation, to his view--so treated him asher most cherished, most loved friend, that how could he dream she hadaught to conceal, or believe that, did she know there was, she couldhave hesitated, one moment, to refuse his hand, preferring even themisery of so grieving him, to the continued agony of deceit? It wasthis perfect confidence, this almost childish trust, so beautiful inone tried, as he had been, in the ordeal of the world, that wrungMarie's heart with deepest torture. He believed her other than shewas;--but it was too late--she dared not undeceive him. 

The nuptial morning dawned. The party, not more than twelve orfourteen in all, assembled within the little edifice, whose naturehad so puzzled Arthur. Its interior was as peculiar as its outwardappearance: its walls, of polished cedar, were unadorned with eithercarving, pictures, or imagery. In the centre, facing the east, was asort of raised table or desk, surrounded by a railing, and coveredwith a cloth of the richest and most elaborately worked brocade. Exactly opposite, and occupying the centre of the eastern wall, wasa sort of lofty chest, or ark; the upper part of which, arched, andrichly painted, with a blue ground, bore in two columns, strangehieroglyphics in gold: beneath this were portals of polished cedar, panelled, and marked out with gold, but bearing no device; theirhinges set in gilded pillars, which supported the arch above. Beforethese portals were generally drawn curtains, of material rich andglittering as that upon the reading-desk. But this day not only werethe curtains drawn aside, but the portals themselves flung open, asthe bridal party neared the steps which led to it, and disclosed sixor seven rolls of parchment, folded on silver pins, and filled withthe same strange letters, each clothed in drapery of variously coloredbrocade, or velvet, and surmounted by two sets of silver ornaments, in which the bell and pomegranate were, though small, distinctlydiscernible. A superb lamp, of solid silver, was suspended from theroof; and one of smaller dimensions, but of equally valuable material, and always kept lighted, hung just before the ark. 

Julien Morales, at his own particular request, was to read theceremony; and three hours after noon he stood within the portals, onthe highest step; a slab of white marble divided him from the brideand bridegroom, over whom a canopy was raised, supported by foursilver poles. The luxuriant hair of the bride had been gatheredup, and, save two massive braids, shading her brow and cheek, wasconcealed under a head-dress, somewhat resembling an eastern turban, but well suited to her countenance. Her dress, of the fashion beforedescribed, was all of white--the jacket or bodice richly woven withgold threads; but so thick a veil enveloped face and form, thather sweet face was concealed, until, at one particular part of themysterious rite (for such, to the Spaniards, this ceremony must havebeen), the veil was uplifted for her to taste the sacred wine, and notallowed to fall again. Neither the bridegroom (agitated himself, for his was not a nature to think lightly of the nuptial rite), norHenriquez (whose excitement was extreme) was conscious of the looksof alarm, blended with admiration, which the raising of the veilattracted towards Marie. Lovely she was; but it was the loveliness ofa marble statue, not of life--her very lips were blanched, and everyfeature still, indeed; but a stillness of so peculiar an expression, so inexpressibly, so thrillingly sad, that admiration appearedindefinably and strangely transformed to pain. The wedding ring wasplaced upon her hand--a thin crystal goblet broken by Ferdinand, on the marble at his feet--and the rites were concluded. An almostconvulsive embrace from her father--the unusual wildness of his voiceand manner, as he blessed, and called her his own precious child, whothis day had placed the seal upon his happiness, and confirmed twentyyears of filial devotedness and love--awoke her from that stagnatingtrance. She folded her arms round his neck, and burst into passionatetears; and there were none, not even Ferdinand, to chide or doubt thatemotion--it was but natural to her character, and the solemn serviceof the day. 

Gay and joyous was the meal which followed the bridal. Noappurtenances of modern pomp and luxury, indeed, decorated the board:its only ornaments were the loveliest flowers, arranged in alabastervases, and silver baskets filled with blushing fruit. The food wassimple, and the wines not choice; but the guests thought not of meresensual enjoyment. In these secret meetings, each felt there wassomething holy; richer homes, more gorgeous feasts, were theirs in theworld, whenever they so willed; but such intercourse of brotherhoodseldom occurred, and when it came, was consequently hallowed. 

Some time they sat around the board; and so unrestrained, so full ofvaried interest was their eager converse, that sunset came unheeded;and the silver lamps, fed with sweet incense, were placed upon thetable. Julien then arose, and solemnly pronounced the usual blessing, or rather thanksgiving, after the bridal feast. Marie did not look upduring its continuance; but as it concluded, she arose, and was aboutto retire with Donna Emilie, when her eye caught her father, and a cryof alarm broke from her. The burning flush had given place to a lividpaleness--the glittering of the eye to a fixed and glassy gaze. Theframe was, for a moment, rigid as stone, then fearfully convulsed;and Reuben, starting forward, caught his master as he fell. There wassomething so startling and unusual in the seizure, that even thoseaccustomed to his periods of insensibility were alarmed; and vain wasevery effort of Ferdinand to awaken hope and comfort in the seeminglyfrozen spirit of his bride. 

Henriquez was conveyed to his room, and every restorative applied; buteven the skill of Julien, well versed as he was in the healing art, was without effect. More than an hour passed, and still he lay likedeath; and no sound, no sob, broke from the torn heart of his haplesschild, who knelt beside his couch; her large dark eyes, distendedto even more than their usual size, fixed upon his face; her handsclasped round one of his; but had she sought thus to give warmth shewould have failed, for the hand of the living was cold and damp asthat of the seeming dead. 

A slight, almost imperceptible flush floated over that lividcheek--the eyes unclosed, but so quickly closed again that it was morelike the convulsive quivering of the muscle than the effort of thewill; and Marie alone had marked the change. 

"Father!" she almost shrieked in agony, "in mercy speak to meagain--say but you forgive--bless--"

"Forgive" feebly repeated the dying man; and the strong feeling ofthe father, for a brief interval, conquered even death--"Forgive?--mybeautiful--my own!--the word is meaningless, applied to thee. Art thounot my Ferdinand's bride, and hast thou not so taken the sting, thetrial even from this dread moment? My precious one!--would I could seethat face once more--but it is dark--all dark--kiss me, my child!"

She threw herself upon his bosom, and covered his cheek with kisses. He passed his hand feebly over her face, as if the touch could oncemore bring her features to his sight; and then extending his lefthand, feebly called--"Ferdinand!"

His nephew caught the withered hand, and kneeling down, pressed itreverentially and fondly to his lips. 

Henriquez's lips moved, but there came no word. 

"Doubt me not, my more than father! From boyhood to youth, from youthto manhood, I have doted on thy child. Shall I love and cherish herless now, that she has only me? Oh, trust me!--if devotion can givejoy, she will know no grief, that man can avert, again!"

A strange but a beautiful light for a single minute dispersed thefearful shadow creeping over Henriquez's features. 

"My son! my son!--I bless thee--and thou, too, my drooping flower. Julien! my brother--lay me beside my Miriam. Thou didst not come forthis--but it is well. My children--my friends--send up the hymn ofpraise--the avowal of our faith; once more awake the voice of ourfathers!"

He was obeyed; a psalm arose, solemn and sweet, in accents familiaras their mother tongue, to those who chanted; but had any other beennear, not a syllable would have been intelligible. But the voice whichin general led to such solemn service--so thrilling in its sweetness, that the most indifferent could not listen to it unmoved--now layhushed and mute, powerless even to breathe the sobs that crushedher heart. And when the psalm ceased, and the prayer for the dyingfollowed, with one mighty effort Henriquez raised himself, andclasping his hands, uttered distinctly the last solemn words everspoken by his race, and then sunk back--and there was silence. Minutes, many minutes, rolled by--but Marie moved not. Gently, andtenderly, Don Ferdinand succeeded in disengaging the convulsive holdwith which she still clasped her parent, and sought to bear her fromthat sad and solemn room. Wildly she looked up in his face, and thenon those beloved features, already fixed and gray in death;--withfrantic strength she pushed aside her husband, and sunk down by herfather's side. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

 "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 elapsedsince the conclusion of our last chapter. During that interval theoutward life of Marie had passed in a calm, even stream; which, couldshe have succeeded in entirely banishing thoughts of the past, wouldhave been unalloyed enjoyment. Her marriage, as we hinted in ourfourth chapter, had been solemnized in public, with all the form andceremony of the Catholic Church, and with a splendor incumbent on thehigh rank and immense wealth of the bridegroom. In compliance withMarie's wishes, however, she had not yet been presented to theQueen; delicate health (which was the fact, for a terrible feverhad succeeded the varied emotions of her wedding day) and herlate bereavement, was her husband's excuse to Isabella for hernon-appearance--an excuse graciously accepted; the rather that theQueen of Castile was then much engrossed with political changes andnational reforms, than from any failing of interest in Don Ferdinand'sbride. 

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 themistress of a large establishment in one of the most populous citiesof Castile; the idolized wife of the Governor of the town--and, assuch, the object of popular love and veneration, and called upon, frequently, to exert influence and authority--still Marie did not failperforming every new duty with a grace and sweetness binding her moreand more closely to the doting heart of her husband. For her inwardself, Marie was calm--nay, at intervals, almost happy. She had neitherprayed nor struggled in vain, and she felt as if her very prayer wasanswered in the fact that Arthur Stanley had been appointed to somehigh and honorable post in Sicily, and they were not therefore likelyyet to meet again. The wife of such a character as Morales could nothave continued wretched unless perversely resolved so to be. But hisvery virtues, while they inspired the deepest reverence towards him, engendered some degree of fear. Could she really have loved him as--hebelieved she did--this feeling would not have had existence; but itsfoundation was the constant thought that she was deceiving him--theremorse, that his fond confidence was so utterly misplaced--theconsciousness, that there was still something to conceal, which, ifdiscovered, must blight his happiness for ever, and estrange him fromher, were it only for the past deceit. Had his character been lesslofty--his confidence in her less perfect--his very love less fondand trusting--she could have borne her trial better; but to one true, ingenuous, open as herself, what could be more terrible than theunceasing thought that she was acting a part--and to her husband?Often and often she longed, with an almost irresistible impulse, tofling herself at his feet, and beseech him not to pierce her heartwith such fond trust; but the impulse was forcibly controlled. Whatwould 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 toknow; and yet, in affairs of church or state, camp or council, he wasalways so associated, that it was impossible to discover to which ofthese he was allied; in fact, there was a mystery around him, which noone could solve. Notwithstanding his easy--nay, it was by some thoughtfascinating manners, his presence generally created a restraint, feltintuitively by all, yet comprehended by none. That there is such, anemotion as antipathy mercifully placed within us, often as a warning, we do most strenuously believe; but we seldom trace and recognize itas such, till circumstances reveal its truth. 

The real character of Don Luis, and the office he held, our futurepages will disclose; suffice it here to state, that there was nolack of personal attractions or mental graces, to account for theuniversal, yet unspoken and unacknowledged dislike which he inspired. Apparently in the prime of life, he yet seemed to have relinquishedall the pleasures and even the passions of life. Austere, even rigid, in those acts of piety and personal mortifications enjoined by hisreligion--voluntary fasts, privations, nights supposed to be past invigil and in penance; occasional rich gifts to patron saints, andtheir human followers; an absence of all worldly feeling, evenambition; some extraordinary deeds of benevolence--all rendered him anobject of actual veneration to the priests and monks with which thegoodly city of Segovia abounded; and even the populace declared himfaultless, as a catholic and a man, even while their inward shudderingbelied the words. 

Don Ferdinand Morales alone was untroubled with these contradictoryemotions. Incapable of hypocrisy himself, he could not imagine itin others: his nature seemed actually too frank and true for theadmission even of a prejudice. Little did he dream that his name, his wealth, his very favor with the Queen, his influence with hersubjects, had already stamped him, in the breast of the man to whomhis house and heart alike were open, as an object of suspicion andespial; and that ere a year had passed over his wedded life, thesefeelings were ripened, cherished--changed from the mere thought ofpersecution, to palpable resolve, by personal and ungovernable hate. 

Don Luis had never known love; not even the fleeting fancy, much lessthe actual passion, of the sensualist, or the spiritual aspirings oftrue affection. Of the last, in fact, he was utterly incapable. No feeling, with him, was of an evanescent nature: under the coldausterity of the ordinary man, lay coals of living fire. It matterednot under what guise excited--hate, revenge, ambition, he was capableof all. At love, alone, he had ever laughed--exulting in his ownsecurity. 

The internal condition of Spain, as we have before said, had been, until the accession of Isabella and Ferdinand, one of the grossestlicense and most fearful immorality. Encouraged in the indulgence ofevery passion, by the example of the Court, no dictates of eitherreligion or morality ever interfered to protect the sanctity of home;unbridled desires were often the sole cause of murderous assaults; andthese fearful crimes continually passing unpunished, encouraged thesupposition 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 alreadyremedied these terrible abuses. Over the public safety and reform theyhad some power; but over the hearts of individuals they had none; andthere were still some with whom past license was far more influencingthan present restraint and legal severity; still some who paused atno crime so that the gratification of their passions was ensured; andforemost amongst these, though by his secret office pledged to theannihilation of all domestic and social ties, as regarded his ownperson, was Don Luis Garcia. 

For rather more than a year, Don Ferdinand Morales had enjoyed thesociety of his young wife uninterruptedly, save by occasional visits, of brief duration, to Valladolid and Leon, where Isabella alternatelyheld her court. He was now, however, summoned to attend thesovereigns, on a visit to Ferdinand's paternal dominions, an officewhich would cause his absence for a much longer interval. He obeyedwith extreme reluctance--nor did Marie feel the separation less. Therewas, in some measure, a feeling of security in his presence, which, whenever he was absent, gave place to fearful tremblings as to whatmight 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 herselfsecluded. This time her retirement was stricter than ever; and great, then, was her indignation and astonishment, when about a fortnightbefore her husband's expected return, and in direct contradictionto her commands, Don Luis Garcia was admitted to her presence; andnothing but actual flight, for which she was far too proud andself-possessed, could have averted the private interview whichfollowed. The actual words which passed we know not, but, after a verybrief interval of careless converse on the part of Garcia--somethinghe said earnestly, and in the tones of pitying sympathy, which causedthe cheek and lips of Marie to blanch to marble, and her whole frameto shiver, and then grow rigid, as if turned to stone. Could it bethat the fatal secret, which she believed was known only to herselfand Arthur, that she had loved another ere she wedded Ferdinand, hadbeen penetrated by the man towards whom she had ever felt the mostintense abhorrence? and that he dared refer to it as a source ofsympathy--as a proof that he could feel for her more than herunsuspecting husband? Why was speech so frozen up within her, that shecould not, for the moment, answer, and give him back the lie? But thatsilence of deadly terror lasted not long: he had continued to speak;at first she was unconscious of his change of tone, words, and evenaction; but when his actual meaning flashed upon her, voice, strength, energy returned in such a burst of womanly indignation, womanlymajesty, that Garcia himself, skilled in every art of evil as he was, quailed beneath it, and felt that he was powerless, save by violenceand revenge. 

While that terrible interview lasted, the wife of Morales had notfailed; but when once more alone, the most deadly terror tookpossession of her. She had, indeed, so triumphed as to banish Garcia, defeated, from her presence; but fearful threats of vengeance were inthat interview divulged--allusions to some secret power, over whichhe was the head, armed with authority even greater than that ofthe sovereign's--mysteriously spoken, but still almost strangelyintelligible, that in her betrayal or her silence lay the safety orthe danger of her husband--all compelled the conviction that herterror and her indignation at the daring insult must be buried deep inher own breast; even while the supposition that Don Luis knew all thepast (though how, her wildest imagination could not discover), andthat therefore she was in his power, urged her yet more to a fullconfession 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 ofher past life. Accustomed to read human nature under all its variedphases--employing an unusually acute penetration so to know hisfellows as to enable him, when needed, to create the greatest amountof misery--he had simply perceived that Marie's love for her husbandwas of a different nature to his for her, and that she had some secretto conceal. On this he had based his words: his suspicions were, unhappily, confirmed by the still, yet expressive agony they hadoccasioned. Baffled, as in some measure he had been, his internal ragethat he should have so quailed before a woman, naturally increased thewhirlwind of contending passions: but schooled by his impenetrablesystem of hypocrisy to outward quietness and control, he waited, certain that circumstances would either of themselves occur, or be soguided by him as to give him ample means of triumph and revenge. 

CHAPTER IX. 

 "You would have thought the very windows spake; So many greedy looks of young and old Through casements darted their desiring eyes. "

 SHAKSPEARE. 

In an apartment, whose pale, green hangings, embroidered withrichly-colored flowers, and whose furniture and ornaments, all ofdelicate material and refined taste, marked it as a meet boudoir forgentle blood, sat Marie and her husband. She occupied her favoriteseat--a cushion at his feet, and was listening with interest to hisanimated history of the Sovereign's welcome to Saragossa, the popularferment at their appearance, the good they had accomplished, and wouldstill accomplish, as their judicious plans matured. It was clear, hesaid, that they had resolved the sovereign power should not be merelynominal, as it had been. By making himself proclaimed and receivedas grand master of the three great orders of knighthood--SaintIago, Compostella, and Alcantara--the immense influence of thoseassociations must succumb to, and be guided by, Ferdinand alone; thepower of the nobles would thus be insensibly diminished, and the massof the kingdom--the PEOPLE--as a natural consequence, become of moreimportance, their position more open to the eyes of the sovereigns, and their condition, physically and morally, ameliorated and improved. 

"I feel and acknowledge this, dearest; though one of the class whosepower must be diminished to accomplish it;" he continued, "I am tooanxious for the internal prosperity of my country to quarrel with anymeasures which minds so enlightened as its present sovereigns may deemrequisite. But this is but a grave theme for thee, love. Knowestthou that her Grace reproached me with not bringing thee to join theArragonese festivities? When Donna Emilie spoke of thee, and thygentle worth and feminine loveliness, as being such as indeed herGrace would love, my Sovereign banished me her presence as a disloyalcavalier for so deserting thee; and when I marked how pale and thinthou art, I feel that she was right; I should have borne thee withme. "

"Or not have left me. Oh, my husband, leave me not again!" shereplied, with sudden and involuntary emotion, which caused him tothrow his arm round her, and fondly kiss her brow. 

"Not for the court, dearest; but that gentle heart must not forgetthou art a warrior's wife, and as such, for his honor's sake, mustsometimes bear the pang of parting. Nay, thou tremblest, and art stillpaler! Ere such summons come, thou wilt have learned to know and lovethy Queen, and in her protecting favor find some solace, should I becalled to war. "

"War! talk they of war again? I thought all was now at peace?"

"Yes, love, in our sovereign's hereditary dominions; but there can beno lasting peace while some of the fairest territory of Spain stilldims the supremacy of Castile, and bows down to Moorish masters. It istowards Grenada King Ferdinand looks, yearning for the day when, allinternal commotions healed, he can head a gallant army to compelsubjection; and sad as it will be to leave thee, sweet, thou wiltforgive thy soldier if he say, would that the day were come!"

"And will not their present extent of kingdom suffice the sovereigns?When they recall their former petty domains, and compare them with thepresent, is it not enough?"

Morales smiled. "Thou speakest as a very woman, gentle one, to whomthe actual word 'ambition' is unknown. Why, the very cause thou namesturges our sovereigns to the conquest of these Moors. They are the blotupon a kingdom otherwise as fair and great as any other European land. They thirst to raise it in the scale of kingdoms--to send down theirnames to posterity, as the founders of the Spanish monarchy--thebuilders and supporters of a united throne, and so leave theirchildren an undivided land. Surely this is a glorious project, onewhich every Spanish warrior must rejoice to aid. But fear not a speedysummons, love; much must be accomplished first. Isabella will visitthis ancient city ere then, and thou wilt learn to love and reverenceher as I do. "

"In truth, my husband, thou hast made me loyal as thyself; but saythey not she is severe, determined, stern?"

"To the guilty, yes; even the weak crafty will not stand before herrepelling glance: but what hast thou to fear, my love? Penetrative asshe is, seeming to read the heart through the countenance, she canread nought in thee save qualities to love. I remember well the eagleglance she fixed on King Ferdinand's young English favorite, SenorStanley, the first time he was presented to her. But she wassatisfied, for he ranks as deservedly high in her favor as in herhusband's. Thou hast heard me speak of this young Englishman, myMarie?"

Her face was at that moment turned from him, or he might have startedat its sudden flush; but she assented by a sign. 

"He was so full of joyousness and mirth, that to us of graver natureit seemed almost below his dignity as man; and now they tell me heis changed so mournfully; grave, sad, silent, maturity seems to havedescended upon him ere he has quite passed boyhood; or he has somesecret sorrow, too sacred to be revealed. There is some talk of hisrecall from Sicily, he having besought the king for a post of moreactive and more dangerous service. Ferdinand loves such daringspirits, and therefore no doubt will grant his boon. Ha! Alberic, whatis it?" he continued, eagerly, as a page entered, and delivered apacket secured with floss silk, and sealed with the royal signet, adding that it had been brought by an officer of the royal guard, attended by some men at arms. "Give him welcome suited to his rank, boy: I will but peruse these, and attend him instantly. "

The page withdrew, and Don Ferdinand, hastily cutting the silk, wasspeedily so engrossed in his despatches, as to forget for the timeeven the presence of his wife; and well it was so; for it enabled herwith a strong effort to conquer the deadly sickness Morale's carelesswords had caused--the pang of dread accompanying every thought ofArthur's return to Spain--to still the throbbing pulse and quiveringlip, and, outwardly unmoved, meet his joyous glance once more. 

"'Tis as I thought and hoped, " he said, with animation: "thesovereigns hold their court for some months in this city; coeval, in antiquity, associations, and loyalty, with Valladolid and Leon, Isabella, with her characteristic thought for all her subjects, hasdecided on making it occasionally the seat of empire alternately withthem, and commissions me, under her royal seal, to see the castlefittingly prepared. Listen, love, what her Grace writes further--'Takeheed, my good lord, and hide not in a casket the brightest gem whichwe have heard adorns thy home. We would ourselves judge the value ofthy well-hoarded jewel--not that we doubt its worth; for it would bestrange, indeed, if he who hath ever borne off the laurel wreath fromthe competitors for glory, should not in like manner seek and winthe prize of beauty. In simple language, let Donna Marie be inattendance. ' And so thou shalt, love; and by thy gentle virtues andmodest loveliness, add increase of honor to thy husband. Ha! whatsays Gonzalo de Lara?" he added, as his eye glanced over anotherpaper--"'Tumults in Sicily--active measures--Senor Stanley--enough onwhich to expend his chivalric ardor, and evince his devotedness toFerdinand; but Sicily quieted--supposed the king will still granthis request--assign him some post about his person, be at hand formilitary service against the Moors. ' Good! then the war is resolvedon. We must bestir ourselves, dearest, to prepare fit reception forour royal guests; there is but brief time. "

He embraced and left her as he spoke; and for several minutes Marieremained without the power even to rise from her seat: one pangconquered, another came. Arthur's recall appeared determined; wouldit be so soon that he would join this sovereigns before they reachedSegovia? She dared not think, save to pray, with wild and desperatefervor, that such might not be. 

Magnificent, indeed, were Don Ferdinand's preparations for the banquetwith which he intended to welcome his sovereigns to Segovia. Thecastle was to be the seat of their residence, and the actual _locale_of their court; but it was at his own private dwelling he resolved, bya sumptuous entertainment, to evince how deeply and reverentiallyhe felt the favor with which he was regarded by both monarchs, moreespecially by Isabella, his native Sovereign. 

In the many struggles which were constantly occurring between theSpaniards and Moors, the former had become acquainted with the lightyet beautiful architecture and varied skill in all the arts peculiarto the latter, and displayed their improved taste in both public andprivate buildings. Morales, in addition to natural taste, possessedgreat affluence, which enabled him to evince yet greater splendor inhis establishment than was usual to his countrymen. 

There was one octangular room, the large panels forming the walls ofwhich were painted, each forming a striking picture of the principalevents in the history of Spain, from the descent of Don Palayo, andthe mountaineers of Asturias, who struck the first blow for Spanishfreedom, to the accession of Ferdinand and Isabella. The paintingswere not detached pictures, but drawn and colored on the wall itself, which had been previously prepared for the reception of the colors bya curious process, still in use among the Orientals. [A] The colors, when dry, were rubbed, till the utmost brilliancy was attained; andthis, combined as it was with a freedom and correctness of drawing, produced an effect as striking then as it would be novel to moderneyes. One side, divided into three compartments, contained in one atouching likeness of the young Alfonso. His figure, rather larger thanlife, was clothed in armor, which shone as inlaid with gold. His headwas bare, and his bright locks flowed over his shoulders as he worethem in life. His brilliant eye, his lofty brow, and peculiarly sweetexpression of mouth, had been caught by the limner, and transferred tohis painting in all their original beauty. Round him were groupedsome of the celebrated cavaliers of his party; and the back-ground, occupied by troops not in regular battalions, but as impelled by somewhelming feeling of national excitement, impossible to be restrained. Answering to this was a full length of the infanta Isabella I. , inthe act of refusing the crown offered by the confederates. The centrecompartment represented the union of Castile and Arragon by thenuptials of their respective sovereigns in the cathedral church ofValladolid. Over these pictures were suspended golden lamps, inlaidwith gems; so that, day or night, the effect should remain the same. Opposite the dais, huge folding-doors opened on an extensive hall, where the banquets were generally held, and down which Don Ferdinandintended to range the tables for his guests of lesser rank, leavingthe octangular apartment for the royal tables, and those of the mostdistinguished nobles; the one, however, so communicating with theother, as to appear one lengthened chamber. On the right hand of thedais, another large door opened on a withdrawing-room, the floor ofwhich was of marble, curiously tinted; and the walls hung with Genoavelvet, ruby-colored, and bordered by a wide fringe of gold. Superbvases of alternate crystal and frosted silver, on pedestals ofalabaster and of aqua-marine, were ranged along the walls, thedelicate beauty of their material and workmanship coming out wellagainst the rich coloring of the hangings behind. The roof, a loftydome, displayed the light Arabesque workmanship, peculiar to Moorisharchitecture, as did the form and ornaments of the windows. Thisapartment opened into another, much smaller, each side of which, apparently formed of silver plate, reflected as mirrors every object;and the pillars supporting the peculiarly light roof of the sameglittering material. Some parts of the extensive gardens Moralesintended to illuminate; and others, for the effect of contrast, to beleft in deepest shadow. 

[Footnote A: See Art Union Journal, August, 1845. ]

Nothing was omitted which could do honor to the royal guests, orcast a reproach upon the magnificent hospitality of their hosts. Thepreparations were but just completed, when an advance guard arrived atSegovia with the tidings of the rapid approach of the sovereigns; andMorales, with a gallant troop of his own retainers, and a processionof the civil and military officers of Segovia, hastened to meet andescort them to the town. 

With an uncontrollable impulse, Marie had followed the example ofalmost every female in Segovia, and, wrapt in her shrouding veil, hadstationed herself, with some attendants at a casement overlooking thelong line of march. The city itself presented one scene of gladsomebustle and excitment: flags were suspended from every "turret, dome, and tower, " rich tapestries hung over balconies, which were filledwith females of every rank and grade, vying in the richness andelegance of their apparel, and their coquettish use of the veil andfan, so as to half-hide and half-display their features, more or lessbeautiful--for beautiful as a nation, the Spanish women undoubtedlyare. Bells were ringing from every church; ever and anon came a burstof warlike music, as detached troops galloped in the town, welcomedwith shouts as the officer at their head was recognized. Even thepriests themselves, with their sober dresses and solemn countenances, seemed touched with the universal excitement, relaxing into smiles andhearty greeting with the laymen they encountered. As the hours waned, popular excitement increased. It was the first visit of Isabella tothe city; and already had her character been displayed in such actionsas to kindle the warmest love towards the woman, in addition to theenthusiastic loyalty towards the Queen. 

At length the rumor rose that the main body was approaching--in littlemore than a hour the sovereigns would pass the gates, and excitementwaxed wilder and wilder, and impatience was only restrained by theinterest excited towards the gallant bodies of cavalry, which now inslow and measured march approached, forming the commencement of aline, which for three hours continued to pour within the city in oneunbroken strain. 

Even Marie herself, pre-occupied as she was in the dread search forone object, could not glance down on the moving multitude beneath herwithout in some degree sharing the enthusiasm of her countrymen. Therewere gallant warriors of every age, from the old man to the beardlessyouth; chargers, superb in form and rich in decoration; a field ofspears glittering in the broad sunshine, some bearing the light gaypennoncelle, others absolutely bending beneath the heavy folds ofbanners, which the light breeze at times extended so as to displaytheir curious heraldic bearings, and then sunk heavily around theirstaffs. Esquires bearing their masters' shields, whose spotlessfields flung back a hundred-fold the noonday sun--plumes so long anddrooping, as to fall from the gilded crest till they rested on theshoulder--armor so bright as to dazzle the eyes of the beholders, savewhen partly concealed under the magnificent surcoats and mantles, amongst which the richest velvets, slashed with gold or silver, distinguished the highest nobles. Pageantry like this mingled withsuch stirring sounds as the tramp of the noble horse, curveting, prancing, rearing, as if disdaining the slow order of march--thethrilling blast of many trumpets, the long roll, or short, sharp callof the drum; and the mingled notes of martial instruments, blendingtogether in wild yet stirring harmony, would be sufficient evenin this prosaic age to bid the heart throb and the cheek burn, recognizing it, as perhaps we should, merely as the _symbol_, not the_thing_. What, then, must it have been, when men felt such glitteringpageant and chivalric seeming, the _realities_ of life?

At length came the principal group; the pressure of the crowdsincreased, and human hearts so throbbed, that it seemed as if theycould not breathe, save in the stunning shouts, bidding the verywelkin ring. Surrounded by a guard of honor, composed indiscriminatelyof Castilians and Arragonese, mounted on a jet black steed, whichpawed the ground, and shook his graceful head, as conscious of hisprincely burden, magnificently attired, but in the robes of peace, with a circlet of gold and gems enwreathing his black velvet cap, hiscountenance breathing this day but the kindly emotions of his moreyouthful nature, unshadowed by the wile and intrigue of after-years, King Ferdinand looked the mighty monarch, whose talents raised hiscountry from obscurity, and bade her stand forth among the first ofEuropean nations. But tumultuary as were the shouts with which he wasrecognized, they were faint in comparison to those which burst forthat sight of the Princess at his side. Isabella had quitted her litteron re-entering her own dominions, and now rode a cream-coloredcharger, which she managed with the grace and dignity of one wellaccustomed to the exercise, alike in processions of peace and scenesof war. 

The difference of age between the sovereigns was not perceivable, [A]for the grave and thoughtful character of Ferdinand gave him ratherthe appearance of seniority; while the unusual fairness of Isabella'scomplexion, her slight and somewhat small stature, produced on her thecontrary effect. The dark gray eye, the rich brown hair and delicateskin of the Queen of Castile deprived her, somewhat remarkably, ofall the characteristics of a Spaniard, but, from their very noveltyattracted the admiration of her subjects. Beautiful she was not; buther charm lay in the variable expression of her features. Peculiarlyand sweetly feminine, infused, as Washington Irving observes, with "asoft, tender melancholy, " as was their general expression, they couldyet so kindle into indignant majesty, so flash with reproach or scorn, that the very color of the eye became indistinguishable, and theboldest and the strongest quailed beneath the mighty and the holyspirit, which they could not but feel, that frail woman formenshrined. 

[Footnote A: Isabella was eight or ten years Ferdinand's senior. ]

Round the sovereigns were grouped, in no regular order of march, butforming a brilliant _cortége_, many of the celebrated characters oftheir reign--men, not only of war, but of literature and wisdom, whomboth monarchs gloried in distinguishing above their fellows, seekingto exalt the honor of their country, not only in extent of dominion, but by the shining qualities of her sons. It was to this group thestrained gaze of Marie turned, and became riveted on the Queen, feeling strangely and indefinably a degree of comfort as she gazed; toexplain wherefore, even to herself, was impossible; but she felt as ifshe no longer stood alone in the wide world, whose gaze she dreaded;a new impulse rose within her, urging her, instead of remainingindifferent, as she thought she should, to seek and win Isabella'sregard. She gazed and gazed, till she could have fancied hervery destiny was in some way connected with the Queen's visit toSegovia--that some mysterious influences were connecting her, insignificant as she was, with Isabella's will. She strove with thebaseless vision; but it would gain ground, folding up her whole mindin its formless imaginings. The sight of her husband, conversingeagerly with the sovereign, in some degree startled her back to thepresent scene. His cheek was flushed with exercise and excitement; hislarge dark eyes glittering, and a sunny smile robbing his mouth ofits wonted expression of sternness. On passing his mansion he lookedeagerly up, and with proud and joyous greeting doffed his velvet cap, and bowed with as earnest reverence as if he had still to _seek_ andwin her. The chivalry of Don Ferdinand Morales was proved, yet more_after_ marriage than _before_. 

It was over: the procession had at length passed: she had scannedevery face and form whose gallant bearing proclaimed him noble; butArthur Stanley was not amongst them, and inexpressibly relieved, MarieMorales sunk down on a low seat, and covering her face with her hands, lifted up her whole soul in one wild--yet how fervent!--burst ofthanksgiving. 

CHAPTER X. 

 "Yet was I calm. I knew the time My breast would thrill before thy look; But now, to tremble were a crime: We met, and not a nerve was shook. "

 BYRON. 

The excitement of the city did not subside with the close of theprocession. The quiet gravity and impressive appearance of age, whichhad always marked Segovia, as a city more of the past than present, gave place to all the bustling animation peculiar to a provincialresidence of royalty. Its central position gave it advantages overValladolid, the usual seat of the monarchs of Castile and Leon, tosovereigns who were seeking the internal peace and prosperity of theirsubjects, and were resolved on reforming abuses in every quarter oftheir domains. The deputation from the city was graciously received;their offering--a golden vase filled with precious stones--accepted, and the seal put to their loyal excitement by receiving fromIsabella's own lips, the glad information that she had decided onmaking Segovia her residence for the ensuing year, and that shetrusted the loyalty which the good citizens of Segovia had so warmlyproffered would be proved, by their endeavors in their own householdsto reform the abuses which long years of misrule and misery hadengendered. She depended on them, her people, to aid her with heartand hand, and bade them remember, no individual was so insignificantas to remove his shoulder from the wheel on plea of uselessness. Shetrusted to her citizen subjects to raise the internal glory of herkingdom, as she did to her nobles to guard their safety, elevate herchivalry, and by their untarnished honor and stainless valor, presentan invincible front to foreign foes. Isabella knew human nature well;the citizens returned to their houses bound for ever to her service. 

Don Luis Garcia had joined the train of Morales when he set forth tomeet the sovereigns. His extraordinary austerity and semblance oflowly piety, combined as they were with universal talent, had been somuch noised abroad as to reach the ears of Ferdinand and Isabella; andMorales, ever eager to promote the interests of a countryman, tookthe earliest opportunity of presenting him to them. He was graciouslyenough received: but, though neither spoke it, an indefinable feelingof disappointment took possession of their minds, the wherefore theyknew not. Don Luis had conversed well, both as to the matter andthe manner; but neither Ferdinand nor Isabella felt the smallestinclination to advance him to any post about themselves. In virtueof his supposed rank, however, he of course mingled with the courtlycrowd, which on the appointed evening thronged the mansion of DonFerdinand. 

Tremblingly as Marie looked forward to that evening, she spared nopains to gratify her husband in the choice of her toilet. Sorrow hadnever made her indifferent, and she sought to please him even in themost trifling occurrences of life. Her beautiful hair still lay insoft, glossy bands against the delicate cheeks, and was gathered upbehind in a massive plait, forming, as it were, a diadem at the backof the exquisitely shaped head, from which fell a white veil--rather, perhaps, a half mantle, as it shaded the shoulders, not the face--ofsilver tissue, so delicately woven as to resemble lace, save in itsglittering material. A coronet of diamonds was wreathed in and outthe plait, removing all semblance of heaviness from the headgear, andcompletely divesting it of gaudiness. Her robe, of blue brocade, soclosely woven with silver threads as to glisten in the light of ahundred lamps almost like diamonds, had no ornament save the largepearls which looped up the loose sleeves above the elbow, buttonedthe bodice or jacket down the front, and richly embroidered the widecollar, which, thrown back, disclosed the wearer's delicate throat andbeautiful fall of the shoulders, more than her usual attire permittedto be visible. The tiny white silk slipper, embroidered in pearl, acollaret and bracelets of the same beautiful ornament, of very largesize, completed her costume. 

Not even the presence of royalty could restrain the burst ofundisguised admiration which greeted Marie, as, led forward by hereager husband, she was presented to the sovereigns, and knelt to dothem homage. Ferdinand himself gazed on her a moment astonished; thenwith animated courtesy hastily raised her, and playfully chid themovement as unmeet from a hostess to her guests. 

A strange moisture had risen to the eyes of the Queen as she firstbeheld Marie. It might have been that marvellous perfection of faceand form which caused the emotion; for if all perfection, even fromman's hand, is affecting even to tears, what must be the work of God?It might have been that on that young, sweet face, to the Queen'smental eye, a dim shadow from the formless realms of the futurehovered--that, stealing from that outward form of loveliness, shebeheld its twin sister, sorrow. Whatever it might have been, kind andgentle as Isabella's manner ever was, especially to her own sex, toMarie it was kinder and gentler still. 

How false is the charge breathed from man's lips, that woman neveradmires woman!--that we are incapable of the lofty feeling ofadmiration of our own sex either for beautiful qualities or beauteousform! There is no object in creation more lovely, more fraught withintensest interest (if, indeed, we are not so wholly wrapt in thepetty world of self as to have none for such lofty sympathies) than ayoung girl standing on the threshold of a new existence; beautiful, innocent, and true; offspring as yet of joy and hope alone, butbefore whom stretches the dim vista of graver years, and the yearningthoughts, unspoken griefs, and buried feelings, which even in thehappiest career must still be woman's lot. There may be many who cansee no charm and feel no interest in girlhood's beauty: but not insuch is woman's best and holiest nature; and therefore not by suchshould she be judged. 

"We will not chide thee, Senor, for thy jealous care of this mostprecious gem, " said Isabella, addressing Don Ferdinand, while her eyefollowed Marie, who, re-assured by the Queen's manner, had conqueredher painful timidity, and was receiving and returning with easy graceand natural dignity the greetings and gallantries of her guests: "sheis too pure, too precious to meet the common eye, or breathe a courtlyatmosphere. "

Don Ferdinand's eye glistened. "And yet I fear her not, " he rejoined:"she is as true, as loving, as she is loved and lovely. "

"I doubt it not: nay, 'tis the spotless purity of soul breathing inthat sweet face, which I would not behold tainted, by association withthose less pure. No: let her rest within the sanctuary of thy heartand hearth, Don Ferdinand. We do not command her constant attendanceon our person, as we had intended. "

Conscious of the inexpressible relief which this assurance would be tohis wife, Morales eagerly and gratefully expressed his thanks; and theQueen passed on, rejoicing in the power of so easily conferring joy. 

We may not linger on the splendor of this scene, or attemptdescription of the varied and picturesque groups filling the gorgeoussuite of rooms, pausing at times to admire the decorations of thedomed chamber, or passing to and fro in the hall of mirrors, gaylyreflected from the walls and pillars. The brilliant appearance of theextensive gardens; their sudden and dazzling illuminations as nightadvanced; their curious temples, and sparkling fountains sending upsheets of silver in the still air and darkening night, and falling inmyriads of diamonds on innumerable flowers, whose brilliant coloring, illuminated by small lamps, concealed beneath their foliage, shoneforth like gems; the groups of Moorish slaves, still as statues intheir various attitudes; the wild, barbaric music, startling, yetdelighting all who listened, and causing many an eager warrior tograsp his sword, longing even at such a moment to exchange thatsplendid scene for the clash and stir of war--we must leave all tothe imagination of our readers, and bid them follow us to the banquethall, where, summoned by the sound of the gong, the numerous guestssat down to tables, groaning beneath the profuse hospitality of theirhost, and the refined magnificence of the display. 

All the warrior stirred the soul of the King, as, on taking his seatat the dais, he glanced round and beheld the glorious triumphs of hiscountry so strikingly portrayed. But Isabella saw but one picture, felt but one thought; and Marie never forgot the look she fixed on thebreathing portrait of Alfonso, nor the tone with which she inquired--

"Hadst thou ever a brother, Marie?"

"Never, royal Madam. "

"Then thou canst not enter into the deep love I bore yon princely boy, nor the feeling that picture brings. Marie, I would cast aside mycrown, descend my throne without one regretful murmur, could I buthold him to my heart once more, as I did the night he bade me his gladfarewell. It was for ever! Thy husband speaks of him sometimes?"

"Often, often, my gracious liege, till his lip has quivered and hiseye has glistened!"

Isabella pressed her hand, and with even more than her wontedgraciousness, turned to receive from the hand of her host the gemmedgoblet of wine, which, in accordance with established custom, DonFerdinand knelt down to present, having first drunk of it himself. 

Inspiringly sounded the martial music during the continuance of thebanquet. Brightly sparkled the brimming goblets of the far-famedSpanish wine. Lightly round the table ran the gay laugh and gayerjest. Soft and sweet were the whispers of many a gallant cavalierto his fair companion; for, in compliment to Isabella, the nationalreserve of the daughters of Spain was in some degree laid aside and afree intercourse with their male companions permitted. Each, indeed, wore the veil, which could be thrown off, forming a mantle behind, ordrawn close to conceal every feature, as coquettish fancy willed; norwere the large fans wanting, with which the Spanish woman is said tohold as long and desperate a flirtation as the coquette of other landscan do with the assistance of voice and eye. Isabella's example had, however, already created reformation in her female train, andthe national levity and love of intrigue, had in a great degreediminished. 

The animation of the scene was at its height when suddenly the musicceased, a single gong was heard to sound, and Alberic, the seniorpage, brought tidings of the arrival of new guests; and his master, with native courtesy, hastened down the hall to give them welcome. 

Marie had not heard, or, perhaps, had not heeded the interruptionin the music; for, fascinated by the manner and conversation of theQueen, she had given herself up for the time wholly to its influence, to the forgetfulness even of her inward self. The sound of manyfootsteps and a rejoicing exclamation from the King, excited theattention at once of Isabella and her hostess. Marie glanced down thesplendid hall; and well was it for her that she was standing behindthe Queen's seat, and somewhat deep in shadow. Momentary as was all_visible_ emotion, its effect was such as must have caused remark andwonder had it been perceived: on herself, that casual glance, was asif she had received some invisibly dealt, yet fearful blow. Her brainreeled, her eyes swam, a fearful, stunning sound awoke within herears, and such failing of bodily power as compelled her, spite ofherself, to grasp the Queen's chair for support. But how mighty--howmarvellous is the power of _will_ and _mind_! In less than a minuteevery failing sense was recalled, every slackened nerve restrung, and, save in the deadly paleness of lip, as well as cheek, not a trace ofthat terrible conflict remained. 

Aware that it was at a gay banquet he was to meet the King, ArthurStanley had arranged his dress with some care. We need onlyparticularize his sword, which was remarkable for its extremesimplicity, the hilt being of the basket shape, and instead of beinginlaid with precious stones, as was the general custom of this day, was composed merely of highly burnished steel. He had received it fromhis dying father: and it was his pride to preserve it unsullied, asit had descended to him. He heeded neither laughter at its uncouthplainness, nor even the malicious sneer as to the poor Englishman'sincapacity to purchase a handsomer one; rejecting every offer of areal Toledo, and declaring that he would prove both the strength andbrightness of English steel, so that none should gainsay it. 

"Welcome, Don Arthur! welcome, Senor Stanley! By St. Francis, I shallnever learn thy native title, youth!" exclaimed the monarch, frankly, as he extended his hand, which Stanley knelt to salute. "Returned withfresher laurels, Stanley? Why, man, thou wilt make us thy debtor ingood earnest!"

"Nay, my gracious liege: that can never be!" replied Stanley, earnestly. "Grateful I am, indeed, when there is opportunity to evincefidelity and valor in your Grace's service; but believe me, where somuch has been and is received, not a life's devotion on my part canremove the impression, that I am the debtor still. "

"I believe thee, boy! I do believe thee! I would mistrust myself ere Imistrusted thee. We will hear of thy doings to-morrow. Enough now toknow we are well satisfied with thy government in Sicily, and trustour native subject who succeeds thee will do his part as well. Away tothy seat, and rejoice that thou hast arrived ere this gay scene hasclosed. Yet stay: our lovely hostess hath not yet given thee welcome. Where is the Senora? Isabella, hast thou spirited her hence? She washere but now. "

"Nay, good my Lord: she has vanished unwittingly, " replied Isabella, as she turned towards the spot where Marie had been standing. "DonFerdinand, we must entreat thee to recall her!"

"It needs not, royal Madam: I am here:" and Marie stepped forward fromthe deep shade of the falling drapery behind the royal seats whichhad concealed her, and stood calmly, almost proudly erect beside theQueen, the full light falling on her face and form. But there waslittle need for light to recognize her: the voice was sufficient; andeven the vivid consciousness of where he stood, the hundred curiouseyes upon him, could not restrain the sudden start--the bewilderedlook. Could that be Marie? Could that be the wife of FerdinandMorales? If she were the one, how could she be the other, whenscarcely eighteen months previous, she had told him that which, ifit were true, must equally prevent her union with Morales as withhimself? In what were they different save in the vast superiority ofwealth and rank? And in the chaos of bewildering emotions, so trustfulwas he in the truth of her he loved, that, against the very evidenceof his own senses, he for the moment disbelieved in the identityof the wife of Morales with the Marie Henriquez of the Cedar Vale. Perhaps it was well he did so, for it enabled him to still thetumultuous throbbing of his every pulse as her voice again sounded inhis ear, saying he was welcome, most welcome as her husband's friend, and to retire without any apparent emotion to his seat. 

He had merely bowed reverentially in reply. In any other person thesilence itself would have caused remark: but for the last three yearsStanley's reserve and silence in the company of women had been such, that a departure from his general rule even in the present case wouldhave been more noticed than his silence. Thoughts of painful, almostchaotic bewilderment indeed, so chased each other across his mind asto render the scene around him indistinct, the many faces and eagervoices like the phantasma of a dream. But the pride of manhood rousedhim from the sickening trance, and urged him to enter into thedetails, called for by his companions in arms, of the revolt of theSicilians, with even more than usual animation. 

One timid glance Marie had hazarded towards her husband, and it wasmet by such a look and smile of love and pride that she was re-assuredto perform the duties of the evening unfalteringly to the end. Alas!she little knew that her momentary emotion and that of Arthur hadalike been seen, commented upon, and welcomed with fiend-like glee, as the connecting link of an until then impalpable plot, by oneindividual in that courtly crowd, whose presence, hateful as it was, she had forgotten in the new and happier thoughts which Isabella'spresence and notice had occasioned. 

And who was there, the mere spectator of this glittering pageant, but would have pronounced that there, at least, all was joy, andgood-will, and trust, and love? Who, even did they acknowledge thetheory that one human heart, unveiled, would disperse this vain dreamof seeming unalloyed enjoyment, would yet have selected the rightindividual for the proof, or would not have shrunk back awed andsaddened had the truth been told? Surely it is well for the young, the hopeful, and the joyous, that in such scenes they see but life'ssurface--not its depths. 

The festive scene lasted some time longer, nor did it conclude withthe departure of the King and Queen: many still lingered, wandering attheir own will about the rooms and gardens, and dispersing gradually, as was then the custom, without any set farewell. 

Her attendance no longer required by the Queen, and aware that herpresence was not needed by her guests, Marie sought the gardens; herfevered spirit and aching head yearning to exchange the dazzlinglights and close rooms for the darkness and refreshing breeze ofnight. Almost unconsciously she had reached some distance from thehouse, and now stood beside a beautiful statue of a-water-nymph, overlooking a deep still pool, so clear and limpid, that when the mooncast her light upon it, it shone like a sheet of silver, reflectingevery surrounding object. There were many paths that led to it, concealed one from the other by gigantic trees and overhanging shrubs. It was a favorite spot with. Marie, and she now stood leaning againstthe statue, quite unconscious that tears were falling faster andfaster from her eyes, and mingling with the waters at her feet. 

"Marie!" exclaimed the voice of Stanley at that moment: "Canst thou beMarie? so false, so--" but his words were checked, for the terror, thetumult of feeling, while it impelled her to start from him, deprivedher of all power; and a rapid movement on his part alone prevented herfrom falling in the deep pool beneath their feet. It was but a moment:she withdrew herself from his supporting arms, and stood erect beforehim, though words she had none. 

"Speak to me!" reiterated Arthur, his voice sounding hollow andchanged; "I ask but one word. My very senses seem to play me false, and mock me with thy outward semblance to one I have so loved. Hername, too, was Marie; her voice soft and thrilling as thine own:and yet, yet, I feel that 'tis but semblance--'tis but mockery--thephantasy of a disordered brain. Speak, in mercy! Say that it is butsemblance--that thou art not the Marie I have so loved. "

"It is true--I am that Marie. I have wronged thee most cruelly, mostfalsely, " she answered, in a tone low and collected indeed, butexpressive of intense suffering. "It is too late now, either to atoneor to explain. Leave me, Senor Stanley: I am another's!"

"Too late to explain? By heaven but thou shalt!" burst fiercely andwrathfully from Stanley. "Is it not enough, that thou hast changed mywhole nature into gall, made truth itself a lie, purity a meaninglessword, but thou wilt shroud thyself under the specious hood of duty toanother, when, before heaven, thou wast mine alone. Speak!"

"Ay, I will speak--implore thee by the love thou didst once bear me, Arthur, leave me now! I can hear no more to-night. "

"On condition thou wilt see me in private once again. Marie, thoudarest not refuse me this! Thou canst not have so fallen as to give noreason for this most foul wrong--fancied weak, futile as it may be. Wepart now, but we meet again!" And with a strong effort at control hestrode hastily from her. 

The moon at that moment breaking from thick clouds, darted her fulllight upon the pool, till it shone like an illuminated mirror amidstthe surrounding darkness; and though Arthur had disappeared, its clearsurface distinctly reflected the outline of another closely shroudedfigure. Marie turned in terror, and beheld, gleaming with the triumphof a fiend, the hated countenance of Don Luis Garcia. One look toldher that he Lad seen all, heard all; but she had no power to speak ormove. Keeping his basilisk gaze fixed on her, he withdrew backwardsinto the deep shade till he had entirely disappeared. 

Summoning all her energy, Marie fled back towards the house, and atthe moment she reached it, Don Ferdinand crossed the deserted hall. 

"Marie, dearest, here and alone? Pale, too, and trembling! In heaven'sname, what hath chanced?"

A moment more, and she would have flung herself at his feet and toldhim all--all, and beseeching his forgiveness, conjure him to shieldher from Arthur, from herself; but as she looked up in his face, and met its beaming animation, its manly reflection of the puregratification that evening had bestowed, how could she, how dared shebe the one to dash it with woe? And, overpowered with this fearfulcontention of feeling, she threw her arms around him as he benttenderly over her, and burying her head in his bosom, burst intotears. 

"Thou art exhausted, mine own love! It has been too exciting, toowearying a scene for thee. Why, what a poor, weak girl thou art! Howfortunate for thee that thy Queen demands not thy constant attendance, and that thy husband is not ambitious to behold thee shining in thecourt, as thy grace and beauty might! I am too glad to feel thee all, all my own. Smile on me, love, and then to thy couch. A few hours'quiet rest, and thou wilt be thyself again. " And he bore her himselfwith caressing gentleness to her apartment. 

CHAPTER XI. 

 "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 hisright mind; he does nothing but tramp, tramp, tramp, the whole nightlong, and mutters so fiercely to himself, and such dark words, itwould make one tremble were they not belied by His sweet face and sadsmile, " was the observation of old Juana Lopez to her husband some tendays after Arthur Stanley had been domiciled in their dwelling. Theold man muttered something about his being a foreigner from the WildIsland, 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 hehas been in King Ferdinand's service so long, and was such a boy whenhe left England. "

"Stuff, woman; there's no taking the foreign blood out of him, try asyou will, " growled the old man, who in common with many of his class, was exceedingly annoyed that a foreigner should possess so much ofthe King's confidence, and not a little displeased that his dwellingshould have been fixed on for the young officer's quarters. "It wouldnot 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 oneday. Saint Iago forbid the evil don't fall first. "

"Now that is all prejudice, Viego Pedro, and you know it. Bless hisbeautiful face! there is no thought of evil there, I'd stake myexistence. 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 lookingthan his fellows, he is better in every respect--poor fools as ye are;but as for this Englisher, with such a white skin and glossycurls, and blue eyes--why I'd be ashamed to show myself amongstmen--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 concerningthe merits and demerits of their unconscious lodger continued, tillold Pedro grumbled himself off, and his more light-hearted helpmatebusied herself in preparing a tempting meal for her guest, which, toher great disappointment, shared the fate of many others, and left histable almost untouched. 

To attempt description of Stanley's feelings would be as impossible astedious; yet some few words must be said. His peculiarly enthusiastic, perhaps romantic disposition, had caused him to cling tenaciously tothe memory of Marie, even after the revelation of a secret which toother men would have seemed to place an impassable barrier betweenthem. To Arthur, difficulties in pursuit of an object only renderedits attainment the more intensely desired. Perhaps his hope restedon the conviction not so much of his own faithful love as on theunchangeable nature of hers. He might have doubted himself, but todoubt her was impossible. Conscious himself that, wrong as it mightbe, he could sacrifice every thing for her--country, rank, faithitself, even the prejudice of centuries, every thing but honor--anideal stronger in the warrior's mind than even creed--he could not andwould not believe that her secret was to her sacred as his honor tohim, and that she could no more turn renegade from the fidelity whichthat secret comprised, than he could from his honor. She had spokenof but one relation, an aged father; and he felt in his stronghopefulness, that it was only for that father's sake she had strivento conquer her love, and had told him they might never wed, and thatwhen that link was broken he might win her yet. 

Loving and believing thus, his anguish in beholding her the wife ofanother may be imagined. The more he tried to think, the more confusedand mystifying his thoughts became. Every interview which he had withher, and more especially that in the Vale of Cedars, was written inindelible characters on his heart and brain; and while beholding heras the wife of Morales contradicted their every word, still it couldnot blot them from his memory; and he would think, and think, in thevain search for but one imaginary reason, however faint, howeverunsatisfactory, for her conduct, till his brain turned, and his sensesreeled. It was not the mere suffering of unrequited love; it was themisery of having been deceived; and then, when racked and torturedby the impossibility of discovering some cause for this deceit, hersecret would flash across him, and the wild thought arise that both heand Don Ferdinand were victims to the magic and the sorcery, by meansof which alone her hated race could ever make themselves beloved. 

Compelled as he was to mingle with the Court as usual, these powerfulemotions were of course always under strong restraint, except when inthe solitude of his own quarters. That when there he should give themvent, neither conscious of, nor caring for the remarks they excitedfrom his host and hostess, was not very remarkable; perhaps he wasscarcely aware how powerfully dislike towards Don Ferdinand shared histhoughts with his vain suggestions as to the cause of Marie's falsity. The reason for this suddenly aroused dislike he could not indeedhave defined, except that Morales had obtained without difficulty atreasure, to obtain which he had offered to sacrifice so much. Sofourteen days passed, and though firmly resolved to have one moreinterview with Marie, no opportunity had presented itself, nor in factcould he feel that he had as yet obtained the self-command necessaryfor the cold, calm tone which he intended to assume. It happened thatonce or twice the King had made Arthur his messenger to Don Ferdinand;but since the night of the entertainment he had never penetratedfarther than the audience chamber, there performed his missionbriefly, and departed. Traversing the principal street of Segovia onemorning, he was accosted somewhat too courteously, he thought, fortheir slight acquaintance, by Don Luis Garcia. 

"And whither so early, Senor Stanley?" he inquired so courteously thatit could not give offence, particularly as it followed other queriesof a graceful greeting, and was not put forth abruptly. 

"To the mansion of Don Ferdinand Morales, " replied the youngEnglishman, frankly. 

"Indeed! from the King?"

Stanley answered in the affirmative, too deeply engrossed with his ownthoughts, to attend much to his companion, whose interrogations hewould undoubtedly in a more natural mood have felt inclined to resent. 

"Don Ferdinand Morales ranks as high in the favor of the people asof the King--a marvellous conjunction of qualities, is it not, SenorStanley?" continued Garcia, after walking by his side some minutes insilence. "A Monarch's favorite is seldom that of his subjects; butMorales 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 changeof tone and manner, which did not escape his companion. 

"And he is so singularly fortunate, every thing he touches seems toturn to gold--an universal idol, possessed too of such wealth andsplendor, and, above all, with such a being to share them with him. Fortune has marked him favored in all things. Didst ever behold acreature 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 thoughit was instantly recalled, and indifference both in expression ofcountenance and voice resumed, it passed not unobserved; and Don Luis, rejoicing in the pain he saw he was inflicting, continued an eloquentpanegyric on the wife of Morales, the intense love she bore herhusband, and the beautiful unity and harmony of their wedded life, until they parted within a short distance of the public entrance toDon Ferdinand's mansion, towards which Stanley turned. 

Don Luis looked after his retreating form, and folding his arms in hismantle, bent down his head, assuming an attitude which to passers-byexpressed the meek humility of his supposed character. There was awild gleam of triumph, in his eyes which he knew, and therefore theywere thus bent down, and there were thoughts in his heart which mightthus be worded:--"I have it all, all. Waiting has done better for methan acting; but now the watch is over, and the coil is laid. Therehave been those who, standing on the loftiest pinnacle, have fallenby a touch to earth; none knew the how or wherefore. " And shroudinghimself closer in his wrapping mantle, he walked rapidly on till hereached a side entrance into the gardens, which stretched for manyacres around Don Ferdinand's mansion. Here again he paused, lookedcautiously around him, then swiftly entered, and softly closed thedoor behind him. 

Already agitated by the effort to retain calmness during Garcia'sartful words, it was no light matter for Stanley to compose himselffor his interview with Morales. Vain was the gentle courtesy of thelatter, vain his kindly words, vain his confidential reception of theyoung Englishman, to remove from Arthur's heart the wild torrent ofpassion called forth by Garcia's allusion to Marie's intense lovefor her husband. To any one but Morales, his abrupt and unconnectedreplies, his strange and uncourteous manners, must have excitedirritation; but Don Ferdinand only saw that the young man wasdisturbed and pained, and for this very reason exerted his utmostkindliness of words and manner to draw him from, himself. They partedafter an interval of about half an hour, Morales to go to the castleas requested; Arthur to proceed, as he thought, to the environs of thecity. But in vain did he strive with himself. The window of the roomin 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 fatalmystery solved, became too powerful for control. Every feeling ofhonor and delicacy perished before it, and hardly knowing what he did, he retraced his steps, entered unquestioned, passed through the hallto the gardens beyond, and in less than ten minutes after he hadparted from her husband, stood in the presence of Marie. 

CHAPTER XII. 

 "If she be false, oh, then Heaven mock itself! I'll not believe it. "

 SHAKSPEARE. 

Don Ferdinand had scarcely quitted his mansion ere fleet stepsresounded behind him, and turning, he beheld Don Luis Garcia, whogreeted him with such a marked expression, both in voice and face, of sadness, that Morales involuntarily paused, and with muchcommiseration inquired what had chanced. 

"Nothing of personal misfortune, my friend; but there are times whenthe spirit is tortured by a doubtful duty. To preserve silence isundoubtedly wrong, and may lead to wrong, yet greater; and yet, tospeak, is so painfully distressing to my peace-loving disposition, that I am tossed for ever on conflicting impulses, and would gladly beguided by another. "

"If you would be guided by my counsel, my good friend, I must entreata clearer statement, " replied Morales, half smiling. "You have spokenso mysteriously, that I cannot even guess your meaning. I cannotimagine one so straightforward and strong-minded as yourselfhesitating and doubtful as to duty, of whatever nature. "

"Not if it concerned myself: but in this case I must either continueto see wrong done, with the constant dread of its coming to light, without my interference; or inflict anguish where I would gladly givebut joy; and very probably, in addition, have my tale disbelieved, and myself condemned, though for that matter, personal pain is of noconsequence, could I but pursue the right. "

"But how stands this important case, my good friend?"

"Thus: I have been so unfortunate as to discover that one is false, whom her doting husband believes most true--that the lover of heryouth has returned, and still holds her imagination chained--that shemeets him in secret, and has appointed another clandestine interview, from which who may tell the evil that may ensue? I would prevent thisinterview--would recall her to her better nature, or put her husbandon his guard: but how dare I do this--how interfere thus closelybetween man and wife? Counsel me, my friend, in pity!"

"If you have good foundation for this charge, Don Luis, it is yourduty to speak out, " replied Morales, gravely. 

"And to whom?"

"To the lawful guardian of this misguided one--her husband. "

"But how can I excite his anguish--how turn his present heaven of joyto a very hell of woe, distrust, suspicion?"

"Does the leech heed his patient's anguish when probing a painfulwound, or cutting away the mortified flesh? His office is notenviable, but it is necessary, and; if feelingly performed, we lovehim not the less. Speak out. Don Luis, openly, frankly, yet gently, tothe apparently injured husband. Do more: counsel him to act as openly, as gently with his seemingly guilty wife; and that which now appearsso dark, may be proved clear, and joy dawn again for both, by a fewwords of mutual explanation. But there must be no mystery on yourpart--no either heightening or smoothing what you may have learnt. Speak out the simple truth; insinuate nought, for that love isworthless, that husband false to his sacred charge, if he believes inguilt ere he questions the accused. "

Don Luis looked on the open countenance before him for a few minuteswithout reply, thinking, not if he should spare him, but if his plansmight not be foiled, did Morales himself act as he had said. But thepause was not long: never had he read human countenance aright, ifArthur Stanley were not at that moment with Marie. He laid his handon Don Ferdinand's arm, and so peculiar was the expression on hiscountenance, so low and plaintively musical the tone in which besaid, "God give you strength, my poor friend, " that the rich colorunconsciously forsook the cheek of the hardy warrior, leaving himpallid as death; and so sharp a thrill passed through his heart, thatit was with difficulty he retained his feet; but Morales was notmerely physically, he was mentally brave. With a powerful, a mightyeffort of will, he called life, energy, courage back, and said, sternly and unfalteringly, "Don Luis Garcia, again I say, speak out! Iunderstand you; it is I who am the apparently injured husband. Marie!Great God of heaven! that man should dare couple her pure name withignominy! Marie! my Marie! the seemingly guilty wife! Well, put forthyour tale: I am not the man to shrink from my own words. Speak truth, and I will hear you; and--and, if I can, not spurn you from me as aliar! Speak out!"

Don Luis needed not a second bidding: he had remarked, seen, andheard quite enough the evening of Don Ferdinand's banquet, to requirenothing more than the simple truth, to harrow the heart of his hearer, even while Morales disbelieved his every word. Speciously, indeed, he turned his own mere suspicions as to Marie's unhappiness, and herearly love for Arthur, into realities, founded on certain information, but with this sole exception--he told but the truth. Without movinga muscle, without change of countenance, or uttering a syllable ofrejoinder, Don Ferdinand listened to Garcia's recital, fixing hislarge piercing eye on his face, with a gaze that none but one sohardened in hypocrisy could have withstood. Once only Morales'sfeatures contracted for a single instant, as convulsed by some spasm. It was the recollection of Marie's passionate tears, the night of thefestival; and yet she had shed them on _his_ bosom. How could she beguilty? And the spasm passed. 

"I have heard you, Don Luis, " he said, so calmly, as Garcia ceased, that the latter started. "If there be truth in this strange tale, Ithank you for imparting it: if it be false--if you have dared pollutemy ears with one word that has no foundation, cross not my pathagain, lest I be tempted to turn and crush you as I would a loathsomereptile, who in very wantonness has stung me. "

He turned from him rapidly, traversed the brief space, and disappearedwithin his house. Don Luis looked after him with a low, fiendishlaugh, and plunged once more into the gardens. 

"Is the Senora within?" Inquired Don Ferdinand, encountering hiswife's favorite attendant at the entrance of Marie's private suit ofrooms; and though his cheek was somewhat pale, his voice was firm asusual. The reply was in the negative; the Senora was in the gardens. "Alone? Why are you not with her as usual, Manuella?"

"I was with her, my Lord; she only dismissed me ten minutes ago. "

Without rejoinder, Don Ferdinand turned in the direction she hadpointed out. It was a lovely walk, in the most shaded parts of theextensive grounds, walled by alternate orange and lemon trees; somewith the blossom, germ, and fruit all on one tree; others full ofthe paly fruit; and others, again, as wreathed with snow, from theprofusion of odoriferous flowers. An abrupt curve led to a grassyplot, from which a sparkling fountain sent up its glistening showers, before a luxurious bower, which Morales's tender care had formed oflarge and healthy slips, cut from the trees of the Vale of Cedars, andflowery shrubs and variegated moss from the same spot; and there hehad introduced his Marie, calling it by the fond name of "Home!" As heneared the curve, voices struck on his ear--Marie's and another's. Shewas not alone! and that other!--could it be?--nay, it was--there wasneither doubt nor hesitation--it was his--his--against whom Don Luishad warned him. Was it for this Marie had dismissed her attendant?It could not be; it was mere accident, and Don Ferdinand tried to goforward to address them as usual; but the effort even for him was toomuch, and he sunk down on a rustic bench near him, and burying hishead in his hands, tried to shut out sight and sound till power andcalmness would return. But though he could close his eyes on alloutward things, he could not deaden hearing; and words reached himwhich, while he strove not to hear, seemed to be traced by a dagger'spoint upon his heart, and from very physical agony deprived him ofstrength to move. 

"And thou wilt give me no reason--idle, weak as it must be--thou wiltrefuse me even an excuse for thy perjury?" rung on the still air, inthe excited tones of Arthur Stanley. "Wealth, beauty, power--ay, theyare said to be omnipotent with thy false sex; but little did I dreamthat it could be so with thee; and in six short months--nay, lesstime, thou couldst conquer love, forget past vows, leap over theobstacle thou saidst must part us, and wed another! 'Twas short spaceto do so much!" And he laughed a bitter, jibing laugh. 

"It was short, indeed!" faintly articulated Marie; "but long enough tobear. "

"To bear!" he answered; "nay, what hadst thou to bear? The pettedminion of two mighty sovereigns, the idol of a nation--came, andsought, and won--how couldst thou resist him? What were my claims tohis--an exile and a foreigner, with nought but my good sword, and alove so deep, so faithful (his voice softened), that it formed my verybeing? But what was love to thee before ambition? Oh, fool, fool thatI was, to believe a woman's tongue--to dream that truth could dwell inthose sweet-sounding words--those tears, that seemed to tell of griefin parting, bitter as my own--fool, to believe thy specious tale!There could be no cause to part us, else wherefore art thou Morales'swife? Thou didst never love me! From the first deceived, thou calledstforth affection, to triumph in thy power, and wreck the slender joysleft to an exile! And yet I love thee--oh, God, how deeply!"

"Arthur!" answered Marie, and her bloodless lips so quivered, theycould scarcely frame the word--"wrong I have done thee, grievouswrong; but oh! blast not my memory with injuries I have not inflicted. Look back; recall our every interview. Had I intended to deceive, tocall forth the holiest feelings of the human heart, to make them amock and scorn, to triumph in a power, of whose very existence tillthou breathed love I was unconscious--should I have said our lovewas vain--was so utterly hopeless, we could never be other thanstrangers--should I have conjured thee to leave--aye, and to forgetme, had I not felt that I loved too well, and trembled for myself yetmore than for thee? Oh, Arthur, Arthur, do not add to the bitternessof this moment by unjust reproaches! I have injured thee enough by myill-fated beauty, and too readily acknowledged love: but more I havenot done. From the first I said that there was a fate around us--thineI might never be!"

"Then wherefore wed Morales? Is he not as I am, and therefore equallyunmeet mate for thee--if, indeed, thy tale be true? Didst thou nottell me, when I implored thee to say if thy hand was pledged untoanother, that such misery was spared thee--thou wert free, and freewouldst remain while thy heart was mine?"

"Ay, " faltered Marie, "thou rememberest all too well. "

"Then didst thou not deceive? Art thou not as perjured now as I oncebelieved thee true--as false as thou art lovely? How couldst thoulove, if so soon it was as nought?"

"Then believe me all thou sayest, " replied Marie, morefirmly--"believe me thus false and perjured, and forget me, SenorStanley; crush even my memory from thy heart, and give not a thoughtto one so worthless! Mystery as there was around me when we first met, there is a double veil around me now, which I may not lift even toclear myself with thee. Turn thy love into the scorn which my perjurydeserves, and leave me. "

"I will not!" burst impetuously from Arthur, as he suddenly flunghimself at her feet. "Marie, I will not leave thee thus; say but thatsome unforeseen circumstances, not thine own will, made thee thewife of this proud Spaniard; say but that neither thy will nor thyaffections were consulted, that no word of thine could give him hopehe was beloved--that thou lovest me still; say but this, and I willbless thee!"

"Ask it not, Senor Stanley. The duty of a wife would be of itselfsufficient to forbid such words; with me gratitude and reverencerender that duty more sacred still. Wouldst thou indeed sink me so lowas, even as a wife, to cease to respect me? Rise, Senor Stanley! suchposture is unsuited to thee or me; rise, and leave me; we must nevermeet alone again. "

Almost overpowered with contending emotions, as he was, there wasa dignity, the dignity of truth in that brief appeal, which Arthurvainly struggled to resist. She had not attempted a single word ofexoneration, and yet his reproaches rushed back into his own heart ascruel and unjust, and answer he had none. He rose mechanically, andas he turned aside to conceal the weakness, a deep and fearfulimprecation suddenly broke from him; and raising her head, Mariebeheld her husband. 

Every softened feeling fled from Stanley's breast; the passionateanger which Marie's words had calmed towards herself, now burst fourthunrestrained towards Morales. His sudden appearance bringing theconviction that he had played the spy upon their interview, rousedhis native irritation almost into madness. His sword flew from itsscabbard, and in fearful passion he exclaimed--"Tyrant and coward! Howdurst thou play the spy? Is it not enough that thou hast robbed me ofa treasure whose value thou canst never know? for her love was minealone ere thou earnest between us, and by base arts and cruel forcecompelled her to be thine. Ha! wouldst thou avoid me? refuse to crossmy sword! Draw, or I will proclaim thee coward in the face of thewhole world!"

With a faint cry, Marie had thrown herself between them; but strengthfailed with the effort, and she would have fallen had not Moralesupheld her with his left arm. But she had not fainted; every sensefelt wrung into unnatural acuteness Except to support her, Morales hadmade no movement; his tall figure was raised to its fullest height, and his right arm calmly uplifted as his sole protection againstArthur. "Put up your sword, " he said firmly, and fixing his large darkeyes upon his irritated adversary, with a gaze far more of sorrow thanof anger, "I will not fight thee. Proclaim me what thou wilt. I fearneither thy sword nor thee. Go hence, unhappy boy; when this chafedmood is past, thou wilt repent this rashness, and perchance find itharder to forgive thyself than I shall to forgive thee. Go; thou artoverwrought. We are not equals now. "

Stanley involuntarily dropped the point of his sword. "I obey thee, "he said, in that deep concentrated tone, which, betrays strong passionyet more than violent words; "obey thee, because I would not strike anundefended foe; but we shall meet again in a more fitting place andseason. Till then, hear me, Don Ferdinand! We have hitherto been ascompanions in arms, and as friends, absent or together; from thismoment the tie is broken, and for ever. I am thy foe! one who hathsworn to take thy life, or lose his own. I will compel thee to meetme! Ay, shouldst thou shun me, to the confines of the world I willtrack and find thee. Coward and spy! And yet men think thee noble!"

A bitter laugh of scorn concluded these fatal words. He returned hissword violently to its sheath; the tread of his armed heel was heardfor a few seconds, and then all was silent. 

Morales neither moved nor spoke, and Marie lifted her head to look onhis face in terror. The angry words of Arthur had evidently falleneither wholly unheeded, or perhaps unheard. There was but one feelingexpressed on those chiseled features, but one thought, but oneconviction; a low, convulsive sob broke from her, and she fainted inhis arms. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

 "Why, when my life on that one hope, cast, Why didst thou chain my future to her past? Why not a breath to say she loved before?"

 BULWER. 

 "Oh leave me not! or know Before thou goest, the heart that wronged thee so But wrongs no more. "

 BULWER. 

In the first painful moments of awakening sense, Marie was onlyconscious of an undefined yet heavy weight on heart and brain; but asstrength returned she started up with a faint cry, and looked wildlyround her. The absence of Morales, the conviction that he had left herto the care of others, that for the first time he had deserted hercouch of pain, lighted up as by an electric flash the marvellous linksof memory, and the whole of that morning's anguish, every word spoken, every feeling endured, rushed back upon her with such overwhelmingforce as for the moment to deprive her of the little strength shehad regained. Why could she not die? was the despairing thought thatfollowed. What had she to live for, when it was her ill fate to wreckthe happiness of all who loved her? and yet in that moment of agonyshe never seemed to have loved her husband more. It was of him shethought far more than of Arthur, whose angry words and fatal threatrung again and again in her ears. 

"My Lord had only just left when you recovered consciousness, Senora, "gently remarked her principal attendant, whose penetration haddiscovered the meaning of Marie's imploring look and passive silence, so far at least that it was Don Ferdinand she sought, and that hisabsence pained her. "He tarried till life seemed returning, and thenreluctantly departed for the castle, where he had been summoned, hesaid, above an hour before. "

"To the castle!" repeated Marie internally. "Ay, he will do his duty, though his heart be breaking. He will take his place and act his part, and men will report him calm, wise, collected, active as his wont, andlittle dream his wife, his treasured wife, has bowed his lofty spiritto the dust, and laid low his light of home. Tell me when he returns, "she said aloud, "and bid all leave me but yourself. "

Two hours passed, and Marie lay outwardly still and calm, neitherspeaking nor employed. But at the end of that time she started uphastily, resumed the robe which had been cast aside, and remainedstanding, as intently listening to some distant sound. Several minuteselapsed, and though she had sunk almost unconsciously on the seatManuella proffered, it was not till full half an hour that she spoke. 

"The Senor has returned, " she said calmly; "bid Alberic hither. "

The page came, and she quietly inquired if any strangers had enteredwith his master. 

"No, Senora, he is alone. "

"Has he long returned?"

"Almost half an hour, Senora. He went directly to his closet, desiringthat he might not be disturbed. "

Ten minutes more, and Marie was standing in her husband's presence, but unobserved. For the first time in his whole life had her lightstep approached him unheard. For two hours he had borne a degree ofmental suffering which would either have crushed or roused any otherman into wildest fury--borne it with such an unflinching spirit, thatin neither look nor manner, nor even tone, had he departed from hisusual self, or given the slightest occasion for remark. But theprivacy of his closet obtained, the mighty will gave way, and thestormy waves rolled over him, deadening every sense and thought andfeeling, save the one absorbing truth, that he had never been beloved. Father and child had deceived him; for now every little word, everytrifling occurrence before his marriage in the Vale of Cedarsrushed back on his mind, and Henriquez imploring entreaty under allcircumstances to love and cherish her was explained. 

"Ferdinand!" exclaimed a voice almost inarticulate from sobs; andstarting, he beheld his wife kneeling by his side. "Oh! my husband, donot turn from me, do not hate me. I have none but thee. "

He tried to withdraw his hand, but the words, the tone, unmanned him, and throwing his arm round her, he clasped her convulsively to hisheart, and she felt his slow scalding tears fall one by one, as wrungfrom the heart's innermost depths, upon her cheek. 

For several minutes there was silence. The strong man's emotion is asterrible to witness as terrible to feel. Marie was the first to regainvoice; and in low beseeching accents she implored him to listen toher--to hear ere he condemned. 

"Not thus, " was his sole reply, as he tried to raise her from herkneeling posture to the cushion by his side. 

"Yes, thus my husband. I will not rise till thou say'st thou canstforgive; wilt take the loving and the weak back to thy heart, if notto love as thou hast loved, to strengthen and forgive. I have notwronged thee. Were I false in word or thought I would not kneel to askforgiveness, but crawl to thy feet and die! If thou couldst but knowthe many, many times I have longed to confess all; the agony toreceive thy fond caress, thy trusting confidence, and know myselfdeceiving; the terror lest thou shouldst discover aught from otherthan myself; oh! were it not for thy deep woe, I could bless thismoment, bidding me speak Truth once more!"

"And say thou hast never loved me? Wert true from duty, not from love?Marie, can I bear this?"

"Yes--for I do love thee. Oh! my husband, I turn to thee alone, undermy God, for rest and peace. If I might not give thee the wild passionsof my youth, when my heart was sought, and won ere I was myselfconscious of the precipice I neared, I cling to thee now alone--Iwould be thine alone. Oh, take me to thy heart, and let me lie there. Ferdinand, Ferdinand! forgive me!--love--save me from myself!"

"Ay, now and ever! Come to my heart, beloved one!" answered herhusband, rousing himself from all of personal suffering to comforther; and he drew her to him till her head rested on his bosom. "Nowtell me thy sorrowing tale, to me so wrapt in mystery. Fear notfrom me. It is enough thou clingest to me in such sweet guilelessconfidence still. "

She obeyed him; and the heavy weight of suffering years seemedlightening as she spoke. From her first meeting Arthur, to thatmorning's harrowing interview, every feeling, every incident, everythrob of reproach and dread were revealed with such touching andchildlike truth, that even in his suffering, Morales unconsciouslyclasped his wife closer and closer to him, as if her very confidenceand truth, rendered her yet dearer than before, and inexpressiblysoothed at the very moment that they pained. Their interview was long, but fraught with mutual comfort. Morales had believed, when he enteredhis closet that day, that a dense cloud was folded round him, sappingthe very elements of life; but though he still felt as if he hadreceived some heavy physical blow, the darkness had fled from hisspirit, and light dawned anew for both, beneath the heavenly rays ofopenness and Truth. 

"And Arthur?" Marie said, as that long commune came to a close; andshe looked up with the fearless gaze of integrity in her husband'sface. "Thou wilt forgive him, Ferdinand? he knew not what he said. "

"Trust me, beloved one. I pity and forgive him. He shall learn to loveme, despite himself. "

Great was the astonishment and terrible the disappointment of Don LuisGarcia at the visible failure of one portion of his nefarious schemes. Though seldom in Don Ferdinand's actual presence, he was perfectlyaware that instead of diminishing, Morales' confidence in and lovefor his wife had both increased, and that Marie was happier and morequietly at rest than she had been since her marriage. But thoughbaffled, Garcia was not foiled. The calm, haughty dignity which, whenever they did chance to meet, now characterized Don Ferdinand'smanner towards him; the brief, stern reply, if words were actuallyneeded; or complete silence, betraying as it did tire utter contemptand scorn with which his crafty design was regarded, heightened hisevery revengeful feeling, and hastened on his plans. 

Two or three weeks passed: a calm security and peaceful happiness hadtaken the place of storm and dread in Marie's heart. She felt thatit had been a secret consciousness of wrong towards her husband, thedread of discovery occasioning estrangement, the constant fear ofencountering Stanley, which had weighed on her heart far more thanformer feelings; and now that the ordeal was past, that all was known, and she could meet her husband's eye without one thought concealed;now that despite of all he could love and cherish, aye, trust herstill, she clung to him with love as pure and fond and true as everwife might feel; and her only thought of Stanley was prayer that peacemight also dawn for him. It was pain indeed to feel that the realreason of her wedding Ferdinand must for ever remain concealed. Couldthat have been spoken, one little sentence said, all would have beenexplained, and Stanley's bitter feelings soothed. 

It was the custom of Ferdinand and Isabella to gather aroundthem, about once a month, the wisest and the ablest of theirrealm--sometimes to hold council on public matters, at others merelyin friendly discussion on various subjects connected with, politics, the church, or war. In these meetings merit constituted rank, and mindnobility. They commenced late, and continued several hours through thenight. To one of these meetings Don Ferdinand Morales had received asummons as usual. As the day neared, he became conscious of a strange, indefinable sensation taking possession of heart and mind, asimpossible to be explained as to be dismissed. It was as if someimpassable and invisible, but closely-hovering evil were connectedwith the day, blinding him--as by a heavy pall--to all beyond. Hesucceeded in subduing the ascendency of the sensation, in somemeasure, till the day itself; when, as the hours waned, it became moreand more overpowering. As he entered his wife's apartment, to bid herfarewell ere he departed for the castle, it rose almost to suffocationin his throat, and he put his arm round her as she stood by thewidely-opened casement, and remained by her side several minuteswithout speaking. 

"Thou art not going to the castle yet, dearest?" she inquired. "Is itnot much earlier than usual?"

"Yes, love; but I shall not ride to-night. I feel so strangelyoppressed, that I think a quiet walk in the night air will recover mefar more effectually than riding. "

Marie looked up anxiously in his face. He was very pale, and his hairwas damp with the moisture on his forehead. "Thou art unwell, " sheexclaimed; "do not go to-night, dearest Ferdinand, --stay with me. Thypresence is not so imperatively needed. "

He shook his head with a faint smile. "I must go, love, for I have noexcuse to stay away. I wish it were any other night, indeed, for Iwould so gladly remain with thee; but the very wish is folly. I nevershrunk from the call of duty before, and cannot imagine what has comeover me to-night; but I would sacrifice much for permission to staywithin. Do not look so alarmed, love, the fresh air will remove thisvague oppression, and give me back myself. "

"Fresh air there is none, " replied his young wife, "the stillness isactually awful--not a leaf moves, nor a breeze stirs. It seems too, more than twilight darkness; as if a heavy storm were brooding. "

"It may be; oppression in the air is often the sole cause ofoppression in the mind. I should be almost glad if it came, to explainthis sensation. "

"But if thou must go, thou wilt not loiter, Ferdinand. "

"Why--fearest thou the storm will harm me, love? Nay, I havefrightened thee into foreboding. Banish it, or I shall be still moreloth to say farewell!"

He kissed her, as if to depart, but still he lingered though neitherspoke; and then, as with an irresistible and passionate impulse, heclasped her convulsively to his heart, and murmuring hoarsely, "Godfor ever and ever bless thee, my own beloved!" released her, and wasgone. 

On quitting his mansion and entering the street, the dense weightof the atmosphere became more and more apparent. The heat was sooppressive that the streets were actually deserted--even the artisanshad closed their stores; darkness had fallen suddenly, shroudingthe beautiful twilight peculiar to Spain as with a pall. Moralesunconsciously glanced towards the west, where, scarcely half-an-hourbefore, the sun had sunk gloriously to rest; and there all was notblack. Resting on the edge of the hill, was a far-spreading crimsoncloud, not the rosy glow of sunset, but the color of blood. Soremarkable was its appearance, that Don Ferdinand paused ininvoluntary awe. The blackness closed gradually round it; butmuch decreased, and still decreasing in size, it floatedonwards--preserving its blood-red hue, in appalling contrast withthe murky sky. Slowly Morales turned in the direction of the castle, glancing up at times, and unable to suppress a thrill of supernaturalhorror, as he observed this remarkable appearance floating just beforehim wherever he turned. Denser and denser became the atmosphere, andblacker the sky, till he could not see a single yard before him;thunder growled in the distance, and a few vivid flashes of lightningmomentarily illumined the gloom, but still the cloud remained. Itscourse became swifter; but it decreased in size, floating onwards, till, to Morales' strained gaze, it appeared to remain stationary overone particularly lonely part of the road, known by the name of theCalle Soledad, which he was compelled to pass; becoming smaller andsmaller, till, as he reached the spot, it faded into utter darkness, and all around was black. 

That same evening, about an hour before sunset, Arthur Stanley, overpowered by the heat, and exhausted with some fatiguing militaryduties, hastily unbuckled his sword, flung it carelessly from him, and, drinking off a large goblet of wine, which, as usual, stood readyfor him on his table, threw himself on his couch, and sunk into aslumber so profound that he scarcely seemed to breathe. How he hadpassed the interval which had elapsed since his interview with Marieand her husband, he scarcely knew himself. His military duties wereperformed mechanically, a mission for the king to Toledo successfullyaccomplished; but he himself was conscious only of one engrossingthought, which no cooling and gentler temper had yet come to subdue. It was a relief to acquit Marie of intentional falsehood--a relief tohave some imaginary object on which to vent bitterness and anger; andheadstrong and violent without control or guide, when his passionswere concerned, he encouraged every angry feeling against Morales, caring neither to define nor subdue them, till the longing to meet himin deadly combat, and the how to do so, became the sole and dangerousoccupation of heart and mind. 

Stanley's heavy and unnatural sleep had lasted some hours, when he wassuddenly and painfully awakened by so loud and long a peal of thunderthat the very house seemed to rock and shake with the vibration. Hestarted up on his couch; but darkness was around him so dense thathe could not distinguish a single object. This sleep had beenunrefreshing, and so heavy an oppression rested on his chest, that hefelt as if confined in a close cage of iron. He waved his arms to feelif he were indeed at liberty. He moved in free air, but the darknessseemed to suffocate him; and springing up, he groped his way to thewindow, and flung it open. Feverish and restless, the very excitementof the night seemed to urge him forth, thus to disperse the oppressiveweight within. A flash of lightning playing on the polished sheath ofhis sword, he secured it to his side, and threw his mantle over hisshoulders. As he did so his hand came in contact with the upper partof the sheath, from which the hilt should have projected; but, to hisastonishment and alarm, no hilt was there--the sheath was empty. 

In vain he racked his memory to ascertain whether he had left hissword in its scabbard, or had laid the naked blade, as was his custom, by him while he slept. The more he tried to think the more confusedhis thoughts became. His forehead felt circled with burning iron, his lips were dry and parched, his step faltering as if under theinfluence of some potent spell. He called for a light, but his voicesounded in his own ears thick and unnatural, and no one answered. Hisaged hosts had retired to rest an hour before, and though they hadnoticed and drew their own conclusions from his agitated movements, his call was unregarded. In five minutes more they heard him rush fromthe house; and anxious as she was to justify all the ways and doingsof her handsome lodger, old Juanna was this night compelled to leanto her husband's ominously expressed belief, that no one wouldvoluntarily go forth on such an awful night, save for deeds of evil. 

His rapid pace and open path were illumined every alternate minutewith, the vivid lightning, and the very excitement of the stormpartially removed the incomprehensible sensations under which Stanleylabored. He turned in the direction of the castle, perhaps with theunconfessed hope of meeting some of his companions in arms returningfrom the royal meeting, and in their society to shake off the spellwhich chained him. As he neared the Calle Soledad the ground suddenlybecame slippery, as with some thick fluid, of what nature the densedarkness prevented his discovering, his foot came in contact with someheavy substance lying right across his path. He stumbled and fell, andhis dress and hands became literrally dyed with the same hue as theground. He started up in terror; a long vivid flash lingering morethan a minute in the air, disclosed the object against which he hadfallen; and paralyzed with horror, pale, ghastly, as if suddenlyturned to stone, he remained. He uttered no word nor cry; but flashafter flash played around him, and still beheld him gazing instupefied and motionless horror on the appalling sight before him. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

 1st MONK. --The storm increases; hark! how dismally It sounds along the cloisters!

 BERNARD. --As on I hastened, bearing thus my light, Across my path, not fifty paces off, I saw a murdered corse, stretched on its back, Smeared with new blood, as though but freshly slain. 

 JOANNA BAILLIE. 

The apartment adjoining the council-room of the castle, and selectedthis night as the scene of King Ferdinand's banquet, was at thecommencement of the storm filled with the expected guests. From fortyto fifty were there assembled, chosen indiscriminately from theCastilians and Arragonese, the first statesmen and bravest warriorsof the age. But the usual animated discussion, the easy converse, andeager council, had strangely, and almost unconsciously, sunk into agloomy depression, so universal and profound, that every effortto break from it, and resume the general topics of interest, wasfruitless. The King himself was grave almost to melancholy, thoughmore than once he endeavored to shake it off, and speak as usual. Menfound themselves whispering to each other as if they feared to speakaloud--as if some impalpable and invisible horror were hovering roundthem. It might have been that the raging storm without affected allwithin, with a species of awe, to which even the wisest and thebravest are liable when the Almighty utters His voice in the tempest, and the utter nothingness of men comes home to the proudest heart. But there was another cause. One was missing from the council and theboard; the seat of Don Ferdinand Morales was vacant, and unuttered butabsorbing anxiety occupied every mind. It was full two hours, rathermore, from the given hour of meeting; the council itself had beendelayed, and was at length held without him, but so unsatisfactory didit prove, that many subjects were postponed. They adjourned to thebanquet-room; but the wine circled but slowly, and the King leant backon his chair, disinclined apparently for either food or drink. 

"The storm increases fearfully, " observed the aged Duke of Murcia, a kinsman of the King, as a flash of lightning blazed through thecasements, of such extraordinary length and brilliance, that even thenumerous lustres, with which the room was lighted, looked dark whenit disappeared. It was followed by a peal of thunder, loud as if ahundred cannons had been discharged above their heads, and causingseveral glasses to be shivered on the board. "Unhappy those compelledto brave it. "

"Nay, better out than in, " observed another. "There is excitement inwitnessing its fury, and gloom most depressing in listening to itthus. "

"Perchance 'tis the shadow of the coming evil, " rejoined Don Felixd'Estaban. "Old legends say, there is never a storm like this, withoutbringing some national evil on its wings. "

"Ha! say they so?" demanded the King, suddenly, that his guestsstarted. "And is there truth in it?"

"The lovers of such marvels would bring your Grace many proofs that, some calamity always followed such a tempest, " replied Don Felix. "Itmay or may not be. For my own part, I credit not such things. We areourselves the workers of evil--no fatality lurking in storms. "

"Fated or casual, if evil has occurred to Don Ferdinand Morales, monarch and subject will alike have cause to associate this tempestwith national calamity, " answered the King, betraying at once theunspoken, but engrossing subject of his thoughts. "Who saw him last?"

Don Felix d'Estaban replied that he had seen him that day two hoursbefore sunset. 

"And where, my Lord--at home or abroad?"

"In his own mansion, which he said he had not quitted that day, " wasthe rejoinder. 

"And how seemed he? In health as usual?"

"Ay, my liege, save that he complained of a strange oppressiveness, disinclining him for all exertion. "

"Did he allude to the council of to-night?"

"He did, my Lord, rejoicing that he should be compelled to rousehimself from his most unwonted mood of idleness. "

"Then some evil has befallen him, " rejoined the King; and thecontraction of his brow denied the calmness, implied by his unmovedtone. "We have done wrong in losing all this time, Don Alonzo, " headded, turning to the Senor of Aguilar, "give orders that a band ofpicked men scour every path leading hence to Morales' mansion: headthem thyself, an thou wilt, we shall the more speedily receivetidings. Thine eyes have been more fixed on Don Ferdinand's vacantseat, than on the board this last hour; so hence, and speed thee, man. It may be he is ill: we have seen men stricken unto death from onehour to the other. If there be no trace of him in either path, hiethee to his mansion; but return not without news. Impalpable evil isever worse than the tangible and real. "

Don Alonzo scarcely waited the conclusion of the King's speech, soeager was he to depart; and the longing looks cast after him betrayedhow many would have willingly joined him in his search. 

"His wife?" repeated the King, in answer to some suggestions of hiskinsman's. "Nay, man; hast thou yet to learn, that Morales' heartwould break ere he would neglect his duty? No: physical incapacitywould alone have sufficient power to keep him from us--no mental ill. "

If the effort to continue indifferent conversation had been difficultbefore, it now became impossible. The very silence felt ominous. Whatevil could have befallen? was asked internally by each individual; butthe vague dread, the undefined horror of something terrible impending, prevented all reply; and so nearly an hour passed, when, far removedas was the council-room from the main body of the castle, a confusionas of the entrance of many feet, and the tumultuary sound of eagervoices, was distinguished, seeming to proceed from the great hall. 

"It cannot be Don Alonzo so soon returned, " remarked the Duke ofMurcia; but even as he spoke, and before the King had time to make animpatient sign for silence, so intently was he listening, the Lord ofAguilar himself re-entered the apartment. 

"Saints of heaven!" ejaculated the King, and his exclamation wasechoed involuntarily by all around. The cheek of the warrior, neverknown to blanch before, was white as death; his eye haggard and wild;his step so faltering, that his whole frame reeled. He sunk on thenearest seat, and, with a shuddering groan, pressed both hands beforehis eyes. 

"Wine! wine! give him wine!" cried Ferdinand impetuously, pushing abrimming goblet towards him. "Drink, man, and speak, in Heaven's name. What frightful object hast thou seen, to bid thee quail, who neverquailed before? Where is Morales? Hast thou found him?"

"Ay, " muttered Don Alonzo, evidently struggling to recall hisenergies, while the peculiar tone of the single monosyllable causedevery heart to shudder. 

"And where is he? Why came he not hither? Why neglect our royalsummons?" continued the King, hurrying question after question withsuch an utter disregard of his usual calm, imperturbable cautiousness, that it betrayed far more than words how much he dreaded the Senor'sreply. "Speak, man; what has detained him?"

"_Death_!" answered the warrior, his suppressed grief and horrorbreathing in his hollow voice; and rising, he approached the King'sseat, and kneeling down, said in that low, concentrated tone, whichreaches every ear, though scarce louder than a whisper, "Sire, he ismurdered!"

"Murdered!" reiterated the King, as the word was echoed in all thevarious intonations of horror, grief, and indignation from all around;and he laid his hand heavily on Aguilar's shoulder--"Man, man, how canthis be? Who would dare lift up the assassin's hand against him--him, the favorite of our subjects as of ourselves? Who had cause ofenmity--of even rivalship with him? Thou art mistaken, man; it_cannot_ be! Thou art scared with the sight of murder, and no marvel;but it cannot be Morales thou hast seen. "

"Alas! my liege, I too believed it not; but the murdered corpse nowlying in the hall will be too bloody witness of my truth. "

The King released his hold, and without a word of rejoinder, strodefrom the apartment, and hastily traversing the long galleries, andmany stairs, neither paused nor spoke, till, followed by all hisnobles, he reached the hall. It was filled with soldiers, who, withloud and furious voices, mingled execrations deep and fearful onthe murderer, with bitter lamentations on the victim. A suddenand respectful hush acknowledged the presence of the Sovereign;Ferdinand's brows were darkly knit, his lip compressed, his eyesflashing sternly over the dense crowd; but he asked no question, norrelaxed his hasty stride till he stood beside the litter on which, covered with a mantle, the murdered One was lying. For a single minutehe evidently paused, and his countenance, usually so controlled asnever to betray emotion, visibly worked with some strong feeling, which seemed to prevent the confirmation of his fears, by the triflingmovement of lifting up the mantle. But at length, and with a hurriedmovement, it was cast aside; and there lay that noble form, cold, rigid in death! The King pushed the long, jetty hair, now clotted withgore, from the cheek on which it had fallen; and he recognized, toowell, the high, thoughtful brow, now white, cold as marble; the large, dark eye, whose fixed and glassy stare had so horribly replaced thebright intelligence, the sparkling lustre so lately there. Theclayey, sluggish white of death was already on his cheek; his lip, convulsively compressed, and the left hand tightly clenched, as if thesoul had not been thus violently reft from the body, without a strong:pang of mortal agony. His right hand had stiffened round the hiltof his unsheathed sword, for the murderous blow had been dealt frombehind, and with such fatal aim, that death must have been almostinstantaneous, and the tight grasp of his sword the mere instinctivemovement of expiring nature. Awe-struck, chilled to the heart, did thenoble friends of the departed gather round him. On the first removalof the mantle, an irresistible yell of curses on the murderer burstforth from the soldiery, wrought into fury at thus beholding theiralmost idolized commander; but the stern woe on the Sovereign's facehushed them into silence; and the groan of grief and horror whichescaped involuntarily from Ferdinand's lips, was heard throughout thehall. 

"The murderer?" at length demanded many of the nobles at the samemoment. "Who has dared do this awful deed? Don Alonzo, is there noclue to his person--no trace of his path?"

"There is trace and clue enough, " was the brief and stern reply. "Themurderer is secured!"

"Ha!" exclaimed the King, roused at once; "secured, sayest thou? Inour bitter grief we had well-nigh forgotten justice. Bring forth thedastardly craven; we would demand the reason of this cowardly blow erewe condemn him to the death of torture which his crime demands. Lethim confront his victim. Why do you pause, my Lord? Produce themurderer. "

Still Don Alonzo stood irresolute, and a full minute passed ere hesigned to the men who had accompanied him. A figure was instantly ledforward, his arms strongly secured in his own mantle, and his hat soslouched over his face, that not a feature could be distinguished. Still there was something in his appearance that struck a cold chillof doubt to the heart of the King, and in a voice strangely expressiveof emotion, he commanded--"Remove his hat and mantle: we should knowthat form. "

He was obeyed, for there was no resistance on the part of theprisoner, whose inner dress was also stained with blood, as were hishands. His cheek was ashy pale; his eye bloodshot and pale; and hiswhole appearance denoting such excessive agitation, that it would havegone far to condemn him, even had there been no other proof. 

"Stanley!" burst from the astonished King, as a wild cry ran roundthe hall, and "Death to the ungrateful foreigner!"--"Death to thebase-born Englishman!"--"Tortures and death!" escaped, in everyvariety of intonation, from the fierce soldiery, who, regardless evenof their Sovereign's presence, drew closer and closer round, clashingtheir weapons, and with difficulty restrained from tearing him topieces where he stood. 

"He was my foe, " muttered the prisoner, almost unconscious of theimport of his words, or how far they would confirm the suspicionsagainst him. "He robbed me of happiness--he destined me to misery. Ihated him; but I did not murder him. I swore to take his life or losemy own; but not thus--not thus. Great God! to see him lying there, andfeel it might have been my hand. Men, men! would ye quench hatred, behold its object stricken before you by a dastard blow like this, andye will feel its enormity and horror. I did not slay him; I wouldgive my life to the murderer's dagger to call him back, and ask hisforgiveness for the thoughts of blood I entertained against him; but Itouched him not--my sword is stainless. "

"Thou liest, false traitor!" exclaimed Don Felix, fiercely, and heheld up the hilt and about four inches of a sword, the remainder ofwhich was still in the body. "Behold the evidence to thy black lie!My liege, this fragment was found beside the body deluged in gore. We know the hilt too well to doubt, one moment, the name of itspossessor; there is not another like it throughout Spain. It snapt inthe blow, as if more honorable than its master, it could not surviveso foul a stain. What arm should wield it save his own?"

A universal murmur of execration, acknowledged this convincingevidence; doubly confirmed, as it seemed to be by the fearful startand muttered exclamation, on the part of the prisoner the moment itwas produced. The nobles thronged round the King, some entreating himto sentence the midnight assassin to instant execution; others, toretain him in severest imprisonment till the proofs of his guilt couldbe legally examined, and the whole European World hear of the crime, and its chastisement; lest they should say that as a foreigner, justice was refused to him. To this opinion the King leaned. 

"Ye counsel well and wisely, my lords, " he said. "It shall not besaid, because the murdered was our subject, and the murderer an alien, that he was condemned without examination of proofs against him, orbeing heard in his own defence. Seven suns hence we will ourselvesexamine every evidence for or against him, which, your penetration, mylords, can collect. Till then, Don Felix, the prisoner is yourcharge, to be produced when summoned; and now away with the midnightassassin--he has polluted our presence too long. Away with the baseingrate, who has thus requited our trust and love; we would look onhim no more. "

With, a rapid movement the unfortunate young man broke from the guard, which, at Don Felix's sign, closed round and sought to drag him fromthe hall, and flung himself impetuously at Ferdinand's feet. 

"I am no murderer!" he exclaimed, in a tone of such passionate agony, that to any less prejudiced than those around, it must at least haveraised doubt as to his guilt. "I am not the base ingrate you woulddeem me. Condemn me to death an thou wilt, I kneel not to sue forlife; for, dishonored and suspected, I would not accept it were itoffered. Let them bring forward what they will, I am innocent. Here, before ye all, in presence of the murdered victim, by all held sacredin Heaven or on Earth, I swear I slew him not! If I am guilty I callupon the dead himself to rise, and blast me with his gaze!"

Involuntarily every eye turned towards the corpse; for, vague as suchan appeal might seem now, the age was then but barely past, when theassistance of the murdered was often required in the discovery of themurderer. Many a brave heart grew chill, and brown cheeks blanched, inanticipation of the unearthly sign, so fully were they convinced ofStanley's guilt, but none came. The stagnated blood did not flow forthagain--the eye did not glare with more consciousness than before--thecold hand did not move to point its finger at the prisoner; and DonFelix, fearing the effect of Stanley's appeal upon the King, signed tothe guards, who rudely raised and bore him from the hall. 

The tumults of these events had naturally spread far and wide over thecastle, reaching the apartments of the Queen who, perceiving the aweand terror which the raging tempest had excited in her attendants, though incapable of aught like fear herself, had refrained fromdismissing them as usual. The confusion below seeming to increase withevery moment, naturally excited her surprise; and she commanded oneof her attendants to learn its cause. Already terrified, none seemedinclined to obey, till a young girl, high spirited, and dauntlessalmost as Isabella herself, departed of her own free will, and in afew minutes returned, pale and trembling, with the dread intelligence, that Don Ferdinand Morales lay murdered in the hall, and that ArthurStanley was his murderer. 

Isabella paused not a moment, though the shock was so terrible thatfor the minute she became faint and sick, and hastily quitting herapartments, she entered the great hall at the moment the prisoner wasbeing borne from it. Stupefied with contending feelings. Ferdinand didnot perceive her entrance. The nobles, drawn together in little knots, were conversing in low eager tones, or endeavoring to reduce thetumultuary soldiery to more order; and the Queen moved on unperceived, till she stood beside the corpse. She neither shrunk from it, norpaled; but bending over him, murmured in a tone, that from itsstartling indication of her unexpected presence, readied the ear ofall--"His poor, _poor_ Marie!"

The effect was electric. Until that moment horror and indignation hadbeen the predominant feeling; but with those words came the thoughtof his young, his beautiful, his treasured wife--the utter, utterdesolation which that fearful death would bring to her; the contrastbetween her present position, and that in which they had so latelybeheld her; and there was scarcely a manly spirit there, that did notfeel unwonted moisture gather in his eyes, or his heart swell with anemotion never felt before. 

"Now blessings on thy true woman's heart, my Isabel!" exclaimed theKing, tenderly drawing her from the couch of the dead. "I dare vouchnot one of us, mourning the noble dead, has, till now, cast a thoughtupon the living. And who shall breathe these fearful tidings? Whoprepare the unfortunate Marie for the loss awaiting her, and yet tarryto behold and soothe her anguish?"

"That will I do, " replied the Queen, instantly. "None else willprepare her so gently, so kindly; for none knew her husband's worth sowell, or can mourn his loss more deeply. She shall come hither. Andthe murderer, " she continued after a brief pause, and the changewas almost startling from the tender sympathy of the Woman to theindignant majesty of the Queen--"Ferdinand, have they told me true asto his person--is he secured?"

"Ay, " answered the King, briefly and bitterly: and from respect to hisfeelings, Isabella asked no more. Orders were issued for the body tobe laid in one of the state apartments; a guard to be stationed at theentrance of the chamber, and measures taken to keep the events of thatfatal night profoundly secret, lest confusion should be aroused in theeasily excited populace, or her terrible loss too rudely reach theears of the most painfully bereaved. These orders were punctuallyobeyed. 

CHAPTER XV. 

 "Yet again methinks Some unknown sorrow, ripe in Future's womb, Is coming towards me; and my inward soul With nothing trembles. At something it grieves More than the parting with my lord. "

 SHAKSPEARE. 

Long did Marie Morales linger where her husband had left her after hisstrangely passionate farewell. His tone, his look, his embrace hauntedher almost to pain--all were so unlike his wonted calmness: her fullheart so yearned towards him that she would have given worlds, if shehad had them, to call him to her side once more--to conjure him againto forgive and assure her of his continued trust--to tell him she washappy, and asked no other love than his. Why had he left her so early?when she felt as if she had so much to say--so much to confide. Andthen her eye caught the same ominous cloud which had so strangelyriveted Don Ferdinand's gaze, and a sensation of awe stole over her, retaining her by the casement as by some spell which she vainly stroveto resist; until the forked lightnings began to illumine the murkygloom, and the thunder rolled awfully along. Determined not to giveway to the heavy depression creeping over her, Marie summoned herattendants, and strenuously sought to keep up an animated conversationas they worked. Not expecting to see her husband till the ensuingmorning, she retired to rest at the first partial lull of the storm, and slept calmly for many hours. A morning of transcendent lovelinessfollowed the awful horrors of the night. The sun seemed higher in theheavens than usual, when Marie started from a profound sleep, with avague sensation that something terrible had occurred; every pulsewas throbbing, though, her heart felt stagnant within her. For someminutes she could not frame a distinct thought, and then her husband'sfond farewell flashed back; but what had that to do with gloom?Ringing a little silver bell beside her, Manuella answered thesummons, and Marie anxiously inquired for Don Ferdinand. Had henot yet returned? A sensation of sickness--the deadly sickness ofindefinable dread--seemed to stupefy every faculty, as Manuellaanswered in the negative, adding, it was much beyond his usual hour. 

"Send to the castle, and inquire if aught has detained him, " sheexclaimed; hastily rising as she spoke, and commencing a rapid toilet. She was scarcely attired before Alberic, with a pale cheek and voiceof alarm, brought information that a messenger and litter from thepalace were in the court, bringing the Queen's mandate for the instantattendance of Donna Marie. 

"Oh! lady, dearest lady, let me go with thee, " continued the boy, suddenly clasping her robe and bursting into tears. "My master--mygood, noble master--something horrible has occurred, and they will nottell me what. Every face I see is full of horror--every voice seemssuppressed--every--"

"Hush!" angrily interposed Manuella, as she beheld Marie's very lipslose their glowing tint, and her eyes gaze on vacancy. "For God'ssake, still thine impudent tongue; thou'lt kill her with thyrashness. "

"Kill! who is killed?" gasped Marie. "What did he say? Where is myhusband?"

"Detained at the palace, dearest lady, " readily answered Manuella. "This foolish boy is terrified at shadows. My lord is detained, andher Grace has sent a litter requiring thine attendance. We must haste, for she wills no delay. Carlotta, my lady's mantilla; quick, girl!Alberic, go if thou wilt: my Lord may be glad of thee! Ay, go, " shecontinued some little time afterwards, as her rapid movements speedilyplaced her passive, almost senseless mistress, in the litter; and shecaught hold of the page's hand with a sudden change of tone, "go; andreturn speedily, in mercy, Alberic. Some horror is impending; betterknow it than this terrible suspense. "

How long an interval elapsed ere she stood in Isabella's presence, Marie knew not. The most incongruous thoughts floated, one afteranother, through her bewildered brain--most vivid amongst them all, hers and her husband's fatal secret: had it transpired? Was hesentenced, and she thus summoned to share his fate? And then, whenpartially relieved by the thought, that such a discovery hadnever taken place in Spanish annals--why should she dread animpossibility?--flashed back, clear, ringing, as if that momentspoken, Stanley's fatal threat; and the cold shuddering of every limbbetrayed the aggravated agony of the thought. With her husband shecould speak of Arthur calmly; to herself she would not even think hisname: not merely lest he should unwittingly deceive again, but thatthe recollection of _his_ suffering--and caused by her--ever createdanew, thoughts and feelings which she had vowed unto herself to bury, and for ever. 

Gloom was on every face she encountered in the castle. The verysoldiers, as they saluted her as the wife of their general, appearedto gaze upon her with rude, yet earnest commiseration; but neitherword nor rumor reached her ear. Several times she essayed to ask ofher husband, but the words died in a soundless quiver on her lip. Yetif it were what she dreaded, that Stanley had fulfilled his threat, and they had fought, and one had fallen--why was she thus summoned?And had not Morales resolved to avoid him; for her sake not to avengeArthur's insulting words? And again the thought of their fatal secretobtained ascendency. Five minutes more, and she stood alone in thepresence of her Sovereign. 

 * * * * *

It was told; and with such deep sympathy, so gently, so cautiously, that all of rude and stunning shock was averted; but, alas! who couldbreathe of consolation at such a moment? Isabella did not attempt it;but permitted the burst of agony full vent. She had so completelymerged all of dignity, all of the Sovereign into the woman and thefriend, that Marie neither felt nor exercised restraint; and wordsmingled with her broken sobs and wild lament, utterly incomprehensibleto the noble heart that heard. The awful nature of Don Ferdinand'sdeath, Isabella had still in some measure concealed; but it seemed asif Marie had strangely connected it with violence and blood, and, infearful and disjointed words, accused herself as its miserable cause. 

"Why did not death come to me?" she reiterated; "why take him, myhusband--my noble husband? Oh, Ferdinand, Ferdinand! to go now, when Ihave so learnt to love thee! now, when I looked to years of faithfuldevotion to prove how wholly the past was banished--how wholly I wasthine alone! to atone for hours of suffering by years of love! Oh, howcouldst thou leave me friendless--desolate?"

"Not friendless, not desolate, whilst Isabella lives, " replied theQueen, painfully affected, and drawing Marie closer to her, till herthrobbing brow rested on her bosom. "Weep, my poor girl, tears mustflow for a loss like this; and long, long weeks must pass ere we mayhope for resignation; but harrow not thyself by thoughts of morefearful ill than the reality, my child. Do not look on what might be, but what has been; on the comfort, the treasure, thou wert to thebeloved one we have lost. How devotedly he loved thee, and thou--"

"And I so treasured, so loved. Oh, gracious Sovereign!" And Marie sunkdown at her feet, clasping her robe in supplication. "Say but I maysee him in life once more; that life still lingers, if it be but totell me once more he forgives me. Oh, let me but hear his voice; butonce, only once, and I will be calm--quite calm; I will try to bearthis bitter agony. Only let me see him, hear him speak again. Thouknowest not, thou canst not know, how my heart yearns for this. "

"See him thou shalt, my poor girl, if it will give thee aught ofcomfort; but hear him, alas! alas! my child, would that it might be!Would for Spain and her Sovereign's sake, then how much more forthine, that voice could be recalled; and life, if but for the briefestspace, return! Alas! the blow was but too well aimed. "

"The blow! what blow? How did he die? Who slew him?" gasped Marie; herlook of wild and tearless agony terrifying Isabella, whose last wordshad escaped unintentionally. "Speak, speak, in mercy; let me know thetruth?"

"Hast thou not thyself alluded to violence, and wrath, and hatred, Marie? Answer me, my child; didst thou know any one, regarding thegenerous Morales with such feelings? Could there be one to regard himas his foe?"

Crouching lower and lower at Isabella's feet, her face half burled inher robe, Marie's reply was scarcely audible; but the Queen's browcontracted. 

"None?" she repeated almost sternly; "wouldst thou deceive at such amoment? contradict thyself? And yet I am wrong to be thus harsh. Poorsufferer!" she added, tenderly, as she vainly tried to raise Mariefrom the ground; "thou hast all enough to bear; and if, indeed, thebase wretch who has dared thus to trample on the laws alike of Godand man, and stain his own soul with the foul blot of midnightassassination, be him whom we have secured, thou couldst not know himas thy husband's foe. It is all mystery--thine own words not least;but his murder shall be avenged. Ay, had my own kinsman's been thehand to do the dastard deed. "

"Murder! who was his murderer?" repeated Marie, the horror of such afate apparently lost in other and more terrible emotion; "who couldhave raised his sword against my husband? Said I he had no foe? Had henot one, and I, oh, God! did not I create that enmity? But he wouldnot have murdered him; oh, no--no: my liege, my gracious liege, tellme in mercy--my brain feels reeling--who was the murderer?"

"One thou hast known but little space, poor sufferer, " replied theQueen, soothingly; "one whom of all others we could not suspect ofsuch a deed. And even now, though appearances are strong against him, we can scarce believe it; that young foreign favorite of my royalhusband, Arthur Stanley. "

"STANLEY!" repeated Marie, in a tone so shrill, so piercing, that thewild shriek which it formed rung for many and many a day in the earsof the Queen. And as the word passed her lips she started to her feet, stood for a second erect, gazing madly on her royal mistress, andthen, without one groan or struggle, dropped perfectly lifeless at herfeet. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

 List! hear ye, through the still and lonely night, The distant hymn of mournful voices roll Solemn and low? It is the burial rite; How deep its sadness sinks into the soul, As slow the passing bell wakes its far ling'ring knoll. 

 CHARLES SWAIN. 

Spain has often been regarded as an absolute monarchy; an opinion, no doubt, founded on the absolute measures of her later sovereigns. Ferdinand and Isabella certainly laid the foundation of the royalprerogative by the firmness and ability with which they decreased thepower of the nobles, who, until their reign, had been like so manypetty sovereigns, each with his independent state, and preserving hisauthority by the sword alone. When Ferdinand and Isabella, however, united their separate kingdoms under one denomination, neither Castilenor Arragon could be considered as an absolute monarchy. In Castile, the people, as representatives of the cities, had, from, early ages, obtained seats in the Cortes, and so in some measure balanced thepower of the aristocracy. The Cortes, similar to our houses ofparliament, could enact laws, impose taxes, and redress grievances, often making the condition of granting pecuniary aid to the Sovereign, his consent to the regulations they had laid down, and refusing thegrant if he demurred. In addition to these privileges of the Cortesof Castile, the Junta of Arragon could coin money, declare war, andconclude peace; and what was still more remarkable, they could beneither prorogued nor dissolved by their Sovereign without their ownconsent. Alluding to the Castilians, a few years after the period ofour tale, Robertson says--

 "The principles of liberty seem to have been better understood, by the Castilians than by any other people in Europe. They had acquired more liberal notions with respect to their own rights and privileges. They had formed more bold and generous sentiments concerning government, and discovered an extent of political knowledge to which the English themselves did not attain till nearly a century afterwards. "

When we compare this state of things with the misery and anarchypervading Castile before the accession of Isabella, we may havesome idea of the influence of her vigorous measures, and personalcharacter, on the happiness and freedom of her subjects. The lawsindeed existed before, but they wanted the wisdom and moderation of anenlightened Sovereign, to give them force and power to act. 

In the kingdom of Arragon, besides the Junta, or National Assemblage, there was always a Justizia, or supreme judge, whose power, in somerespects, was even greater than the King's; his person was sacred; hecould remove any of the royal ministers whom he deemed unworthy of thetrust, and was himself responsible to none but the Cortes or Junta bywhom he had been elected. The personal as well as the national rightsof the Arragonese, were also more accurately defined than was usualin that age: no native of Arragon could be convicted, imprisoned, ortortured, without fair and legal evidence. [A]

[Footnote A: See History of Spain, by John Bigland. ]

Such being the customs of the kingdom of Arragon, the power of thecrown was more limited than Ferdinand's capacious mind and desireof dominion chose to endure: the Cortes, or nobles, there werepre-eminent; the people, as the Sovereign, ciphers, save that therights of the former were more cared for than the authority of thelatter. But Ferdinand was not merely ambitious; he had ability andenergy, and so gradually were his plans achieved that he encounteredneither rebellion nor dislike. The Cortes found that he frequently andboldly transacted business of importance without their interference;intrusted offices of state to men of inferior rank, but whoseabilities were the proof of his discernment; took upon himself theoffice of Justizia, and, in conjunction with Isabella, re-establishedan institution which had fallen into disuse through the civil wars, but which was admirably suited for the internal security of theirkingdom by the protection of the peasantry and lower classes: it wasan association of all the cities of Castile and Arragon, known as theSainta Hermandad, or Holy Brotherhood, to maintain a strong body oftroops for the protection of travellers, and the seizure of criminals, who were brought before judges nominated by the confederated cities, and condemned according to their crime, without any regard to feudallaws. Against this institution the nobles of both kingdoms were mostviolently opposed, regarding it as the complete destroyer, which inreality it was, of all their feudal privileges, and taking fromthem the long possessed right of trying their own fiefs, and themischievous facility of concealing their own criminals. 

Thus much of history--a digression absolutely necessary for the clearelucidation of Ferdinand and Isabella's conduct with regard to theevents just narrated. The trial of Arthur Stanley they had resolvedshould be conducted with all the formula of justice, the moreespecially that the fact of his being a foreigner had prejudiced manyminds against him. Ferdinand himself intended to preside at the trial, with a select number of peers, to assist in the examination, andpronounce sentence, or confirm the royal mandate, as he should thinkfit. Nor was this an extraordinary resolution. Neither the victim, nor the supposed criminal, was of a rank which allowed a jury ofan inferior grade. Morales had been fief to Isabella alone; and onFerdinand, as Isabella's representative, fell the duty of his avenger. Arthur Stanley owned no feudal lord in Spain, save, as a matter ofcourtesy, the King, whose arms he bore. He was accountable, then, according to the feudal system, which was not yet entirely extinct, to Ferdinand alone for his actions, and before him must plead hisinnocence, or receive sentence for his crime. As his feudal lord, orsuzerain, Ferdinand might at once have condemned him to death; butthis summary proceeding was effectually prevented by the laws ofArragon and the office of the Holy Brotherhood; and therefore, incompliance with their mandates, royal orders were issued that everyevidence for or against the prisoner should be carefully collectedpreparatory to the trial. More effectually to do this, the trial waspostponed from seven to fourteen days after the discovery of themurder. 

The excitement which this foul assassination excited in Segovia was soextreme, that the nobles were compelled to solicit Isabella's personalinterference, in quieting the populace, and permitting the even courseof justice: they had thronged in tumultuary masses round the prisonwhere Stanley was confined, with wild shouts and imprecations, demanding his instant surrender to their rage, mingling groans andlamentations with yells and curses, in the most fearful medley. OldPedro, who had been Arthur's host, unwittingly added fuel to theflame, by exulting in his prophecy that evil would come of Ferdinand'spartiality for the white-faced foreigner; that he had seen it long, but guessed not how terribly his mutterings would end. By the Queen'spermission, the chamber of state in which the body lay was thrown opento the eager citizens, who thronged in such crowds to behold the soleremains of one they had well nigh idolized, that the guards werecompelled to permit the entrance of only a certain number everyday. Here was neither state nor pomp to arrest the attention of thesight-loving populace: nought of royalty or gorgeous symbols. No; mencame to pay the last tribute of admiring love and sorrow to one whohad ever, noble as he was by birth, made himself one with them, cheering their sorrows, sharing their joys; treating age, however pooror lowly, with the reverence springing from the heart, inspiringyouth to deeds of worth and honor, and by his own example, far moreeloquently than by his words, teaching all and every age the dutiesdemanded by their country and their homes, to their families andthemselves. And this man was snatched from them, not alone by theruthless hand of death, but by midnight murder. Was it marvel, thevery grief his loss occasioned should rouse to wildest fury men'spassions against his murderer?

It was the evening of the fifth day after the murder, that with adegree of splendor and of universal mourning, unrivalled before in theinterment of any subject, the body of Ferdinand Morales was committedto the tomb. The King himself, divested of all insignia of royalty, bareheaded, and in a long mourning cloak, headed the train of chiefmourners, which, though they counted no immediate kindred, numberedtwenty or thirty of the highest nobles, both of Arragon and Castile. The gentlemen, squires, and pages of Morales' own household followed:and then came on horse and on foot, with arms reversed, and loweredheads, the gallant troops who had so often followed Morales tovictory, and under him had so ably aided in placing Isabella on herthrone; an immense body of citizens, all in mourning, closed theprocession. Every shop had been closed, every flag half-masted;and every balcony, by which the body passed, hung with black. Thecathedral church was thronged, and holy and thrilling the servicewhich consigned dust to dust, and hid for ever from the eyes of hisfellow men, the last decaying remains of one so universally beloved. The coffin of ebony and silver, partly open, so as to disclose theface of the corpse, as was customary with Catholic burials of those ofhigh or priestly rank, and the lower part covered with a superb velvetpall, rested before the high altar during the chanted service; at theconclusion of which the coffin was closed, the lid screwed down, andlowered with slow solemnity into the vault beneath. A requiem, chantedby above a hundred of the sweetest and richest voices, sounding inthrilling unison with the deep bass and swelling notes of the organ, had concluded the solemn rites, and the procession departed asit came; but for some days the gloom in the city continued; therealization of the public loss seemed only beginning to be fully felt, as excitement subsided. 

Masses for the soul of the Catholic warrior, were of course sung formany succeeding days. It was at midnight, a very short time afterthis public interment, that a strange group were assembled within thecathedral vaults, at the very hour that mass for the departed wasbeing chanted in the church above their heads; it consisted of monksand travelling friars, accompanied by five or six of the highestnobility; their persons concealed in coarse mantles and shroudinghoods; they had borne with them, through the subterranean passagesof the crypt, leading to the vaults, a coffin so exactly similar inworkmanship and inscription to that which contained the remains oftheir late companion, that to distinguish the one from the other wasimpossible. The real one, moved with awe and solemnity, was conveyedto a secret recess close to the entrance of the crypt, and replacedin the vault by the one they had brought with them. As silently, asvoicelessly as they had entered and done their work, so they departed. The following night, at the same hour, the coffin of Morales, overwhich had been nailed a thick black pall, so that neither name, inscription, nor ornament could be perceived, was conveyed fromSegovia in a covered cart, belonging, it appeared, to the monastery ofSt. Francis, situated some leagues southward, and attended by one ortwo monks and friars of the same order. The party proceeded leisurely, travelling more by night than by day, diminishing gradually in numbertill, at the entrance of a broad and desolate plain, only fourremained with the cart. Over this plain they hastened, then woundthrough a circuitous path concealed in prickly brushwood, and pausedbefore a huge, misshapen crag, seemingly half buried in the earth: inthis a door, formed of one solid stone, flew back at their touch;the coffin, taken with reverence from the cart, was borne on theirshoulders through the dark and narrow passage, and down the windingstair, till they stood in safety in the vale; in the secret entranceby which they entered, the lock closed as they passed, and wasapparently lost in the solid wall. Three or four awaited them--nobles, who had craved leave of absence for a brief interval from the court, and who had come by different paths to the secret retreat (no doubtalready recognized by our readers as the Vale of Cedars), to layMorales with his fathers, with the simple form, yet solemn servicepeculiar to the burials of their darkly hidden race. The grave wasalready dug beside that of Manuel Henriquez; the coffin, restingduring the continuance of a brief prayer and psalm in the littletemple, was then borne to the ground marked out, which, concealed bya thick hedge of cypress and cedar, lay some little distance from thetemple; for, in their secret race, it was not permitted for the housedestined to the worship of the Most High, to be surrounded by thehomes of the dead. A slow and solemn hymn accompanied the lowering ofthe coffin; a prayer in the same unknown language; a brief address, and the grave was filled up; the noble dead left with his kindred, kindred alike in blood as faith; and ere the morning rose, the livinghad all departed, save the few retainers of the house of Henriquez andMorales, to whose faithful charge the retreat had been intrusted. Noproud effigy marked those simple graves; the monuments of the deadwere in the hearts of the living. But in the cathedral of Segovia alordly monument arose to the memory of Ferdinand Morales, erected, not indeed for idle pomp, but as a tribute from the gratitude of aSovereign--and a nation's love. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

 ANGELO. We must not make a scarecrow of the law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey; And let it keep one shape, till custom make it Their perch, and not their terror. 

 ESCALUS. Ay, but yet Let us be keen, and rather cut a little, Than fall and bruise to death. 

 SHAKSPEARE. 

On the evening preceding the day appointed for the trial, Isabella, unattended and unannounced, sought her husband's private closet; shefound him poring so intently over maps and plans, which strewed thetables before him, that she spoke before he perceived her. 

"Just come when most wished for, dear wife, and royal liege, " was hiscourteous address, as he rose and gracefully led her to a seat besidehis own. "See how my plans for the reduction of these heathen Moorsare quietly working; they are divided within themselves, quarrellingmore and more fiercely. Pedro Pas brings me information that the roadto Alhama is well nigh defenceless, and therefore the war shouldcommence in that quarter. But how is this, love?" he added, afterspeaking of his intended measures at some length, and perceiving thatthey failed to elicit Isabella's interest as usual. "Thy thoughts arenot with me this evening. "

"With thee, my husband, but not with the Moors, " replied the Queen, faintly smiling. "I confess to a pre-occupied mind; but just now myheart is so filled with sorrowing sympathy, that I can think butof individuals, not of nations. In the last council, in which thequestion of this Moorish war was agitated, our faithful Morales wasthe most eloquent. His impassioned oratory so haunted me, as yourGrace spoke, that I can scarcely now believe it hushed for ever, savefor the too painful witness of its truth. "

"His lovely wife thou meanest, Isabel? Poor girl! How fares she?"

"As she has been since that long faint, which even I believed wasdeath; pale, tearless, silent. Even the seeing of her husband's body, which I permitted, hoping the sight would break that marble calm, has had no effect, save to increase, if possible, the rigidity ofsuffering. It is for her my present errand. "

"For her!" replied the King, surprised. "What can I do for her, apartfrom thee?"

"I will answer the question by another, Ferdinand. Is it true that shemust appear as evidence against the murderer in to-morrow's trial?"

"Isabella, this must be, " answered the King, earnestly. "There seemsto me no alternative; and yet surely this cannot be so repugnant toher feelings. Would it not be more injustice, both to her, and to thedead, to withhold any evidence likely to assist in the discovery ofthe murderer?"

"But why lay so much stress on her appearance? Is there not sufficientevidence without her?"

"Not to satisfy me as to Stanley's guilt, " replied the King. "Ihave heard indeed from Don Luis Garcia quite enough, _if it be trueevidence_, to condemn him. But I like not this Garcia; it is uselessnow to examine wherefore. I doubt him so much, that I would not, ifpossible, lay any stress upon his words. He has declared on oath thathe saw Stanley draw his sword upon Morales, proclaim aloud his undyinghatred, and swear that he would take his life or lose his own; butthat, if I were not satisfied with this assurance, Donna Marie herselfhad been present, had seen and heard all, and could no doubt give avery efficient reason, in her own beautiful person, for Stanley'shatred to her husband, as such matters were but too common in Spain. I checked him with a stern rebuke; for if ever there were adouble-meaning hypocrite, this Don Luis is one. Besides, I cannotpenetrate how he came to be present at this stormy interview. He hasevaded, he thinks successfully, my questions on this head; but if, asI believe, it was dishonorably obtained, I am the less inclined totrust either him or his intelligence. If Marie were indeed present, which he insists she was, her testimony is the most important of any. If she confirm Don Luis's statement, give the same account of theinterview between her husband and Stanley, and a reason for thissuddenly proclaimed enmity; if she swear that he did utter suchthreatening words, I will neither hope nor try to save him; he isguilty, and must die. But if she deny that he thus spoke; if shedeclares on oath that she knew of no cause for, nor of the existenceof any enmity, I care not for other proofs, glaring though they be. Accident or some atrocious design against him, as an envied foreigner, may have thrown them together. Let Marie swear that this Garcia hasspoken falsely, and Stanley shall live, were my whole kingdom toimplore his death. In Donna Marie's evidence there can be no deceit;she can have no wish that Stanley should be saved; as her husband'ssupposed murderer, he must be an object of horror and loathing. Stillsilent Isabel? Is not her evidence required?"

"It is indeed. And yet I feel that, to demand it, will but increasethe trial already hers. "

"As how?" inquired the King, somewhat astonished. "Surely thou canstnot mean--"

"I mean nothing; I know nothing, " interrupted Isabella hastily. "I cangive your Grace no reason, save my own feelings. Is there no way toprevent this public exposure, and yet serve the purpose equally?"

Ferdinand mused. "I can think of none, " he said. "Does Marie know ofthis summons? and has her anguish sent thee hither? Or is it merelythe pleadings of thine own heart, my Isabel?"

"She does not know it. The summons appeared to me so strange andneedless, I would not let her be informed till I had sought thee. "

"But thou seest it is not needless!" answered the King anxiously, forin the most trifling matter he ever sought her acquiescence. 

"Needless it is not, my liege. The life of the young foreigner, whohas thrown himself so confidingly on our protection and friendship, must not be sacrificed without most convincing proofs of his guilt. Marie's evidence is indeed important; but would not your Grace'spurpose be equally attained, if that evidence be given to me, hernative Sovereign, in private, without the dread formula which, ifsummoned before a court of justice, may have fatal effects on amind and frame already so severely tried? In my presence alone thenecessary evidence may be given with equal solemnity, and with lesspain to the poor sufferer herself. "

King Ferdinand again paused in thought. "But her words must be onoath, Isabel. Who will administer that oath?"

"Father Francis, if required. But it will surely be enough if sheswear the truth to me. She cannot deceive me, even if she were soinclined. I can mark a quivering lip or changing color, which othersmight pass unnoticed. "

"But how will this secret examination satisfy the friends of themurdered?" again urged the cautious King. "How will they be satisfied, if I acquit Stanley from Donna Marie's evidence, and that evidence bekept from them?"

"Is not the word of their Sovereign enough? If Isabella say so it is, what noble of Castile would disgrace himself or her by a doubt as toits truth?" replied the Queen proudly. "Let me clearly understand allyour Grace requires, and leave the rest to me. If Marie corroboratesGarcia's words, why, on his evidence sentence may be pronouncedwithout her appearance in it at all; but if she deny in the smallesttittle his report, in my presence they shall confront each other, andfear not the truth shall be elicited, and, if possible, Stanley saved. I may be deceived, and Marie not refuse to appear as witness againsthim; if so, there needs not my interference. I would but spare herincrease of pain, and bid her desolate heart cling to me as her motherand her friend. When my subjects look upon me thus, my husband, then, and then only is Isabella what she would be. "

"And do they not already thus regard thee, my own Isabel?" replied theKing, gazing with actual reverence upon her; "and as such, will futureages reverence thy name. Be it as thou wilt. Let Marie's own feelingsdecide the question. She _must_ take part in this trial, either inpublic or private; she _must_ speak on oath, for life and death hangon her words, and her decision must be speedy. It is sunset now, andere to-morrow's noon she must have spoken, or be prepared to appear. "

Ere Queen Isabella reached her own apartments her plan was formed. DonLuis's tale had confirmed her suspicions as to the double cause ofMarie's wretchedness; she had herself administered to her while inthat dead faint--herself bent over her, lest the first words ofreturning consciousness should betray aught which the sufferer mightwish concealed; but her care had been needless: no word passed thoseparched and ashy lips. The frame, indeed, for some days was powerless, and she acceded eagerly to Isabella's earnest proffer (for it was notcommand) to send for her attendants, and occupy a suite of rooms inthe castle, close to her royal mistress, in preference to returning toher own home; from which, in its desolate grandeur, she shrunk almostin loathing. 

For seven days after her loss she had not quitted her apartment, seenonly by the Queen and her own woman; but after that interval, atIsabella's gently expressed wish, she joined her, in her privatehours, amongst her most favored attendants; called upon indeed fornothing save her presence! And little did her pre-occupied mindimagine how tenderly she was watched, and with what kindly sympathyher unexpressed thoughts were read. 

On the evening in question, Isabella was seated, as was her frequentcustom, in a spacious chamber, surrounded by her female attendants, with whom she was familiarly conversing, making them friends as wellas subjects, yet so uniting dignity with kindness, that her favor wasfar more valued and eagerly sought than had there been no superiority;yet, still it was more for her perfect womanhood than her rank thatshe was so reverenced, so loved. At the farther end of the spaciouschamber were several young girls, daughters of the nobles of Castileand Arragon, whom Isabella's maternal care for her subjects hadcollected around her, that their education might be carried on underher own eye, and so create for the future nobles of her country, wivesand mothers after her own exalted stamp. They were always encouragedto converse freely and gayly amongst each other; for thus she learnedtheir several characters, and guided them accordingly. There wasneither restraint nor heaviness in her presence; for by a word, asmile, she could prove her interest in their simple pleasures, hersympathy in their eager youth. 

Apart from all, but nearest Isabella, silent and pale, shrouded in thesable robes of widowhood--that painful garb which, in its voicelesseloquence of desolation, ever calls for tears, more especially whenit shrouds the young; her beautiful hair, save two thick braids, concealed under the linen coif--sat Marie, lovely indeed still, butlooking like one

 "Whose heart was born to break-- A face on which to gaze, made every feeling ache. "

An embroidery frame was before her, "but the flowers grew but slowlybeneath her hand. About an hour after Isabella had joined herattendants, a light signal was heard at the tapestried door of theapartment. The Queen was then sitting in a posture of deep meditation;but she looked up, as a young girl answered the summons, and thenturned towards her Sovereign. 

"Well, Catherine?"

"Royal madam, a page, from his Grace the King, craves speech of DonnaMarie. "

"Admit him then. "

The boy entered, and with a low reverence advanced towards Marie. She looked up in his face bewildered--a bewilderment which Isabellaperceived changed to a strong expression of mental torture, ere heceased to speak. 

"Ferdinand, King of Arragon and Castile, " he said, "sends, with allcourtesy, his royal greeting to Donna Marie Henriquez Morales, andforthwith commands her attendance at the solemn trial which is heldto-morrow's noon; by her evidence to confirm or refute the chargebrought against the person of Arthur Stanley, as being and having beenthe acknowledged enemy of the deceased Don Ferdinand Morales (Godassoilize his soul!) and as having uttered words of murderous importin her hearing. Resolved, to the utmost of his power, to do justice tothe living as to avenge the dead, his royal highness is compelled thusto demand the testimony of Donna Marie, as she alone can confirm orrefute this heavy and most solemn charge. "

There was no answer; but it seemed as if the messenger requirednone--imagining the royal command all sufficient for obedience--for hebowed respectfully as he concluded, and withdrew. Marie gazed afterhim, and her lip quivered as if she would have spoken--would haverecalled him; but no word came, and she drooped her head on her hands, pressing her slender fingers strongly on her brow, as thus to bringback connected thought once more. What had he said? She must appearagainst Stanley--she must speak his doom? Why did those fatal wordswhich must condemn him, ring in her ears, as only that moment spoken?Her embroidery fell from her lap, and there was no movement to replaceit. How long she thus sat she knew not; but, roused by the Queen'svoice uttering her name, she started, and looked round her. Shewas alone with Isabella; who was gazing on her with such unfeignedcommiseration, that, unable to resist the impulse, she dartedforwards, and sinking at her feet, implored--

"Oh, madam--gracious madam! in mercy spare me this!"

The Queen drew her tenderly to her, and said, with evident emotion--

"What am I to spare thee, my poor child? Surely thou wouldst notwithhold aught that can convict thy husband's murderer? Thou wouldstnot in mistaken mercy elude for him the justice of the law?"

"No--no, " murmured Marie; "let the murderer die; but not Stanley! Oh, no--no; he would not lift his hand against my husband. Who says heslew him? Why do they attach so foul a crime to his unshadowed name?Let the murderer die; but it is not Arthur: I know it is not. Oh, donot slay him too!"

Marie knew not the wild entreaty breathing in her words: but thealmost severely penetrating gaze which Isabella had fixed upon her, recalled her to herself; a crimson flush mounted to cheek and brow, and, burying her face in the Queen's robe, she continued less wildly--

"Oh, madam, bear with me; I know not what I say. Think I am mad;but oh, in mercy, ask me no question. Am I not mad, to ask thee tospare--spare--him they call my husband's murderer? Let him die, " andthe wild tone returned, "if he indeed could strike the blow; but oh, let not my lips pronounce his death-doom! Gracious Sovereign, do notlook upon me thus--I cannot bear that gaze. "

"Fear me not, poor sufferer, " replied Isabella, mildly; "I will ask noquestion--demand nought that will give thee pain to answer--save thatwhich justice compels me to require. That there is a double cause forall this wretchedness, I cannot but perceive, and that I suspect itscause I may not deny; but guilty I will not believe thee, tillthine own words or deeds proclaim it. Look up then, my poor child, unshrinkingly; I am no dread Sovereign to thee, painful as is thetrial to which I fear I must subject thee. There are charges broughtagainst young Stanley so startling in their nature, that, much as wedistrust his accuser, justice forbids our passing them unnoticed. Onthy true testimony his Grace the King relies to confirm or refutethem. Thy evidence must convict or save him. "

"My evidence!" repeated Marie. "What can they ask of me of suchweight? Save him. " she added, a sudden gleam of hope irradiating herpallid face, like a sunbeam upon snow? "Did your Grace say _I_ couldsave him? Oh, speak, in mercy!"

"Calm this emotion then, Marie, and thou shalt know all. It was forthis I called thee hither. Sit thee on the settle at my feet, andlisten to me patiently, if thou canst. 'Tis a harsh word to use togrief such as thine, my child, " she added, caressingly, as she laidher hand on Marie's drooping head; "and I fear will only nerve theefor a still harsher trial. Believe me, I would have spared thee if Icould; but all I can do is to bid thee choose the lesser of the twoevils. Mark me well: for the Sovereign of the murdered, the judge ofthe murderer, alike speak through me. " And clearly and forcibly shenarrated all, with which our readers are already acquainted, throughher interview with the King. She spoke very slowly, as if to giveMarie time to weigh well each sentence. She could not see hercountenance; nay, she purposely refrained from looking at her, lestshe should increase the suffering she was so unwillingly inflicting. For some minutes she paused as she concluded; then, as neither wordnor sound escaped from Marie, she said, with emphatic earnestness--"Ifit will be a lesser trial to give thine evidence on oath to thyQueen alone, we are here to receive it. Our royal husband--our loyalsubjects--will be satisfied with Isabella's report. Thy words will beas sacred--thy oath as valid--as if thy testimony were received inpublic, thy oath administered by one of the holy fathers, with all thedread formula of the church. We have repeated all to which thy answerswill be demanded; it remains for thee to decide whether thou wiltspeak before his Grace the King and his assembled junta, or here andnow before thy native Sovereign. Pause ere thou dost answer--there istime enough. "

For a brief interval there was silence. The kind heart of the Queenthrobbed painfully, so completely had her sympathy identified her withthe beautiful being, who had so irresistibly claimed her cherishinglove. But ere she had had time to satisfy herself as to the issue ofthe struggle so silently, yet so fearfully at work in her companion, Marie had arisen, and with dignity and fearlessness, strangely atvariance with the wild agony of her words and manner before, stooderect before her Sovereign; and when she spoke, her voice was calm andfirm. 

"Queen of Spain!" she said. "My kind, gracious Sovereign! Would thatwords could speak one-half the love, the devotion, all thy goodnesshas inspired; but they seem frozen, all frozen now, and it may be thatI may never even prove them--that it will be my desolate fate, to seemless and less worthy of an affection I value more than life. Royalmadam! I will appear at to-morrow's trial! Your Grace is startled;deeming it a resolve as strange as contradictory. Ask not thewherefore, gracious Sovereign: it is fixed unalterably. I will obeyhis Grace's summons. Its unexpected suddenness startled me at first;but it is over. Oh, madam, " she continued--tone, look, and mannerbecoming again those of the agitated suppliant, and she sunk once moreat Isabella's feet: "In my wild agony I have forgotten the respect anddeference due from a subject to her Sovereign; I have poured forth mymisery, seemingly as regardless of kindness, as insensible to the widedistance between us. Oh, forgive me, my gracious Sovereign; and intoken of thy pardon, grant me but one boon!"

"Nought have I to forgive, my suffering child, " replied the Queen, powerfully affected, and passing her arm caressingly round herkneeling favorite; "what is rank--sovereignty itself--in hours ofsorrow? If I were so tenacious of dignity as thou fearest, I shouldhave shrunk from that awful presence--affliction from a Father'shand--in which his children are all equals, Marie. And as for thyboon: be it what it may, I grant it. "

"Thou sayest so now, my liege; but when the hour to grant it comes, every feeling will revolt against it; even thine, my Sovereign, kind, generous, as thou art. Oh, Madam, thou wilt hear a strange taleto-morrow--one so fraught with mystery and marvel, thou wilt refuse tobelieve; but when the trial of to-morrow is past, then think on whatI say now: what thou nearest will be TRUE--true as there is a heavenabove us; I swear it! Do not look upon me thus, my Sovereign; I am notmad--oh, would that I were! Dark, meaningless as my words seem now, to-morrow they will be distinct and clear enough. And then--then, if thou hast ever loved me, oh, grant the boon I implore thee now:whatever thou mayest hear, do not condemn me--do not cast me whollyfrom thee. More than ever shall I need thy protecting care. Oh, mySovereign--thou who hast taught me so to love thee, in pity love mestill!"

"Strange wayward being, " said Isabella, gazing doubtingly on theimploring face upturned to hers; "towards other than thyself suchmystery would banish love for ever; but I will not doubt thee. Darklyas thou speakest, still I grant the boon. What can I hear of thee, tocast thee from me?"

"Thou wilt hear of deceit, my liege, " replied Marie, very slowly, andher eyes fell beneath the Queen's gaze; "thou wilt hear of long yearsof deceit and fraud, and many--many tongues will speak their scorn andcondemnation. Then wilt thou grant it--then?"

"Even then, " replied Isabella fearlessly; "an thou speakest truthat last, deceit itself I will forgive. But thou art overwrought andanxious, and so layest more stress on some trivial fault than even Iwould demand. Go to thy own chamber now, and in prayer and meditationgain strength for to-morrow's trial. Whatever I may hear, so it be notmeditated and unrepented guilt, (which I know it cannot be, ) I willforgive, and love thee still. The holy saints bless and keep thee, myfair child!"

And as Marie bent to salute the kind hand extended to her, Isabelladrew her towards her, and fondly kissed her cheek. The unexpectedcaress, or some other secret feeling, subdued the overwrought energyat once; and for the first time since her husband's death, Marie burstinto natural tears. But her purpose changed not; though Isabella'sgentle and affectionate soothing rendered it tenfold more painful toaccomplish. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

 LEONTES. --These sessions, to our great grief, we pronounce Even pushes 'gainst our heart. Let us be cleared Of being tyrannous, since we openly Proceed in justice--which shall have due course, Even to the guilt, or the purgation. Produce the prisoner!--SHAKSPEARE. 

The day of trial dawned, bright, sunny, cloudless, as was usualin beautiful Spain--a joyous elasticity was in the atmosphere, abrilliance in the heavens, which thence reflected on the earth, sopainfully contrasted with misery and death, that the bright skyseemed to strike a double chill on the hearts of those most deeplyinterested. 

Never had the solemn proceedings of justice created so great anexcitement; not only in Segovia itself, but the towns and villages, many miles round, sent eager citizens and rustic countrymen to learnthe issue, and report it speedily to those compelled to stay at home. The universal mourning for Morales was one cause of the popularexcitement; and the supposition of the young foreigner being hismurderer another. 

The hall of the castle was crowded at a very early hour, Isabellahaving signified not only permission, but her wish that as many of hercitizen subjects as space would admit should be present, to witnessthe faithful course of justice. Nearest to the seat destined for theKing, at the upper end of the hall, were ranged several fathers froman adjoining convent of Franciscans, by whom a special service hadbeen impressively performed that morning in the cathedral, in whichall who had been summoned to preside at the trial had solemnly joined. 

The Monks of St. Francis were celebrated alike for their sterlingpiety, great learning, and general benevolence. Their fault, if suchit could be termed in a holy Catholic community, was their rigidexclusiveness regarding religion; their uncompromising and strict lovefor, and adherence to, their own creed; and stern abhorrence towards, and violent persecution of, all who in the slightest degree departedfrom it, or failed to pay it the respect and obedience which theybelieved it demanded. At their head was their Sub-Prior, a characterwhose influence on the after position of Spain was so great, that wemay not pass it by, without more notice than our tale itself perhapswould demand. To the world, as to his brethren and superiors, in themonastery, a stern unbending spirit, a rigid austerity, and unchangingseverity of mental and physical discipline, characterized his wholebearing and daily conduct. Yet, his severity proceeded not from thesuperstition and bigotry of a weak mind or misanthropic feeling. Though his whole time and thoughts appeared devoted to the interestof his monastery, and thence to relieving and guiding the poor, andcurbing and decreasing the intemperate follies and licentious conductof the laymen, in its immediate neighborhood; yet his extraordinaryknowledge, not merely of human nature, but of the world at large--hisprofound and extensive genius, which, in after years was displayed, in the prosecution of such vast schemes for Spain's advancement, thatthey riveted the attention of all Europe upon him--naturally won himthe respect and consideration of Ferdinand and Isabella, whose acutepenetration easily traced the natural man, even through the thick veilof monkish austerity. They cherished and honored him, little thinkingthat, had it not been for him, Spain would have sunk at their death, into the same abyss of anarchy and misery, from which their vigorousmeasures had so lately roused, and, as they hoped, So effectuallyguarded her. 

When Torquemada, Isabella's confessor, was absent from court, whichnot unfrequently happened, for his capacious mind was never at peaceunless actively employed--Father Francis, though but the Sub-Prior ofa Franciscan monastery, always took his place, and frequently wereboth sovereigns guided by his privately asked and frankly givenopinions, not only on secular affairs, but on matters of state, andeven of war. With such a character for his Sub-Prior, the lordly Abbotof the Franciscans was indeed but a nominal dignitary, quite contentedto enjoy all the indulgences and corporeal luxuries, permitted, orperhaps winked at, from his superior rank, and leaving to FatherFrancis every active duty; gladly, therefore, he deputed on himthe office of heading the Monks that day summoned to attend KingFerdinand. 

Not any sign of the benevolence and goodness--in reality thecharacteristics of this extraordinary man--was visible on hiscountenance as he sat. The very boldest and haughtiest of thearistocracy, involuntarily perhaps, yet irresistibly, acknowledged hissuperiority. Reverence and awe were the emotions first excited towardshis person: but already was that reverence largely mingled withthe love which some three years afterwards gave him such powerfulinfluence over the whole sovereignty of Spain. Next to the holyfathers, and ranged according to rank and seniority, were the nobleswho had been selected to attend, the greater number of whom, wereCastilians, as countrymen of the deceased. Next to them were theSanta Hermandad, or Brethren of the Associated Cities, without whosepresence and aid, no forms of justice, even though ruled and guided byroyalty itself, were considered valid or complete. A semicircle wasthus formed, the centre of which was the King's seat; and opposite tohim, in the hollow, as it were of the crescent, a space left for theprisoner, accusers, and witnesses. Soldiers lined the hall; a trebleguard being drawn up at the base of the semicircle, and extending in awide line right and left, behind the spot destined for the prisoner. There was still a large space left, and this was so thronged withcitizens, that it presented the appearance of a dense mass of humanheads, every face turned in one direction, and expressive in variousways of but one excitement, one emotion. 

There was not a smile on either of the stern countenances within thehall. As the shock and horror of Don Ferdinand's fate in some measuresubsided, not only the nobles, but the soldiers themselves, began torecall the supposed murderer in the many fields of honorable warfare, the many positions of mighty and chivalric bearing in which they hadhitherto seen the young Englishman play so distinguished a part; anddoubts began to arise as to the possibility of so great a change, andin so short a time. To meet even a supposed enemy in fair field, and with an equality of weapons, was the custom of the day; such, therefore, between Stanley and Morales, might have excited marvel asto the _cause_, but not as to the _act_. But murder! it was so whollyincompatible with even the very lowest principles of chivalry (exceptwhen the unfortunate victim was of too low a rank to be removed by anyother means), that when they recalled the gallantry, the frankness ofspeech and deed, the careless buoyancy, the quickly subdued passion, and easily accorded forgiveness of injury, which had ever beforecharacterized young Stanley, they could not believe his guilt: butthen came the recollection of the startling proofs against him, andsuch belief was almost involuntarily suspended. There was not amovement in that immense concourse of human beings, not a word spokenone to the other, not a murmur even of impatience for the appearanceof the King. All was so still, so mute, that, had it not been for thevaried play of countenances, any stranger suddenly placed within thecircle might have imagined himself in an assemblage of statues. 

Precisely at noon, the folding-doors at the upper end of the hall werethrown widely but noiselessly back, and King Ferdinand, attended by afew pages and gentlemen, slowly entered, and taking his seat, gazeda full minute, inquiringly and penetratingly around him, and thenresting his head on his hand, remained plunged in earnest meditationsome moments before he spoke. 

It was a strange sight--the noiseless, yet universal rising of theassemblage in honor to their Sovereign, changing their position as byone simultaneous movement. Many an eye turned towards him to readon his countenance the prisoner's doom; but its calm, almost sternexpression, baffled the most penetrating gaze. Some minutes passed ereFerdinand, rousing himself from his abstraction, waved his hand, and every seat was instantaneously resumed, and so profound was thesilence, that every syllable the Monarch spoke, though his voice wasnot raised one note above his usual pitch, was heard by every memberof those immense crowds, as individually addressing each. 

"My Lords and holy Fathers, and ye Associated Brethren, " he said, "thecause of your present assemblage needs no repetition. Had the murderedand the supposed murderer been other than they are, we should haveleft the course of justice in the hands of those appointed toadminister it, and interfered not ourselves save to confirm or annulthe sentence they should pronounce. As the case stands, we are deputedby our illustrious Consort and sister Sovereign, Isabella of Castile, to represent her as Suzerain of the deceased (whom the saintsassoilize), and so ourselves guide the proceedings of justice on hismurderer. Our prerogative as Suzerain and Liege would permit us tocondemn to death at once; but in this instance, my Lords and holyFathers, we confess ourselves unwilling and incapable of pronouncingjudgment solely on our own responsibility. The accused is a friendlessforeigner, to whom we have been enabled to show some kindness, andtherefore one towards whom we cannot feel indifference: he has, moreover, done us such good service both in Spain and Sicily, thateven the grave charge brought against him now, cannot blot out thememories of the past. We find it difficult to believe that a young, high-spirited, honorable warrior, in whose heart every chivalricfeeling appeared to beat, could become, under any temptation, underany impulse, that base and loathsome coward--a midnight murderer! Onyour counsels, then, we implicitly depend: examine, impartially anddeliberately, the proofs for and against, which will be laid beforeyou. But let one truth be ever present, lest justice herself be but acover for prejudice and hate. Let not Europe have cause to say, thathe who, flying from the enemies and tyrants of his own land, tookrefuge on the hearths of our people, secure there of kindness andprotection, has found them not. Were it a countryman we were about tojudge, this charge were needless; justice and mercy would, if it werepossible, go hand in hand. The foreigner, who has voluntarily assumedthe name and service of a son of Spain, demands yet more at our hands. My Lords and holy Fathers, and ye Associated Brethren, rememberthis important truth, and act accordingly: but if, on a strict, unprejudiced examination of the evidence against the prisoner, yepronounce him guilty, be it so: the scripture saith, 'blood must flowfor blood!'"

A universal murmur of assent filled the hall as the King ceased: hiswords had thrilled reprovingly on many there present, particularlyamongst the populace, who felt, even as the Monarch spoke, the realcause of their violent wrath against the murderer. Ere, however, theyhad time to analyze why the violent abhorrence of Stanley should beso calmed merely at the King's words, the command, "Bring forth theprisoner!" occasioned an intensity of interest and eager movementof the numerous heads towards the base of the hall, banishing everycalmer thought. The treble line of soldiers, forming the base of thecrescent, divided in the centre, and wheeling backwards, formed twofiles of dense thickness, leaving a lane between them through whichthe prisoner and his guards were discerned advancing to the placeassigned. He was still heavily fettered, and his dress, which he hadnot been permitted to change, covered with dark, lurid stains, hung soloosely upon him, that his attenuated form bore witness, even as thewhite cheek and haggard eye, to the intense mental torture of the lastfortnight. His fair hair lay damp and matted on his pale forehead; butstill there was that in his whole bearing which, while it breathed ofsuffering, contradicted every thought of guilt. He looked round himsteadily and calmly, lowered his head a moment in respectful deferenceto the King, and instantly resumed the lofty carriage which sufferingitself seemed inadequate to bend. King Ferdinand fixed his eyes uponhim with an expression before which the hardiest guilt must for themoment have quailed; but not a muscle of the prisoner's countenancemoved, and Ferdinand proceeded to address him gravely, yet feelingly. 

"Arthur Stanley, " he said, "we have heard from Don Felix d'Estabanthat you have refused our proffered privilege of seeking andemploying some friends, subtle in judgment, and learned in all thetechnicalities of such proceedings, as to-day will witness, toundertake your cause. Why is this? Is your honor of such small amount, that you refuse even to accept the privilege of defence? Are you sowell prepared yourself to refute the evidence which has been collectedagainst you, that you need no more? Or have we indeed heard aright, that you have resolved to let the course of justice proceed, withoutone effort on your part to avert an inevitable doom? This would seem atacit avowal of guilt; else, wherefore call your doom inevitable? Ifconscious of innocence, have you no hope, no belief in the DivineJustice, which can as easily make manifest innocence as punishcrime? Ere we depute to others the solemn task of examination, andpronouncing sentence, we bid you speak, and answer as to the whereforeof this rash and contradictory determination--persisting in words thatyou are guiltless, yet refusing the privilege of defence. Is life sovalueless, that you cast it degraded from you? As Sovereign and Judge, we command you answer, lest by your own rash act the course of justicebe impeded, and the sentence of the guilty awarded to the innocent. As man to man, I charge thee speak; bring forward some proof ofinnocence. Let me not condemn to death as a coward and a murderer, one whom I have loved and trusted as a friend! Answer--wherefore thisstrange callousness to life--this utter disregard of thine honor andthy name?"

For a moment, while the King addressed him as man to man, the pallidcheek and brow of the prisoner flushed with painful emotion, and therewas a scarcely audible tremulousness in his voice as he replied:

"And how will defence avail me? How may mere assertion deny proof, andso preserve life and redeem honor? My liege, I had resolved to attemptno defence, because I would not unnecessarily prolong the torture ofdegradation. Had I one proof, the slightest proof to produce, whichmight in the faintest degree avail me, I would not withhold it;justice to my father's name would be of itself sufficient to commanddefence. But I have none! I cannot so perjure myself as to deny oneword of the charges brought against me, save that of murder! Ofthoughts of hate and wrath, ay, and blood, but such blood as honorablemen would shed, I am guilty, I now feel, unredeemably guilty, but notof murder! I am not silent because conscious of enacted guilt. I willnot go down to the dishonored grave, now yawning for me, permitting, by silence, your Highness, and these your subjects, to believe methe monster of ingratitude, the treacherous coward which appearancespronounce me. No!" he continued, raising his right hand as high ashis fetters would permit, and speaking in a tone which fell withthe eloquence of truth, on every heart--"No: here, as on thescaffold--now, as with my dying breath, I will proclaim aloud myinnocence; I call on the Almighty Judge himself, as on every Saintin heaven, to attest it--ay, and I believe it WILL be attested, whennought but my memory is left to be cleared from shame--I am not themurderer of Don Ferdinand Morales! Had he been in every deed myfoe--had he given me cause for the indulgence of those ungovernablepassions which I now feel were roused against him so causelessly andsinfully, I might have sought their gratification by honorable combat, but not by midnight murder! I speak not, I repeat, to save my life: itis justly forfeited for thoughts of crime! I speak that, when in afteryears my innocence will be made evident by the discovery of the realassassin, you will all remember what I now say--that I have not sobasely requited the King and Country who so generously and trustinglybefriended me--that I am no murderer!"

"Then, if so convinced of innocence, young man, wherefore not attemptdefence?" demanded the Sub-Prior of St. Francis. "Knowest thou notthat wilfully to throw away the life intrusted to you, for somewise purpose, is amenable before the throne of the Most High asself-committed murder? Proofs of this strongly asserted innocence, thou must have. "

"I have none, " calmly answered the prisoner, "I have but words, andwho will believe them? Who, here present, will credit the strangetale, that, tortured and restless from mental suffering, I courted thefury of the elements, and rushed from my quarters on the night of themurder _without_ my sword?--that, in securing the belt, I missed theweapon, but still sought not for it as I ought?--who will believe thatit was accident, not design, which took me to the Calle Soledad? andthat it was a fall over the murdered body of Don Ferdinand whichdeluged my hands and dress with the blood that dyed the ground? Whowill credit that it was seeing him thus which chained me, paralyzed, horror-stricken, to the spot? In the wild fury of my passions I hadbelieved him my enemy, and sworn his death; then was it marvel thatthus beholding him turned me well-nigh to stone, and that, in myhorror, I had no power to call for aid, or raise the shout after themurderer, for my own thoughts arose as fiends, to whisper, such mighthave been nay work--that I had wished his death? Great God! the awfulwakening from the delusion of weeks--the dread recognition in thatmurdered corse of my own thoughts of sin!" He paused involuntarily, for his strong agitation completely choked his voice, and shook hiswhole frame. After a brief silence, which none in the hall had heartto break, he continued calmly, "Let the trial proceed, graciousSovereign. Your Highness's generous interest in one accused of acrime so awful, comprising the death, not of a subject only, but of afriend, does but add to the heavy weight of obligation already mine, and would of itself excite the wish to live, to prove that I am notso utterly unworthy; but I feel that not to such as I, may the Divinemercy be so shown, as to bring forward the real murderer. The miseryof the last fortnight has shown me how deeply I have sinned inthought, though not in deed; and how dare I, then, indulge the wilddream that my innocence will be proved, until too late, save formine honor? My liege, I have trespassed too long on the time of thisassemblage; let the trial proceed. "

So powerful was the effect of his tone and words, that the impulse wasstrong in every heart to strike off his fetters, and give him lifeand freedom. The countenance of the Sub-Prior of St. Francis aloneretained its unmoved calmness, and its tone, its imperturbablegravity, as he commanded Don Felix d'Estaban to produce the witnesses;and on their appearance, desired one of the fathers to administer theoath. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

 "His unaltering-cheek Still vividly doth hold its natural hue, And his eye quails not. Is this innocence?"

 MRS. HEMANS. 

During the examination of Don Alonzo of Aguilar, and of old Pedro andJuana, the prisoner remained with his arms calmly folded and headerect, without the smallest variation of feature or position denotingeither anxiety or agitation. Don Alonzo's statement was very simple. He described the exact spot where he had found the body, and theposition in which it lay; the intense agitation of Stanley, the bloodyappearance of his clothes, hands, and face, urging them to secure hisperson even before they discovered the broken fragment of his swordlying beside the corse. His account was corroborated, in the veryminutest points, by the men who had accompanied him, even thoughcross-questioned with unusual particularity by Father Francis. OldPedro's statement, though less circumstantial, was, to the soldiersand citizens especially, quite as convincing. He gave a wordynarrative of Senor Stanley's unnatural state of excitement from thevery evening he had become his lodger--that he had frequently heardhim muttering to himself such words as "blood" and "vengeance. " Heconstantly appeared longing for something; never eat half the mealsprovided for him--a sure proof, in old Pedro's imagination, of adisordered mind, and that the night of the murder he had heard himleave the house, with every symptom of agitation. Old Juana, with veryevident reluctance, confirmed this account; but Father Francis wasevidently not satisfied. "Amongst these incoherent ravings of theprisoner, did you ever distinguish the word 'murder?'" he demanded--aquestion which would be strange, indeed, in the court of justice ofthe present day, but of importance in an age when such words as bloodand vengeance, amongst warriors, simply signified a determination tofight out their quarrel in (so-called) honorable combat. The answer, after some hesitation, was in the negative. "Did you ever distinguishany name, as the object of Senor Stanley's desired vengeance?"

Pedro immediately answered "No;" but there was a simper of hesitationin old Juana, that caused the Sub-Prior to appeal to her. "Please yourReverence, I only chanced to hear the poor young man say, 'Oh, Marie!Marie!' one day when I brought him his dinner, which he put awayuntouched, though I put my best cooking in it. "

A slight, scarcely perceptible flush passed over the prisoner's cheekand brow. The King muttered an exclamation; Father Francis's browcontracted, and several of the nobles looked uneasily from one to theother. 

"At what time did the prisoner leave his apartments the night of themurder?" continued the Sub-Prior. 

"Exactly as the great bell of the cathedral chimed eleven, " was theready reply from Pedro and Juana at the same moment. 

"Did you hear nothing but his hasty movements, as you describe? Did henot call for attendance, or a light? Remember, you are on oath, " hecontinued sternly, as he observed the hesitation with which old Pedromuttered "No;" and that Juana was silent. "The church punishes falseswearers. Did he speak or not?"

"He called for a light, please your Reverence, but--"

"But you did not choose to obey at an hour so late!" sternly respondedFather Francis; "and by such neglect may be guilty of accelerating thedeath of the innocent, and concealing the real murderer! You allegethat Senor Stanley returned from some military duty at sunset, andslept from then till just before eleven, so soundly that you could notrouse him even for his evening meal. This was strange for a man withmurder in his thoughts! Again, that he called for a light, which, you neglected to bring; and Senor Stanley asserts that he missed hissword, but rushed from the house without it. Your culpable neglect, then, prevents our discovering the truth of this assertion; yet youacknowledge he called loudly for light; this appears too unlikelyto have been the case, had the prisoner quitted the house with theintention to do murder. "

"Intention at that moment he might not have had, Reverend Father, "interposed the head of the Associated Brethren, who had taken anactive part in the examination. "Were there no evidence as topremeditated desire of vengeance, premeditated insult, andlong-entertained enmity, these conclusions might have foundation. Asthe case stands, they weigh but little. Where evil passions havebeen excited, opportunity for their indulgence is not likely to passunused. "

"But evidence of that long-entertained enmity and premeditatedvengeance we have not yet examined, " replied the Sub-Prior. "If itonly rest on the suppositions of this old couple, in one of whom itis pretty evident, prejudice is stronger than clearly defined truth, methinks that, despite this circumstantial evidence, there is stillhope of the prisoner's innocence, more especially as we have one otherimportant fact to bring forward. You are certain, " he continued, addressing old Pedro, "that the bell chimed eleven when Senor Stanleyquitted your dwelling?" The man answered firmly in the affirmative. "And you will swear that the Senor slept from sunset till that hour?"

"I dare not swear to it, your Reverence, for Juana and I were at aneighbor's for part of that time; but on our return, Juana took up hissupper again, and found him so exactly in the same position as we hadleft him, that we could not believe he had even moved. "

"Was he alone in the house during this interval?"

"No; the maid Beta was at her work in the room below Senor Stanley's. "

"Let her be brought here. "

The order was so rapidly obeyed, that it was very evident she wasclose at hand; but so terribly alarmed at the presence in which shestood, as to compel the Sub-Prior to adopt the gentlest possible tone, to get any answer at all. He merely inquired if, during the absence ofher master and mistress, she had heard any movement in the prisoner'sroom. She said that she thought she had--a quiet, stealthy step, andalso a sound as if a door in the back of the house closed; but thesounds were so very indistinct, she had felt them at the time morelike a dream than reality; and the commencement of the storm had soterrified her, that she did not dare move from her seat. 

"And what hour was this?"

It might have been about nine; but she could not say exactly. And fromthe assertion that she did hear a slight sound, though puzzlinglycross-questioned, she never wavered. The King and the Sub-Prior bothlooked disappointed. The chief of the Santa Hermandad expressedhimself confirmed in his previous supposition. 

The prisoner retained his calmness; but a gleam of intelligence seemedto flit across his features. 

"You would speak, Senor Stanley, " interposed the King, as the girl wasdismissed. "We would gladly hear you. "

"I would simply say, your Highness, " replied Stanley, gratefully, "that it is not unlikely Beta may have heard such sounds. I amconvinced my evening draught was drugged; and the same secret enemywho did this, to give him opportunity undiscovered to purloin mysword--may, nay, _must_ have entered my chamber during that deathlikesleep, and committed the theft which was to burden an innocent manwith his deed of guilt. The deep stillness in the house might havepermitted her ear to catch the step, though my sleep was too profound. I could hardly have had time to waken, rise, commit the deed of death, and return to such a completely deceiving semblance of sleep, in theshort hour of Pedro and Juana's absence; and if I had, what madnesswould have led me there again, and so appalled me, as to prevent alleffort of escape?"

"Conscience, " replied the chief of the Santa Hermandad, sternly. "Theimpelling of the Divine Spirit, whom you had profaned, and whoin justice so distracted you, as to lead you blindly to your owndestruction--no marvel the darkness oppressed, and the storm appalledyou; or that heaven in its wrath should ordain the events you yourselfhave described--the fall over your own victim, and the horror thenceproceeding. We have heard that your early years have been honorable, Senor Stanley, and to such, guilt is appalling even in itsaccomplishment. Methinks, Father Francis, we need now but the evidenceof the premeditation. "

"Your pardon, brother; but such, conclusions are somewhat over-hasty. It is scarcely probable, had Senor Stanley returned after thecommittal of such a deed, that his reentrance should not have beenheard as well as his departure; whereas the witness expresslydeclares, that though her attention was awakened by the previous faintsound, and she listened frequently, she never heard another movement, till her master and mistress's return; and as they went into theSenor's room directly, and found him without the very least appearanceof having moved, justice compels us to incline to the belief in SenorStanley's suggestion--that he could scarcely have had sufficient timeto rouse, depart, do murder, and feign sleep during Pedro Benito'sbrief interval of absence. "

"We will grant that so it may be, Reverend Father, but what proof havewe that the murder had not been just committed when the body and theassassin were discovered?"

Father Francis replied, by commanding the appearance of DonFerdinand's steward, and after the customary formula, inquired whathour his late lamented master had quitted his mansion the night of themurder. The man replied, without hesitation, "Exactly as the chimesplayed the quarter before nine. "

"But was not that unusually early? The hour of meeting at the castlewas ten, and the distance from Don Ferdinand's mansion not twentyminutes' ride, and scarce forty minutes' walk. Are you perfectlycertain as to the hour?"

"I can take my oath upon it, your Reverence, and Lopez will say thesame. Our sainted master (Jesu rest his soul!) called to him a fewminutes before he entered my lady's room, and told him not to get hishorse ready, as he should walk to the castle. Lopez asked as to whoshould attend him, and his reply was he would go alone. He had done sobefore, and so we were not surprised; but we were grieved at his look, for it seemed of suffering, unlike himself, and were noticing it toeach other as he passed us, after quitting my lady, and so quickly andso absorbed, that he did not return our salutation, which he never inall his life neglected to do before. My poor, poor master! little didwe think we should never see him again!" And the man's unconstrainedburst of grief excited anew the indignation of the spectators againstthe crime, till then almost forgotten, in the intense interest asto the fate of the accused. Lopez was called, and corroborated thesteward's account exactly. 

"If he left his house at a quarter before nine, at what hour, thinkyou, he would reach the Calle Soledad?"

From ten to fifteen minutes past the hour, your Reverence, unlessdetained by calling elsewhere on his way. "

"Did he mention any intention of so doing?" The answer was in thenegative. "According to this account, then, the murder must have takenplace between nine and ten; and Senor Stanley was not heard to quithis apartment till eleven. This would corroborate his own assertion, that the deed was committed ere he reached the spot. "

"But what proof have we that Don Ferdinand was not detained on hisway?" replied the chief of the Santa Hermandad. "His domestics assertno more than the hour of his quitting the house. "

"The hour of the royal meeting was ten, " rejoined the Sub-Prior; "hewas noted for regularity, and was not likely to have voluntarilylingered so long, as not even to reach the Calle till one hourafterwards. "

"Not voluntarily; but we have heard that he appeared more sufferingthan he was ever seen to do. His illness might have increased, and socause detention; and yet, on even partial recovery, we know himwell enough to believe he would still have endeavored to join hisHighness. "

"He would; but there is evidence that when brought to the castle, hehad been dead at the very least three hours. Let Curador Benedictocome forward. "

A respectable man, dressed in black, and recognized at once as theleech or doctor of the royal household, obeyed the summons, and onbeing questioned, stated that he had examined the body the very momentit had been conveyed to the castle, in the hope of discovering somesigns of animation, however faint. But life was totally extinct, and, according to his judgment, had been so at the very least three hours. "

"And what hour was this?"

"Just half-an-hour after midnight. "

A brief silence followed the leech's dismissal; Ferdinand still seemedperplexed and uneasy, and not one countenance, either of the nobles orAssociated Brethren, evinced satisfaction. 

"Our task, instead of decreasing in difficulty, becomes more and morecomplicated, my lords and brethren, " observed the Sub-Prior, afterwaiting for the chief of the Santa Hermandad to speak. "Had we anypositive proof, that Senor Stanley really slept from the hour of sunsettill eleven the same evening, and never quitted his quarters until then, we might hope that the sentence of Curador Benedicto, as to the lengthof time life had been extinct in his supposed victim, might weighstrongly against the circumstantial chain of evidence brought againsthim. Believing that the prisoner having slept from the hour of sunset toeleven was a proven and witnessed fact, I undertook the defensive andargued in his favor. The sounds heard by the girl Beta may or may nothave proceeded from the stealthy movements of the accused, and yetjustice forbids our passing them by unnoticed. The time of this movementbeing heard, and that of the murder, according to the leech's evidence, tally so exactly that we cannot doubt but the one had to do with theother; but whether it were indeed the prisoner's step, or that of thebase purloiner of his sword, your united judgment must decide. Individual supposition, in a matter of life or death, can be of noavail. My belief, as you may have discovered, inclines to the prisoner'sinnocence. My brother, the chief Hermano, as strongly believes in hisguilt. And it would appear as if the evidence itself, supports the onejudgment equally with the other; contradictory and complicated, it hasyet been truthfully brought forward and strictly examined. Your unitedjudgment, Senors and Hermanos, must therefore decide the prisoner'sfate. "

"But under your favor, Reverend Father, all the evidence has not beenbrought forward, " rejoined the chief Hermano. "And methinks that whichis still to come is the most important of the whole. That the businessis complicated, and judgment most difficult, I acknowledge, andtherefore gladly avail myself of any remaining point on which thescale may turn. Sworn as I am to administer impartial justice, prejudice against the prisoner I can have none; but the point we haveuntil now overlooked, appears sufficient to decide not only individualbut general opinion. I mean the _premeditated vengeance_ sworn by theprisoner against the deceased--long indulged and proclaimed enmity, and premeditated determination to take his life or lose his own. Don Ferdinand Morales--be his soul assoilized!--was so universallybeloved, so truly the friend of all ranks and conditions of men, thatto believe in the existence of any other enmity towards his person isalmost impossible. We have evidence that the prisoner was at feud withhim--was harboring some design against him for weeks. It may be he waseven refused by Don Ferdinand the meeting he desired, and so soughtvengeance by the midnight dagger. Let the evidence of this enmity beexamined, and according or not as premeditated malice is elicited, solet your judgment be pronounced. "

"Ay, so let it be, " muttered the King as a loud murmur of assent ranthrough the hall. "We have two witnesses for this; and, by heaven, ifthe one differ from the other in the smallest point, the prisoner maystill be reprieved!"

Whether the royal observation was heard or not, there was norejoinder, for at the summoning of the chief Hermano, Don Luis Garciastood before the assemblage. His appearance excited surprise in manypresent, and in none more than the prisoner himself. He raised hishead, which had been resting on his hand during the address of theSub-Prior, and the reply of the Hermano, and looked at the new witnesswith bewildered astonishment. As Don Luis continued his relation ofthe stormy interview between the deceased and the accused, and thewords of threatening used by the latter, astonishment itself, changedinto an indignation and loathing impossible to be restrained. 

"Thou base dishonored villain!" he exclaimed, so suddenly andwrathfully that it startled more by its strange contrast with hisformer calmness than by its irreverent interruption to the formula ofthe examination; "where wert thou during this interview? Hearing sowell, and so invisibly concealed, none but the voluntary spy couldhave heard all this; so skilfully detailed that thou wouldst seem invery truth _witness_ as well as hearer. What _accident_ could have ledthee to the most retired part of Don Ferdinand's garden, and, being there, detained thee? Thou treacherous villain! and on thyevidence--evidence so honorably, so truthfully obtained, my life ordeath depends! Well, be it so. "

"But so it shall not be, " interposed the King himself, ere eitherSub-Prior or the Hermano could reply; "even as the prisoner, weourselves hold evidence dishonestly obtained of little moment--nay, of no weight whatever. Be pleased, Don Luis Garcia, to explainthe casualty which led you, at such an important moment, to DonFerdinand's grounds; or name some other witness. The voluntarylistener is, in our mind, dishonorable as the liar, and demanding nomore account. "

With a mien and voice of the deepest humility, Don Luis replied;grieving that his earnest love of justice should expose him to theroyal displeasure; submitting meekly to unjust suspicion as concernedhimself, but still upholding the truth and correctness of hisstatement. The other witness to the same, he added mysteriously, hehad already named to his Royal Highness. 

"And she waits our pleasure, " replied the King; "Don Felix d'Estaban, be pleased to conduct the last witness to our presence. "

CHAPTER XX. 

 But love is strong. There came Strength upon Woman's fragile heart and frame; There came swift courage. 

 MRS. HEMANS. 

 Death has no pang More keen than this. Oh, wherefore art thou here?

 MRS. HEMANS. 

A profound silence followed Don Felix's departure. Don Luis had soevidently evaded the King's demand, as to how he had witnessed thisimportant interview, that even those most prejudiced in his favor, onaccount of his extreme sanctity, found themselves doubting his honor;and those who had involuntarily been prejudiced against him, by theindefinable something pervading his countenance and voice, doublyrejoiced that their unspoken antipathy had some foundation. In moderncourts of justice, to refuse the validity of evidence merely becausethe manner of obtaining it was supposed dishonorable, would bepronounced the acme of folly and romance. In the age of which wewrite, and in Spain especially, the sense of honor was so exquisitelyrefined, that the King's rebuke, and determination not to allow thevalidity of Don Luis's evidence, unless confirmed by an honorablewitness, excited no surprise whatever; every noble, nay, every one ofthe Associated Brethren, there present, would have said the same; andthe eager wonder, as to the person of the witness on whom so muchstress was laid, became absolutely intense. The prisoner was veryevidently agitated; his cheek flushed and paled in rapid alternation, and a suppressed but painful exclamation escaped from him as Don Felixre-entered, leading with him a female form; but the faint sound wasunheard, save by the King and the Sub-Prior, who had been conversingapart during d'Estaban's absence--lost in the irrepressible burst ofwonder and sympathy, which broke from all within the hall, as in thenew witness, despite the change of garb, and look, from the dazzlingbeauty of health and peace, to the attenuated form of anxiety andsorrow, they recognized at once the widow of the murdered, DonnaMarie. Nor was this universal sympathy lessened, when, on partiallyremoving her veil, to permit a clear view of the scene around her, hersweet face was disclosed to all--profoundly, almost unnaturally, calm, indeed--but the cheek and lips were perfectly colorless; the ashywhiteness of the former rendered them more striking from the longblack lash resting upon it, unwetted by a single tear: and from thepeculiarly dark eye appearing the larger, from the attenuation of theother features. One steady and inquiring glance she was seen to fixupon the prisoner, and then she bent in homage to the Sovereign; andemotion, if there were any, passed unseen. 

"Sit, lady, " said the King, with ready courtesy, touched more than hecould have imagined possible, by the change fourteen short days hadwrought. "We would feign render this compelled summons as brief andlittle fatiguing as may be: none can grieve more than ourselves atthis harsh intrusion on thy hours of sorrow; but in a great measurethe doom of life or death rests with thee, and justice forbids ourneglecting evidence so important. Yet sit, lady; we command it. "

"It needs not, gracious Sovereign; my strength will not fail me, "replied Marie, her sweet voice falling distinctly on every ear, whileStanley started at its calmness; and she gracefully refused the seatDon Felix proffered. "Give no more thought to me than to any otherwitness; it is not a subject's place to sit in presence of herSovereign. "

But Ferdinand's kindliest feelings were excited, and instead ofpermitting the Sub-Prior to give the necessary details, he himself, with characteristic brevity, but clearly and kindly, narrated theprogress of the evidence for and against the prisoner, and how greatthe weight laid on the proofs, if there were any, of acknowledgedenmity, and premeditated injury, on the part of the accused towardsthe deceased. The questions to which he was compelled to request herreply were simply, "Was she aware of any cause of hatred existingbetween the accused and the deceased?" "Had she ever heard opprobriousand insulting epithets used by the former or the latter?" "or anythreat, implying that the death of Don Ferdinand Morales was desiredby the prisoner?" "Had she ever seen the prisoner draw his sword uponthe deceased?--and had she any reason to believe that Don Ferdinandhad ever refused, or intended to refuse to meet the prisoner inhonorable combat, and so urged the gratification of vengeance by adeed of murder? Reverend Father, " continued the King, "be pleasedyourself to administer the customary oath. "

Father Francis instantly rose from his seat, and taking the large andrichly embossed silver crucifix from the Monk, who had administeredthe oath to all the other witnesses, himself approached Marie. "MarieHenriquez Morales, " he said, as he reverentially held the solemnsymbol of his religion before her, "art thou well advised of thesolemnity of the words thou art called upon to speak? If so, swear tospeak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Swear bythe Holy Symbol which I support; by the unpronounceable name of theFather, by the flesh and blood, the resurrection and the life of ourLord and Saviour Christ Jesu; by the Holy Spirit; by the saving andglorious Trinity; by the goodly army of Saints and Martyrs; daughter, swear, and the blessing or the curse be with you as you swear true orfalsely. "

The fine countenance of the Sub-Prior glowed with the holy enthusiasmof his appeal; his form, as he stood, one hand clasping the crucifix, the other emphatically raised, seemed dilated to unusual height andmajesty, and the deep solemnity of his accents so enhanced the awfulresponsibility of the oath, that it thrilled throughout the multitudeas it had never done before. So deep was the stillness which followed, that not one of those vast crowds seemed to breathe. To the prisonerit was a moment of intense emotion: for if, indeed, Marie had oncetold him truth, that oath, to her, even in its solemnity, was asnought; but ere he could even think as to the wording of her answer, that answer came, and so distinct, so unfalteringly spoken, that therewas not one person present who even strained his ear to catch thewords. 

"Reverend Father, " she said, "I am grateful for thy counsel; and, believe me, am well advised of the truth and solemnity of the words Ispeak. But I cannot aid his Grace, and these his subjects, in theirdecision as to the prisoner's sentence. My evidence is valueless. I belong to that race whose word is never taken as witness, for oragainst, in a court of justice. I cannot take the oath required, for Ideny the faith in which it is administered. I am a JEWESS!"

A wild cry, in every variety of intonation--astonishment, horror, wrath, and perhaps terror, ran through the hall--from Sovereign, Noble, Monk, and Citizen, simultaneously. Father Francis staggeredback several paces, as if there were contamination in remaining by herside, and then stood as rooted to the ground, his hand convulsivelygrasping the crucifix which had nearly fallen from his hold; his lipsapart, his nostrils slightly distended, and his eyes almost startingfrom their sockets, in the horrified and astonished gaze he fixed uponthe pale and fragile being who had dared speak such impious words. Theattendant fathers rose simultaneously, and formed a semicircle roundtheir superior, ready, at his slightest signal, to hurl down onher the anathema of the church; reverence to the Sub-Prior alonepreventing the curse from instantly bursting forth. The nobles, theAssociated Brethren, Ferdinand himself, started almost unconsciouslyto their feet, and an eager rush brought many of the citizens stillnearer to the scene of action. The prisoner, with an irresistibleimpulse, darted forwards, and ere any one had recovered from histrance of bewilderment, had flung himself at Marie's feet. 

"Marie! Marie!" he exclaimed, in a voice so hoarse and choked, itswords were heard by her alone. "Oh! why hast thou done this? Why nottake the required oath, and condemn me at once? Marie, I am unworthyof such self-sacrifice!"

"Ha! didst thou slay him then? Have I judged thee too kindly, Arthur, "she answered; and the hand she laid heavily on his shoulder trembledso violently, it was evident she had thus placed it only to save herfrom sinking to the ground, for the unnatural strength had gone. 

"No!" he exclaimed, in a tone and with a look that satisfied her atonce, and there was no time for more. The King had perceived that theSub-Prior was recovering composure, and with it energy of action;though himself a zealous Catholic, he felt compelled to save Marie. "Hold! hold!" he said hastily, as Father Francis was about to speak. "Reverend Father, we pray thee, be not over hasty in this matter;these are strange and terrible words; but they are meaningless; theymust be. Her misery has turned her brain; she is mad; heed her not; besilent all of ye! See how she glares upon the prisoner! Is that thelook of sanity? By St. Francis, we have done wrong to call her hither!Stand back, good fathers. Remove the prisoner; and let Donna Marie beconducted from the hall. Our Consort should have warned us of this!"

"Forbear, my liege!" replied the Sub-Prior sternly. "The blasphemingwords were all too calmly and collectively spoken for the ravings ofmadness. Let not the false unbeliever pass hence till at least shehas done reverence to the sacred symbol, she has, by daring denial, insulted. As thou wouldst save thine own soul from hell-fire, myliege, interfere not in this!"

As he spoke, several soldiers had endeavored rudely to drag Arthurfrom Marie: he strove fiercely for freedom, for but one hour's powerto protect her, but in vain. And the look she fixed upon him, as hewas torn from her, from its contrast with her previous profound calm, did indeed seem almost of madness. The excitement which had enabledher to make this dread avowal--an avowal comprising such variety, andterrible danger, that the magnitude of the sacrifice comprised in theconfession can now scarcely be understood; danger, not merely from thevengeance of the church for long years of fraud, nor from the secretand awful tribunal of whose existence she was conscious (though not ofits close vicinity); not merely these, but danger from the wrath, andterrors of the secret members of her own faith, who might naturallyimagine their own safety endangered in the suspicion, engendered byher rash confession. Of all this she had thought; had believed herselfstrengthened to brave and bear every possible suffering, rather thanbreathe those words which must seal Stanley's fate; but now that shehad spoken, though she would not have recalled them if she could--suchan overpowering, crushing sense of all she had drawn upon herself, such fearful, spectral shapes of indefinable horror came upon her, that, as the Sub-Prior stood again before her with the uplifted cross, bidding her kneel and acknowledge him whose fate it imaged--she burstinto a wild hysteric laugh, and fell prone upon the floor. 

"Said I not she was mad? And what need was there for this unmanlyviolence?" angrily exclaimed the Monarch; and, starting from his seat, he authoritatively waved back the denouncing monks, and himself bentover Marie. The Duke of Murcia, Don Felix d'Estaban, the Lord ofAguilar, and several other nobles following the Sovereign's example, hastened to her assistance. But to restore animation was not in theirpower, and on the King's whispered commands, Don Felix gently, eventenderly raised her, and bore her in his arms from the hall. Even inthat moment of excitement Ferdinand could not forbear glancing at theprisoner, whose passionate struggles to escape from the guard, whenMarie fell, had been noticed by all, and unhappily, combined with, hisprevious irritation, but confirmed the unspoken suspicions of many asto the real cause of his enmity against Don Ferdinand. The expressionof his countenance was of such contending, terrible suffering, thatthe King hastily withdrew his gaze, vainly endeavoring to disbelieve, as he had done, the truth of Garcia's charge. 

Order was at length universally restored, and after a brief silence, the chief of the Santa Hermandad demanded of the prisoner if he hadaught to say in his defence, or reply himself to Don Luis Garcia'scharge. The reply was a stern, determined negative; and, deputed so todo by the Sub-Prior, who seemed so absorbed in the horror of Marie'sdaring avowal, as to be incapable of further interference, the Hermanoproceeded to sum up the evidence. As the widow of the deceased had sostrangely, yet effectually deprived them of her evidence, he said, he thought some slight regard ought to be paid to Don Luis Garcia'swords; but even without doing so, the circumstantial evidence, thoughcontradictory and complicated, was enough in his opinion to convictthe prisoner; but he referred to his associates and to the peersthen present, to pronounce sentence. His task was but to sum up theevidence, which he trusted he had done distinctly; his opinion wasthat of but one individual; there were at least fifty or sixty voices, to confirm or to oppose it. 

Deep and sustained as had been the interest throughout the trial, itwas never more intense than during the awful pause which heralded theprisoner's doom. It was spoken at length; the majority alike of thenobles and of the Santa Hermandad, believed and pronounced him guilty, and sentence of death was accordingly passed; but the Duke of Murciathen stepped forward, and urged the following, not only in the name ofhis brother peers, but in the name of his native sovereign, Isabella;that in consideration of the complicated and contradictory evidence, of the prisoner's previous high character, and of his stronglyprotested innocence, a respite of one month should be granted betweensentence and execution, to permit prayers to be offered up throughoutSpain for the discovery of the real murderer, or at least allow timefor some proof of innocence to appear; during which time the prisonershould be removed from the hateful dungeon he had till that morningoccupied, and confined under strict ward, in one of the turrets of thecastle; and that, if at the end of the granted month affairs remainedas they were then, that no proof of innocence appeared, a scaffold wasto be erected in the Calle Soledad, on the exact spot where the murderwas committed; there the prisoner, publicly degraded from the honorsand privileges of chivalry, his sword broken before him, his spursignominiously struck from his heels, would then receive the awardof the law, death from hanging, the usual fate of the vilest andcommonest malefactors. 

Ferdinand and the Sub-Prior regarded him attentively while thissentence was pronounced, but not a muscle in his countenance moved;what it expressed it would have been difficult to define; but itseemed as if his thoughts were on other than himself. The Kingcourteously thanked the assemblage for their aid in a matter somomentous, and at once ratified their suggestion. The AssociatedBrethren were satisfied that it was Isabella's will; confident also intheir own power to prevent the evasion, and bring about the executionof the sentence, if still required, at the termination of the giventime; and with a brief but impressive address from the Sub-Prior tothe prisoner, the assemblage dispersed. 

But the excitement of the city ceased not with the conclusion of thetrial: not alone the populace, but the nobles themselves, even theHoly Fathers and Associated Brethren were seen, forming in variousgroups, conversing eagerly and mysteriously. The interest in theprisoner had in some measure given way to a new excitement. Questionfollowed question, conjecture followed conjecture, but nothing couldsolve the mystery of Donna Marie's terrible avowal, or decrease thebewilderment and perplexity which, from various causes, it created inevery mind. One alone, amongst the vast crowds which had thronged thetrial, shunned his fellows. Not a change in the calm, cold, sneeringexpression of Don Luis Garcia's countenance had betrayed eithersurprise at, or sympathy with, any one of the various emotionsstirring that vast multitude of human hearts; he had scarcely evenmoved his position during the continuance of the trial, casting indeedmany a glance on the immediate scene of action, from beneath histhick and shadowy eyebrows, which concealed the sinister gaze fromobservation. He shunned the face of day; but in his own dark haunts, and with his hellish colleagues, plans were formed and acted on, witha rapidity which, to minds less matured in iniquity, would have seemedincredible. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

 The quality of mercy is not strain'd, It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed, It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes; 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown. 

 SHAKSPEARE. 

The interest attending a trial, in which royalty had evinced suchpowerful sympathy, naturally extended to every member of Isabella'sfemale train: her anxiety as to the issue had been very visible, notwithstanding her calm and quiet demeanor. The Infanta Isabella andthe Infant Don Juan were with her during the morning as usual; buteven their infantile caresses, dearer to her true woman's heart thanall her vast possessions, had failed to disperse the anxiety ofthought. Few can peruse the interesting life of Isabella of Castilewithout being struck by the fact, that even as her public career wasone of unmixed prosperity for her country and herself, her privatesorrows and domestic trials vied, in their bitterness, with those ofthe poorest and humblest of her subjects. Her first-born, the InfantaIsabella, who united all the brilliant and endearing qualities of hermother, with great beauty, both of face and form, became a lovingbride only to become a widow--a mother, only to gaze upon her babe, and die; and her orphan quickly followed. Don Juan, the delightand pride and hope of his parents, as of the enthusiasm and almostidolatry of their subjects, died in his twentieth year. The haplessCatherine of Arragon, with whose life of sorrow and neglect everyreader of English history is acquainted, though they sometimes forgether illustrious parentage; her sorrows indeed Isabella was spared, asshe died before Henry the Eighth ascended the English throne. Butit was Juana, the wife of Philip, and mother of Charles V. , whoseintellects, always feeble, and destroyed by the neglect and unkindnessof the husband she idolized, struck the last and fatal blow. And she, whom all Europe regarded with unfeigned veneration--she whom her ownsubjects so idolized, they would gladly have laid down a thousandlives for hers--she fell a victim to a mother's heart-consuminggrief. [A] Who then, after perusing her life, and that of how manyother sovereigns, will refuse them, the meed of sympathy, because, raised so far above us in _outward_ things, we deem the griefs andfeelings of common humanity unknown and uncared for? To our mind, the destiny of the Sovereign, the awful responsibility, the utterloneliness of station, the general want of sympathy, the proneness tobe condemned for faults or omissions of which they are, individually, as innocent as their contemners, present a subject for considerationand sympathy, and ought to check the unkind thoughts and hastycondemnation, excited merely because they are placed in rank andcircumstances above us. A King of kings has placed them there, and aUniversal Father calls them His children, even as ourselves. 

[Footnote A: Isabella had been previously attacked by dangerousindisposition, from which, however, the natural strength of herconstitution would have enabled her in some degree to rally; but thesprings of life had been injured by previous bereavement. Her lungsbecame affected, and the symptoms of decline rapidly and fatallyincreased from continual affliction of mind. --_History of Spain_. ]

Isabella had not seen Marie that morning; her trusty attendant, DonnaInez de Leon, had alone been with her, and had reported that she wascalm and composed, and more like herself than she had been since herbereavement. Time passed but slowly, and Catherine Pas, the samehigh-spirited maiden mentioned in a former chapter, perceiving thatthe Queen's anxiety evidently increased as the hours waned, quietlyleft the chamber, unbidden, and even unseen. A brief interval sawher return, and with a countenance so expressive of horrifiedbewilderment, as to excite the astonishment of all. 

"Oh, madam!" she exclaimed, as she flew to the Queen's seat, regardless of either decorum or rebuke; "Oh, madam, it has killed her;she is dying!"

"Dying!" repeated Isabella, and the whole strength of her characterwas put forth, to prevent her starting from her seat. "Dying!--who isdying? Speak out, in Santa Maria's name!"

"Donna Marie--the poor, unhappy Marie; she has been borne from thehall! Don Felix had her in his arms; I saw her; I followed them, andshe looked dead, quite dead; they would not let me go to her at first, till I called them hard-hearted wretches! And I have tried to rouseher, but I could not. Oh, save her, gracious madam! Do not let herdie!"

"And have they none with her?" demanded the Queen. "But whom can theyhave, save her own terrified women? Inez--Leonor--go to her at once!Your skill and tenderness will soon revive her; this silly childis terrified at shadows. 'Tis but a faint, such as followed theannouncement of her husband's death. If any one dare refuse youentrance, tell them you go in your Queen's name. Foolish trembler, "she added, in a tone of relief, as her commands were instantly obeyed, "why this excessive agitation, when thou hast seen a faint like thisbefore?"

"Nay, but by your leave, gracious madam, I have not, " repliedCatherine, with emotion. "There is far more of horror in this; she iscold--cold, like stone; and they have planted a guard at the entranceof her apartments, and they tell a tale so wild and strange, I cannotgive it credence!"

"Ha! what say they?" demanded the Queen hastily, her eyes flashingwith light, as they always did when she was excited. "What can it be, too wild and strange for thy hair-brained fancy to believe? Marvellousit must be indeed!"

Isabella spoke jestingly, but her heart was not with her words: andCatherine replied with tears starting to her eyes, "Oh, do not speakthus, my liege. It is indeed no theme for jest. " And she continued sorapidly, that to any but the quickened mind of Isabella, her wordsmust have seemed unintelligible. "They say she is a heretic, royalmadam! Nay, worse--a blaspheming unbeliever; that she has refused totake the oath, on plea of not believing in the Holy Catholic Church;that she has insulted, has trampled on the sacred cross! Nor isthis all--worse, yet worse; they say she has proclaimed herself aJEWESS!--an abhorred, an unbelieving Jewess!"

A general start and loud exclamation of horror was the naturalrejoinder to this unlooked-for intelligence; but not from Isabella, whose flashing eyes were still fixed on the young girl's face, as toread in her soul the confirmation of these strange words. "What dostthou say?" she said at length, and so slowly, a second might haveintervened between each word. "Speak! let me hear again! A Jewess!Santa Maria! But no; it _cannot_ be. They must have told thee false!"

So the Queen spoke; but ere Catherine had concluded a calmerrepetition of the tale, Marie's words of the preceding evening rushedback on her mind, confirming it but too surely. "To-morrow all will bedistinct and clear enough!" she had said; ay, distinct it was; andso engrossingly intense became the thoughts thronging in her mind, bewildering succession, that Isabella sat motionless, her brow leaningon her hand, wholly unconscious of the lapse of time. 

A confusion in the gallery, and the words, "The King! the King!"roused her at length; and never was the appearance of Ferdinand morewelcome, not only to Isabella, but to her attendants, as giving themthe longed-for opportunity to retire, and so satisfy curiosity, andgive vent to the wonderment which, from their compelled silence inIsabella's presence, had actually become intolerable. 

Ferdinand speedily narrated the affairs of the morning, and concludedby inquiring if any thing had occurred in her interview with Marie toexcite suspicion of her mad design. The Queen replied by relating, inher turn, all that had passed between them. The idea of madness couldno longer exist; there was not the faintest hope that in a moment offrenzy she had spoken falsely. 

"And yet, was it not madness, " the King urged, "thus publicly to avowa determined heresy, and expose herself to all the horrors of thechurch's vengeance! 'Years of deception and fraud!' she told thee, 'would be disclosed. ' By St. Francis! fraud enough. Who could havesuspected the wife of Don Ferdinand Morales a Jewess? It was on thisaccount he kept her so retired. How could he reconcile his conscienceto a union with one of a race so abhorred, beautiful as she is? Andwhere could he have found her? But this matters not: it is all wildconjecture, save the madness of the avowal. What cause could therehave been for such self-sacrifice?"

"There was a cause, " replied the Queen earnestly; "cause enough torender life to her of little moment. Do not ask me my meaning, dearestFerdinand; I would not do her such wrong as to breathe the suspicionthat, spite of myself, spite of incomprehensible mystery, will come, even to thee. Do not let us regret her secret is discovered. Let herbut recover from the agony of these repeated trials, and with the helpof our holy fathers, we may yet turn her from her abhorred faith, andso render her happy in this world, and secure her salvation in thenext. "

"The help of the holy fathers!" repeated the King. "Nay, Isabel, their sole help will be to torture and burn! They will accuse herof insulting, by years of deceit, the holy faith, of which she hasappeared a member. Nay, perchance of using foul magic on Morales (whomthe saints preserve), and then thou knowest what will follow!"

The Queen shuddered. "Never with my consent, my husband! From thefirst moment I beheld this unfortunate, something attracted me towardsher; her misery deepened the feeling; and even now, knowing what sheis, affection lingers. The Holy Virgin give me pardon, if 'tis sin!"

"For such sin I will give thee absolution, dearest, " replied the King, half jestingly, half earnestly. "Do not look so grave. No one knows, or values thy sterling piety half so tenderly and reverentially asI do. But this is no common case. Were Marie one of those base andgrovelling wretches, those accursed unbelievers, who taint our fairrealm with their abhorred rites--think of nothing but gold and usury, and how best to cheat their fellows; hating us almost as intensely aswe hate them--why, she should abide by the fate she has drawn uponherself. But the wife of my noble Morales, one who has associated solong with zealous Catholics, that she is already most probably one ofus, and only avowed her descent from some mysterious cause--by St. Francis, she shall be saved!"

"But how?" inquired Isabella anxiously. "Wouldst thou deny her faithto Father Francis, and persuade him she has spoken falsely?"

The King shook his head. "That will never do, Isabel. I have had theholy man closeted with me already, insisting on the sanity of herwords, and urging me to resign the unbeliever at once to the tendermercy of the church. All must depend on thee. "

"On me?" repeated Isabella, in a tone of surprised yet anxiousinquiry. 

"On thee, love. Thy perfect humility is ignorant of the fact--yet itis nevertheless perfectly true--that thou art reverenced, well nighcanonized, by the holy church; and thy words will have weight whenmine would be light as air. Refuse the holy fathers all access to her;say she is unfitted to encounter them; that she is ill; nay, mad, ifthou wilt. Bring forward the state in which she was borne from thehall; her very laugh (by St. Francis, it rings in my ear still) toconfirm it, and they will believe thee. The present excitement willgradually subside, and her very existence be forgotten. Let none butthy steadiest, most pious matrons have access to her; forbid thy youngmaidens to approach or hold converse with her; and her being underthy protection can do harm to none. Let her be prisoner in her ownapartments, an thou wilt; she deserves punishment for the deceptionpractised towards thee. Treat her as thou deemest best, only give hernot up to the mercy of the church!"

"Talk not of it, " replied the Queen earnestly. "Unbeliever thoughshe be, offspring of a race which every true Catholic must hold inabhorrence, she is yet a _woman_, Ferdinand, and, as such, demands andshall receive the protection of her Queen. Yet, would there were somemeans of saving her from the eternal perdition to which, as a Jewess, she is destined; some method, without increase of suffering, to allureher, as a penitent and believing child, to the bosom of our holymother church. "

"And to do this, who so fitted as thyself, dearest Isabel?" answeredthe King with earnest affection. "Thou hast able assistants in someof thy older matrons, and may after a while call in the aid of FatherDenis, whose kindly nature is better fitted for gentle conversionthan either Francis, or thy still sterner chaplain, Torquemada. Thykindness has gained thee the love of this misguided one; and if anyone have sufficient influence to convert, by other than sharp means, it can only be thyself. "

Isabella was not long undecided. Her heart felt that to turn Mariefrom blindness and perdition by kindness and affection would be indeedfar more acceptable to the virgin (her own peculiar saint) than theheretic's blood, and she answered with animation, "Then so it shallbe, Ferdinand; I fear me, alas! that there will be little reason toprevaricate, to deny all spiritual access to her. Thy report, combinedwith my terrified Catherine's, gives me but little hope for health orreason. But should she indeed recover, trust me she shall be happyyet. "

Great was the astonishment of the guards as they beheld theirSovereign fearlessly enter the chamber of a proclaimed Jewess--a wordin their minds synonymous with the lowest, most degraded rank ofbeing; and yet more, to hear and perceive that she herself wasadministering relief. The attendants of Isabella--whose curiosity wasnow more than satisfied, for the tale had been repeated with the usualexaggerations, even to a belief that she had used the arts of sorceryon Morales--huddled together in groups, heaping every opprobriousepithet upon her, and accusing her of exposing them all to the horrorsof purgatory by contaminating them with her presence. And as theSovereign re-appeared in her saloon with the leech Benedicto, whoseaid she had summoned, there were many who ventured to conjure her notto expose herself to such pollution as the tending of a Jewess--toleave her to the fate her fraud so merited. Even Catherine, finding todisbelieve the tale any longer was impossible, and awed and terrifiedat the mysterious words of her companions, which told of danger to herbeloved mistress, flung herself on her knees before her, clasping herrobe to detain her from again seeking the chamber of Marie. Thenwas the moment for a painter to have seized on the face and form ofIsabella! Her eye flashed till its very color was undistinguishable, her lip curled, every feature--usually so mild and feminine--was sotransformed by indignation into majesty and unutterable scorn asscarcely to have been recognized. Her slight and graceful form dilatedtill the very boldest cowered before her, even before she spoke; fornever had they so encountered her reproof:--

"Are ye women?" she said at length, in the quiet, concentrated tone ofstrong emotion; "or are we deceived as to the meaning of your words?Pollution! Are we to see a young, unhappy being perish for want ofsympathy and succor, because--forsooth--she is a Jewess? Danger to oursoul! We should indeed fear it; did we leave her to die, without oneeffort to restore health to the frame, and the peace of Christ to themind! Has every spark of woman's nature faded from your hearts, thatye can speak thus? If for yourselves you fear, tend her not, approachher not--we will ourselves give her the aid she needs. And as forthee, " she continued severely, as she forced the now tremblingCatherine to stand upright before her, "whose energy to serve Mariewe loved and applauded; child as thou art, must thou too speak ofpollution? but example may have done this. Follow me, minion; and thentalk of pollution if thou canst!" And with a swift step Isabella ledthe way to the chamber of Marie. 

"Behold!" she said emphatically, as she pointed to the unhappysufferer, who, though restored to life, was still utterly unconsciouswhere she was or who surrounded her; her cheek and brow, white anddamp; her large eye lustreless and wandering; her lip and eyelidquivering convulsively; her whole appearance proving too painfullythat reason had indeed, for the time, fled. The soul had been strongtill the dread words were said; but the re-action had been too muchfor either frame or mind. "Catherine! thou hast seen her in herbeauty, the cherished, the beloved of all who knew her--seen her whenno loveliness could mate with hers. Thou seest now the wreck thatmisery has made, though she has numbered but few more years than thouhast! Detest, abhor, avoid her _faith_--for that we command thee; buther sex, her sorrow, have a claim to sympathy and aid, which not evenher race can remove. Jewess though she be, if thou can look on herthus, and still speak of pollution and danger, thou art not what wedeemed thee!"

Struck to the heart, alike by the marked display of a mistress sheidolized and the sympathy her better nature really felt for Marie, Catherine sunk on her knees by the couch, and burst into tears. Isabella watched her till her unusual indignation subsided, and thensaid more kindly, "It is enough; go, Catherine. If we judge theerightly thou wilt not easily forget this lesson! Again I bid theeabhor her faith; but seek to win her to the right path, by gentlenessand love, not prejudice and hate. "

"Oh! let me tarry here and tend her, my gracious Sovereign, " imploredCatherine, again clasping Isabella's robe and looking beseechingly inher face--but from a very different feeling to the prompter of thesame action a few minutes before--"Oh, madam, do not send me from her!I will be so gentle, so active--watch, tend, serve; only say yourGrace's bidding, and I will do it, if I stood by her alone!"

"My bidding would be but the promptings of thine own heart, my girl, "replied the Queen, fondly, for she saw the desired impression had beenmade. "If I need thee--which I may do--I will call upon thee; butnow, thou canst do nothing, but think kindly, and judgemercifully--important work indeed, if thou wouldst serve an erring andunhappy fellow-creature, with heart as well as hand. But now go: nay, not so sorrowfully; thy momentary fault is forgiven, " she added, kindly, as she extended her hand towards the evidently pained andpenitent maiden, who raised it gratefully and reverentially to herlips, and thoughtfully withdrew. 

It was not, however, with her attendants only, this generous andhigh-minded princess had to contend--with them her example was enough;but the task was much more difficult, when the following day, as KingFerdinand had anticipated, brought the stern Sub-Prior of St. Francisto demand, in the church's name, the immediate surrender of Marie. ButIsabella's decision once formed never wavered. Marie was under herprotection, she said--an erring indeed, but an unhappy young creature, who, by her very confession, had thrown herself on the mercy of herSovereign--and she would not deliver up the charge. In vain the Priorurged the abomination of a Jewess residing under her very roof--thedanger to her soul should she be tempted to associate with her, andthat granting protection to an avowed and blaspheming unbeliever mustexpose her to the suspicions, or, at least the censure of the church. Isabella was inexorable. To his first and second clause she quietlyanswered as she had done to her own attendants; his third onlyproduced a calm and fearless smile. She knew too well, as did thePrior also, though for the time he chose to forget it, that hercharacter for munificent and heartfelt piety was too well established, not only in Spain but throughout Europe, to be shaken even by theprotection of a Jewess. Father Francis then solicited to see her; buteven this point he could not gain. Isabella had, alas! no need toequivocate as to the reason of his non-admission to Marie. Reason hadindeed returned, and with it the full sense of the dangers she haddrawn upon herself; but neither frame nor mind was in a state toencounter such an interview as the Prior demanded. 

The severity of Father Francis originated, as we have before remarked, neither in weak intellect nor selfish superstition. Towards himselfindeed he never relented either in severity or discipline; towardsothers benevolence and humanity very often gained ascendency; andsomething very like a tear glistened in his eye as Isabella forciblyportrayed the state in which Marie still remained. And when sheconcluded, by frankly imparting her intention, if health were indeedrestored, to leave no means untried--even to pursue some degree ofseverity if nothing else would do--to wean her from her mistakenfaith, he not only abandoned his previous intentions, but commendedand blessed the nobler purpose of his Sovereign. To his request thatMarie might be restrained from all intercourse with the youngermembers of Isabella's female court--in fact, associate with none butstrict and uncompromising Catholics--the Queen readily acceded; andmoreover, granted him full permission to examine the mansion ofDon Ferdinand Morales, that any books or articles of dangerous orheretical import might be discovered and destroyed. 

With these concessions Father Francis left his Sovereign, affectedat her goodness and astonished at her influence on himself. He hadentered her presence believing nothing could change the severity ofhis intentions or the harshness of his feelings; he left her with theone entirely renounced, and the other utterly subdued. 

Such was the triumph of prejudice achieved by the lofty-minded andgenerous woman, who swayed the sceptre of Castile. [A] And yet, thoughevery history of the time unites in so portraying her; though herindividual character was the noblest, the most magnanimous, the mostcomplete union of masculine intellect with perfect womanhood, ever traced on the pages of the past; though under her publicadministration her kingdom stood forth the noblest, the most refined, most generous, ay, and the freest, alike in national position, as inindividual sentiment, amongst all the nations of Europe, Isabella'swas the fated hand to sign two edicts[B] whose consequencesextinguished the lustre, diminished the virtues, enslaved thesentiments, checked the commerce, and in a word deteriorated the wholecharacter of Spain. 

[Footnote A: We are authorized to give this character to Isabella ofCastile, and annex the lustre of such action to her memory; as we knowthat even when, by the persuasions and representations of Torquemada, the Inquisition was publicly established, Isabella constantlyinterfered her authority to prevent _zeal_ from becoming _inhumanity_. Rendered unusually penetrating by her peculiarly feeling and gentlenature, she discovered, what was concealed from others, "That manyenormities may be committed under the veil of religion--many innocentpersons falsely accused; their riches being their only crime. Herexertions brought such things to light, and the suborners werepunished according to their guilt. "--WASHINGTON IRVING'S _Siege ofGranada_. --Of Ferdinand too we are told, "_Respetó la jurisdictionecclesiastica, y conservo la real_;" he respected the ecclesiasticaljurisdiction, but _guarded_ or was _jealous_, for that of the crown. His determination, therefore, to refuse the church's interference inthe case of Marie, though unusual to his _age_, is warranted by hislarger mind and freer policy. ]

[Footnote B: The establishment of the Inquisition, and expulsion ofthe Jews. ]

For fourteen days affairs remained the same. At the end of that periodthe castle and city of Segovia were thrown anew into a state ofthe wildest excitement by a most mysterious occurrence--Marie haddisappeared. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

 "Meekly had he bowed and prayed, As not disdaining priestly aid; And while before the Prior kneeling, His heart was weaned from earthly feeling: No more reproach, no more despair-- No thought but heaven, no word but prayer. "

 BYRON. 

Time passed slowly on, and no proof appeared to clear Arthur Stanley'sfame. All that man's judgment could counsel, was adopted--secretmeasures were taken throughout Spain, for the apprehension of anyindividual suspected of murder, or even of criminal deeds; constantprayers offered up, that if Arthur Stanley were not the real murderer, proofs of his innocence might be made so evident that not even hisgreatest enemy could doubt any longer; but all seemed of no avail. Week after week passed, and with the exception of one most mysteriousoccurrence, affairs remained the same. So strong was the belief of thenobles in his innocence, that the most strenuous exertions were madein his favor; but, strong as Ferdinand's own wish was to save him, hislove of justice was still stronger; though the testimony of Don Luismight be set aside, calm deliberation on all the evidence againsthim marked it as sufficiently strong to have sentenced any other soaccused at once. The resolute determination to purge their kingdomfrom the black crimes of former years, which both sovereigns felt andunitedly acted upon, urged them to conquer every private wish andfeeling, rather than depart from the line laid down. The usualdispensers of justice, the Santa Hermandad--men chosen by theirbrother citizens for their lucid judgment, clearness of perception, and utter absence of all overplus of chivalrous feeling, in matters ofcool dispassionate reasoning--were unanimous in their belief in theprisoner's guilt, and only acquiesced in the month's reprieve, becauseit was Isabella's wish. Against their verdict what could be broughtforward? In reality nothing but the prisoner's own strongly-attestedinnocence--an attestation most forcible in the minds of the Sovereignand the nobles, but of no weight whatever to men accustomed to weigh, and examine, and cross-examine, and decide on proof, or at least fromanalogy, and never from an attestation, which the greatest criminalsmight as forcibly make. The power and election of these men Ferdinandand Isabella had confirmed. How could they, then, interfere in thepresent case, and shackle the judgment which they had endowed withauthority, dispute and deny the sentence they had previously givenpermission to pronounce? Pardon they might, and restore to life andliberty; but the very act of pronouncing pardon supposed belief in andproclamation of guilt. There was but one thing which could save himand satisfy justice, and that was the sentence of "not guilty. " Forthis reason Ferdinand refused every petition for Stanley's reprieve, hoping indeed, spite of all reason, that even at the eleventh hourevidence of his innocence would and must appear. 

Stanley himself had no such hope. All his better and higher nature hadbeen called forth by the awful and mysterious death of Morales, dealttoo by his own sword--that sword which, in his wild passions, he hadactually prayed might shed his blood. The film of passion had droppedalike from mental and bodily vision. He beheld his irritated feelingsin their true light, and knew himself in thought a murderer. He wouldhave sacrificed life itself, could he but have recalled the words ofinsult offered to one so noble; not for the danger to himself fromtheir threatening nature, but for the injurious injustice done to theman from whom he had received a hundred acts of little unobtrusivekindnesses, and whom he had once revered as the model of every thingvirtuous and noble--services which Morales had rendered him, feltgratefully perhaps at the time, but forgotten in the absorption ofthought or press of occupation during his sojourn in Sicily, nowrushed back upon him, marking him ingrate as well as dishonored. Allthat had happened he regarded as Divine judgment on an unspoken, unacted, but not the less encouraged sin. The fact that his sword haddone the deed, convinced him that his destruction had been connivedat, as well as that of Morales. A suspicion as to the designer, if notthe actual doer of the deed, had indeed taken possession of him; butit was an idea so wild, so unfounded, that he dared not give it words. 

From the idea of death, and such a death, his whole soul indeedrevolted; but to avert it seemed so utterly impossible, that hebent his proud spirit unceasingly to its anticipation; and with thespiritual aid of the good and feeling Father Francis, in some degreesucceeded. It was not the horror of his personal fate alone which badehim so shrink from death. Marie was free once more; nay, had fromthe moment of her dread avowal--made, he intuitively felt, to savehim--become, if possible, dearer, more passionately loved than before. And, oh! how terrible is the anticipation of early death to those thatlove!--the only trial which bids even the most truly spiritual, yetwhile on earth still _human_ heart, forget that if earth is loved andlovely, heaven _must_ be lovelier still. 

From Don Felix d'Estaban, his friendly warder, he heard of Isabella'shumane intentions toward her; that her senses had been restored, andshe was, to all appearance, the same in health as she had been sinceher husband's death; only evidently suffering more, which might beeasily accounted for from the changed position in which the knowledgeof her unbelief had placed her with all the members of Isabella'scourt; that the only agitation she had evinced was, when threatenedwith a visit from Father Francis--who, finding nothing in the mansionof Don Ferdinand Morales to confirm the truth of her confession, had declared his conviction that there must be some secret chamberdestined for her especial use. As if shrinking from the interview hedemanded, Marie had said to the Senora, to whose care she had beenintrusted--"He need not seek me to obtain this information. For myhusband's sake alone I concealed the faith in which I glory. LetFather Francis remove a sliding panel beneath the tapestry behindthe couch in my sleeping apartment, and he will find not only all heseeks, but the surest proof of my husband's care and tenderness forme, unbeliever though he might deem me. "

The discovery of this secret closet, Don Felix continued, had causedmuch marvel throughout the court. Where Morales had found her, or howhe could have reconciled his conscience not only to make her his wife, but permit her the free exercise of a religion accursed in the sightboth of God and man, under his own roof, were questions impossible tosolve, or reconcile with the character of orthodox Catholicism he hadso long borne. The examination had been conducted with the church'susual secrecy; the volumes of heresy and unbelief (it did not signifythat the word of God was amongst them) burnt; the silver lamps andother ornaments melted down, to enrich, by an image of the virgin, thechurch of St. Francis; the recess itself purified with incense andsprinkled with holy water; the sign of the cross deeply burnt in thewalls; and the panel which formed the secret entrance firmly fastenedup, that its very existence should be forgotten. The matter, however, Don Felix added, was not publicly spoken of, as both the King andQueen, in conjunction with the Sub-Prior, seemed to wish all thathad passed, in which Donna Marie was concerned, should be graduallyforgotten. Don Ferdinand's vast possessions had, in consequence ofhis widow's being an unbeliever, and so having no power to inherit, reverted to the crown; but in case of Marie's conversion, of which DonFelix appeared to entertain little doubt, the greater part would berestored to her. Till then, Marie was kept in strict confinement inthe palace; but all harsher measures Isabella had resolved to avoid. 

This intelligence relieved Stanley's mind of one painful dread, whileit unconsciously increased his wish to live. Marie free! a Catholic!what could come between them then? Must she not love him, else whyseek to save him? And then again the mystery darkened round her. Awild suspicion as to the _real reason_ of her having wedded Ferdinand, had flitted across his mind; but the words of Estaban so minutelyrepeated, seemed to banish it entirely; they alluded but to herhusband's forbearing tenderness, felt the more intensely from itsbeing extended by a zealous Catholic to one of a race usually socontemned and hated. In vain he tried to reconcile the seeminginconsistency of her conduct; his thoughts only became the moreconfused and painful, till even the remembrance of her self-devotionlost its power to soothe or to allay them. 

When Don Felix again visited his prisoner, his countenance was soexpressive of consternation, that Stanley had scarcely power to askwhat had occurred. Marie had disappeared from the castle so strangelyand mysteriously, that not a trace or clue could be discovered of herpath. Consternation reigned within the palace; the King was full ofwrath at the insult offered to his power; the Queen even more grievedthan angry. The guards stationed without the chamber had declared onoath that no one had passed them; the Senoras Leon and Pas, who sleptin the room adjoining, could tell nothing wherewith to explain themystery. In the first paroxsym of alarm they had declared the nighthad passed as usual; but on cooler reflection they remembered startingfrom their sleep with the impression of a smothered cry, which havingmingled with their dreams, and not being repeated, they had believedmere fancy. And this faint sound was the only sign, the only tracethat her departure was not a voluntary act. 

"Father Francis! the arm of the church!" gasped Stanley, as Don Felixpaused in his recital, astonished at the effect of his words on theprisoner, whose very respiration seemed impeded. 

"Father Francis has solemnly sworn, " he replied, "that neither he norany of his brethren had connived at an act of such especial disrespectto the sovereign power, and of injustice towards the Queen. Torquemadais still absent, or suspicion night rest on him--he is stern enougheven for such a deed; but how could even he have withdrawn her fromthe castle without discovery?"

"Can she not have departed voluntarily?" inquired Stanley, with suddenhope. "The cry you mention may indeed have been but fancy. Is it notlikely that fear as to her fate may have prompted her to seek safetyin flight?"

"Her Grace thinks not, else some clue as to her path must, ere this, have been discovered. Besides, escape was literally impossible withoutthe aid of magic, which however her accursed race know well how touse. The guards must have seen her, had she passed her own thresholdin any human form. The casement was untouched, remaining exactly asthe Senora Leon secured it with her own hand the preceding evening;and, even had she thence descended to the ground, she could have goneno further from the high and guarded walls. It may be magic: if so, and the devil hides himself in so fair a form, the saints preserveus! for we know not in whom next he will be hid. " So spoke, gravely, seriously, undoubtingly, a wise and thoughtful Spanish noble, of thefifteenth century; and so then thought the whole European world. Stanley scarcely heard the last words; for in his mind, howeversorcery might be synonymous with _Judaism_ it certainly was not with_Marie_; and he could only realize the fact of the utter impossibilityof a voluntary flight. 

"Had the Queen seen her since her trial?" he inquired. 

"She had not; a fact which deepens her distress; for she fancies hadMarie been nearer her person, and aware of the full extent of hermerciful intentions, this might have been averted. She believes thatthe smothered cry alluded to was really Donna Marie's; but, ifso, what the dark power is, which has so trampled on the royalprerogative, is plunged in as impenetrable mystery as every thingelse, in which Donna Marie has been concerned. "

"Even the same dark power which seeks my destruction, and laid Moraleslow, " replied Stanley, more as if thinking aloud than addressing hiscompanion; "and when the clue to one mystery is found, the rest willfollow. Some fiend from hell is at work around us. Morales is gone. Marie has followed, and I shall be the next; and then, perhaps, thedemon's reign will end, and the saints of heaven triumph. "

"Would to heaven a Jewess had never come amongst us, " was therejoinder; "there is always evil in their train. " And the blood rushedto Arthur's cheek, his hand involuntarily clenched, and his eyeglanced defiance towards Don Felix, as if, even at such a moment, insult even in thought towards Marie should not pass unquestioned; buthe restrained himself, and the emotion was unnoticed. 

From that day so engrossed were the thoughts of the prisoner withvain speculations as to the fate of Marie, that the fact of his ownposition remaining the same, and his hours of life waning fast, seemedactually unheeded. From Don Felix, in various visits, he heard thatMarie was no longer publicly spoken of; the excitement occasionedalike by her avowal and disappearance was fast fading from theimagination of the populace. The public jousts and festivals, intendedto celebrate the visit of the sovereigns, but which Morales's deathand the events ensuing had so painfully suspended, were recommencing, and men flocked to them, as glad to escape from the mourning andmystery which had held sway so long. 

And now only three days intervened ere the expiration of the givenmonth; and each day did the Sub-Prior of St. Francis pass with theprisoner, exhorting, comforting, and strengthening him for the dreadpassage through which it was now too evident his soul must pass toeternity. It was with difficulty and pain, that Stanley could eventhen so cease to think of Marie, as to prepare himself with fittingsobriety and humility for the fate impending; but the warm sympathy ofFather Francis, whose fine feelings had never been blunted by a lifeof rigid seclusion, won him to listen and to join in his prayers, and, gradually weaning his thoughts from their earthly resting, raised themto that heaven which, if he truly repented of sin, the good fatherassured him, was fast opening for him. Under the inviolable seal ofconfession, Arthur acknowledged his deep and long-cherished lovefor Marie, his dislike to her husband, which naturally followed thediscovery of her marriage, and the evil passions thence arising; buthe never wavered in the reiteration of his innocence; adding, that hereproached no man with his death. The sentence was just according tothe appearances against him. Had he himself been amongst his judges, his own sentence would have been the same. Yet still he was innocent;and Father Francis so believed him that, after pronouncing absolutionand blessing, he hastened from the prisoner to the King to implore ayet longer reprieve. But Ferdinand, though more moved by the Prior'srecital than he chose to display, remained firm; he had pledged hiskingly word to the chief of the Santa Hermandad that the award ofjustice should not be waived without proof of innocence, and he couldnot draw back. One chance only he granted, urged to do so by anirresistible impulse, which how often comes we know not wherefore, till the event marks it as the whisper of some guardian angel, who haslooked into the futurity concealed from us. The hour of the executionhad been originally fixed for the sixth hour of the morning; it waspostponed till noon. 

The morning dawned, and with its first beams came Father Francis tothe prisoner. He found him calm and resigned: his last thought ofearth was to commend Marie, if ever found, to the holy father's care, conjuring him to deal gently and mercifully with a spirit so broken, and lead her to the sole fountain of peace by kindness, not by wrath;and to tell her how faithfully he had loved her to the last. Muchaffected, Father Francis promised--aye, even to protect, if possible, an unbeliever. And Stanley once mere knelt in prayer, every earthlythought at rest. The last quarter-bell had chimed; and ere it ceased, the step of Don Felix was heard in the passage, followed by theheavy tramp of the guard. The Prior looked eagerly in the noble'scountenance as he entered, hoping even then to read reprieve; but thestern yet sad solemnity on Don Felix's face betrayed the hope wasvain. The hour had indeed come, and Arthur Stanley was led forth todeath!

CHAPTER XXIII. 

 "Oh! blissful days, When all men worship God as conscience wills! Far other times our fathers' grandsires knew. What tho' the skeptic's scorn hath dared to soil The record of their fame! What tho' the men Of worldly minds have dared to stigmatize The sister-cause Religion and the Law With Superstition's name! Yet, yet their deeds, Their constancy in torture and in death-- These on Tradition's tongue shall live; these shall On History's honest page be pictur'd bright To latest time. "

 GRAHAME. 

Retrospection is not pleasant in a narrative; but, if Marie has indeedexcited any interest in our readers, they will forgive the necessity, and look back a few weeks ere they again arrive at the eventful daywith which our last chapter closed. All that Don Felix had reportedconcerning the widow of Morales was correct. The first stunningeffects of her dread avowal were recovered, sense was entirelyrestored, but the short-lived energy had gone. The trial to passivelyendure is far more terrible than that which is called upon to _act_and _do_. She soon discovered that, though nursed and treated withkindness, she was a prisoner in her own apartments. Wish to leave themshe had none, and scarcely the physical strength; but to sit idly downunder the pressure of a double dread--the prisoner's fate and her ownsentence--to have no call for energy, not a being for whom to rouseherself and live, not one for whose sake she might forget herselfand win future happiness by present exertion; the Past, one yearningmemory for the husband, who had so soothed and cherished her, when anyother would have cast her from his heart as a worthless thing; thePresent, fraught with thoughts she dared not think, and words shemight not breathe; the very prayer for Stanley's safety checked--forwhat could he be to her?--the Future shrouded in a pall so dense, shecould not read a line of its dark page, for the torch of Hope wasextinguished, and it is only by her light we can look forward;Isabella's affection apparently lost for ever; was it marvel energyand hope had so departed, or that a deadening despondency seemed tocrush her heart and sap the very springs of life?

But in the midst of that dense gloom one ray there was, feeble indeedat first as if human suffering had deadened even that, but brighteningand strengthening with every passing day. It was the sincerity of herfaith--the dearer, more precious to its followers, from the scorn andcondemnation, in which it was held by man. 

The fact that the most Catholic kingdom, of Spain, was literallypeopled with secret Jews, brands this unhappy people, with a degreeof hypocrisy, in addition to the various other evil propensitieswith which they have been so plentifully charged. Nay, even amongstthemselves in modern times, this charge has gained ascendency; andthe romance-writer who would make use of this extraordinary truth, to vividly picture the condition of the Spanish Jews, is accused ofvilifying the nation, by reporting practices, opposed to the uprightdictates of the religion of the Lord. It is well to pronounce suchjudgment _now_, that the liberal position which we occupy in mostlands, would render it the height of dissimulation, and hypocrisy, toconceal our faith; but to judge correctly of the secret adherence toJudaism and public profession of Catholicism which characterizedour ancestors in Spain, we must transport ourselves not only tothe _country_ but to the _time_, and recall the awfully degraded, crushing, and stagnating position which _acknowledged Judaism_occupied over the whole known world. As early as 600--as soon, infact, as the disputes and prosecutions of Arian against Catholic, andCatholic against Arian, had been checked by the whole of Spain beingsubdued and governed by Catholic kings--intolerance began to workagainst the Jews, who had been settled in vast numbers in Spainsince the reign of the Emperor Adrian; some authorities assert stillearlier. [A] They were, therefore, nearly the original colonists of thecountry, and regarded it with almost as much attachment as they hadfelt towards Judea. When persecution began to work, "90, 000 Jews werecompelled to receive the sacrament of baptism, " the bodies of themore obstinate tortured, and their fortunes confiscated; and yet--aremarkable instance of inconsistency--_they were not permitted toleave Spain_; and this species of persecution continued from 600downwards. Once or twice edicts of expulsion were issued, but speedilyrecalled; the tyrants being unwilling to dismiss victims whom theydelighted to torture, or deprive themselves of industrious slaves overwhom they might exercise a lucrative oppression; and a statute wasenacted, "that the Jews who had been baptized should be _constrained_, for the honor of the church, to persevere in the _external practice_of a religion which they _inwardly_ disbelieved and detested. "[B]

[Footnote A: Basnage asserts that the Jews were introduced into Spainby the fleet of Soloman, and the arms of Nebuchadnezzar, and thatHadrian transported _forty thousand_ families of the tribe of Judah, and ten thousand of the tribe of Benjamin, etc. ]

[Footnote B: "Gibbon's Decline and Fall, " vol. 6, chap. Xxxvii, from which all the previous sentences in inverted commas have beenextracted. ]

How, then, can compelled obedience to this statute be termedhypocrisy? Persecution, privation, tyranny, may torture and destroythe body, but they cannot force the mind to the adoption of, andbelief in tenets, from which the very treatment they commanded musturge it to revolt. Of the 90, 000 Jews forcibly baptized by order ofSisebut, and constrained to the external profession of Catholicism, not ten, in all probability, became actually Christians. And yet howwould it have availed them to relapse into the public profession ofthe faith they so obeyed and loved in secret? To leave the country wasutterly impossible. It is easy to talk now of such proceedings beingtheir right course of acting, when every land is open to the departureand entrance of every creed; but it was widely different then, and, even if they could have quitted Spain, there was not a spot of ground, in the whole European and Asiatic world, where persecution, extortion, and banishment would not equally have been their doom. Constantrelapses into external as well as internal Judaism, there were, butthey were but the signal for increased misery to the whole nation; andby degrees they ceased. It was from the forcible baptism of the 90, 000Hebrews, by Sisebut, that we may trace the origin of the secretJews. From father to son, from mother to daughter, the solemn secretdescended, and gradually spread, still in its inviolable nature, through every rank and every profession, from the highest priest tothe lowest friar, the general to the common soldier, the noble to thepeasant, over the whole land. There were indeed some few in Spain, before the final edict of expulsion in 1492, who were Hebrews inexternal profession as well as internal observance; but theircondition was so degraded, so scorned, so exposed to constantsuffering, that it was not in human nature voluntarily to sink downto them, when, by the mere continuance of external Catholicism--whichfrom its universality, its long existence, and being in fact a rigidlyenforced statute of the state, _could_ not be regarded either ashypocrisy or sin--they could take their station amongst the veryhighest and noblest of the land, and rise to eminence and power in anyprofession, civil, military, or religious, which they might prefer. The subject is so full of philosophical inquiry, that in the limits ofa romance we cannot possibly do it justice; but to accuse the secretJews of Spain of hypocrisy, of departing from the pure odinances oftheir religion, because _compelled_ to simulate Catholicism, is takingindeed but a one-handed, short-sighted view of an extensive andintensely interesting topic. We may often hope for the _present_ byconsidering the changes of the _past_; but to attempt to pronouncejudgment on the sentiments of the _past_ by reasoning of the_present_, when the mind is always advancing, is one of the weakestand idlest fallacies that ever entered the human breast. 

Digression as this is, it is necessary clearly to comprehend thesituation in which Marie's avowal of her religion had placed her, and her reason for so carefully wording her information as to theexistence of the secret closet, that no suspicion might attach itselfto the religion of her husband. Her confession sent a shock, whichvibrated not only through Isabella's immediate court, but throughevery part of Spain. Suspicion once aroused, none knew where it mightend, or on whom fall. In her first impulse to save Arthur, shehad only thought of what such confession might bring to herselfindividually, and that was, comparatively, easy to endure; but as theexcitement ceased, as the dread truth dawned upon her, that, if hemust die at the expiration of the given month, her avowal had beenutterly useless, the dread of its consequences, to the numerous secretmembers of her faith appalled her, and caused the firm, resolve underno circumstances to betray the religion of her husband. Him indeed itcould not harm; but that one so high in rank, in influence, in favorwith sovereigns and people, was only outwardly a Catholic, might havemost fatal consequences on all his brethren. That he should havewedded a Jewess might excite surprise, but nothing more; and in themidst of her varied sufferings she could rejoice that all suspicionas to his race and faith had been averted. She felt thankful also atbeing kept so close a prisoner, for she dreaded the wrath of thosewhom her avowal might have unwittingly injured. Such an instancehad never been known before, and she might justly tremble at thechastisement it might bring upon her even from her own people. As longas she was under Isabella's care she was safe from this; all mightfeel the vibration, but none dared evince that they did, by theadoption of any measures against her, further than would be taken bythe Catholics themselves. 

Knowing this, her sole prayer, her sole effort was to obtain mentalstrength sufficient under every temptation, either from severity orkindness, to adhere unshrinkingly to the faith of her fathers--tocling yet closer to the love of her Father in heaven, and endeavor, with all the lowly trust and fervid feelings of her nature, to fillthe yearning void within her woman's heart with his image, and sosubdue every human love. It seemed to her vivid fancy as if all themisfortunes she had encountered sprung from her first sin--thatof loving a Nazarene. Hers was not the age to make allowances forcircumstances in contradistinction to actual deeds. Then, asunhappily but too often now, all were sufferings from a misplacedaffection--sprung, not from her fault, but from the mistaken kindnesswhich it exposed her to without due warning of her danger. Educatedwith the strong belief, that to love or wed, beyond the pale of herown people was the greatest sin she could commit, short of actualapostacy, that impression, though not strong enough, so to conquerhuman nature, as to arm against love, returned with double force, assorrow after sorrow gathered round her, and there were none beside herto whisper and strengthen, with the blessed truth that God afflictsyet more in mercy than in wrath; and that his decrees, however fraughtwith human anguish, are but blessings in disguise--blessings, sownindeed with tears on earth, to reap their deathless fruit in heaven. 

But though firmly believing all her suffering was deserved, aware thatwhen she first loved Arthur, the rebel-thought--"Why am I of a race soapart and hated?" had very frequently entered her heart, tempting herat times with fearful violence to give up all for love of man; yetMarie knew that the God of her fathers was a God of love, calling evenupon the greatest sinner to return to him repentant and amending, andthat even as a little child such should be forgiven. He had indeedproclaimed himself a jealous God, and would have no idol-worship, wereit by wood or stone, or, far more dangerous, of human love; and sheprayed unceasingly for strength to return to Him with an undividedheart, even if to do so demanded not only separation from Stanley--buta trial in her desolate position almost as severe--the loss ofIsabella's confidence and love. 

Few words passed between Marie and her guardians; their manner waskind and gentle, but intercourse between rigid Catholics and aproclaimed Jewess, could not be other wise than restrained. From thetime that reason returned, the Queen had not visited her, doing actualviolence to her own inclinations from tire mistaken--but in that ageand to her character natural--dread that the affection and interestshe felt towards Marie personally, would lessen the sentiments ofloathing and abhorrence with which it was her duty to regard herfaith. Isabella had within herself all the qualifications of a martyr. Once impressed that it was a religious duty, she would do violence toher most cherished wishes, sacrifice her dearest desires, her bestaffections, resign her most eagerly pursued plans--not withoutsuffering indeed, but, according to the mistaken tenets of herreligion, the greater personal suffering, the more meritorious was thedeed believed to be. This spirit would, had she lived in an age whenthe Catholic faith was the persecuted, not the persecutor, have ledher a willing martyr to the stake; as it was, this same spirit led tothe establishment of the Inquisition, and expulsion of the Jews--deedsso awful in their consequences, that the actual motive of thewoman-heart which prompted them, is utterly forgotten, and herselfcondemned. We must indeed deplore the mistaken tenets that couldobtain such influence--deplore that man could so pervert the serviceof a God of love, as to believe and inculcate that such things couldbe acceptable to Him; but we should pause, and ask, if we ourselveshad been influenced by such teaching, could we break from it? ere wecondemn. 

Isabella's own devoted spirit could so enter into the real reason ofMarie's self abnegation for Arthur's sake, that it impelled her tolove her more; while at the very same time the knowledge of herbeing a Jewess, whom she had always been taught and believed must beaccursed in the sight of God, and lost eternally unless brought tobelieve in Jesus, urged her entirely to conquer that affection, lestits indulgence should interfere with her resolution, if kindnessfailed, by severity to accomplish her own version. She was too weak inhealth, and Isabella intuitively felt too terribly anxious as to youngStanley's fate, to attempt any thing till after the expiration of themonth; and she passed that interval in endeavoring to calm down herown feelings towards her. 

So fifteen days elapsed. On the evening of the fifteenth, Marie, feeling unusually exhausted, had sunk down, without disrobing, on hercouch, and at length fell into a slumber so deep and calm, that herguardians, fearing to disturb it, and aware that her dress was soloose and light, it could not annoy her, retired softly to their ownchamber without arousing her. How many hours this lethargic sleeplasted, Marie knew not, but was at length broken by a dream of terror, and so unusually vivid, that its impression lasted even through theterrible reality which it heralded. She beheld Arthur Stanley on thescaffold about to receive the sentence of the law--the block, the axe, the executioner with his arm raised, and apparently already delugedin blood--the gaping crowds--all the fearful appurtenances of anexecution were distinctly traced, and she thought she sprung towardsStanley, who clasped her in his arms, and the executioner, instead ofendeavoring to part them, smiled grimly as rejoicing in having twovictims instead of one; and as he smiled, the countenance seemed tochange from being entirely unknown to the sneering features of thehated Don Luis Garcia. She seemed to cling yet closer to Stanley, and knelt with, him to receive the blow; when, at that moment, thescaffold shook violently, as by the shock of an earthquake, a darkchashm yawned beneath their feet, in the centre of which stood thespectral figure of her husband, his countenance ghastly and stern, andhis arm upraised as beckoning her to join him. And then he spoke; buthis voice sounded unlike his own:--

"Marie Henriquez Morales! awake, arise, and follow!"

And with such extraordinary clearness did the words fall, that shestarted up in terror, believing they must have been spoken by herside--and they were! they might have mingled with, perhaps evencreated her dream. She still lay on her couch; but it seemed to havesunk down through the very floor of the apartment[A] she had occupied, and at its foot stood a figure, who, with upraised arm held before hera wooden cross. His cowl was closely drawn, and a black robe, of thecoarsest serge, was secured round his waist by a hempen cord. Whetherhe had indeed spoken the words she had heard in her dream Marie couldnot tell, for they were not repeated. She saw him approach her, andshe felt his strong grasp lift her from the couch, which sprung up, bythe touch of some secret spring, to the place whence it had descended;and she heard no more. 

[Footnote A: I may be accused in this scene, of too closely imitatinga somewhat similar occurrence in Anne of Geirstein. Such seemingplagiarism was scarcely possible to be avoided, when the superstitiousproceedings of the _vehmic_ tribunal of Germany and the _secret_Inquisition of Spain are represented by history as so very similar. ]

CHAPTER XXIV. 

 "Isabel. --Ha! little honor to be much believed, And most pernicious purpose--seeming, seeming. I will proclaim thee, Angelo! look for't; Sign me a present pardon-- Or, with an outstretch'd throat, I'll tell the world Aloud what man thou art. 

 "Angelo. --Who will believe thee? My unsoil'd name, th' austereness of my life, My vouch against you, and my place i' the State, Will so your accusation overweigh That you will stifle in your own report The smile of Calumny. "

 SHAKSPEARE. 

When Marie recovered consciousness, she found herself in a scene sostrange, so terrific, that it appeared as if she must have been bornemany miles from Segovia, so utterly impossible did it seem, thatsuch awful orgies could be enacted within any short distance of thesovereigns' palace, or their subjects' homes. She stood in the centreof a large vaulted subterranean hall, which, from the numerous archedentrances to divers passages and smaller chambers that opened on everyside, appeared to extend far and wide beneath the very bowels of theearth. It was lighted with torches, but so dimly, that the gloomexaggerated the horrors, which the partial light disclosed. Instruments of torture of any and every kind--the rack, the wheel, thescrew, the cord, and fire--groups of unearthly-looking figures, allclad in the coarse black serge and hempen belt; some with their facesconcealed by hideous masks, and others enveloped in the cowls, throughwhich only the eyes could be distinguished, the figure of the crossupon the breast, and under that emblem, of divine peace, inflictingsuch horrible tortures on their fellow-men that the pen shrinks fromtheir delineation. Nor was it the mere instruments of torture Mariebeheld: she saw them in actual use; she heard the shrieks and groansof the hapless victims, at times mingled with the brutal leers andjests of their fiendish tormentors; she seemed to take in at one view, every species of torture that could be inflicted, every pain thatcould be endured; and yet, comparatively, but a few of the actualsufferers were visible. The shrillest sounds of agony came from thegloomy arches, in which no object could be distinguished. 

Whatever suffering meets the sight, it does not so exquisitely affectthe brain as that which reaches it through the ear. At the former theheart may bleed and turn sick; but at the latter the brain seems, for the moment, wrought into frenzy; and, even though personally insafety, it is scarcely possible to restrain the same sounds frombursting forth. How then must those shrill sounds of human agony havefallen on the hapless Marie, recognizing as she did with the rapidityof thought, in the awful scene around her, the main hall of thatmysterious and terrible tribunal, whose existence from her earliestinfancy had been impressed upon her mind, as a double incentive toguard the secret of her faith; that very Inquisition, from which herown grandfather, Julien Heuriquez, had fled, and in which the lessfortunate grandfather of her slaughtered husband, had been torturedand burnt. 

For a second she stood mute and motionless, as turned to stone; then, pressing both hands tightly on her temples, she sunk down at the feetof her conductor, and sought in words to beseech his mercy; but herwhite lips gave vent to no sound save a shriek, so wild that itseemed, for the moment, to drown all other sorrows, and startle eventhe human fiends around her. Her conductor himself started back; butquickly recovering--

"Fool!" he muttered, as he rudely raised her. "I have no power to aidthee; come before the Superior--we must all obey--ask him, implorehim, for mercy, not me. "

He bore her roughly to a recess, divided off at the upper end of thehall, by a thick black drapery, in which sat the Grand Inquisitorand his two colleagues. One or two familiars were behind them, and asecretary sat near a table covered with black cloth, and on which wereseveral writing implements. All wore masks of black crape, so thickthat not a feature could be discerned with sufficient clearness forrecognition elsewhere; yet, one glance on the stern, motionlessfigure, designated as the Grand Inquisitor, sufficed to bid every dropof blood recede from the prisoner's heart with human terror, at thevery same moment that it endowed the _woman_ with such supernaturalfortitude that her very form seemed to dilate, and her large eye andlovely mouth expressed--if it could be, in such a scene and suchan hour--unutterable scorn. Antipathy, even as love, will piercedisguise; and that one glance, lit up with almost bewildering light, in the prisoner's mind, link after link of what had before beenimpenetrable mystery. Her husband's discovery of her former love forArthur; his murder; the suspicion thrown on Stanley; her own summonsas witness against him; her present danger; all, all were traced toone individual, one still working and most guilty passion, which she, in her gentle purity and holy strength, had scorned. She could notbe deceived--the mystery that surrounded him was solved--antipathyexplained; and Marie's earthly fate lay in Don Luis Garcia's hands!The Grand Inquisitor read in that glance that he was known; and fora brief minute a strange, an incomprehensible sensation, thrilledthrough him. It could scarcely have been fear, when one gesture ofhis hand would destine that frail being to torture, imprisonment, anddeath; and yet never before in his whole life of wickedness, had heexperienced such a feeling as he did at that moment beneath a woman'sholy gaze. Anger at himself for the sensation, momentary as it was, increased the virulence of other passions; but then was not the hourfor their betrayal. In low, deep tones, he commenced the mockery of atrial. That her avowal of her faith would elude torture, by at oncecondemning her to the flames, was disregarded. She was formallyaccused of blasphemy and heresy, and threatened with the severestvengeance of the church which she had reviled; but that this case ofpersonal guilt would be mercifully laid aside for the present, forstill more important considerations. Was her late husband, theydemanded, of the same blaspheming creed as herself? And a list ofnames, comprising some of the highest families of Spain, was read outand laid before her, with the stern command to affix a mark againstall who, like herself, had relapsed into the foul heresy of theirancestors--to do this, or the torture should wring it from her. 

But the weakness of humanity had passed; and so calm, so collected, sofirm, was the prisoner's resolute refusal to answer either question, that the familiar to whom she had clung for mercy looked at her withwonder. Again and again she was questioned; instruments of torturewere brought before her--one of the first and slightest used--moreto terrify than actually to torture, for that was not yet the GrandInquisitor's design; and still she was firm, calm, unalterable in herresolution to refuse reply. And then Don Luis spoke of mercy, whichwas to consist of imprisonment in solitude and darkness, to allow timefor reflection on her final answer--a concession, he said, in a tonefar more terrifying to Marie than even the horrors around her, only granted in consideration of her age and sex. None opposed thesentence; and she was conducted to a close and narrow cell, in whichno light could penetrate save through a narrow chink in the roof. 

How many days and nights thus passed the hapless prisoner could nothave told, for there was nothing to mark the hours. Her food wasdelivered to her by means of a turn-screw in the wall, so that noteven the sight of a fellow-creature could disturb her solitude, orgive her the faintest hope of exciting human pity. Her sole hope, hersole refuge was in prayer; and, oh! how blessed was the calm, theconfidence it gave. 

So scanty was her allowance of food, that more than once the thought, crossed her, whether or not, death by famine would be her allotteddoom; and human nature shuddered, but the spirit did not quail! Hourafter hour passed, she knew not whether it was night or day, when thegloom of her dungeon was suddenly illumined; she knew not at firsthow or whence, so noiseless was the entrance of the intruder, butgradually she traced the light to a small lamp held in the hand ofa shrouded individual, whom she recognized at once. There was onefearful thrill of mortal dread, one voiceless cry for strength fromHeaven, and Marie Morales stood before Don Luis erect and calm, andfirm as in her hour of pride. 

Garcia now attempted no concealment. His mask had been cast aside, andhis features gleamed without any effort at hypocritical restraint, inall the unholy passions of his soul. We will not pollute our pageswith transcribing the fearful words of passions contending in theirnature, yet united in their object, with which the pure ear of hisprisoner was first assailed--still lingering desire, yet hate, wrath, fury, that she should dare still oppose, and scorn, and loathe him;rage with himself, that, strive as he might, even he was baffled bythe angel purity around her; longing to wreak upon her every torturethat his hellish office gave him unchecked power to inflict, yetfearing that, if he did so, death would release her ere his object wasattained; all strove and raged within him, making his bosom a veryhell, from which there was no retracting, yet whose very flamesincited deeper fury towards the being whom he believed their cause. 

"And solitude, darkness, privation--have they so little availed thatthou wilt tempt far fiercer sufferings?" he at length demanded, struggling to veil his fury in a quiet, concentrated tone. "Thou hastbut neared the threshold of the tortures which one look, one gestureof my hand, can gather around thee; tortures which the strongestsinew, the firmest mind, have been unable to sustain--how will thatweakened frame endure?"

"It can but die, " replied the prisoner, "as nobler and better oneshave done before me!"

"Die!" repeated Garcia, and he laughed mockingly. "Thinkest thou weknow our trade so little that such release can baffle us? I tell thee, pain of itself has never yet had power to kill; and we have learnedthe measure of endurance in the human form so well, that we have neveryet been checked by death, ere our ends were gained. And so will it bewith thee, boldly as now thou speakest. Thou hast but tasted pain!"

"Better the sharpest torture than thy hated presence, " calmly rejoinedMarie. "My soul thou canst not touch. "

"Soul! Has a Jewess a soul? Nay, by my faith, thou talkest bravely! Anthou hast, thou hadst best be mine, and so share my salvation; there'snone for such as thee. "

"Man!" burst indignantly from the prisoner. "Share thy salvation!Great God of Israel! that men like these have power to persecute thychildren for their faith, and do it in thy name! And speak ofmercy! Thou hast but given me another incentive for endurance, " shecontinued, more calmly addressing her tormentor. "If salvation bedenied to us, and granted thee, I would refuse it with my dyingbreath; such faith is not of God!"

"I came not hither to enter on such idle quibbles, " was the rejoinder. "It matters not to me what thou art after death, but before it minethou shalt be. What hinders me, at this very moment, from working mywill upon thee? Who will hear thy cry? or, hearing, will approachthee? These walls have heard too many sounds of human agony to bearthy voice to those who could have mercy. Tempt me not by thy scorn toofar. What holds me from thee now?"

"What holds thee from me? GOD!" replied the prisoner, in a tone ofsuch, thrilling, such supernatural energy, that Garcia actuallystarted as if some other voice than hers had spoken, and she sawhim glance fearfully round. "Thou darest not touch me! Ay, villain--blackest and basest as thou art--thou darest not do it. TheGod thine acts, yet more than thy words blaspheme, withholds thee--andthou knowest it!"

"I defy him!" were the awful words that answered her; and Don Luissprang forwards. 

"Back!" exclaimed the heroic girl. "Advance one step nearer, and thyvengeance, even as thy passion, will alike be foiled--and may Godforgive the deed I do. "

She shook down the beautiful tresses of her long luxuriant hair, and, parting them with both hands around her delicate throat, stood calmlywaiting in Don Luis's movements the signal for her own destruction. 

"Fool!" he muttered, as involuntarily he fell back, awed--in spite ofhis every effort to the contrary--at a firmness as unexpected as itwas unwavering. "Fool! Thou knowest not the power it is thy idlepleasure to defy; thou wilt learn it all too soon, and then in vainregret thy scorn of my proffer now. Thou hast added tenfold to my wildyearning for revenge on thy former scorn--tenfold! ay, twice tenfold, to thy own tortures. Yet, once more, I bid thee pause and choose. Fools there are, who dare all personal physical torment, and yetshrink and quail before the thought of death for a beloved one. Idiots, who for others, sacrifice themselves; perchance thou wilt beone of them. Listen, and tremble; or, sacrifice, and save! When inthy haughty pride, and zenith of thy power, thou didst scorn me, andbidding me, with galling contempt, go from thy presence as if I were aloathsome reptile, unworthy even of thy tread, I bade thee beware, andto myself swore vengeance. And knowest thou how that was accomplished?Who led thy doting husband where he might hear thine own lips proclaimthy falsity? Who poisoned the chalice of life, which had been sosweet, ere it was dashed from his lips by death? Who commanded themurderer's blow, and the weapon with which it was accomplished? Wholaid the charge of his murder on the foreign minion, and brought theein evidence against him? Who but I--even I! And if I have done allthis, thinkest thou to elude my further vengeance? I tell thee, ifthou refuse the grace I proffer, Arthur Stanley dies; accept it, andhe lives!"

"And not at such a price would Arthur Stanley wish, to live, " repliedMarie calmly. "He would spurn existence purchased thus. "

"Ay, perchance, if he knew it; but be it as thou wilt, he shall knowthou couldst have saved him and refused. "

"And thinkest thou he will believe thee? As little as I believed himmy husband's murderer. How little knowest thou the trust of love! Hewill not die, " she continued emphatically; "his innocence shall savehim--thy crime be known. "

"Ay!" replied Garcia, with a sneering laugh. "Give thyself wings as abird, and still stone walls will encircle thee; dwindle into thin air, and gain the outer world, and tell thy tale, and charge Don Luis Garciawith the deed, and who will believe thee? Thinkest thou I would haveboasted of my triumphant vengeance to aught who could betray me? Why myvery tool, the willing minister of my vengeance--who slew Morales merelybecause I bade him--might not live, lest he should be tempted to betrayme; I slew him with my own hand. What sayest thou now--shall Stanleylive, if I say Let him die?"

There was no reply, but he looked in vain for any diminution in theundaunted resolution which still sustained her. 

"I go, " he continued, after a pause. "Yet, once more, I charge theechoose; accept the terms I proffer--be mine--and thou art saved fromall further torture thyself, and Stanley lives. Refuse, and theEnglish minion dies; and when thou and I next meet, it will be wheretorture and executioners wait but my nod to inflict such sufferingthat thou wilt die a thousand deaths in every pang. And, Jewess--unbeliever as thou art--who will dare believe it more thanpublic justice, or accuse me of other than the zeal, which the serviceof Christ demands? Choose, and quickly--wilt thou accept my proffers, and be mine? Thou must, at last. What avails this idle folly oftempting torture first?"

"Thou mayest kill my body, but thou canst not pollute my soul, " wasthe instant reply, and its tones were unchanged. "And as for Stanley, his life or death is not in thine hands; but if it were, I couldnot--nay, thus I _would_ not--save him. I reject thy proffers, as Iscorn thyself. Now leave me--I have chosen!"

Don Luis did not reply, but Marie beheld his cheek grow livid, and thefoam actually gather on his lip; but the calm and holy gaze she hadfixed upon him, as he spoke, quailed not, nor changed. The invisibledoor of her cell closed with a deep, sullen sound, as if her tormentorhad thus, in some measure, given vent to the unutterable fury shakinghis soul to its centre; and Marie was alone. She stood for many, manyminutes, in the fearful dread of his return; and then she raised herhand to her brow, and her lip blanched and quivered, and, with a long, gasping breath, she sunk down upon the cold floor--all the heroinelost in an agonized burst of tears. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

 "Hovers the steel above his head, Suspended by a spider thread: On, on! a life hangs on thy speed; With lightning wing the gallant steed! Buoy the full heart up! It will sink If it but pause to feel and think. There is no time to dread his fate: No thought but one--too late, too late!"

 MS. 

Too soon did Marie realize the power of Don Luis to exercise histhreatened vengeance! Two days after that terrible interview, shewas again dragged to the hall of judgment: the same questions wereproposed as before, whether or not she would denounce the secretfollowers of her own creed, and confess her late husband's realbelief; and the same firm answers given. We shrink in loathing fromthe delineation of horrible tortures applied to that frail and gentlebeing--shrink, for we know that such things actually have been; andwomen--young, lovely, inoffensive as Marie Morales--have endured thesame exquisite agony for the same iniquitous purpose! In public, charged to denounce innocent fellow-beings, or suffer; in private--inthose dark and fearful cells--exposed to all the horror and terror ofsuch persecution as we have faintly endeavored to describe. It is nopicture of the imagination, delighting to dwell on horrors. Would thatit were! Its parallel will be found, again and again repeated, in theannals--not of the Inquisition alone--but of every European statewhere the Romanists held sway. 

But Marie's prayer for superhuman strength had been heard. No cry, scarcely a groan, escaped her. She saw Don Luis at her side; sheheard his hissing whisper that there was yet time to retract andbe released; but she deigned him no reply whatever. It was not hispurpose to try her endurance to the utmost in the first, second, orthird trial; though, so enraged at her calmness, as scarcely to beable to restrain it even before his colleagues, and with difficultycontrolling his fiendish desire to increase the torture to its utmostat once, he remanded her to her dungeon till his further pleasureshould be known. She had fainted under the intolerable pain, and layfor many successive hours, too exhausted even to raise to her parchedlips the pitcher of water lying near her. And even the gradualcessation of suffering, the sensation of returning power, brought withthem the agonized thought, that they did but herald increased andincreasing torture. 

One night--she knew not how long after she had been remanded to hercell, but, counting by suffering, it felt many weary nights anddays--she sunk into a sleep or trance, which transported her to herearly home in the Vale of Cedars. Her mother seemed again to standbefore her; and she thought, as she heard her caressing voice, and metthe glance of her dove-like eyes, she laid her head on her bosom, asshe was wont to do in her happy childhood; and peace seemed to sinkinto her heart so blessedly, so deeply, that the very fever of herframe departed. A voice aroused her with a start; it was so like hermother's, that the dream seemed lingering still. 

"Marie, my beloved one, " murmured the voice, and a breath fannedher cheek, as if some one were leaning over her. She unclosed hereyes--the words, the voice, still so kept up the illusion, thoughthe tones were deeper than a woman's, that even the hated dress ofa familiar of the Inquisition could not create alarm. "Hast thouforgotten me, my child? But it matters not now. Say only thou wilttrust me, and safety lies before us. The fiends hold not their hellishcourt to-night; and the arch-fiend himself is far distant, on a suddensummons from the King, which, though the grand Inquisitor might scorn, Don Luis will obey. Wilt come with me, my child?"

"Ay, any where! That voice could not deceive: but 'tis all vain, " shecontinued, the first accents of awakened hope lost in despondency--"Icannot rise. "

"It needs not. Do thou hold the lantern, Marie; utter not aword--check even thy breath--and the God of thy fathers shall savethee yet. "

He raised her gently in his arms; and the hope of liberty, of rescuefrom Don Luis, gave her strength to grasp the light to guide them. Shecould not trace their way, but she felt they left the dungeon, andtraversed many long, damp, and narrow passages, seemingly excavated inthe solid earth. All was silent, and dark as the tomb; now and thenher guide paused, as if to listen; but there was no sound. He knewwell the secret paths he trod. 

The rapid motion, even the sudden change, almost deprived Marie ofconsciousness. She was only sensible, by a sudden change from theclose, damp, passages to the free breezes of night, that she was inthe open air, and apparently a much freer path; that still her guidepressed swiftly onwards, apparently scarcely feeling her light weight;that, after a lengthened interval, she was laid tenderly on a soft, luxurious couch--at least, so it seemed, compared with the cold floorof her cell; that the blessed words of thanksgiving that she wassafe broke from that strangely familiar voice; and she asked nomore--seemed even to wish no more--so completely was all physicalpower prostrated. She lay calm and still, conscious only that she wassaved. Her guide himself for some time disturbed her not; but afterchanging his dress, and preparing a draught of cooling herbs, he kneltdown, raised her head on his knee with almost woman's tenderness, and, holding the draught to her lips, said, gently--

"Drink, beloved child of my sainted sister; there is life and healthin the draught. "

Hastily swallowing it, Marie gazed wildly in his face. --Thehabiliments of the familiar had been changed for those of aBenedictine monk; his cowl thrown back, and the now well rememberedcountenance of her uncle Julien was beaming over her. In an instant, the arm she could still use was thrown round him, and her head buriedin his bosom; every pulse throbbing with the inexpressible joy offinding, when most desolate, one relative to love and save her still. Julien left not his work of healing and of security incomplete;gradually he decreased, by the constant application of linen bathedin some cooling fluid, the scorching fire which still seemed to burnwithin the maimed and shrivelled limb; parted the thick masses ofdishevelled hair from her burning temples, and bathed them with somecooling and reviving essence; gently removed the sable robes, andreplaced them, with the dress of a young novice which he hadprovided; concealed her hair beneath the white linen hood, and then, administering a potion which he knew would produce deep and refreshingsleep, and so effectually calm the fevered nerves, she sunk down onthe soft moss and heath which formed her couch, and slept calmly andsweetly as an infant for many hours. 

Julien Morales had entered Segovia in his monkish garb, as wasfrequently his custom, on the evening of the trial. --The excitement ofthe whole city naturally called forth his queries as to its cause;and the information imparted--the murder of Don Ferdinand, andincomprehensible avowal of Judaism on the part of his niece--demandeda powerful exercise of self-control to prevent, by a betrayal ofunusual grief and horror, his near relationship to both parties. Hovering about the palace, he heard of Isabella's merciful intentionstowards Marie; and feeling that his presence might only agitate, and could in nothing avail her, he had resolved on leaving the citywithout seeing her, when her mysterious disappearance excited allSegovia anew. 

Julien Morales alone, perhaps, amidst hundreds, in his own mind solvedthe mystery at once. Well did he know tire existence of the secretInquisition. As we narrated in one of our early chapters, the fateof his father had so fixed itself upon his mind, that he had boundhimself by a secret, though solemn oath, as his avenger. To accomplishthis fully, he had actually spent ten years of his life as familiar inthe Inquisition. The fate of Don Luis's predecessor had been plungedin the deepest mystery. Some whispered his death was by a subtlepoison; others, that his murderer had sought him in the dead of night, and, instead of treacherously dealing the blow, had awakened him, andbade him confess his crimes--one especially; and acknowledge that ifthe mandate of the Eternal, "Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shallhis blood be shed, " were still to govern man, his death was but an actof justice which might not be eluded. Whether these whispered rumorshad to do with Julien Morales or not, we leave to the judgment of ourreaders. --Suffice it, that not only was his vow accomplished, but, during his ten years' residence in these subterranean halls, henaturally became familiarized with all their secret passages andinvisible means of egress and ingress--not only to the apparentlyprivate homes of unoffensive citizens, but into the wild tracts ofcountry scattered round. By one of these he had, in fact, effected hisown escape; and in the mild and benevolent Benedictine monk--knownalike to the cities and solitudes of Spain--none would have recognizedthe former familiar of the Inquisition, and still less have imaginedhim the being which in reality he was--a faithful and believing Jew. 

To him, then, it was easy to connect the disappearance of Marie withthe existence of the Holy Office, even though he was entirely ignorantof Garcia's ulterior designs. In an agony of apprehension, he resolvedon saving her if possible, even while he trembled at the delay whichmust necessarily ensue ere he could arrange and execute his plans, more especially as it was dangerous to associate a second person intheir accomplishment. With all his haste and skill he was not in timeto save her from the barbarity of her misnamed judges. His very soulwas wrung, as he stood amongst the familiars a silent witness of hersufferings; but to interfere was impossible. One thing, however, wasfavorable. He knew she would not be again disturbed till a sufficienttime had elapsed for the recovery of such strength as would enable herto endure further torture; and he had, therefore, some time before himfor their flight. 

Her voluntary avowal of her faith--aware too, as she was, of theexistence of the Inquisition--had, indeed, perplexed the good unclegreatly; but she was in no state, even when partially recovered fromphysical weakness, to enter into explanation then. He saw she wasunhappy, and the loss of her husband might well account for it. To therumors which had reached him in Segovia, as to the suppositions of thereal cause of Stanley's enmity to Morales, and Marie's self-sacrifice, he would not even listen, so completely without foundation did theyseem to him. 

The second evening after their escape, they left the cave to pursuetheir journey. Father Ambrose--for so, now he has resumed his monkishgarb, we must term Julien--had provided a mule for the novice's use;and thus they leisurely traversed the desolate and mountainous tractforming the boundaries of the provinces now termed old and newCastile. Neither uncle nor niece spoke of their destined goal; Marieintuitively felt she was proceeding to the Vale of Cedars, the onlyplace of safety now for her; but, so engrossed was her mind with thevain thought how to save Arthur, that for herself she could not framea wish. 

The second evening of their journey they entered a small, stragglingvillage, so completely buried in mountains that its existence wasunknown save to its own rustic inhabitants. The appearance of a monkevidently caused an unusual excitement, which was speedily explained. The chief of the villagers approached Father Ambrose, and, addressinghim with the greatest respect, entreated him to follow him to hishouse, where, he said, lay a man at the point of death, who had, fromthe time he became aware of his dangerous position, incessantly calledfor a priest to shrive him from some deadly sin. He had been found, the villager continued. In a deep pit sunk in a solitary glen half wayto Segovia, with every appearance of attempted murder, which, beingsupposed complete, the assassins had thrown him into the pit toconceal their deed; but chancing to hear his groans as he passed, hehad rescued him, and hoped to have cured his wounds. For three weeksthey seemed to progress favorably, but then fever--occurring, hethought, from great restlessness of mind--had rapidly increased, and, after ten days of fearful struggle between life and deathmortification had ensued, and hope could exist no longer At first, Perez added, he seemed to shrink from the idea of priestly aid, onlyharping on one theme--to get strength enough to reach Segovia, andspeak to the King. They had thought him mad, but humored him; but nowhe was almost furious in his wild cries for a priest, not only toshrive him, but to bear his message to the King. They had triedto gratify him, but their distance from any town or monastery hadprevented it; and they now, therefore, hailed Father Ambrose almost assent from heaven to save a sinner by absolution ere he died. 

This tale was told as the monk and novice hastened with. Perez to hishouse. The poor inhabitants thronged his path to crave a blessing, and proffer every attention their simple means afforded. Fearing forMarie, Julien's only care was for the supposed novice; and thereforePerez, at his request, eagerly led her to a large comfortable chamber, far removed from the bustle of the house, and left her to repose. But repose was not at that moment possible, even though her slightlyreturning strength was exhausted, from the fatigue of a long day'stravel. Fruit and cakes were before her; but, though her mouth wasparched and dry, she turned from them in loathing; and interminableseemed the space till Father Ambrose returned. Ere he spoke, hecarefully closed and secured the door, and exclaimed, in a low, cautious tone, "My child, this is indeed the finger of a righteousGod--blessed be His name! The unhappy man to whose dying bed theybrought me--"

"Is the murderer of my husband!" interposed Marie in a tone of almostunnatural calmness. "I knew it from the first moment Perez spoke. Wehave but to think of one thing now--Stanley is innocent, and must besaved!"

"And shall be, if possible, my child; but there are fearfuldifficulties in the way. The unhappy man conjures me not to leave him, and is in such a horrible state of mental and bodily agony that I fearif I do, he will commit some act of violence on himself, and so renderhis evidence of no avail. We are not much above sixty miles fromSegovia, but the roads are cross and rugged; so that it will needsteadiness and speed, and instant audience with the King. "

"But time--have we time?" reiterated Marie. "Say but there is time, and every other difficulty shall be smoothed. "

"There is full time: the execution is not till the second day afterto-morrow. Nay, my child, " he added, observing her look of doubtingbewilderment, "suffering makes the hours seem longer than they are. Fear not for time, but counsel me whom to send. Who amongst these poorignorant rustics will ever reach the King--or, failing him, the ChiefHermano--and make his tale so sufficiently clear as to release theprisoner, and send messengers here with the necessary speed to takedown this man's confession? He cannot linger two days more. Would thatI could go myself; but I can leave neither him nor thee. "

"And it needs not, " was the firm reply. "Father, I myself will dothy errand. There must be no delay, no chance of hesitation in itsaccomplishment. Ah! do not look upon me as if my words were wild andvain; were there other means I would not speak them--but he must besaved!"

"And again at the sacrifice of thy safety--perchance thy life! Marie, Marie! what hold has this young stranger upon thee that thou shouldesttwice so peril thyself? Thy life is dearer to me than his--I cannotgrant thy boon. "

"Nay, but thou must. Listen to me, my second father! If Stanley dies, his blood is on my head!" And struggling with strong emotion, shepoured forth her whole tale. 

"And thou lovest him still--him, a Nazarene--thou, child, wife, of anunstained race! And is it for this, thy zeal to save him?" ejaculatedJulien, retreating several paces from her--"Can it be?"

"I would save him because he is innocent--because he has borne morethan enough for me; for aught else, thou wrongest me, father. He willnever be to me more than he is now. "

It was impossible to resist the tone of mournful reproach in whichthose simple words were said. Julien pressed her to his bosom, badeGod bless her, and promised, if indeed there were no other means, herplan should be adopted; objection after objection, indeed, he broughtforward, but all were overruled. She pledged herself to retain herdisguise, and to return with Perez, without hesitation, and accompanyher uncle to the vale, as intended. But that she should start at once, he positively refused. How could she hope to accomplish her journeywithout, at least, two hours' repose? It was then late in the evening. At six the next morning all should be ready for her journey, and therewould be still more than twenty-four hours before her; Marie tried tobe content, but the horrible dread of being too late did not leave herfor a moment, even in sleep, and inexpressibly thankful was she whenthe morning dawned. Julien's provident care had been active whileshe slept. Perez, flattered at the trust reposed in him, had offeredhimself to accompany the young novice to Segovia: and at the appointedhour he was ready, mounted himself, and leading a strong, docilepalfrey for brother Ernest's use. He knew an hostellerie, he said, about twenty miles from the city, where their steeds could be changed;and promised by two hours after noon, the very latest, the noviceshould be with the King. It could be done in less time, he said; buthis reverence had told him the poor boy was unusually delicate, andhad, moreover, lost the use of his left arm; and he thought, as therewas so much time before them, it was needless to exhaust his strengthbefore his errand was done. Julien expressed his entire satisfaction, gave them his blessing, and they were rapidly out of sight. 

Once or twice they halted to give their horses rest and refreshthemselves; but so absorbed were the senses of Marie, that she wasunconscious of fatigue. Every mile they traversed seemed bearing aheavy load from her chest, and enabling her to breathe more freely;while the fresh breeze and exciting exercise seemed actually to reviveher. It wanted rather more than an hour for noon when they reached thehostellerie mentioned by Perez. Two fleet and beautiful horses werespeedily provided for them, bread and fruit partaken, and Perez, readymounted, was tasting the stirrup cup, when his friend demanded--

"Is it to Segovia ye are bound?"

"Yes, man, on an important errand, charged by his reverence FatherAmbrose himself. "

"His reverence should have sent you two hours earlier, and youwould have been in time for one of the finest sights seen sinceIsabella--God bless her!--begun to reign. They were common enough afew years back. "

"What sight? and why am I not in time?"

"Now, art thou not the veriest rustic to be so entirely ignorant ofthe world's doings? Why, to-day is the solemn execution of theyoung foreigner whom they believe we have murdered Don FerdinandMorales--the saints preserve him! He is so brave a fellow, they say, that had it not been for this confounded hostellerie I would have madean effort to be present: I love to see how a brave man meets death. Itwas to have been two hours after day-break this morning, but Juan heretells me it was postponed till noon. The King--"

He was proceeding, when he was startled by a sharp cry, and Perez, hastily turning, caught the novice as he was in the act of fallingfrom his horse. In an instant, however, he recovered, and exclaiming, in a thrilling tone of excitement--

"Father Ambrose said life or death hung upon our speed and promptness;he knew not the short interval allowed us. This young foreigner isinnocent--the real murderer is discovered. On--, on, for mercy, or weshall be too late!"--gave his horse the rein, and the animal startedoff at full speed. Perez was at his side in an instant, leaving hisfriend open-mouthed with astonishment, and retailing the marvellousnews into twenty different quarters in as many seconds. 

Not a word was spoken; not a moment did the fiery chargers halt intheir headlong way. On, on they went; on, over wide moors and craggysteeps; on, through the rushing torrent and the precipitous glen;on, through the forest and the plain, with the same unwavering pace. Repeatedly did Marie's brain reel, and her heart grow sick, and herlimbs lose all power either to guide or feel; but she neither spokenor flagged--convulsively she grasped the reins, and closed her eyes, as the voice and hand of her companion urged their steeds swifter andyet swifter on. 

An exclamation from Perez roused her. The turrets of Segovia werevisible in the distance, glittering in the brilliant sun; but herblood-shot eye turned with sickening earnestness more towards thelatter object than the former. It had not yet attained its fullmeridian--a quarter of an hour, perhaps twenty minutes, was stillbefore them. But the strength of their horses was flagging, foamcovered their glossy hides, their nostrils were distended, theybreathed hard, and frequently snorted--the short, quick, sound ofcoming powerlessness. Their steady pace wavered, their heads drooped;but, still urged on by Perez's encouraging voice, they exertedthemselves to the utmost--at times darting several paces suddenlyforward, then stumbling heavily on. The cold dew stood on Marie'sbrow, and every pulse seemed stilled. They passed the outergates--they stood on the brow of a hill commanding a view of the wholecity. The castle seemed but a stone's throw from, them; but the soundof muffled drums and other martial instruments were borne towards themon the air. Multitudes were thronging in one direction; the CalleSoledad seemed one mass of human heads, save where the scaffold raisedits frightful sign above them. Soldiers were advancing, forming athin, glittering line through the crowds. In their centre stood theprisoner. On, again, dashed the chargers--scarcely a hundred yardsseparated them from the palace-gate. Wildly Marie glanced back oncemore--there were figures on the scaffold. And at that moment--borne inthe stillness more loudly, more heavily than usual, or, at least, soit seemed to her tortured senses--the huge bell of the castle chimedthe hour of noon!

CHAPTER XXVI. 

 "The outmost crowd have heard a sound, Like horse's hoof on harden'd ground; Nearer it came, and yet more near-- The very deathsmen pause to hear!"

 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

In his private closet, far removed from the excitement stirringwithout, King Ferdinand was sitting, on the morning appointed forStanley's execution: several maps and plans were before him, overwhich he appeared intently engaged; but every now and then his browrested on his hand, and his eyes wandered from their object; Isabellawas at work in a recess of the window near him, conversing on hiswarlike plans, and entering warmly into all his measures, as he rousedhimself to speak of them, or silent when she saw him sunk in thought. The history of the period dwells with admiration on the domestichappiness of Ferdinand and Isabella, and most refreshingly do suchannals stand forth amid the rude and stormy scenes, both in public andprivate life, most usual to that age. Isabella's real influence onthe far less lofty and more crafty Ferdinand was so silent, sounobtrusive, that its extent was never known, either to himself orto her people, till after her death, when in Ferdinand's rapiddeterioration from the nobler qualities of earlier years, it wastraced too clearly, and occasioned her loss to be mourned, yet morethan at the moment of her death. 

The hour of noon chimed, and Ferdinand, with unusual emotion, pushedthe papers from him. 

"There goes the knell of as brave and true a heart as ever beat, " hesaid. "If he be innocent--as I believe him--may Heaven forgive hismurderer! Hark! what is that?" he continued hurriedly, as the lastchime ceased to vibrate; and, striding to the door of his cabinet heflung it open and listened intently. 

"Some one seeks the King! follow me, Isabel. By St. Francis, we maysave him yet!" he exclaimed, and rapidly threading the numerouspassages, in less than a minute he stood within the hall. 

"Who wills speech of Ferdinand?" he demanded. "Let him step forth atonce and do his errand. "

"I seek thee, King of Spain!" was the instant answer, and a young ladin the white garb of a Benedictine novice, staggered forwards. "ArthurStanley is innocent! The real murderer is discovered; he lies at thepoint of death sixty miles hence. Send--take his confession; butdo not wait for that. Fly, or it is too late. I see it--the axe israised--is flashing in the sun; oh, stop it ere it falls!" And withthe wild effort to loose the grasp of an old soldier, who moresupported than detained him, his exhausted strength gave way, and theylaid him, white, stiff, and speechless, on a settle near. 

With his first word, however, Ferdinand had turned to a trustysoldier, and bade him "fly to stop the work of death;" and the manneeded not a second bidding: he darted from the hall, flew through thecastle-yard, repeated the words to the first individual he met, bywhom it was repeated to another, and by him again on and on till itreached the crowds around the scaffold; where it spread like wildfirefrom mouth to mouth, reaching the ear of Don Felix, even before hiseye caught the rapidly advancing soldier, whom he recognized at onceas one of his Sovereign's private guards; impelling him, with analmost instinctive movement, to catch the upraised arm of theexecutioner at the very instant he was about to strike. 

"Wherefore this delay, Don Felix? it is but a cruel mercy, " sternlyinquired the Chief Hermano, whose office had led him also to thescaffold. 

"Behold, and listen: praised be the holy saints, he is saved!" wasthe rapid reply, as the voice of the soldier close by the foot ofthe scaffold, was distinguished bidding them "Hold! hold! the Kingcommands it. He is innocent; the real murderer is discovered!" andthen followed a shout, so loud, so exulting, that it seemed to haveburst from those assembled hundreds at the same instant. The prisonerheard it, indeed; but to his bewildered senses--taking the place asit did of the expected blow--it was so utterly meaningless that heneither moved nor spoke; and even Don Felix's friendly voice charginghim--"Up, Stanley! up, man! thou art saved--thine innocence madeknown!" failed to convince him of the truth. He rose from his knees;but his limbs shook, and his face--which had changed neither hue norexpression when he had knelt for the fatal blow--was colorless asmarble. He laid his trembling hand on Father Francis's arm, and triedto speak, but he could not utter a sound. 

"'Tis true, my beloved son: thy sinful thoughts have been sufficientlychastised; and the mercy of Heaven publicly revealed. Our prayershave not been said in vain; thine innocence is known--the guilty onediscovered!"

To doubt these solemn accents was impossible, and though the effortwas mighty to prevent it, Nature would have sway, and Stanley laid hishead on the Prior's arm, and burst into tears. And the wild shout thatagain awoke, seemed to clarion forth a thrilling denial to the chargeof weakness, which on such openly demonstrated emotion, some heartsdead to the voice of Nature might have pronounced. 

King Ferdinand had not been idle while this exciting scene wasenacting; questioning briefly but distinctly the villager who hadaccompanied the novice; the latter still remaining in a state ofexhaustion precluding all inquiries from him. Perez, however, couldonly repeat the lad's words when informed that the execution of SenorStanley was to take place that day. Father Ambrose had merely told himthat he (Perez) had rendered a most important service to more than oneindividual by his compassionate care of the dying man, whose desire tocommunicate with the King was no idle raving. He had also chargedhim to take particular care of the young novice, who was ailing andweakly; that the emergency of the present case alone had compelled himto send the lad to Segovia, as his dress and ability, might gain him aquicker admission to the King or Queen, than the rude appearance anduncouth dialect of his companion. The father had also requested him tourge the officers, whom the King might send to take the dying man'sconfession, to travel at their utmost speed, for he thought death wasapproaching fast. 

With his usual rapidity of thought and decision, Ferdinand's orderswere given and so quickly obeyed, that even before the arrival of theSub-Prior and Don Felix with the released prisoner, a band of men, headed by Don Alonzo and two of the chief officers of the SantaHermandad, had already started for the village. The King stillretained Perez, not only to reward him liberally, but that his talemight be repeated to the proper authorities, and compared with that ofthe novice, as soon as he had sufficiently recovered to give it. Theentrance of Stanley effectually prevented his giving more than apitying glance towards the poor boy, who had been raised on one of thebenches, surrounded by the soldiers, who were doing all their rudekindness suggested to revive him. 

Isabella had followed her husband to the hall, and been a quiet butpenetrative observer of all that followed. She had started as thevoice of the novice met her ear, and made a few hasty steps forward;but then checked herself, and quietly watched the proceedings of thesoldiers. Perceiving how wholly ineffectual their efforts appeared, she advanced towards them. With the most reverential affection themen made way for her. They had been so accustomed to see her on thebattle-field, tending the wounded and the dying, soothing theiranguish and removing their cares, ay, and more than once doing thesame kindly office in their rude and lowly homes, that her appearanceand gentle tending of the boy, excited no surprise whatever. Shemotioned them all back, apparently to allow a free current of air--inreality, to prevent them from adopting her own suspicions; she did notremove the somewhat unusually tightly-secured hood; but for her, oneglance on that white and chiselled face was sufficient. Her skillwas at length successful, and with the first symptom of returninganimation, she left him to the soldiers, and joined the throng aroundthe King; but her eye, which from long use, appeared literally endowedwith power to take in every desired object, however separated, at oneglance, still watched him as he painfully endeavored to rise, andthrew one searching glance towards the principal group. His eyesrested a full minute on the prisoner, with an expression whichIsabella alone, perhaps, of all in that hall, could read. A momentarycrimson flushed his cheek, and then his face was bowed in hisspread hands, and his slight frame shook, with the fervor of thethanksgiving, which his whole soul outpoured. 

Perceiving that the lad had recovered his senses, Perez referred allthe eager questioners to him, feeling so bewildered at the marvelloustransformation of himself, in his own opinion, from, an ignorantrustic, who had never seen the interior of a town, to the permittedcompanion of his sovereign and his nobles, and even of Isabella, andhe received from her lips a few words of kindly commendation, thatit was almost an effort to speak; and he longed to rush back to hisvillage and astound them all, and still more, triumph over his friend, the hostellerie-keeper, who, lord it as he might, had never been sohonored. 

"Come hither, boy, " said Ferdinand kindly; and the novice slowly andwith evident reluctance obeyed. "We could almost wish thy tastes hadpointed elsewhere than the church, that our acknowledgments of thyexertions in our service might be more substantial than mere thanks;however, thy patron saint shall not want a grateful offering. Nay, ourpresence is surely not so terrible that thou shouldst tremble thus, poor child! Hast thou aught more to communicate?--aught for ourprivate ear, or that of her Highness our consort? If not, we will notexhaust thy little strength by useless questions. "

In a tone so low and faltering, that Ferdinand was obliged to benddown his head to hear, the novice replied, that if messengers had beendespatched to the village, his errand was sufficiently accomplished. Father Ambrose had merely charged him to say that the real murdererhad himself confessed his crime, and that the sin had been incited, by such a horrible train of secret guilt, that all particulars weredeferred till they could be imparted to the authorities of justice, and by them to the sovereigns themselves. For himself he only askedpermission to return to the village with Perez, and rejoin hisguardian, Father Ambrose, as soon as his Grace would please to dismisshim. 

"Thou must not--shalt not--return without my poor thanks, my youngpreserver, " exclaimed Stanley, with emotion. "Had it not been forexertions which have well nigh exhausted thee, exertions as gratuitousas noble--for what am I to thee?--my honor might have been savedindeed, but my life would have paid a felon's forfeit. Would that Icould serve thee--thou shouldst not find me ungrateful! Give me thinehand, at least, as pledge that shouldst thou ever need me--if not forthyself, for others--thou wilt seek me without scruple. "

The boy laid his hand on Stanley's without hesitation, but withoutspeaking; he merely raised his heavy eyes a moment to his face, andvainly did Stanley endeavor to account for the thrill which shotthrough his heart so suddenly as almost to take away his breath, as hefelt the soft touch of that little hand and met that momentary glance. 

Who has not felt the extraordinary power of a tone--a look--a touch?which, "Touching th' electric chain, wherewith we are darkly bound, "

fills the heart and mind with irresistible impulses, engrossingthoughts, and startling memories, all defined and united, and yetlasting for so brief a moment that we are scarcely able to realizetheir existence ere they are gone--and so completely, that we perplexourselves again and again with the vain effort to recall their subjector their meaning. And so it was with Stanley. The thrill passed andhe could not even trace its origin or flitting thought; he only saw aBenedictine novice before him; he only felt regret that there was noapparent means with which he could evince his gratitude. 

On Father Francis offering to take charge of the boy, till hisstrength was sufficiently renovated to permit his safe return to thevillage, Isabella spoke, for the first time:--

"Reverend Father! We will ourselves take charge of this poor child. There are some questions we would fain inquire, ere we can permit hisreturn to his guardian: if satisfactorily answered, a munificentgift to his patron saint shall demonstrate, how deeply we feel theexertions he has made; and if we can serve him better than merelyallowing his return to his monastery, trust me we shall not fail. Follow me, youth!" she continued, as the Sub-Prior and the King, though surprised at her words, acquiesced. The novice shrunk backand clung to the side of Perez, as if most unwilling to comply; butneither the command, nor the look, with which it was enforced could bedisobeyed, and slowly and falteringly he followed Isabella from thehall. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

 'Tis done! and so she droops. Oh, woman-heart! How bold and brave to do thy destined part! Thro' sorrow's waves press firmly, calmly on, And pause not, sink not, till the goal is won!

 MS. 

Not a word passed between them, until they had reached Isabella'sprivate cabinet; and even then the Queen--though she seated herselfand signed to the boy to stand before her, as desirous of addressinghim--asked not a question, but fixed her penetrating eyes on hispallid features, with a look in which severity was very evidentlystruggling, with commiseration and regard. To attempt to retaindisguise was useless; Marie flung aside the shrouding hood, andsinking down at the Queen's feet, buried her face in her robe, andmurmured in strong emotion--

"Gracious Sovereign--mercy!"

"Again wouldst thou deceive, again impose upon me, Marie? What am Ito think of conduct mysterious as thine? Wherefore fly from myprotection--reject with ingratitude the kindness I would haveproffered--mistrust the interest which thou hadst already proved, and then return as now? I promised forgiveness, and continuation ofregard, if the truth were revealed and mystery banished, and darkerthan ever has thy conduct drawn the veil around thee. What urged thyflight, and wherefore this disguise? Speak out, and truthfully; wewill be tampered with no longer!"

But Marie vainly tried to obey; her brain was burning; the rapid ride, the sudden transition, from the sickening horror of being too late, to the assurance of Stanley's safety, the thought that she had indeedparted from him for ever, and now Isabella's evident anger, when herwoman-heart turned to her as a child's to its mother's, yearningfor that gentle sympathy which, at such a moment, could alone havesoothed. Words seemed choked within her, and the effort to speakproduced only sobs. Isabella's eyes filled with tears. 

"Speak, " she said, more gently; "Marie--say only why thou didst flyme, when I had given no evidence, that the boon thou didst implore meto grant, had become, by thy strange confession, null and void. Whaturged thy flight?"

"Not my own will. Oh, no--no, gracious Sovereign; I would haveremained a contented prisoner with thee, but they bore me away to suchscenes and sounds of horror that their very memory burns my brain. Oh, madam! do with me what thou wilt, but condemn me not to return to thatfearful place again. Death, death itself--ay, even such a death asArthur has escaped--were mercy in its stead!"

"Of what speakest thou, Marie? Who could have dared bear thee from ourprotection without thine own free will? Thy mind has been overwroughtand is bewildered still; we have been harsh, perchance, to urge theeto speak now: repose may--". 

"Repose! Oh, no--no; let me remain with thee!" she sobbed, asforgetful of either state or form, her head sunk on Isabella's knee. "He has borne me from your highness' power once; he can, he may, Iknow he will again. Oh, save me from him! It was not because of myfaith he bore me there, and tempted and tortured and laughed at myagony; he taunted me with his power to wreak the vengeance of abaffled passion upon me--for, as a Jewess, who would protect me? Oh, mighty Sovereign! send me not from thy presence. Don Luis will take mefrom thy very roof again. "

"Don Luis!" repeated Isabella, more and more convinced that Marie'ssufferings had injured her brain. "What power can he have, so secretand so terrible? Marie, thou ravest!"

"Do I rave?" replied the unhappy girl, raising her right hand to herthrobbing brow. "It may be so; perhaps it has all been a dream--a wildand fearful dream!--and I am awakened from it now; and yet--yet howcan it be; how came my arm thus if it had not been reality--horrible, agonizing reality!" And as she spoke she removed the covering fromher left arm. Painfully Isabella started: the beautiful limb hungpowerless from wrist to shoulder, a dry and scorched and shrievelledbone. 

"And couldst thou think thy Sovereign would ordain, or even permit, such suffering?" she exclaimed, after a moment's pause, passing herarm fondly round Marie, whom she had raised from the ground to acushion by her side. "My poor unhappy child, what is this darkmystery? Who can have dared to injure thee, and call it justice, zeal--religion, perchance! Mother of Mercy! pardon the profanation ofthe word! Try and collect thy thoughts, and tell me all. Who has daredthus insult our power?"

"Don Luis!--Don Luis!" repeated Marie, clinging like an infant to theQueen, and shuddering with terror at the very recollection of a powerwhich she had faced so calmly. "Oh, save me from him! torture itself Icould bear, but not his words. "

"Don Luis!" reiterated the astonished Queen. "What has he to do withtorture? Who is he--what is he, my poor child, that his very nameshould thus appal thee? He may indeed have dared speak insultingwords, but what power has he thus fearfully to wreak his vengeance?"

"Who is he--what is he?" repeated Marie, looking with surprise inthe Queen's pitying face. "Does not your highness know--and yet howshouldst thou?--his very office is as secret as his own black nature?Has your highness never heard men whisper of a secret Inquisition, hiding itself even in thy domains? Oh, my Sovereign, it was there theydragged me! [her voice sunk to a low shuddering whisper] and he wasgrand master there; he--even Don Luis! And he will bear me thereagain. Oh, save me from those fearful sounds--those horrid sights:they glare before me now!"

"And I will save thee, my child! ay, and root out these midnighthorrors from my kingdom, " exclaimed Isabella, indignation flashing inher eye, and flushing on her cheek. "Once we have been insulted--oncedeceived; but never to us can such occur a second time. Fearfullyshall this deed of infamy recoil upon its perpetrators! Tremble notthus, my poor girl, no one shall injure thee; no one can touch thee, for we are warned, and this fearful tale shall be sifted to thebottom! Child of a reprobate faith, and outcast race as thou art, thinkest thou that even to thee Isabella would permit injury andinjustice? If we love thee too well, may we be forgiven, but cared forthou shalt be; ay, so cared for, that there shall be joy on earth, andin heaven for thee yet!"

At another moment, those words would have been understood in theirreal meaning; but Marie could then only feel the consoling convictionof security and love. It was not merely personal kindness which hadso bound her to her Sovereign; it was the unacknowledged but feltconviction, that Isabella had penetrated her secret feelings, withregard to Arthur Stanley; and yet not a syllable of this had everpassed the Queen's lips. Oh, true sympathy seldom needs expression, for its full consolation to be given and received! The heartrecognizes intuitively a kindred heart, and turns to it in its sorrowor its joy, conscious of finding in it, repose from itself. But onlya woman can give to woman this perfect sympathy; for the deepestrecesses, the hidden sources of anguish in the female heart no man canread. 

Engrossed as Isabella was by the mysterious information imparted byMarie, indefinitely yet forcibly confirmed by her, then unusual, knowledge of the past history of Spain, she was more easily satisfiedwith Marie's hurried and hesitating account of her escape, than shemight otherwise have been. To proclaim her relationship with FatherAmbrose was ruin to him at once. He had been one, she said with truth, who had received great obligations from her family, and had vowedto return them whenever it should be in his power so to do; he had, therefore, made the exertion to save her, and was about taking her toher childhood's home on the frontiers of Castile, the only place, itappeared to him, sufficiently secret to conceal her from Don Luis'sthousand spies; but that on the providential discovery of the realmurderer, and the seeming impossibility of ever seeing the Kinghimself in time--she paused. 

"Could he send thee on such a rapid errand, my child, and sufferingthus?" gently inquired Isabella. 

"No, gracious madam, " was the unhesitating rejoinder, though a burningblush mounted to her very temples; "it was my own voluntary choice. Itwas my unhappy fate to have been the actual cause of his arraignment;it was but my duty to save him if I could. "

"And thou wouldst have returned with Perez had we not penetrated thydisguise?"

"Yes, gracious Sovereign. " And the flush faded into paleness, ashy asbefore; but the tone was calm and firm. 

The Queen looked at her intently, but made no further observation; andspeedily summoning her before trusted attendants, placed the widow ofMorales once more in their charge; imparted to them as much of Marie'stale as she deemed requisite, and the consequent necessity for herreturn to the Queen's care; nay, her very existence was to be keptsecret from all save those to whom she herself should choose to impartit. Gratified by her confidence, they were eager to obey; and soskilfully did they enter into her wishes, that their very companionssuspected not the identity of the prisoner, in whom, they were told, their Sovereign was so much interested. Curiosity might have been busywith very many, but their vague conjectures fell far short of thetruth; Catharine Pas was the only one of Isabella's younger maidens towhom the real fact was imparted. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

 'Twas a dark tale of crime, and awed and chilled E'en indignation seeming horror still'd, Men stood beside a murd'rer's couch of death, Watching-the glazing-eye and flickering-breath-- Speaking with look and hurried sign alone, Their thoughts, too terror-fraught for word or tone. --MS. 

The indignation excited in the Queen's mind against Don Louis wasdestined, very speedily, to be increased. Ferdinand had had time tobecome half angry, and quite impatient, ere his messengers dispatchedto the village returned. Stanley had been released--was regarded byall as innocent; but this was literally only from a peasant's word andthe half broken intelligence of an exhausted boy: he wanted proof, and a vague dread would take possession of him that his fate was buttemporarily suspended. At an early hour the next day, however, DonAlonzo returned; and Ferdinand's impatient anger was averted, when hefound the delay had been occasioned by their determination, toconvey the dying man to Segovia, and the caution necessary for itsaccomplishment. The Hermanos had already noted down his confession;but it was so fraught with extended and dangerous consequences, thatthey felt, they dared not act on their responsibility: all suppressingmeasures must proceed from the sovereigns themselves. Perez was againsummoned, and at once swore to the identity of the dying man as theindividual he had rescued from a deep pit, in a lonely mountain-pass, about twenty miles from his village; and the man, whose eagerness tospeak was evident, though his voice was so faint, as scarcely to beintelligible, commenced his dark and terrible tale. 

The indignation of the Sovereign, and of those whom he had chosen tobe present, was excited to the utmost, mingled with horror as themysterious fates of many a loved companion were thus so fearfullysolved; but none felt the recital with the same intensity of emotionas the Sub-Prior, who, with, head bowed down upon his breast, andhands tightly clenched, knelt beside the penitent. It was notindignation, it was not horror; but agony of spirit that a religionwhich he loved better than himself, whose purity and honor he wouldhave so jealously guarded, that he would have sacrificed life itselffor its service, should have been made the cover for such unutterablevillany. Few imagined the deeds of painful mortification and bodilypenance which, in his solitude, the Sub-Prior afterwards inflicted onhimself; as if his individual sufferings should atone for the guilt ofhis brethren, and turn from them the wrath of an avenging God. 

Horrible as were the details imparted, incomprehensible as it seemedthat so extended and well-organized a power, should exist so secretlythroughout Spain, as to hide itself even from the sovereigns andministers of justice themselves, yet none doubted what they heard. Sovereigns and nobles well knew that the Inquisition had beenestablished both in Castile and Arragon centuries before, and thatthe annals of those kingdoms, though mentioning the resistance of thepeople against this awful power, had been silent as to its entireextirpation. 

In the first part of his narrative the man had spoken shrinkingly andfearfully, as if still in dread of vengeance on his betrayal; buthis voice became bolder when he confessed his own share in the lateatrocious crime. Accustomed by the strictest and most rigid training, to obey as familiars, the will of their superiors without question--tobe mere mindless and feelingless tools, to whom death itself wasawarded, if by word or hint, or even sign, they dared evincethemselves to be as other men--he had, at the command of the GrandInquisitor, deeply drugged Senor Stanley's evening draught, and, whileunder its potent influence, had purloined his sword; waylaid DonFerdinand in the Calle Soledad, effectually done the deed, and--awarethat it would be many hours ere the English Senor could arouse himselffrom the stupifying effects of the draught--had intended returning tohis chamber still more effectually to throw on him the suspicion ofthe murder. It happened, however, that it was the first time he hadever been chosen by his superiors as their tool for actual murder, andthe magnitude of the crime, from the greatness of, and universal loveborne towards the victim, had so appalled him, that, combined with theraging storm and pitchy darkness, he had felt utterly bewildered. Notwell acquainted with Segovia, he had found himself, after more than anhour's wandering--instead of, as he expected, again near the Senor'slodgings--in the self-same spot whence he had started, and close bythe body of his victim. The sight horrified and bewildered him yetmore, and he crept behind a low wall, resolved on remaining theretill the tempest had at least partially subsided, and then fulfil theremainder of his instructions; knowing that to fail in any one point, would be the signal of his own destruction. Fortune, however, so farfavored him, as to send the young English Senor to the very spot, and there was therefore no occasion for his further interference. Hetarried till he had seen Stanley's arrest, and had heard the loudexecrations of all proclaiming him the murderer--and then returned tohis employers. 

The education of the familiars had so far failed with him, that, though aware of its danger, thoughts would enter his mind, as to howDon Ferdinand Morales could have offended the dread power which heserved, and why the foreign Senor should be thus implicated in thedeed. He hoped to have concealed these doubts; but from the issue, heimagined that some unguarded word spoken to a companion, must havebetrayed him. He was chosen by the Grand Inquisitor as his companion, on some secret expedition two days after the trial, unsuspiciousof the danger awaiting him, till the desolate scene on which theyunexpectedly entered flashed terror on his mind. His superior hadthere paused, told him that from the witness of Beta, the servantgirl, it was quite evident he had disobeyed part of the instructionsgiven, or his _return_ to Arthur's lodgings would have been heard byher as well as his _departure_ and thus at once have implicated theEnglishman as the real murderer; that though chance had thrown equalsuspicion upon him, it did net remove his disobedience, and so hewas doomed to death; and the blow, instantaneously given, felled himinsensible to the ground. When he recovered his senses, he foundhimself lying in a deep pit, where he had evidently been thrown asdead. The wounds and contusions received in the fall, as far as hecould recollect, by producing a most excruciating sense of pain, roused him from temporary insensibility, and he was convinced he heardhis murderer's voice--though he could not see him--exclaim distinctly, as if he were leaning over the mouth of the pit, "There goes my lastdoubt: other men might call it their last fear, but I know not theword! Three victims for the possession of one--and who will nowdare to brand me? I had slain that faltering craven without hisdisobedience, he dared to _think_ upon his deed. "

Almost insensible from agony as he was, these words had impressedthemselves indelibly; causing the burning desire to live and berevenged. And the opportune succors of the villager, Perez, with aparty of woodmen; the completely hidden site of the village to which, he had been conveyed; and the, at first, favorable healing of hiswounds, appeared to give him every hope of its accomplishment. He hadresolved on communicating his tale to none save to Ferdinand himself, or to the Chief Hermano, under strict promise to reveal it to theSovereign: but his intense anxiety had evidently prevented theattainment of his desire, by producing fever; and thence arose hiswild and almost maniac cravings to make confession, and bind some holymonk, by a solemn vow, to convey it to the King. 

It was not till the conclusion of this momentous narration, that theKing permitted any questions to be asked; and those he then demandedwere so concise and clear, that but few words were needed in which tocouch the reply. 

"And the designer of this hellish plot, the real murderer--through thyhand, of one brave friend, and almost another--is the same who hasmurdered thee!" he inquired, after learning the exact sites of thesemysterious halls; information which caused some of the bravest heartsto shudder, from their close vicinity. 

The man answered at once in the affirmative. 

"And he dares assume, in this illegal tribunal, the rank of GrandInquisitor?"

"Ay, gracious liege. "

"And his name?--that by which he is known to man? Speak! And as thytrue confession may be the means of bringing a very fiend to justice, so may thy share in his deeds be pardoned. "

An indescribable expression passed over the fast stiffening featuresof the dying. He half raised himself, and, laying his clammy hand onFerdinand's robe, whispered, in clear and thrilling tones--

"Bend low, my liege; even at this moment I dare not speak it loud;but, oh! beware of those who affect superior sanctity to theirfellows: there is one who in the sunshine stands forth wisest, andpurest, and strictest; and at midnight rules arch-fiend--men call himDON LUIS GARCIA. _He_ is Don Ferdinand's murderer! _He_ sought SenorStanley's death and mine; but instead of a victim, he has found anaccuser! His web has coiled round himself--flee him! avoid him as yewould a walking pestilence, or visible demon! Minister as he may be ofour holy father, the Pope, he is a villain--his death alone can bringsafety to Spain. Ha! what is this? Mother of mercy! save me! Thecross! the cross! Absolution! The flames of hell! Father, bid themavaunt! I--a true confession. " The words were lost in a fearfulgurgling sound, and the convulsion which ensued was so terrible, thatsome of the very bravest involuntarily turned away; but Stanley, whohad listened to the tale with emotions too varied and intense forspeech, now sprung forward, wildly exclaiming--

"Three victims for one! Where is that one? Speak--speak in mercy! Oh, God! he dies and says no word!"

The eyes of the dying man glared on him, but there was no meaningin their gaze; they rolled in their sockets, glazed, and in anotherminute all was stiff in death. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

 "Doth Heaven Woo the free spirit for dishonored breath To sell its birthright? Doth Heaven set a price On the clear jewel of unsullied faith And the bright calm of conscience?"

 MRS. HEMANS. 

A private council immediately followed the confession received; butthough it continued many hours, no active measures could at once bedecided upon. Secret and illegal, according to Spanish laws, as thistribunal was, it was yet an instrument of the Pope, acknowledging hissupremacy alone, and, in consequence, always receiving his protection. Civil justice, it appeared, could not reach those who were protectedby; the head of the church; but Ferdinand's mind was far too capaciousto admit this plea. Rooted out of his dominions--in its presentform, at least--he resolved it should be, and Isabella confirmed theresolve. Not only was its secret existence fraught with the most awfulcrimes and injustice, regarded generally, but it was derogatory andinsulting to that sovereign power, which Ferdinand and Isabella hadboth determined on rendering supreme. Father Francis, whose usualenergy of thought and counsel appeared completely annihilated from thefearful tale he had heard, strenuously urged the sovereigns to waitthe arrival of Torquemada, the Queen's confessor, who was now everyhour expected, and whose sterner and more experienced mind would givethem better counsel. To this both sovereigns agreed, but one measurethey adopted at once. As Grand Inquisitor, the principal actor in thisatrocious drama might be servant of and solely answerable to the Pope;as Don Luis Garcia, he was subject to Ferdinand and Isabella, and assuch amenable to the laws of Spain. A schedule was therefore drawn up, stating that whereas the man commonly known as Don Luis Garcia, hadbeen convicted of many atrocious and capital crimes, and, amongstthe gravest, of having instigated and commanded the murder of DonFerdinand Morales, and done to death his own tool, the real committerof the deed, that Arthur Stanley might be charged with, and executedfor, the same; the sovereigns of Spain called upon their lovingsubjects--of every rank and every degree, in all and every part of therealm--to unite in endeavoring to discover, and deliver up the saidDon Luis Garcia, to the rigor of the law. An enormous reward wasoffered for delivering him alive into the hands of justice, and halfthe sum, should he have resisted to the death. The proclamation wasmade by sound of trumpet in various parts of Segovia, and copies sent, with all possible speed, to every city, town, and even village, overSpain. A correct description of his person accompanied the schedule, and every possible measure was adopted that could tend to hisapprehension. So strong was the popular feeling against him that everyclass, almost every individual, felt it a personal duty to assist, inthis case, the course of justice. He had deceived all men, and all menin consequence leagued themselves against him. So secretly, and yetso judiciously, were the plans for his seizure carried on, and souniversal the popular ferment, that it appeared marvellous how hecould have escaped; and yet weeks merged into months, and, though themeasures of the Santa Hermandad in no way relaxed, Don Luis was stillat large, and effectually concealed. We may here state at once--thoughit carries us much in advance of our present scene--that FatherFrancis resolved at all costs to purge the church of Spain fromthis most unholy member; and, authorized by the sovereigns, made avoluntary pilgrimage to the court of St. Peter's, obtained an audiencewith the Pope, laid the case before him, and besought the penalty ofexcommunication to be fulminated against the hypocrite who had daredto use, as cover for most atrocious villany, the pure and sacredordinances of the church. Alexander the Sixth, himself a worker ofsuch awful crimes that he was little capable of entering into the pureand elevated character of the Sub-Prior, heard him calmly, smiledsneeringly, and then informed him, he was too late. The worthy andzealous servant of Rome, known to men as Don Luis Garcia, had beenbefore him, made confession of certain passions as exciting erringdeeds, to which all men were liable, had done penance, receivedabsolution, and was in a fair way of rising to the highest eminence inthe church. 

Father Francis remonstrated, urged, dared to speak bolder truths thanhad ever before reached the papal ear but all without effect: andthis truly good and spiritual man returned to Spain stricken to thedust. He reported the failure of his mission; heard, with bowedhead and aching soul, the natural indignation of Ferdinand, and thequieter, but to him, still more expressive sorrow, at this fearfulabuse of her holy religion from Isabella; and then, with anearnestness impossible to be resisted, conjured the royal permissionto retire entirely from all interference in public life. He could not, he said, support the weight of shame, which, falling on his church, had affected him individually. Vain were the royal solicitations, vainthe love of the people, vain the entreaties of the abbot and brethrenof his convent; he resigned the office of Sub-Prior, relinquishedevery religious and secular honor, and buried himself in the mostimpenetrable solitude, fraught with austerity and mortification, personal penance, and yet devoted to such extraordinary acquirements, that, though for long years his very existence was well nighforgotten, when next he burst upon the astonished eyes of the world, it was no longer as Father Francis, the Sub-Prior of a Franciscanmonastery, a good and benevolent monk, but as the learned priest, thesagacious statesman, the skilful general, ay, and gallant warrior--thegreat and good CARDINAL XIMENES!

To wait the arrival of Torquemada, the sovereigns and their councilunanimously resolved. It was but a very brief delay, and would permita more effectual extermination of the secret office than could bedecided upon by the laity alone. Ere the day closed, and in presenceof the sovereigns, of all the nobles, officers of state, the SantaHermandad and principal citizens, Arthur Stanley was formallypronounced INNOCENT of the crime with which he had been charged. Thegolden spurs, which had been ignominiously hacked from his heels, werereplaced by the aged Duke of Murcia; knighthood again bestowed by theKing; and Isabella's own hand, with winning courtesy, presented hima sword, whose real Toledo blade, and richly jewelled hilt, shouldreplace the valued weapon, the loss of which had caused him suchunmerited suffering, and shame. 

"May it be used for us, as faithfully and nobly as its predecessor, "were Isabella's concluding words; "and its associations, SenorStanley, be nought but those of joy. "

The young man's cheek burned, but there was a deep shadow on hiscountenance, which neither the honors he received, nor his own urgentefforts had power to remove. He looked wistfully after the sovereignsas they quitted the church, then with an irresistible impulse, brokefrom the throng with whom he had been endeavoing to join in animatedconverse, and, suddenly kneeling before Isabella, exclaimed in low, agitated tones--

"_She_--she may still be in the villain's power. Oh, my liege, waitnot for Torquemada's arrival and leave her to die! He will wreak hisfull vengeance upon her. "

"Trust me for her safety, my young friend; measures have been alreadytaken to secure it, " was Isabella's instant reply, in a tone so fullof sympathy, that Arthur caught her robe, and pressed it to his lips. 

She smiled kindly and passed on, still accompanied by Ferdinand, not alittle astonished at her words, and still more so when Marie's wholetale was imparted to him. 

On retiring to rest that night, his thoughts still engrossed withvain speculations as to the destined fate of Marie, --Arthur, halfunconsciously, unsheathed Isabella's magnificent gift, to judge ofthe temper of the blade; and, as he did so, a scroll, which had beentwisted round the steel, fell to the ground. He raised it with hastycuriosity, but his heart throbbed as he recognized the handwriting ofthe Queen, and deciphered the following words:--

"To Senor Stanley, in secrecy and confidence, these: The eye of loveis said to pierce through all disguises. In this instance it hasproved less discriminative than woman's sympathy, and woman'spenetration. She in whom we believe Senor Stanley interested, and towhose exertions he owes the publication of his innocence in time tosave life as well as honor, is safe, and under the protection of herQueen. Let this suffice for present peace, and speak of it to none. ISABELLA R. "

Arthur's first impulse was to press the precious letter to his lips, and gaze upon it till every letter seemed transferred from the paperto his heart; his next was to sit down on the nearest seat, and buryhis face in his hands, actually bewildered by the flash of light, which with those brief words came. Disguise--exertion--could it bepossible? Nay, it must be! The soft touch of that little hand, thespeaking look of those lovely eyes, again thrilled through his verysoul, and he knew their meaning now. Mysterious, bewildering as itwas, the novice, the poor, exhausted, seeming boy--was Marie! Again heowed his life to her, and the wild yearning to gaze on her again, toclasp her to his bosom, to pour forth his gratitude, to soothe andshield, became so painfully intense, as almost to banish the joy, which her rescue from danger ought to have occasioned. Had it not beenfor her refusal to bear witness against him, not even the month'sgrace would have been allowed him; he would have been executed atonce. She had saved him then--she had saved him now! And his heart soswelled he knew not how to contain its fulness, how to calm it down, to wait till the Queen's further pleasure should be known. But hopesprung up to give him comfort; Isabella would accomplish her intentionof conversion; Marie could never resist her, and then--then, oh! shewould be all, all his own, and life shine, for both the brighter, forits former tempest clouds. Meanwhile, he had such sweet thoughts, suchlovely images, to rest on. He owed his life, his honor, to her; and hethought that it was his devoted gratitude which so deepened love. Howsweet is such illusion! how refreshingly soothing to be grateful, whenthe object of that gratitude has been, and is still, the dear objectof our love! How often we deceive ourselves, and imagine we areexperiencing the strongest emotions of gratitude, when, had anindifferent person conferred the same benefit, we might feel itindeed, but it would more pain than pleasure; and be an obligation, soheavy that we should never rest, till in some measure, at least, itwas returned. How contrary the impression of benefits from those welove!

Never before had the appearance of the Queen's confessor, the stern, and some said cruel, Torquemada, been hailed with such excitement. Hewas speedily informed of the late transactions, and his counsel mostearnestly demanded by both sovereigns. He required some days todeliberate, he said, so momentous and important was the affair; andwhen he did reply, his counsel was entirely opposed to what manyhoped, and Ferdinand expected. Indignant as he declared himself tobe, at the abuses in religion, he yet put a strong and most decidednegative on the royal proposition, of utterly exterminating thisunlawful tribunal. With all his natural eloquence, and in mostforcible language, he declared that, if kept within proper bounds, restrained by due authority, and its proceedings open to theinspection of the Sovereign, and under him, the archbishops and otherdignitaries of the church, the Inquisition would be a most valuableauxiliary to the well-doing and purifying of the most Catholickingdom. He produced argument after argument of most subtle reasoning, to prove that every effort to abolish the office in Spain had beenentirely useless: it would exist, and if not publicly acknowledged, would always be liable to abuse and desecration; that the only meansof exterminating its secret, and too arrogant power, was to permit itspublic establishment, and so control it, that its measures should beopen to the present, and to every successive sovereign. He allowed thenecessity, the imperious necessity of rooting out the _secret_ office;but he was convinced this could not be done, nor in fact would thechurch allow it, unless it should be recognized in the face of allEurope, as based on alike the civil and religious laws of Spain. 

On Ferdinand the wily churchman worked, by proving that his royalprerogative would be insured rather than injured by this proceeding;that by publicly establishing the Inquisition, he proved hisresolution to control even this power, and render it a mere instrumentin his sovereign hand; that his contemplated conquest of the Moorscould not be better begun than by the recognition of a holy office, whose glory it would be to bring all heathens to the purifying andsaving doctrines of the church of Rome. Ferdinand, though wary andpolitic himself, was no match for Torquemada's Jesuitical eloquence;he was won over to adopt the churchman's views with scarcely an effortto resist them. With Isabella the task was much more difficult. Heappealed guardedly and gently to her tender regard for the spiritualwelfare of her people, sympathized with her in her indignant horrorof the crimes committed under religion's name, but persisted that theevil of a secret Inquisition would never be remedied, save by themeasure he proposed. He pledged himself never to rest, till thepresent halls and ministers of darkness were exterminated from everypart of Spain; but it could only be on condition of her assent to hiscounsel. He used all his eloquence; he appealed to her as a zealousCatholic, whose first duty was to further and purify her faith; butfor four days he worked in vain; and when she did give her consent, itwas with such a burst of tears, that it seemed as if her forebodingeye had indeed read the shrouded annals of the future, and beheldthere, not the sufferings of individuals alone, but of the decline anddishonor of that fair and lovely land, which she had so labored toexalt. Ere another year from that day had passed, the Inquisition waspublicly established throughout the kingdom; and Torquemada, as firstGrand Inquisitor, reaped the reward of his persevering counsel, andsealed, with blood, the destiny of Spain. 

To her confessor, Isabella revealed the story of Marie, and her ownintentions. Torquemada heard the tale with a stern severity, littleencouraging to the Queen's ideas of mercy; he insisted that herconversion _must_ be effected; if by kindness and forbearance, welland good; but if she were obstinate, harshness must be resortedto; and only on that condition would he grant Isabella the desiredblessing on her task. He did not fail to bring forward the fact ofa zealous Catholic, such as Don Ferdinand Morales, wedding andcherishing one of the accursed race, and conniving at her secretadherence to her religion, as a further and very strong incentive forthe public establishment of the Inquisition, whose zealous care wouldeffectually guard the sons of Spain from such unholy alliances infuture. He urged the supposition of Marie's having become the motherof children by Ferdinand; was it not most probable, nay, certain, thatshe would infuse her own unbelief in them; and then how mixed anddefiled a race would take the place of the present pure Castilians. Isabella could reply nothing satisfactory to this eloquent reasoning. The prejudices of education are strong in every really earnest heart;and though her true woman's nature revolted at every thought ofseverity, and towards one so suffering as Marie, she acknowledged itsnecessity, in case of kindness failing. Under the seal of confession, she imparted her full plan to Torquemada, entering more into minuteparticulars than she had done even to her husband, or in words toherself. It was so fraught with mercy and gentleness that Torquemadagave his consent, believing it utterly impossible, if Marie reallyloved, as Isabella fancied, that she could resist. 

On the departure of her confessor, the Queen communed, as was herfrequent custom, long and severely with her own heart. What was thecause of her extreme dislike to using harshness? With any other memberof that detested race, she felt Torquemada's counsel would have beenall-powerful; she would have left it all to him. It was then merepersonal regard, fear of the suffering which, did she cause Marieincrease of pain, she should inflict upon herself, and this must notbe. She was failing in the duty she owed her religion, if she couldnot summon resolution to sacrifice even affection at its shrine. Andso she nerved herself, to adopt Torquemada's stern alternative, ifindeed it were required. How strange is self-delusion! how difficult, even to the noblest, most unselfish natures, to read another spirit bytheir own! Isabella felt it might be a duty to sacrifice affection forreligion, and nerved herself to its performance at any cost. Andyet that Marie should do so, she could not believe; and if she did, harshness and suffering were to be her sole reward! Oh, that inreligion, as in every thing else, man would judge his brother man byhis own heart; and as dear, as precious, as his peculiar creed may beto him, believe so it is with the faith of his brother! How much ofmisery, how much of contention, of cruelty and oppression, would passaway from this lovely earth, and give place for Heaven's own unity andpeace, and harmony and love. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

 "Oh, bear me up Against the unutterable tenderness Of earthly love, my God! In the sick hour Of dying human hope, forsake me not!"

 MRS. HEMANS. 

For some months all was gayety and rejoicing in Segovia, not a littleheightened by the exciting preparations for the much desired war. Thetime had now come when Ferdinand could, with safety to the internalstate of his kingdom, commence the struggle for which he had soimpatiently waited, since the very first hour of the union of Arragonand Castile. Troops were marshalling secretly all over Spain; thearmorers and smiths were in constant requisition. The nobles wereconstantly flitting from their hereditary domains to the court, eagerand active to combine all the pomp and valor of a splendid chivalrywith the more regular force; standing armies, which in almost everyEuropean land were now beginning to take the place of the feudalsoldiery, so long their sole resource. It was necessary for Ferdinand, ere he commenced operations, to visit his own dominions; a measure hedid not regret, as it effectually concealed his ulterior plans fromthe Moors, who were also at that time too much disturbed by internaldissensions, to give more than a cursory glance on the movements andappearances of their Christian foes. 

In the festivals of the palace the young Englishman was naturally thehero of the day; the best feelings of the Spanish character hadbeen called into play towards him: he had been unjustly accused andseriously injured; been subject to dishonor and shame; and many mightsay it had all sprung from prejudice against him as a foreigner. Thevery failing of the Spaniards in this case also operated in his favor;their national jealousy called upon them to make publicly manifest thefalsity of such a supposition, and he was courted and fêted by all, brought forward on every occasion, and raised and promoted both tocivil and military distinction, by those very men who, before the lateevents, would have been the first to keep him back, yielding him butthe bare and formal courtesy, which, however prejudiced, no true-bornSpaniard could refuse. 

Amongst Isabella's female train, Arthur Stanley was ever gladlywelcomed, and his presence might have proved dangerous to more thanone of Isabella's younger attendants, had not his manner been such asto preclude even the boldest and most presuming from any thought oflove. One alone he certainly singled out to talk with, and treat withmore attention than any other; and that one was the maiden we havemore than once had occasion to mention, Catherine Pas. Rallied as shewas by her companions, the young girl herself imagined there could beno danger to her peace in associating thus with the handsome youngEnglishman; for _she_ knew, though her companions did not, the realreason of his preference for her society. Isabella had once slightlyhinted from which of her attendants Stanley might hear of Marie, andgiving them permission to answer his queries. It was a dangerousordeal for Catherine, but she laughed at the idea of permitting herheart to pass into the possession of one who cared nothing for her, save as she could speak of Marie. 

Great was the surprise and many the conjectures of the Queen'sfemale court, when rather more than six months after her strangedisappearance, the widow of Morales re-appeared amongst them; notpublicly indeed, for at the various fêtes and amusements of thepalace, and elsewhere, Marie was never seen. Her existence, however, and safety, under Isabella's especial protection, were no longer keptsecret; and her recent loss was in itself quite sufficient reason forher strict retirement. Her identity with brother Ernest, the supposednovice, never transpired; he was supposed to have returned with Perezto his guardian, Father Ambrose, who, though seen and questioned byDon Alonzo at the village, did not accompany his dying penitent toSegovia, nor, in fact, was ever seen in that city again. 

The tender care and good nursing which had been lavished on Marie, hadrestored her sufficiently to health as to permit returning elasticityof mind. All morbid agony had passed, all too passionate emotions weregradually relaxing their fire-bands round her heart; and strength, themartyr strength, for which she unceasingly prayed, to give up all ifcalled upon for her God, seemed dawning for her. That she was stillunder some restraint, a sort of prisoner in the palace, Marie herselfwas not aware; she had neither wish nor energy to leave the castle, and therefore knew not that her egress, save under watchfulguardianship, would have been denied. She had no spirits to minglewith the light-hearted, happy girls, in her Sovereign's train, andtherefore was unconscious that, with the sole exception of Catherinewhose passionate entreaties had obtained her this privilege, allintimacy with them would have been effectually prevented. It wasenough, more than enough (for the foreboding dread was ever present, that such a blissful calm, such mental and bodily repose, were far, far too sweet for any long continuance) to be employed in littleservices for and about the person of the Queen, and to know thatArthur Stanley was restored to even more than former favor, and fastrising to eminence and honor. 

Before the sovereigns quitted Segovia, Stanley left the court to marchsouthward with Pedro Pas, to occupy a strong fortification on thebarrier line, dividing the Spanish from the Moorish territories, andcommanding a very important post, which Ferdinand was anxious tosecure, and where he intended to commence his warlike operations, as speedily as he could settle affairs at Saragossa. Twice beforeStanley's departure did Isabella contrive an apparently accidentalmeeting between him and Marie, permitting them, though in herpresence, ample opportunity for mutual explanation; but not with muchevident success. Stanley, indeed, was painfully and visibly agitated, finding it difficult, almost impossible to speak the feelings whichhad so long filled heart and mind, and been in fancy so often throwninto eloquent words, that he could not understand why in her presencewords were frozen up, and he could only _feel_. Marie's cheek and liphad indeed blanched as she beheld him, but the deep and quiet calm shehad so earnestly sought, even then did not forsake her; once only hervoice faltered, when she conjured him to allude no longer to the past, that the exertions she had made for him demanded no such gratitudeas he expressed. He would have answered with his usual passionateimpetuosity, but there was something in her manner which restrainedhim; it was no longer the timid, yielding girl, who, even while shetold him of the barrier between them, had yet betrayed the deep loveshe felt: it was the woman whose martyr spirit was her strength. Andyet, spite of himself, he hoped. Isabella, in parting with him, hadspoken such words as sent a thrill of delight over his whole being, and he quitted Segovia buoyant and glad-hearted, to wait weeks, months, he thought even years: so certain did he feel of success atlast. 

Isabella accompanied Ferdinand to Arragon, and determined on remainingat Saragossa during the commencement of his Moorish campaign; butshe did not part from him without demanding and receiving his solemnpromise to send for her as soon as the residence of females in thecamp was practicable. She well knew the inspiring power of herpresence in similar scenes, and the joy and increased ardor which thevicinity of near and dear relations, composing her court, would excitein the warrior camp of Ferdinand. The promise was given, and theannals of the Moorish war tell us how faithfully it was kept, and howadmirably Isabella performed the part she had assigned herself. 

Months glided slowly and peacefully on; as each passed, the tremblingheart of Marie foreboded change and sorrow; but it was not till shehad been eight months a widow that aught transpired which couldaccount for such strange fears. Then, indeed, the trial came: shethought she was prepared, but the aching heart and failing strengthwith which she listened to the Queen's commands, betrayed how littleour best endeavors can pave the way for sorrow. Isabella spoke gentlyand kindly indeed, but so decisively, there was no mistaking themeaning of her words: she had waited, she said, till time had restorednot only health and strength, but some degree of tranquillity to theheart, and elasticity to the mind. That, as a Jewess, Marie must havelong known, the Queen could not continue favor; that she was, in fact, acting without a precedent in thus permitting the attendance of anunbeliever on her person, or appearance in her court; but that she hadso acted, believing that when perfectly restored to sense and energy, Marie would herself feel the necessity, and gladly embrace the onlyreturn she required--a calm deliberation of the Catholic faith, and, as a necessary consequence, its acceptance. She therefore desired thatMarie would devote herself to the instructions of a venerable monk(Father Denis by name), whom she had selected for the task. Thatfrom that day Marie would not be called upon for either service orattendance on the Queen, but to devote her whole mind and energies tothe task proposed; and that when Father Denis brought her informationthat Marie accepted the cross, that very hour she should resumeher place in Isabella's court, and be the dearest, most cherishedthere!--be publicly acknowledged as the inheritrix of her husband'svast possessions, and a future of love and joy would shine before her, so bright as to banish even the memories of the stormy past. 

Marie would have replied, but Isabella, with gentle firmness, refusedto hear her. "I demand nothing now, " she said, "but obedience. Awilling heart, and open mind, are all you need bring with you to yourtask: the father's holy lessons, blessed with God's grace, will dothe rest. I cannot believe that all the kindness and affection I haveshown have been so utterly without effect, that thou too wilt evincethe ungrateful obstinacy, so unhappily the characteristic of thyblinded people. If banishment from our presence be a source of sorrow, which I do believe it is, the term of that banishment rests entirelywith thyself. The sooner we can hail the child of the Virgin, even asthou art now of our affections, the greater share of happiness wiltthou bestow upon us and upon thyself. We have heard that nought butharshness and severity can have effect on thy hardened race. It maybe, but with thee, at least, we will not use it, unless--" and hervoice and her look grew sufficiently stern for Marie to feel her wordswere no idle threat--"unless obduracy and ingratitude so conqueraffection that we can see no more in the Marie Morales we have lovedthan a hardened member of her own stiff-necked race; then--, but wewill not pain ourself or thee, by imagining what thine own will mayavert. Go, and the holy Virgin bless thee. Not a word; I know whatwill be thine answer now; but a month hence thou wilt thank me forthis seeming severity. "

And Isabella turned somewhat hastily away; for her lip quivered andher eye swelled. Marie did not see these indications of emotion, andsilently withdrew. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

 "I have lost for that Faith more than thou canst bestow, As the God who permits thee to prosper doth know. In His hand is my heart, and my hope; and in thine The land, and the life, which for Him I resign. "

 BYRON. 

Marie Morales had had many trials. Her life had been one of thosepainful mysteries, as to why such a being should have been thusexposed to scorn, which while on earth we vainly try to solve. Yet itis no imaginary picture: hundreds, aye thousands, of Israel's devotedrace have thus endured; in every age, in every clime, have beenexposed to martyrdom--not of the frame alone, but of the heart; doomedbut to suffer, and to die. And how may we reconcile these things withthe government of a loving father, save by the firm belief, which, blessed--thrice blessed--are those who feel; that, for such suffererson earth, a future of blessedness is laid up in another and lovelierworld--where there is no more sorrow, no more tears!

Her former trials had been sharp agony and strong excitement. Herpresent had neither the one nor the other; yet it was fraught with asheavy suffering, as any that had gone before it; even though she knewnot, guessed not, _all_ that depended upon her conversion. It wouldhave been comparatively easy to have endured, for her faith's sake, harshness and contempt; in such a case, self-respect rises to sustainus, and we value our own tenets the more, from their startlingcontrast with those which could command the cruelty we endure; butFather Denis used harshness neither of manner nor of words. Firmlyimpressed in his own mind, that it was utterly vain for a soul to hopefor salvation unless it believed in Jesus, the Virgin, the saints andholy martyrs; he brought heart and soul to his task; and the more hesaw of Marie, the more painfully did he deplore her blind infatuation, and the more ardently desire, to save her from the eternalperdition which, as a Jewess, must await her. He poured forth suchsoul-breathing petitions, for saving grace to be vouchsafed to her, inher hearing, that Marie felt as if she would have given worlds, onlyto realize the belief for which he prayed; but the more her heart waswrung, the more vividly it seemed that her own faith, the religion ofher fathers through a thousand ages, impressed itself upon her mindand heart, rendering it more and more impossible for her to forswearit, even at the very moment that weak humanity longed to do it, and sopurchase peace. Naturally so meek and yielding, so peculiarly aliveto the voice of sympathy and kindness, it was inexpressibly andharrowingly distressing to be thus compelled to resist both; to thinkalso of all Isabella's gentle, cherishing, and manifested affection;and to know that the only return she demanded, she dared not, mightnot give. To some dispositions these considerations would have been ofno weight whatever; to Marie they were so exquisitely painful, thatshe could scarcely understand how it was that, feeling them thusacutely, she could yet so clearly, so calmly, reply to Father Denis, bring argument for argument, and never waver in her steadfastadherence to, and belief in her own creed. The very lessons of heryouth, which she had thought forgotten in the varied trials whichhad been her portion since, returned with full--she fanciedsuperhuman--force and clearness to her mind, rendering even the verywish to embrace the Catholic religion, futile. There was a voicewithin her that _would_ be heard, aye above every human feeling, everystrong temptation. She could not drown its clear ringing tones; evenwhere her mental sufferings seemed to cloud and harrow up the brain, to the exclusion of every distinct idea, that voice would breathe itsthrilling whisper, telling her it was vain to hope it, she could notbe in heart a Catholic; and so she dared not be in words. 

A romance is no place for polemical discussion, and we will thereforeleave those painful arguments unrecorded. Suffice it, that Marie'sintimate acquaintance with the Holy Scriptures in their originaltongue--the language of her own people--gave her so decided anadvantage over the old monk, that, after nearly three months' trial, he sought his Sovereign, and, with the most touching humility, acknowledged his utter incapacity, for the conversion of Donna Marie, and implored her to dismiss him, and select one more fitted for thetask. 

Astonished, and bitterly disappointed, Isabella cross-questioned himas to the cause of this sudden feeling of incapacity, and his answersbut increased her desire to compel Marie to abandon Judaism, andbecome--in semblance at least, a Catholic; believing fully that, thisaccomplished, the Holy Spirit would do the rest, and she would atleast have saved her soul. She retained the father in the palace;desiring him to inform his charge that one fortnight's grace would beallowed her, to ponder on all the solemn truths he had advanced, andon her own decision whether she would not rather yield to kindness, than tempt the severity her obstinacy demanded; but, save thisenjoyment, he was to commune with her no further. With a tremblingspirit the Queen again sought the counsel of her confessor, andreported the information of the holy father. Torquemada listened, witha curling lip and contracted brow. He was not surprised, he said, for it was exactly what he had expected. It was a part of theirblaspheming creed, to blind by sorcery, the eyes and minds of allthose who had ever attempted to win them over by kind and reasonableargument. Father Denis had been bewitched, as all were, who everattempted to convert, by other than the harshest means. Her grace mustsee the necessity of severity, and surely could not refuse the usingit any longer. But Isabella did refuse, till her last resource hadbeen tried; and all she asked was, if she might hold forth a powerfultemporal temptation to obtain the end she so earnestly desired?Torquemada hesitated; but at length, on being told the severealternative which Isabella would enforce, if her first proposal wererejected, reluctantly acceded; still persisting that nothing but therack and the flame, or fatal expulsion, would ever purge Spain fromthe horrible infection of so poisonous a race. Isabella heard him witha shudder; but, thankful even for this ungracious sanction, waited, with, trembling impatience, the termination of the given fourteendays; hoping, aye praying in her meek, fervid piety, that the mistakenone might be softened to accept the proffered grace, or her own heartstrengthened to sacrifice all of personal feeling for the purifying byfire and consequent salvation, of that immortal soul now so fearfullyled astray. 

It was with little hope that the father again sought Marie. Bewitchedhe might be, but he was so impressed with the fervid earnestnessof her gentle spirit; with the lofty enthusiasm that dictated herdecision; so touched with the uncomplaining, but visible suffering, which it cost her to argue with, and reject the voice ofkindness--that it required a strong mental effort in the old man, torefrain from conjuring his Sovereign, to permit that misguided oneto remain unmolested, and wait, till time, and prayer, from those sointerested in her, should produce the desired effect. But this feelingwas so contrary to the spirit of the age, that it scarcely neededTorquemada's representations to convince him, that he was experiencingthe effect of the invisible sorcery with which the race of Israelalways blinded the eyes of their opponents. The kind old man was awedand silenced by his stern superior. Liberty of conscience was then athing unheard of; and therefore it was, that so much of the divinepart of our mingled nature was so completely concealed, that it lostalike effect or influence. It was not even the subjection of the weakto the strong; but the mere superiority of clerical rank. The truestand the noblest, the most enlarged mind, the firmest spirit wouldbend unresistingly to the simple word of a priest; and the purestand kindest impulses of our holier nature be annihilated, before thedictates of those, who were supposed to hold so infallibly, in theirsole keeping, the oracles of God. The spiritual in man was kept inrigid bondage; the divinity worshipped by the Catholics of that age, represented to the mass like the Egyptian idol, with a key upon hislips--his attributes, as his law, hid from them, or imparted by chosenpriests, who explained them only as suited their individual purposes. Is it marvel, then, that we should read of such awful acts committedin Religion's name by man upon his brother? or that we should see thepurest and loveliest characters led away by priestly influence tocommit deeds, from which now, the whole mind so recoils, that we turnaway disappointed and perplexed at the inconsistency, and refuse themeed of love and admiration to those other qualities, which wouldotherwise shine forth so unsullied? The inconsistency, the seemingcruelty and intolerance, staining many a noble one in the middle ages, were the effects of the fearful spirit of the time; but their virtueswere their own. Truth if sought, must triumph over prejudice. Byinspection and earnest study of facts--of _causes_, as well as of_events_, the mind disperses the mists of educational error, andenables us to do justice, even to the injurer; and enlarges andennobles our feelings towards one another; till we can attain thatperfection of true, spiritual charity, which would look on all men aschildren of one common parent. Liable, indeed, to be led astray byevil inclination, and yet more by evil circumstances; but still ourbrethren, in the divine part of our nature; which, however crushed, hidden, lost to earth, is still existing--still undying. For such isthe immortal likeness of our universal Father; in which He made man, and by which He marked mankind as brethren!

Marie's answer was as Father Denis feared. She had pondered on allhe had said, and the dread alternative awaiting her; but theimpossibility of embracing Catholicism was stronger than ever. Theunfeigned distress of the old monk pained and alarmed her, for itseemed to her as if he were conscious that some dreadful doom washanging over her, which he shrunk from revealing. She had not long toremain in that torturing suspense: a few hours later in the same day, she was summoned to Isabella's presence. The sensation of terror wasso intense as to render obedience, for the minute, utterly impossible. Every limb shook, and again came the wild longing for power to believeas they desired; for a momentary cessation of the voice of conscience, to embrace the proffered cross, and be at rest. But it _would not_cease; and, scarcely able to support herself, she stood before thedread Princess in whose hand was her earthly fate. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

 "She clasped her hands"!--the strife Of love--faith--fear, and the vain dream of life, Within her woman-heart so deeply wrought-- It seemed as if a reed, so slight and weak, _Must_, in the rending storm, not quiver only--break!

 MRS. HEMANS. 

Isabella's expressive countenance was grave and calm; but it wasimpossible to doubt the firmness of her purpose, though what thatpurpose might be, Marie had no power to read. She stood leaningagainst the back of one of the ponderous chairs; her head bent down, and her heart so loudly and thickly throbbing that it choked her verybreath. 

"We have summoned thee hither, Marie, " the Queen said at length, gravely, but not severely, "to hear from thine own lips the decisionwhich Father Denis has reported to us; but which, indeed, we canscarcely credit. Wert thou other than thou art--one whose heavy trialsand lovable qualities have bound thee to us with more than commonlove--we should have delivered thee over at once to the judgment ofour holy fathers, and interfered with their sentence no farther. Weare exposing ourselves to priestly censure even for the forbearancealready shown; but we will dare even that, to win thee from thineaccursed creed, and give thee peace and comfort. Marie canst _thou_share the ingratitude--the obstinacy--of thy benighted race, that evenwith thee we must deal harshly? Compel me not to a measure from whichmy whole heart revolts. Do not let me feel that the charge against thypeople is true, without even one exception, and that kindness shown tothem, is unvalued as unfelt. "

A convulsive sob was the sole reply. Marie's face was buried in herhands; but the tears were streaming through her slender fingers, andher slight figure shook with the paroxysm. 

"Nay, Marie, we ask not tears. We demand the proof of gratefulaffection on thy part; not its weak display. And what is that proof?The acceptance of a faith without which there can be no securityin this life, nor felicity hereafter! The rejection of a fearfullymistaken--terribly accursed--creed; condemning its followers to thescorn and hate of man, and abiding wrath of God. "

"'To the scorn and hate of man?' Alas, gracious Sovereign, it iseven so; but not to the 'abiding wrath of God, '" answered Marie, suppressing with a desperate effort, her painful emotion. "The veryscorn and loathing we encounter confirms the blessed truth, of ourhaving been the chosen children of our God, and the glorious promiseof our future restoration. We are enduring now on earth the effects ofthe fearful sins of our ancestors; but for those who live and die trueto His law, there is a future after death laid up with Him; that, howmay we forfeit for transitory joy?"

"If it were indeed so, we would be the last to demand such forfeit, "answered the Queen; "but were it not for the blinding veil of wilfulrejection cast over the eyes and hearts of thy people, thou wouldstknow and feel, that however thy race were _once_ the chosen of God, the distinction has been lost for ever, by their blaspheming rejectionof Jesus and his virgin mother; and the misery--its consequence--onearth, is but a faint type of that misery which is for everlasting. Itis from this we would save thee. Father Denis has brought before theethe solemn truths which our sainted creed advances, in reply to themystifying fallacies of thine; and, he tells me, wholly withouteffect. My arguments, then, can be of such little weight, that I havepledged myself to my confessor to attempt none. We summoned theemerely to tell our decision in this matter; of too vital importanceto be left to other lips. Once more let me ask--and understand theerightly!--have all the Holy Father's lessons failed to convince, evenas all our affection has failed to move, thee?"

"Would--would to Heaven I could believe as thou demandest!" answeredMarie. "Would that those lessons had brought conviction! The bitteragony of your Grace's displeasure--of feeling that, while my heart sothrobs and swells with grateful devotion that I would gladly die toserve thee, yet the proof thou demandest I _cannot_ give; and I mustgo down to an early grave, leaving with thee the sole impression thatthou hadst cherished a miserable ingrate, whom, even as thou hastloved, so thou must now hate and scorn. Oh, madam! try me by otherproof! My creed may be the mistaken one it seems to thee; but, oh!it is no garment we may wear and cast off at pleasure. Have mercy, gracious Sovereign! condemn me not as reprobate--hardened--moreinsensible than the veriest cur, who is grateful for the kindness ofhis master!--because I love my faith better even than thy love--thedearest earthly joy now left me. "

"Methinks scarcely the dearest, " replied Isabella, affected, in spiteof her every effort for control; "but of that here after. Marie, Ihave pledged myself to my confessor, not to let this matter rest. Hehas told me that my very affection for thee is a snare, and mustbe sacrificed if it interfere with my duty; not alone as member ofChrist's church, but as Sovereign of a Catholic realm, whose boundenduty it is to purge away all heresy and misbelief. I feel that he isright, and, cost what it may, Christ's dictates must be obeyed. Theyears of fraud--of passing for what thou wert not--I forgive, for thynoble husband's sake; but my confessor has told me, and I feel itstruth, that if we allow thy return to thy people as thou art now, wepermit a continuance of such unnatural unions, encourage fraud, and expose our subjects to the poisonous taint of Jewish blood andunbelief. A Christian thou must become. The plan we have decided uponmust bring conviction at last; but it will be attended with suchlong years of mental and physical suffering, that we shrink from thealternative, and only thine own obstinacy will force us to adopt it. "

She paused for above a minute; but though Marie's very lips hadblanched, and her large eyes were fixed in terror on the Queen's face, there was no answer. 

"Thou hast more than once alluded to death, " Isabella continued, her voice growing sterner; "but, though such may be the punishmentdemanded, we cannot so completely banish regard as to expose thy soul, as well as body, to undying flames. Thou hast heard, perchance, ofholy sisterhoods, who, sacrificing all of earthly joys and earthlyties, devote themselves as the willing brides of Christ, and passtheir whole lives in acts of personal penance, mortification, self-denial, and austerity; which to all, save those impelled try thissame lofty enthusiasm, would be unendurable. The convent of St. Ursulais the most strictly rigid and unpitying of this sternly rigid school;and there, if still thou wilt not retract, thou wilt be for lifeimmured, to learn that reverence, that submission, that belief, which thou refusest now. Ponder well on all the suffering which thissentence must comprise. It is even to us--a Christian--so dreadful, that we would not impose it, could we save thy deluded spirit by anyother means. The Abbess, from the strict and terrible discipline oflong years, has conquered every womanly weakness; and to a Jewessplaced under her charge, to be brought a penitent to the bosom ofthe Virgin, is not likely to decrease the severity of treatment anddiscipline, the portion even of her own. Once delivered to her charge, we interfere no further. Whatever she may command--short of actualtorture, or death--thou must endure. Marie! wilt thou tempt a doomlike this? In mercy to thyself, retract ere it be too late!"

"If I can bear the loss of thy favor, my Sovereign, I can bear this, "replied Marie, slowly and painfully. "There is more suffering in thethought, that your Grace's love is lost for ever; that I shall neversee your Highness more; and thou must ever think of me as only awretched, feelingless ingrate, than in all the bodily and mentalanguish such a life may bring. "

"Marie!" exclaimed Isabella, with an irrepressible burst of naturalfeeling. And Marie had darted forwards, and was kneeling at her feet, and covering her hand with tears and kisses, ere she had power toforcibly subdue the emotion and speak again. 

"This must not be, " she said at length; but she did not withdraw thehand which Marie still convulsively clasped, and, half unconsciouslyit seemed, she put back the long, black tresses, which had fallen overher colorless cheek, looked sadly in that bowed face, and kissedher brow. "It is the last, " she murmured to herself. "It may bethe effects of sorcery--it may be sin; but if I do penance for theweakness, it must have way. "

"Thou hast heard the one alternative, " she continued aloud; "now hearthe other. We have thought long, and watched well, some means ofeffectually obliterating the painful memories of the past, and makingthy life as happy as it has been sad. We have asked and receivedpermission from our confessor to bring forward a temporal inducementfor a spiritual end; that even the affections themselves may be madeconducive to turning a benighted spirit from the path of death intothat of life; and, therefore, we may proceed more hopefully. Marie! isthere not a love thou valuest even more than mine? Nay, attempt notto deny a truth, which we have known from the hour we told thee thatArthur Stanley was thy husband's murderer. What meant those wild wordsimploring me to save him? For what was the avowal of thy faith, butthat thy witness should not endanger him? Why didst thou return todanger when safety was before thee?--peril thine own life but to savehis? Answer me truly: thou lovest Stanley, Marie?"

"I have loved him, gracious Sovereign. "

"And thou dost no longer? Marie, methinks there would be less wrongin loving now, than when we first suspected it, " rejoined the Queen, gravely. 

"Alas! my liege, who may school the heart? He was its first--firstaffection! But, oh! my Sovereign, I never wronged my noble husband. Heknew it all ere he was taken from me, and forgave and loved me still;and, oh! had he been but spared, even memory itself would have lostits power to sting. His trust, his love, had made me all--all hisown!"

"I believe thee, my poor child; but how came it that, loving Stanley, thy hand was given to Morales?"

For the first time, the dangerous ground on which she stood flashed onthe mind of Marie; and her voice faltered as she answered--"My fatherwilled it, Madam. "

"Thy father! And was he of thy faith, yet gave his child to one ofus?"

"He was dying, Madam, and there was none to protect his Marie. Heloved and admired him to whom he gave me; for Ferdinand had neverscorned nor persecuted us. He had done us such good service that myfather sought to repay him; but he would accept nothing but my hand, and swore to protect my faith--none other would have made suchpromise. I was weak, I know, and wrong; but I dared not then confess Iloved another. And, once his wife, it was sin even to think of Arthur. Oh, Madam! night and day I prayed that we might never meet, till allof love was conquered. "

"Poor child, " replied Isabella, kindly. "But, since thou wert oncemore free, since Stanley was cleared of even the suspicion of guilt, has no former feeling for him returned! He loves thee, Marie, withsuch faithful love as in man I have seldom seen equalled; why checkaffection now?"

"Alas! my liege, what may a Jewess be to him; or his love to me, saveas the most terrible temptation to estrange me from my God?"

"Say rather to gently lure thee to Him, Marie, " replied Isabella, earnestly. "There is a thick veil between thy heart and thy God now;let the love thou bearest this young Englishman be the blessed meansof removing it, and bringing thee to the sole source of salvation, theSaviour Stanley worships. One word--one little word--from thee, andthou shalt be Stanley's wife! His own; dearer than ever from thetrials of the past. Oh! speak it, Marie! Let me feel I have saved theefrom everlasting torment, and made this life--in its deep, calm joy--aforetaste of the heaven that, as a Christian, will await thee above. Spare Stanley--aye, and thy Sovereign--the bitter grief of losing theefor ever!"

"Would--would I could!" burst wildly from the heart-stricken Marie;and she wrung her hands in that one moment of intense agony, andlooked up in the Queen's face, with an expression of sufferingIsabella could not meet. "Would that obedience, conviction, could comeat will! His wife?--Stanley's. To rest this desolate heart on his? Toweep upon his bosom?--feel his arm around me?--his love protect me? Tobe his--all his? And only on condition of speaking one little word?Oh! why can I not speak it? Why will that dread voice sound within, telling me I dare not--cannot--for I do not believe? How dare I takethe Christians's vow, embrace the cross, and in my heart remain aJewess still?"

"Embrace the cross, and conviction will follow, " replied the Queen. "This question we have asked of Father Tomas, and been assured thatthe vows of baptism once taken, grace will be found from on high; andto the _heart_, as well as _lip_, conversion speedily ensue. Forswear the blaspheming errors of thy present creed--consent to bebaptized--and that very hour sees thee Stanley's wife!"

"No, no, no!--Oh! say not such words again! My liege, my graciousliege, tempt not this weak spirit more!" implored Marie, in fearfulagitation. "Oh! if thou hast ever loved me, in mercy spare me this!"

"In mercy is it that we do thus speak, unhappy girl. " repliedIsabella, with returning firmness; for she saw the decisive moment hadcome. "We have laid both alternatives before thee; it rests with theealone to make thine own election. Love on earth and joy in Heaven, depends upon one word: refuse to speak it, and thou knowest thy doom!"

It was well, perhaps, for Marie's firmness, that the Queen's appealingtone had given place to returning severity; it recalled the departingstrength--the sinking energy--the power once more to _endure!_ Forseveral minutes there was no sound: Marie had buried her face in herhands, and remained--half kneeling, half crouching--on the cushion atthe Queen's feet, motionless as stone; and Isabella--internally asagitated as herself--was, under the veil of unbending sternness, struggling for control. The contending emotions sweeping over thatfrail woman-heart in that fearful period of indecision we pretend notto describe: again and again the terrible temptation came, to say butthe desired word, and happiness was hers--such intense happiness, thather brain reeled beneath its thought of ecstasy; and again and againit was driven back by that thrilling voice--louder than ever in itscall--to remain faithful to her God. It was a fearful contest; andwhen she did look up, Isabella started; so terribly was its indexinscribed on those white and chiselled features. 

She rose slowly, and stood before the Sovereign, her hands tightlyclasped together, and the veins on her forehead raised like cordsacross it. Three times she tried to speak; but only unintelligiblemurmurs came, and her lips shook as with convulsion. "It is over, "she said at length, and her usually sweet voice sounded harsh andunnatural. "The weakness is conquered, gracious Sovereign, condemn, scorn, hate me as thou wilt, thou must: I must endure it till myheart breaks, and death brings release; but the word thou demandest I_cannot_ speak! Thy favor, Arthur's love, I resign them all! 'Tis thebidding of my God, and he will strengthen me to bear it. Imprison, torture, slay, with the lingering misery of a broken heart, but Icannot deny my faith!"

Disappointed, grieved, as she was at this unexpected reply, Isabellawas too much an enthusiast in religion herself not to understand thefeeling which dictated it; and much as she still abhorred the faith, the martyr spirit which could thus immolate the most fervid, themost passionate emotions of woman's nature at the shrine of her God, stirred a sympathetic chord in her own heart, and so moved her, thatthe stern words she had intended to speak were choked within her. 

"We must summon those then to whose charge we are pledged to committhee, " she said with difficulty; and hastily rung a silver bell besideher. "We had hoped such would not have been needed; but, as it is--"

She paused abruptly; for the hangings were hastily pushed aside, and, instead of the stern figure of Torquemada, who was to have obeyed thesignal, the Infanta Isabella eagerly entered; and ran up to the Queen, with childish and caressing glee at being permitted to rejoin her. The confessor--not imagining his presence would be needed, or that hewould return to his post in time--had restlessly obeyed the summons ofa brother prelate, and, in some important clerical details, forgot themandate of his Sovereign. 

Marie saw the softened expression of the Queen's face; the ineffectualeffort to resist her child's caresses, and retain her sternness: and, with a sudden impulse, she threw herself at her feet. 

"Oh! do not turn from me, my Sovereign!" she implored, wildly claspingIsabella's knees. "I ask nothing--nothing, but to return to mychildhood's home, and die there! I ask not to return to my people; theywould not receive me, for I have dared to love the stranger; but in myown isolated home, where but two aged retainers of my father dwell, Ican do harm to none--mingle with none; let me bear a breaking heart fora brief--brief while; and rest beside my parents. I will swear to theenever to quit that place of banishment--swear never more to mingle witheither thy people or with mine--to be as much lost to man, as if thegrave had already closed over me, or convent walls immured me! Oh, Madam! grant me but this! Will it not be enough of suffering to give upArthur?--to tear myself from thy cherishing love?--to bear my miseryalone? Leave me, oh! leave me but my faith--the sole joy, sole hope, nowleft me! Give me not up to the harsh, and cruel father--the stern motherof St. Ursula! If I can sacrifice love, kindness--all that would makeearth a heaven--will harshness gain thine end? Plead for me, " shecontinued, addressing the infant-princess, who, as if affected by thegrief she beheld, had left her mother to cling round Marie caressingly;"plead for me, Infanta! Oh, Madam! the fate of war might place thisbeloved and cherished one in the hands of those who regard thy faitheven as thou dost mine; were such an alternative proffered, how wouldstthou she should decide? My Sovereign, my gracious Sovereign, oh, havemercy!"

"Mamma! dear Mamma!" repeated the princess at the same moment, andaware that her intercession was required, though unable to comprehendthe wherefore, she clasped her little hands entreatingly; "grant poorMarie what she wishes! You have told me a Queen's first duty is to bekind and good; and do all in her power to make others happy. Make herhappy, dear Mamma, she has been so sad!"

The appeal to Isabella's nature was irresistible; she caught her childto her heart, and burst into passionate tears. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

 "I will have vengeance! I'll crush thy swelling pride! I'll still thy vaunting! I'll do a deed of blood! Now all idle forms are over-- Now open villany, now open hate-- Defend thy life!"

 JOANNA BAILLIE. 

 "Let me but look upon 'her' face once more-- Let me but say farewell, my soul's beloved, And I will bless thee still. "

 MRS. HEMANS. 

Some time had elapsed since King Ferdinand and his splendid army hadquitted Saragossa. He himself had not as yet headed any importantexpedition, but fixing his head-quarters at Seville, dispatched thencevarious detachments under experienced officers, to make sallies on theMoors, who had already enraged the Christian camp by the capture ofZahara. Arthur Stanley was with the Marquis of Cadiz, when this insultwas ably avenged by the taking of Albania, a most important post, situated within thirty miles of the capital. The Spaniards tookpossession of the city, massacred many of the inhabitants, placedstrong restrictions on those who surrendered, and strongly garrisonedevery tower and fort. Nor were they long inactive: the Moors resolvedto retake what they considered the very threshold of their capital;hastily assembled their forces, and regularly entered upon the siege. 

While at Seville, the camp of Ferdinand had been joined by severalforeign chevaliers, amongst whom was an Italian knight, who hadexcited the attention and curiosity of many of the younger Spaniardsfrom the mystery environing him. He was never seen without his armor. His helmet always closed, keeping surlily aloof, he never mingled inthe brilliant jousts and tournaments of the camp, except when ArthurStanley chanced to be one of the combatants: he was then sure to befound in the lists, and always selected the young Englishman as hisopponent. At first this strange pertinacity was regarded more as acurious coincidence than actual design; but it occurred so often, thatat length it excited remark. Arthur himself laughed it off, suggestingthat the Italian had perhaps some grudge against England, and wishedto prove the mettle of her sons. The Italian deigned no explanation, merely saying that he supposed the Spanish jousts were governed by thesame laws as others, and he was therefore at liberty to choose his ownopponent. But Arthur was convinced that some cause existed for thismysterious hostility. Not wishing to create public confusion, hecontended himself by keeping a watch upon his movements. He found, however, that he did not watch more carefully than he was watched, and incensed at length, he resolved on calling his enemy publicly toaccount for his dishonorable conduct. This, however, he found mucheasier in theory than practice. The wily Italian, as if aware of hisintentions, skilfully eluded them; and as weeks passed without anyrecurrence of their secret attacks. Stanley, guided by his own frankand honorable feelings, believed his suspicions groundless, anddismissed them altogether. On the tumultuary entrance of theSpaniards, however, these suspicions were re-excited. Separated by thepress of contending warriors from the main body of his men, Stanleyplunged headlong into the thickest battalion of Moors, intending tocut his way through them to the Marquis of Cadiz, who was at thatmoment entering the town. His unerring arm and lightness of movementbore him successfully onward. A very brief space divided him from hisfriends: the spirited charger on which he rode, cheered by his handand voice, with one successful bound cleared the remaining impedimentsin his way, but at that moment, with a piercing cry of suffering, sprung high in the air and fell dead, nearly crushing his astonishedmaster with his weight. Happily for Stanley, the despairing anguish ofthe Moors at that moment at its height, from the triumphant entry ofthe Spaniards into their beloved Albania, aggravated by the shrieksof the victims in the unsparing slaughter, effectually turned theattention of those around him from his fall. He sprung up, utterlyunable to account for the death of his steed: the dastard blow hadbeen dealt from behind, and no Moor had been near but those in front. He looked hastily round him: a tall figure was retreating through thethickening _melée_, whose dull, red armor, and deep, black plume, discovered on the instant his identity. Arthur's blood tingled withjust indignation, and it was with difficulty that he restrainedhimself from following, and demanding on the instant, and at thesword's point, the meaning of the deed. 

The sudden start, and muttered execration of the Italian, as Stanleyjoined the victorious group around the Marquis, convinced him that hisreappearance, and unhurt, was quite contrary to his mysterious enemy'sintention. The exciting events of the siege which followed, thealternate hope and fear of the Spaniards, reduced to great distressby the Moors having succeeded in turning the course of a river whichsupplied the city with water, and finally, the timely arrival ofsuccors under the Duke of Medina Sidonia, which compelled the Moors toraise the siege and disperse--the rejoicing attendant on so great andalmost unexpected a triumph, all combined to prevent any attention toindividual concerns. The Italian had not crossed Arthur's path again, except in the general attack or defence; and Stanley found thebest means of conquering his own irritation towards such secretmachinations, was to treat them with indifference and contempt. 

The halls of Alhama were of course kept strongly manned; and a guard, under an experienced officer, constantly occupied the summit of alofty tower, situated on a precipitous height which commanded aview of the open country for miles, and overlooked the most distantapproach of the Moors. As was usual to Moorish architecture, the towerhad been erected on a rock, which on one side shelved down so straightand smooth, as to appear a continuance of the tower-wall, but formingfrom the battlements a precipice some thousand feet in depth. Thestrongest nerve turned sick and giddy to look beneath, and the side ofthe tower overlooking it was almost always kept unguarded. 

It was near midnight when Stanley, who was that night on command, after completing his rounds, and perceiving every sentinel on duty, found himself unconsciously on the part of the tower we have named. So pre-occupied was his mind, that he looked beneath him withoutshrinking; and then retracing his steps some twenty or thirty yardsfrom the immediate and unprotected edge, wrapped his mantle closelyround him, and lying down, rested his head on his arm, and permittedthe full dominion of thought. He was in that dreamy mood, when thesilence and holiness of nature is so much more soothing than even thedearest sympathy of man; when every passing cloud and distant star, and moaning wind, speaks with a hundred tongues, and the immaterialspirit holds unconscious commune with beings invisible, and immaterialas itself. Above his head, heavy clouds floated over the dark azure ofthe heavens, sometimes totally obscuring the mild light of the fullmoon; at others merely shrouding her beams in a transparent veil, from which she would burst resplendently, sailing majestically along, seeming the more light and lovely from the previous shade. Onebrilliant planet followed closely on her track, and as the dark massesof clouds would rend asunder, portions of the heavens, studded withglittering stars, were visible, seeming like the gemmed dome of somemighty temple, whose walls and pillars, shrouded in black drapery, were lost in the distance on either side. Gradually, Stanley'sthoughts became indistinct; the stars seemed to lose their radiance, as covered by a light mist; a dark cloud appearing, in his halfdormant fancy, to take the gigantic proportions of a man, hovered onthe battlement. It became smaller and smaller, but still it seemeda cloud, through which the moonlight gleamed; but a thrill passedthrough him, as if telling of some impalpable and indefinable objectof dread. With a sudden effort he shook off the lethargy of halfsleep, and sprung to his feet, at the very moment a gleaming sword waspointed at his throat. "Ha, villain! at thy murderous work again!" heexclaimed, and another moment beheld him closed in deadly conflictwith his mysterious foe. A deep and terrible oath, and then a mockinglaugh, escaped his adversary; and something in those sounds, nervedStanley's arms with resistless power: he was sure he could not bemistaken, and he fought, not with the unguarded desire of one eagerto obtain satisfaction for personal injury--but he was calm, cool, collected, as threefold an avenger. For once, the demon-like cautionof the supposed Italian deserted him: discovery was inevitable, andhis sole aim was to compass the death of the hated foreigner with hisown. He tried gradually to retreat to the very edge of the precipice, and Stanley's calm and cautious avoidance of the design lashed himinto yet fiercer desperation. Thick and fast, fell those tremendousblows. The Italian had the advantage in height and size, Stanley insteady coolness and prudent guard; the Italian sought only to slay hisadversary, caring not to defend himself; Arthur evidently endeavoredmerely to unhelm the traitor, and bring him but slightly wounded tothe ground. For several minutes there was no cessation in that fearfulclash of steel; the strokes were so rapid, so continued, a hundredcombatants might have seemed engaged. A moment they drew back, as ifto breathe; the Italian, with a despairing effort, raised his weaponand sprung forwards; Arthur lightly leaped aside, and the murderousstroke clove but the yielding earth. Another second, and ere theItalian had regained his equilibrium, Arthur's sword had descendedwith so true and sure a stroke that the clasp of the helmet gave way, the dark blood bubbled up from the cloven brow, he reeled and fell;and a long, loud shout from the officers and soldiers, who, at thesound of arms, had flocked round, proclaimed some stronger feelingthan simply admiration of Stanley's well-known prowess. 

"Seize him! seize him! or by Heaven he will escape us yet!" were amongthe few words intelligible. "The daring villain, to come amongst us!Did he think for ever to elude Heaven's vengeance? Bind, fetter, holdhim; or his assistant fiends will release him still!"

Fiercely the fallen man had striven to extricate himself; butStanley's knee moved not from his breast, nor his sword from histhroat, until a strong guard had raised and surrounded him: "but thehorrible passions imprinted on those lived features were such, thathis very captors turned away shuddering. 

"Hadst thou not had enough of blood and crime, thou human monster, that thou wouldst stain thy already blackened soul with, anothermidnight murder?" demanded Stanley, as he sternly confronted hisbaffled foe. "Don Luis Garcia, as men have termed thee, what claimhave I on thy pursuing and unchanging hate? With what dost thou chargeme? What wrong?"

"Wrong!" hoarsely and fiercely repeated Don Louis. "The wrong ofbaffled hate; of success, when I planned thy downfall; of escape, when I had sworn thy death! Did the drivelling idiots, who haunted, persecuted, excommunicated me from these realms, as some loathedreptile, dream that I would draw back from my sworn vengeance for suchas they? Poor, miserable fools, whom the first scent of danger wouldturn aside from the pursuit of hate! I staked my life on thine, andthe stake is lost; but what care I? My hate shall follow thee; witherthy bones with its curse; poison every joy; blight every hope; ranklein thy life blood! Bid thee seek health, and bite the dust for anguishbecause it flies thee! And for me. Ha, ha! Men may think to judgeme--torture, triumph, slay! Well, let them. " And with a movement sosudden and so desperate, that to avert it was impossible, he burstfrom the grasp of his guards; and with one spring, stood firm andtriumphant on the farthest edge of the battlement. "Now follow me whodares!" he exclaimed; and, with a fearful mocking laugh; flung himselfheadlong down, ere the soldiers had recovered his first suddenmovement. Stanley alone retained presence of mind sufficient to dartforward, regardless of his own imminent danger, in the vain hope ofarresting the leap; but quick as were his movements, he only reachedthe brink in time to see the wretched man, one moment quivering inair, and lost the next in a dark abyss of shade. 

A cry of mingled disappointment, horror, and execration, burst fromall around; and several of the soldiers hastened from the battlementsto the base of the rock, determined on fighting the arch-fiendhimself, if, as many of them firmly believed, he had rendered Don Luisinvulnerable to air, and would wait there to receive him. But eventhis heroic resolution was disappointed: the height was so tremendous, and the velocity of the fall so frightful, that the action of the airhad not only deprived him of life, but actually loosed the limbs fromthe trunk, and a fearfully mangled corpse was all that remained toglut the vengeance of the infuriated soldiers. 

The confusion and excitement attending this important event, spreadlike wildfire; not only over Albania, but reaching to the Duke's campwithout the city. To send off the momentous information to theKing, was instantly decided upon; and young Stanley, as the personprincipally concerned, selected for the mission. 

Ferdinand was astonished and indignant, and greatly disappointedthat justice had been so eluded; but that such a monster, whosemachinations seemed, in their subtlety and secrecy, to prevent alldefeat, no longer cumbered Spain, was in itself a relief so great bothto monarch and people, as after the first burst of indignation tocause universal rejoicings. 

It so happened that Ferdinand had been desirous of Stanley's presencefor some weeks; letters from Isabella, some little time previous, hadexpressed an earnest desire for the young man's return to Saragossa, if only for a visit of a few days. This was then impossible. Threemonths had elapsed since Isabella's first communication; within thelast two she had not again reverted to Stanley; but the King, thinkingshe had merely refrained from doing so, because of its presentimpossibility, gladly seized the opportunity of his appearance atSeville, to dispatch him, as envoy extraordinary, on both public andprivate business, to the court of Arragon. 

Isabella was surrounded by her ministers and nobles when Stanleywas conducted to her presence; she received him with cordiality andgraciousness, asked many and eager questions concerning her husbandand the progress of his arms, entered minutely into the affair of DonLuis, congratulated him on his having been the hand destined to unmaskthe traitor and bring him low; gave her full attention on the instantto the communications from the King, with which he was charged;occupied some hours in earnest and thoughtful deliberation with hercounsel, which, on perusal of the King's papers, she had summoneddirectly. And yet, through all this, Arthur fancied there was an evenunusual degree of sympathy and kindliness in the tone and look withwhich she addressed him individually; but he felt intuitively itwas sympathy with sorrow, not with joy. He was convinced that hisunexpected presence had startled and almost grieved her; and whyshould this be, if she had still the hope with which she had soinfused his spirit, when they had parted. His heart, so full ofelasticity a few hours previous, sunk chilled and pained within him, and it was with an effort impossible to have been denied, had it notbeen for the Queen's _unspoken_ but real sympathy; he roused himselfsufficiently to execute his mission. 

But Isabella was too much the true and feeling woman, to permit theday to close without the private interview she saw Stanley needed;reality, sad as it was, she felt would be better than harrowingsuspense; and, in a few kindly words, the tale was told. 

"I should have known it!" he exclaimed, when the first shock of bitterdisappointment permitted words. "My own true, precious Marie! Howdared I dream that for me thou wouldst sacrifice thy faith; all, allelse--joy, hope, strength; aye, life itself--but not thy God! Oh, Madam, " he continued, turning passionately to the Queen, "thou hastnot condemned her to misery for this! Thou hast not revoked thy formerheavenly mercy, and delivered her over to the stern fathers of ourholy church? No, no! Isabella could not have done this!"

"Nor have we, " replied the Queen, so mildly that Arthur flung himself ather feet, conjuring her to pardon his disrespectful words. "Give her tothee, without retracting her fearful misbelief, indeed we dared not, butfurther misery has not been inflicted. We have indeed done penance forour weakness, severe penance; for Father Tomas asserts that we have mostgrievously sinned; and more, have pledged ourselves most solemnly, thatwhat he may counsel for the entire uprooting of this horrible heresy, and accursed race, shall be followed, cost what it may, politically orprivately; but to refuse the last boon of the unhappy girl, who had sostrangely, perchance so bewilderingly, wound herself about myheart--Stanley, I must have changed my nature first!"

"Her last boon! Gracious Sovereign--"

"Nay, her last to her Sovereign, my friend. It may be that even yether errors may be abjured, and grace be granted in her solitude, tobecome in this world as the next, what we have prayed for; but we darenot hope it; nor must thou. She besought permission to return to thehome of her childhood, pledging herself never to leave it, or minglewith her people or ours more. "

"And she is there! God in Heaven bless, reward your Highness for themercy!" burst impetuously from Arthur. "I trust she is, nay, I believeit; for Jewess as she is, she would not pledge me false. In the garbof the novice, as she saved thee, Father Denis conducted her to thefrontiers of Castile. More we know not, for we asked not the site ofher home. "

There was a few minutes' pause, and then, with beseeching eloquence, Arthur conjured the Sovereign to let him see her once, but once again. He asked no more, but he felt as if he could not sustain the agony ofeternal separation, without one last, last interview. He pledged hishonor, that no temptation of a secret union should interfere with thesentence of the Queen; that both would submit; only to permit themonce more to meet again. 

Isabella hesitated, but not for long. Perhaps the secret hope arosethat Stanley's presence would effect that for which all else hadfailed; or that she really could not resist his passionate pleadings. 

"One word of retraction, and even now she is thine. --And I will blessthee that thou gavest her to me again, " she said in parting; but herown spirit told her the hope was vain. 

Half an hour after this agitating interview Arthur Stanley was againon horseback, a deep hectic on either cheek; his eye bloodshot andstrained, traversing with the speed of lightning the open country, inthe direction of Castile. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

 "Oh! love, love, strong as death--from such an hour Pressing out joy by thine immortal power; Holy and fervent love! Had earth but rest For thee and thine, this world were all too fair: How could we thence be weaned to die without despair!

 "But woe for him who felt that heart grow still Which with its weight of agony had lain Breaking on his. Scarce could the mortal chill Of the hushed bosom, ne'er to heave again, And all the curdling silence round the eye, Bring home the stern belief that she could die. "

 MRS. HEMANS. 

The glowing light of a glorious sunset lingered on the Vale of Cedars, displaying that calm and beautiful retreat in all the fair and richluxuriance of former years. Reuben and Ruth, the aged retainers of thehouse of Henriquez, had made it their pride and occupation to preservethe cherished retreat, lovely as it had been left. Nor were they itsonly inmates; their daughter, her husband, and children, after variousstruggles in the Christian world, had been settled in the Vale by thebenevolence of Ferdinand Morales--their sole duty, to preserve it insuch order, as to render it a fitting place of refuge for any whoshould need it. Within the last twelve months, another inmate had beenadded to them. Weary of his wanderings, and of the constant course ofdeception which his apparent profession of a monk demanded, JulienMorales had returned to the home of his childhood, there to fixhis permanent abode; only to make such excursions from it, as theinterests of his niece might demand. Her destiny was his sole anxiousthought. Her detention by Isabella convinced him that her disguise hadbeen penetrated, and filled him with solicitude for her spiritual, yetmore than her temporal welfare. Royal protection of a Jewess wasso unprecedented, that it could only argue the hope--nay, perhapsconviction--of her final conversion. And the old man actually tried todivorce the sweet image of his niece from his affections, so convincedwas he that her unhappy love for Arthur, combined with Isabella'sauthority, and, no doubt, the threat of some terrible alternativeshould she refuse, would compel her acceptance of the proffered cross, and so sever them for ever. How little can man, even the most gentleand affectionate, read woman!

It was the day completing the eleventh month after Don Ferdinand'smurder, when Julien Morales repaired earlier than usual to the littletemple, there to read the service for the dead appointed for the day, and thence proceeded to his nephew's grave. An unusual object, whichhad fallen on, or was kneeling beside the grave, caught his eye, andimpelled him to quicken his pace. His heart throbbed as he recognizedthe garb of a novice, and to such a degree as almost to deprive him ofall power, as in the white, chiselled features, resting on the cold, damp sod, he recognized his niece, and believed, for the firstagonizing moment, that it was but clay resting against clay; and thatthe sweet, pure spirit had but guided her to that grave and flown. Butdeath for a brief interval withdrew his grasp; though his shaft hadreached her, and no human hand could draw it back. Father Denis hadconducted her so carefully and tenderly to the frontiers of Castile, that she had scarcely felt fatigue, and encountered no exposure to theelements; but when he left her, her desire to reach her home becamestronger, with the seeming physical incapacity to do so. Her spiritgave way, and mental and bodily exhaustion followed. The season wasunusually damp and tempestuous, and, though scarcely felt at the time, sowed the seeds of cold and decline, from which her naturally goodconstitution might, in the very midst of her trials, otherwise havesaved her. Her repugnance to encounter the eyes or speech of herfellows, lest her disguise should be penetrated, caused her to shrinkfrom entering any habitation, except for the single night whichintervened, between the period of the father's leaving her and herreaching the secret entrance to the Vale. Her wallet provided her withmore food than her parched throat could swallow; and for the consumingthirst, the fresh streams that so often bubbled across her path, gaveher all she needed. The fellowship of man, then, was unrequited, and, as the second night fell, so comparatively short a distance laybetween her and her home, that buoyed up by the desire to reach it, she was not sensible of her utter exhaustion, till she stood withinthe little graveyard of the Vale; and the moon shining softly andclearly on the headstones, disclosed to her the grave of her husband. She was totally ignorant that he had been borne there; and the rushof feeling which came over her, as she read his name--the memories oftheir happy, innocent, childhood, of all his love for her--that had hebeen but spared, all the last year's misery might have been averted, for she would have loved him, ay, even as he loved her; and he wouldhave guarded, saved--so overpowered her, that she had sunk down uponthe senseless earth which covered him, conscious only of the wild, sickly longing, like him to flee away and be at rest. She had reachedher home; exertion no longer needed, the unnatural strength, ebbedfast, and the frail tenement withered, hour by hour, away. And howmight Julien mourn! Her work on earth was done. Young, tried, frailas she was, she had been permitted to show forth the glory, thesustaining glory, of her faith, by a sacrifice whose magnitude wasindeed apparent, but whose depth and intensity of suffering, none knewbut Him for whom it had been made. She had been preserved from thecrime--if possible more fearful in the mind of the Hebrew than anyother--apostacy: and though the first conviction, that she was indeed"passing away" even from his affection, was fraught with absoluteanguish, yet her uncle could not, dared not pray for life on earth. And in the peace, the calm, the depth, of quietude which graduallysunk on her heart, infusing her every word and look and gentle smile, it was as if her spirit had already the foretaste of that blissfulheaven for which its wings were plumed. As the frame dwindled, theexpression of her sweet face became more and more unearthly in itsexquisite beauty, the mind more and more beatified, and the heart morefreed from earthly feeling. The reward of her constancy appeared inpart bestowed on earth, for death itself was revealed to her--not asthe King of Terrors, but as an Angel of Light, at whose touch thelingering raiment of mortality would dissolve, and the freed soulspring up rejoicing to its home. 

It was the Feast of the Tabernacle and the Sabbath eve. Thetent--formed of branches of thick trees and fragrant shrubs--waserected, as we have seen it in a former page, a short distance fromthe temple. Marie's taste had once again, been consulted in itsdecorations; her hand, feeble as it was, had twined the lovelywreaths of luscious flowers and arranged the glowing fruit. With somedifficulty she had joined in the devotional service performed by heruncle in the little temple--borne there in the arms of old Reuben, forher weakness now prevented walking--and on the evening of the Sabbathin the Festival, she reclined on one of the luxurious couches withinthe tent, through the opening of which, she could look forth on thevaried beauties of the Vale, and the rich glorious hues dyeing thewestern skies. The Sabbath lamps were lighted, but their rays werefaint and flickering in the still glowing atmosphere. A crimson rayfrom the departing luminary gleamed through the branches, and a faintglow--either from its reflection, or from that deceiving beauty, whichtoo often gilds the features of the dying--rested on Marie's features, lighting up her large and lustrous eyes with unnatural brilliance. Shehad been speaking earnestly of that life beyond the grave, belief inwhich throughout her trials had been her sole sustainer. Julien hadlistened, wrapt and almost awe-struck, so completely did it seem as ifthe spirit, and not the mortal, spoke. 

"And thine own trials, my beloved one, " he said, --"Has the questionnever come, why thou shouldst thus have been afflicted?"

"Often, very often, my father, and only within the last few weeks hasthe full answer come; and I can say from my inmost heart, in the wordsof Job, 'It is good that I have been afflicted, ' and that I believeall is well. While _on_ earth, we must be in some degree _of_ earth, and bear the penalty of our earthly nature. The infirmities andimperfections of that nature in others, as often as in ourselves, occasion human misery, which our God, in his infinite love, permits, to try our spirit's strength and faith, and so prepare us for thathigher state of being, in which the spirit will move and act, whenthe earthly shell is shivered, and earthly infirmities are for everstilled. In the time of suffering we cannot think thus; but lookingback as I do now--when the near vicinity of another world bids meregard my own past life almost as if it were another's--I feel it inmy inmost heart, and bless God for every suffering which has preparedme thus early for his home. There is but one feeling, one wishof earth, remaining, " she continued, after a long pause of utterexhaustion. "It is weak, perhaps, and wrong; but if--if Arthur couldbut know that fatal secret which made me seem a worse deceiver thanI was--I know it cannot be, but it so haunts me. If I wedded oneChristian, may he not think there needed not this sacrifice--sacrificenot of myself, but of his happiness. Oh! could I but--Hush! whose stepis that?" she suddenly interrupted herself; and with the effort ofstrong excitement, started up, and laid her hand on her uncle's arm. 

"Nay, my child, there is no sound, " he replied soothingly, afterlistening attentively for several moments. 

"But there is. Hark, dost thou not hear it now? God of mercy! thouhast heard my prayer--it is _his_!" she exclaimed, sinking powerlesslyback, at the moment that even Julien's duller ear had caught a rapidstep; and in another minute the branches were hastily pushed aside, and Stanley indeed stood upon the threshold. 

"Marie--and thus!" he passionately exclaimed; and flinging himselfon his knees beside her, he buried his face on her hand, and wept inagony. 

 * * * * *

Nearly an hour passed ere Marie could rally from the agitation ofArthur's unexpected presence sufficiently to speak. She lay with herhand clasped in his, and his arm around her--realizing, indeed, to thefull, the soothing consolation of his presence, but utterly powerlessto speak that for which she had so longed to see him once again. Theextent of her weakness had been unknown till that moment either toher uncle or herself, and Julien watched over her in terror lest theindefinable change which in that hour of stillness was perceptiblystealing over her features should be indeed the dim shadow of death. To Arthur speech was equally impossible, save in the scarcelyarticulate expressions of love and veneration which he lavished onher. What he had hoped in thus seeking her he could not himself havedefined. His whole soul was absorbed in the wild wish to see heragain, and the thoughts of death for her had never entered his heart. The shock, then, had been terrible, and to realize the infinite mercywhich thus bade sorrow cease, was in such a moment impossible. Hecould but gaze and clasp her closer and closer, yet, as if even deathshould be averted by his love. 

"Uncle Julien, " she murmured, as she faintly extended her hand towardshim, "thou wilt not refuse to clasp hands with one who has so lovedthy Marie! And thou, Arthur, oh! scorn him not. Without him theinvisible dungeons of the Inquisition would have been my grave, andthine that of a dishonored knight and suspected murderer. "

The eyes of her companions met, and their hands were grasped in thatfirm pressure, betraying unity of feeling, and reciprocal esteem, which need no words. 

"Raise me a little, dearest Arthur; uncle Julien" put back thatspreading bough. I would say something more, and the fresher air maygive me strength. Ah! the evening breeze is so fresh and sweet; italways makes me feel as if the spirits of those we loved were hoveringnear us. We hold much closer and dearer communion with the beloveddead in the calm twilight than in the garish day. Arthur, dearest, thou wilt think of me sometimes in an hour like this. "

"When shall I not think of thee?" he passionately rejoined. "Oh, Marie, Marie! I thought separation on earth the worst agony that couldbefall me; but what--what is it compared to the eternal one of death?"

"No, no, not eternal, Arthur. In heaven I feel there is no distinctionof creed or faith; we shall all love God and one another there, andearth's fearful distinctions can never come between us. I know suchis not the creed of thy people, nor of some of mine; but when thoustandest on the verge of eternity, as I do now, thou wilt feel thistoo. "

"How can I gaze on thee, and not believe it?" he replied. "The loudestthunders of the church could not shake my trust in the purity ofheaven, which is thine. "

"Because thou lovest, Arthur. Thy love for Marie is stronger than thyhatred of her race; and, oh! if thou lovest thus, I know thou hastforgiven. "

"Forgiven!" he passionately reiterated. 

"Yes, dearest Arthur. Is the past indeed so obliterated that the wrongI did thee is forgotten even as forgiven? But, oh, Arthur! it was notso unjustifiable as it seemed then. I dared not breathe the truth inIsabella's court. I dare not whisper it now save to thee, who woulddie rather than reveal it. Arthur, dearest Arthur, it was no Christianwhom I wedded. We had been betrothed from early childhood, though Iknew it not; and when the time came, I could not draw down on me afather's curse, or dash with agony a heart that so cherished, so lovedme, by revelation of a truth which could avail me nothing, and wouldbring him but misery. Ferdinand was my cousin--a child of Israel, asmyself. "

"Now heaven bless thee for those words, my own, true, precious Marie!"exclaimed Stanley, in strong emotion, and clasping her still closer, he pressed his quivering lips to her forehead, starting in agony as hemarked the cold, damp dews which had gathered upon it, too trulythe index of departing life. He besought her to speak no more--theexertion was exhausting her; she smiled faintly, drank of the revivingdraught which Julien proffered, and lay for a few minutes calm andstill. 

"I am better now, " she said, after an interval. "It was only theexcitement of speaking that truth, which I have so long desired toreveal--to clear my memory from the caprice and inconstancy with whicheven thy love must have charged me; and now, Arthur, promise me thatthou wilt not mourn me too long: that thou wilt strive to conquer themorbid misery, which I know, if encouraged, will cloud thy whole life, and unfit thee for the glorious career which must otherwise be thine. Do not forget me wholly, love, but deem it not a duty to my memorynever to love again. Arthur, dearest, thou canst bestow happiness onanother, and one of thine own faith, even such happiness as to havebeen thy wife would have given me. Do not reject the calm rest andpeacefulness, which such love will bring to thee, though now thoufeelest as if the very thought were loathing. She will speak to theeof me; for Jewess as she knew me, she has loved and tended me insuffering, and so wept my banishment, that my frozen tears had wellnigh flowed in seeing hers. Seek her in Isabella's court, and try tolove her, Arthur--if at first merely for my sake, it will soon, soonbe for her own. "

Impressively and pleadingly, these words fell on Arthur's achingheart, even at that moment when he felt to comply with them was andmust ever be impossible. When time had done its work, and softenedindividual agony, they returned again and yet again; and at eachreturning, seemed less painful to obey. 

"And Isabella, my kind, loving, generous mistress, " she continued, after a very long pause, and her voice was so faint as scarcelyto make distinguishable the words, save for the still lingeringsweetness, and clearness of her articulation--"Oh! what can I say toher? Arthur, dearest Arthur, thou must repay the debt of gratitudeI owe her. Her creed condemns, but her heart loves me--aye, still, still! And better (though she cannot think so) than had I for earthlyjoy turned traitor to my God. Oh, tell her how with my last breath Iloved and blessed her, Arthur; tell her we shall meet again, whereJew and Gentile worship the same God! Oh that I could but haveproved--proved--How suddenly it has grown dark! Uncle Julien, is itnot time for the evening prayer?"

And her lips moved in the wordless utterance of the prayer for whichshe had asked, forgetting it had some time before been said; and thenher head sunk lower and lower on Arthur's bosom, and there was nosound. Twilight lingered, as loth to disappear, then deepened intonight, and the silver lamps within the tents brighter and morebrightly illumined the gloom; but Arthur moved not, suppressing evenhis breath, lest he should disturb that deep and still repose. It wasmore than an hour ere Julien Morales could realize the truth, and thenhe gently endeavored to unclasp Arthur's almost convulsive hold, andwith, kindly force to lead him from the couch. The light of the lampfell full upon that sweet, sweet face; and, oh! never had it seemed solovely. The awful stillness of sculptured repose was indeed there; thebreath of life and its disturbing emotions had passed away, and noughtbut the shrine remained. But like marble sculptured by God's hand, that sweet face gleamed--seeming, in its perfect tracery, its heavenlyrepose, to whisper even to the waves of agony, "Be still--my spirit iswith God!"

 * * * * *

Julien Morales and Arthur Stanley--the aged and the young--the Jewishrecluse and Christian warrior--knelt side by side on the cold earth, which concealed the remains of one to both so inexpressibly dear. Themoonlit shrubs and spangled heaven alone beheld their mutual sorrow, and the pale moon waned, and the stars gleamed paler and paler in thefirst gray of dawn ere that vigil was concluded. And then both aroseand advanced to the barrier wall; the spring answered to the touch, and the concealed door flew back. The young Christian turned, andwas folded to the heart of the Jew. The blessing of the Hebrew wasbreathed in the ear of the Englishman, and Stanley disappeared. 

Oh, love! thou fairest, brightest, most imperishable type of heaven!what to thee are earth's distinctions? Alone in thy pure essence thoustandest, and every mere earthly feeling crouches at thy feet. And artthou but this world's blessing? Oh! they have never loved who thusbelieve. Love is the voice of God, Love is the rule of Heaven! As onegrain to the uncounted sands, as one drop to the unfathomed depths--isthe love of earth to that of heaven; but when the mortal shrine isshivered, the minute particle will re-unite itself with its kindredessence, to exist unshadowed and for ever. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

 "Why then a final note prolong, Or lengthen out a closing song, Unless to bid the gentles speed Who long have listened to my rede?"

 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

The fickle sun of "merrie England" shone forth in unusual splendor;and, as if resolved to bless the august ceremony on which it gazed, permitted not a cloud to shadow the lustrous beams, which, dartedtheir floods of light through the gorgeous casements of WestminsterAbbey, in whose sacred precincts was then celebrating the bridal ofthe young heir of England, with a fair and gentle daughter of Spain. It was a scene to interest the coldest heart--not for the state andsplendor of the accoutrements, nor the high rank of the partiesprincipally concerned, nor for the many renowned characters of church, state, and chivalry there assembled; it was the extreme youth andtouching expression, impressed on the features, of both bride andbridegroom. 

Neither Arthur, Prince of Wales, nor Catherine, Infanta of Arragon, had yet numbered eighteen years, the first fresh season of joyouslife; but on neither countenance could be traced the hilarity andthoughtlessness, natural to their age. The fair, transparent brow ofthe young Prince, under which the blue veins could be clearly seen, till lost beneath the rich chesnut curls, that parted on his brow, fell loosely on either shoulder; the large and deep blue eye, whichwas ever half concealed beneath the long, dark lash, as if some untoldlanguor caused the eyelid to droop so heavily; the delicate pink ofhis downless cheek, the brilliant hue on his lips, even his peculiarsmile, all seemed to whisper the coming ill, that one so dear toEnglishmen would not linger with them to fulfil the sweet promise ofhis youth. 

Beauty is, perhaps, too strong a word to apply to the youthful bride. It was the pensive sadness of her mild and pleasing features that soattracted--natural enough to her position in a strange land, and thethoughts of early severance from a mother she idolized, but recalledsome twenty years afterwards as the dim shadow of the sorrowingfuture, glooming through the gay promise of the present. And there, too, was Prince Henry, then only in his twelfth year, bearing in hisflashing eye and constantly varying expression of brow and mouth, trueindex of those passions which were one day to shake Europe to thecentre; and presenting in his whole appearance a striking contrastto his brother, and drawing around him, even while yet so young, thehottest and wildest spirits of his father's court, who, while theyloved the person, scorned the gentle amusements of the Prince ofWales. 

Henry the Seventh and his hapless consort, Elizabeth of York, were, ofcourse, present--the one rejoicing in the conclusion of a marriage forwhich he had been in treaty the last seven years, and which was atlast purchased at the cost of innocent blood; the other beholding onlyher precious son, whose gentle and peculiarly domestic virtues, wereher sweetest solace for conjugal neglect and ill-concealed dislike. 

Amongst the many noble Spaniards forming the immediate attendants ofthe Infanta, had been one so different in aspect to his companions asto attract universal notice; and not a few of the senior noblemen ofEngland had been observed to crowd round him whenever he appeared, andevince towards him the most marked and pleasurable cordiality. Histhickly silvered hair and somewhat furrowed brow bore the impressof some five-and-fifty years; but a nearer examination might havebetrayed, that sorrow more than years, had aged him, and full six, or even ten years might very well be subtracted from the age which afirst glance supposed him. Why the fancy was taken that he was not aSpaniard could not have been very easily explained; for his wife wasthe daughter of the famous Pedro Pas, whose beauty, wit, and highspirits were essentially Spanish, and was the Infanta's nearest andmost favored attendant; and he himself was constantly near her person, and looked up to by the usually jealous Spaniards as even higher inrank and importance that many of themselves. How, then, could he be aforeigner? And marvel merged into the most tormenting curiosity, when, on the bridal day of the Prince of Wales, though he still adhered tothe immediate train of the Princess, he appeared in the rich and fullcostume of an English Peer. The impatience of several young gallantscould hardly by restrained even during the ceremony; at the conclusionof which they tumultuously surrounded Lord Scales, declaring theywould not let him go, till he had told them who and what was thismysterious friend: Lord Scales had headed a gallant band of Englishknights in the Moorish war, and was therefore supposed to know everything concerning Spain, and certainly of this Anglo-Spaniard, as eversince his arrival in England they had constantly been seen together. He smiled good-humoredly at their importunity, and replied--

"I am afraid my friend's history has nothing very marvellous ormysterious in it. His family were all staunch Lancastrians, andperished either on the field or scaffold; he escaped almostmiraculously, and after a brief interval of restless wandering, wentto Spain and was treated with such consideration and kindness byFerdinand and Isabella, that he has lived there ever since, honoredand treated in all things as a child of the soil. On my arrival, I wasstruck by his extraordinary courage and rash disregard of danger, andgladly hailed in him a countryman. I learned afterwards that thisreckless bravery had been incited by a wish for death, and that eventshad occurred in his previous life, which would supply matter for manya minstrel tale. "

"Let us hear it, let us hear it!" interrupted many eager voices, butLord Seales laughingly shook his head. 

"Excuse me, my young friends: at present I have neither time norinclination for a long story. Enough that he loved, and lovedunhappily; not from its being unreturned, but from a concatenation ofcircumstances and sorrows which may not be detailed. "

"But he is married; and he is as devoted to Donna Catherine as she isto him. I heard they were proverbial for their mutual affection anddomestic happiness. How could he so have loved before?" demanded, somewhat skeptically, a very young man. 

"My good friend, when you get a little older, you will cease to marvelat such things, or imagine, because a man has been very wretched, heis to be for ever. My friend once felt as you do (Lord Seales changedhis tone to one of impressive seriousness); but he was wise enoughto abide by the counsels of the beloved one he had lost, struggle toshake off the sluggish misery which was crushing him, cease to wishfor death, and welcome life as a solemn path of usefulness and good, still to be trodden, though its flowers might have faded. Gradually ashe awoke to outward things, and sought the companionship of her whomhis lost one had loved, he became sensible that, spiritless as he hadthought himself, he could yet, did he see fit, win and rivet regard;and so he married, loving less than he was loved, perchance at thetime but scarcely so now. His marriage, and his present happiness, arefar less mysterious than his extraordinary interference in the eventwhich followed the conquest of the Moors--I mean the expulsion of theJews. "

"By the way, what caused that remarkable edict?" demanded one of thecircle more interested in politics than in individuals. "It is a goodthing indeed to rid a land of such vermin; but in Spain they hadso much to do with the successful commerce of the country, that itappears as impolitic as unnecessary. "

"Impolitic it was, so far as concerned the temporal interests of thekingdom; but the sovereigns of Spain decided on it, from the religiouslight in which it was placed before them, by Torquemada. It iswhispered that Isabella would never have consented to a decree, sentencing so many thousands of her innocent subjects to misery andexpulsion, had not her confessor worked on her conscience in anunusual manner; alluding to some unprecedented favor shown to one ofthat hated race, occasioned, he declared, by those arts of magic whichmight occur again and yet again, and do most fatal evil to the land. Isabella had, it appears, when reproached by Torquemada for her actof mercy, which he termed weakness, pledged herself, not to interferewith his measures for the extermination of the unbelief, and on thispromise of course he worked, till the edict was proclaimed. "

"But this stranger, what had he to do with it?" demanded many of thegroup, impatient at the interruption. 

"What he had to do with it I really cannot tell you, but his zealto avert the edict lost him, in a great measure the confidence ofFerdinand. When he found to prevent their expulsion was impossible, he did all in his power to lessen their misfortune, if such it may becalled, by relieving every unbeliever that crossed his path. "

An exclamation of horrified astonishment escaped his auditors. "Whatcould such conduct mean? did he lean towards unbelief himself--"

"That could hardly be, " replied Lord Scales. "Unless he had been aCatholic, earnest and zealous as herself, Isabella would never have soesteemed him, as to give him as wife her especial favorite, CatherinePas, and place him so near the person of her child. When I left Spain, I entreated my friend to accompany me, and resume his hereditary titleand estate, but I pleaded in vain. Some more than common tie seemed todevote him to the interests of the Queen of Castile, whom he declaredhe would never leave unless in England he could serve her better thanin Spain. At that time there was no chance of such an event. He nowtells me, that it was Isabella's earnest request that he should attendthe Princess; be always near her, and so decrease the difficulties, which in a foreign land must for a time surround her. The Queen isbroken in health, and dispirited, from many domestic afflictions; andit was with tears, she besought him to devote his remaining years, tothe service of her child, and be to the future Queen of England true, faithful, and upright, as he had ever been to the Queen of Spain. Need I say the honorable charge was instantly accepted, and while heresumes his rank and duties as a Peer of his native land, the gratefulservice of an adopted son of Spain will ever be remembered andperformed. "

"But his name, his name?" cried many eager voices. 

"ARTHUR STANLEY, EARL OF DERBY. "