The Infidel Volume I Part 12

"Ha! sits the wind there? I must have a peep at her: they say, she is lovely as a G.o.ddess."

"Thou wilt incense her," said Villafana, emphatically. "By heaven, thou knowest not the temper of this woman, which is deadly. Leave the two cooing fools to themselves. Our fortunes,--nay, faith, our lives, depend upon them. La Monjonaza is deep in our secrets,--"

"Knave!" muttered the pretended friar, in a low but furious voice, "hast thou trusted my life in the keeping of a woman?"

"Pho, she is an older conspirator than thou; a wiser, too, for she can keep her temper. Out of her love for the young man, we draw our truest safety and quickest success."

"Her love! oh fu! and is she of this corrupt fickleness, that she will have two lovers in one hour? But it is the way with these creatures!"

"They are old lovers, very old lovers, senor," said Villafana, endeavouring, as he spoke, but in vain, to quicken the steps of Camarga.

"You shall hear the story.--Juan Lerma's father was some low, poor, base fellow, killed in some tumult at Isabela. The old hidalgo, Antonio del Milagro, took the boy out of charity, first as a servant--"

"A servant? Dios mio!--Is he of no better beginning?"

"Not a jot; but the old fellow liked him, and, in the end, treated him full as well as his own son,--a knavish lad, called Hilario, some two or three years older than Juan."

"Slife!" said Camarga, "tell me no granddam's tale, with all tedious particulars. How came the youth into the hands of Cortes?"

"Even by setting out to seek his fortune, somewhat early, and getting to Santiago, where Cortes took him into keeping. You heard us say, that Don Hernan, when he received his commission from Velasquez, sent Juan back to his native island, to recruit forces. It was natural he should visit his old friends at Isabela. It was here he met with, and quarrelled about, Magdalena--"

"Magdalena!" said Camarga, with surprise. "You swore her name was Infeliz!"

"Ay; but the true one is Magdalena. When she came from Spain--"

"From Spain!" cried Camarga, starting: "is she not an islander?"

"Pho! didst thou ever see a creature of her beauty, born out of Andalusia?"

"I have not seen her--but I will,--yes, by all the saints of heaven, I will,--I must.--How came she to the island?"

"Oh, a-horseback, I think," said Villafana; "for the ship was never seen at Isabela: never question about that. The two young dogs, Hilario and Juan, found her somewhere, brought her to old Milagro, and, Juan being more favoured and better beloved than Hilario, who, to say truth, was both ugly and vicious, they fought about her, and Hilario was killed.

Thus, Juan was left the master of the beauty; but being tired of her, or afraid of old Milagro's vengeance, or perhaps both, he fled again to Cuba, and thence as you heard, came to Mexico in a fusta. What brought Magdalena after him I know not, unless 'twas mad, raging love; yes, faith, that's the cause; for she cares not half so much for Don Hernan.

But they did say, at Isabela, she had a better cause; for the ship, it was well known--"

"Fool of all fools!" said Camarga, with a strange and unnatural laugh, "didst thou not say the ship was never seen at Isabela?"

"Ay, truly; but it was seen on the rocks at the Point of Alonso, not many leagues distant," replied Villafana; and then added, "I would thou couldst be more choice of thine epithets of endearment. These 'knaves,'

'rogues,' and 'fools,' do well enough among friends; but one may season discourse too strongly with them, even for the roughest appet.i.te.--The ship was a wreck: there was said to be foul work about it; but that's neither here nor there. The girl was brought ash.o.r.e by the young men, Juan being good in the management of a skiff,--indeed, a notoriously skilful and fearless sailor. What was said of Magdalena, was this,"

continued the Alguazil, with a low, confidential voice: "It was discovered, or at least conjectured, that the ship was no other than the Santa Anonciacion, a vessel sent from Seville with a bevy of nuns,--faith, some worshippers of thine own good St. Dominic,--who were to found a convent at the Havana. It was whispered, that the fair Magdalena was even one of the number, and therefore--But the thing must be plain! To be a nun, and to love young fellows _par amours_--this is a matter for the Inquisition. But thanks be to G.o.d, we have no good Brothers in Mexico!--I will tell thee more, as we walk, and show thee, if thou hast not the wit to see it, how much it concerns us to have a friend like La Monjonaza."

"I have heard enough," said Camarga, with tones deep and hoa.r.s.e; "enough, and more than enough. And this woman was, _then_, the leman of Juan Lerma, and, now, the creature of Cortes!"--Here he muttered something to himself. Then, speaking with an audible voice, he said,

"Get thee to thy den, and look to thyself: there is danger afloat, and full enough to excuse me from meddling with thee to-night. There is a force of men concealed near to the prison, and commanded by Guzman. Ask no questions--look to thyself: thou art suspected."

At these words, Villafana became greatly alarmed, and exchanging but a few words more with Camarga, hastily departed. He was no sooner gone, than Camarga, yielding to an emotion he had long suppressed, fell upon his knees and uttered wild prayers, mingled with groans and maledictions, all the while beating his breast and brows. Then rising and whipping out his sword, as if to execute some deadly purpose of vengeance, he strode towards the pool.

CHAPTER XI.

No sooner had the Alguazil departed from the enclosure, than the figure which Juan had beheld obscurely among the shadows, stepped slowly into the moonshine, looking like a phantom, because so closely shrouded from head to foot that nothing was seen but the similitude of a human being, wrapped, as it might be imagined, in a gray winding-sheet. The thick hood and veil concealed her countenance, and even her hands were hidden among the folds.

It seemed, for a moment, as if she were about to speak, for low murmurs came inarticulately from the veil. As for Juan himself, he was kept silent by the most painful agitation. At last, and when it appeared as if the unhappy being was conscious that no other mode of revealment was in her power, she raised her hand to her head, and the next moment, the hood falling back, the moonbeams fell upon the exposed visage of La Monjonaza. It was exceedingly, indeed deadly, pale; and the gleaming of her dewy forehead indicated how feebly even her powerful strength of mind contended with a sense of humiliation. She made an effort to elevate her head, to compose her features into womanly dignity, but all in vain; her hands sought each other, and were clasped together upon her breast, her lips quivered, her head fell, and her eyes, after one wild, brief, and supplicating glance, were cast upon the earth.

"Alas, Magdalena!" exclaimed Juan, with tones of the deepest feeling, "do I see you here, do I see you _thus_?"

At these words she raised her head, with a sudden and convulsive start, as if the imputation they conveyed had stung her to the soul; and as she bent her eyes upon Juan, though they were filled with tears, yet they flashed with what seemed a n.o.ble indignation. But this was soon changed to a milder and sadder expression, and the flush which had accompanied it, was quickly replaced by her former paleness.

"Thou dost indeed see me here," she replied, summoning her resolution, and speaking firmly, "and thou seest me thus,--degraded, not in thine imagination only, but in the suspicions of all, down to the level of scorn. Yes," she continued, bitterly, "and while thou pitiest me for a shame endured only for thyself,--endured only that I may requite thee with life for life,--thou art sorry thy hand ever s.n.a.t.c.hed me from the billows. Speak, Juan Lerma, is it not so?"

"It had been better, Magdalena," said the youth, reproachfully, "for, besides that the act caused me to be stained with blood, it afflicts me with a curse still more heavy. I do not mourn the death of Hilario, as I mourn the downfall of one whom I once esteemed almost a seraph."

"Villain that he was!" cried Magdalena, with vindictive impetuosity, "mean and malignant in life and in death! who, with a lie, living, destroyed the peace and the fame of the friendless, and died with a lie, that both might remain blighted for ever! O wretch! O wretch! there is no punishment for him among the fiends, for he was of their nature. And thou mournest his death, too! Thou cursest the hand that avenged the wrong of a feeble woman!"

"I lament that I slew the son of my benefactor," said Juan, with a deep sigh; and then added with one still deeper, "but, sinner that I am, I rejoice while looking on thee, in the fierce thought, that I killed the destroyer of innocence."

"The destroyer of innocence indeed," replied Magdalena, with a voice broken and suffocating. "Yes, innocence!" she exclaimed more wildly, "or at least, the _fame_ of innocence! for innocence herself he could not harm. No, by heaven! oh, no! for what I came from the sea, that I am _now_; yes, now, I tell thee, now! and if thou darest give tongue to aught else, if thou darest think--Oh heaven! this is more than I can bear! Say, Juan Lerma! say! dost _thou_, too, believe me the thing I am called? the base, the fallen, the degraded?"

"Alas, Magdalena," replied Juan, to the wild demand: "with his dying lips, Hilario----"

"With his dying lips, he perjured his soul for ever!" exclaimed Magdalena, "for ever, for ever!" she went on, with inexpressible energy and fury; "and may the curse of a broken-hearted woman, destroyed by his defaming malice, cling to him as long, scorching him with fresh torments, even when fiends grow relentful and forbearing. Mountains of fire requite the coals he has thrown upon my bosom! May G.o.d never forgive him! no, never! never!"

"This is horrid!" said Juan. "Revoke thy malediction: it is impiety.

Alas, alas!" he continued, moved with compa.s.sion, as the singular being, pa.s.sing at once from a sibyl-like rage to the deepest and most feminine abas.e.m.e.nt of grief, wrung her hands, and sobbed aloud and bitterly; "Would indeed that thou hadst perished with the others!"

"Would that I had!" said Magdalena, more calmly; "but thou hadst then been left to a malice like that which has slain me.--No, not like that; for it is content with thy _life_!--I would ask thee more of myself,"

she went on, more composedly, after a little pause, "but it needs not.

If I can show thee thou wrongest me concerning Hilario, canst thou not believe I may be even _here_ without stain? Well, I care not; one day, thou wilt know thou hast wronged me. But let the shame rest upon me now; for it needs I should think, not of myself, but of thee. Listen to me, Juan Lerma; for fallen or not, yet am I thine only friend among a thousand enemies. Give up thy service, thy hopes of fame and fortune in this land, and leave it. Leave Mexico, return to the islands. Thou hast marvellously escaped a death, subtly and cruelly designed; and now thou art destined to an end as vengeful, and perhaps even more inevitable.

Yet there is one way of escape, and there is one moment to take advantage of it. Leave Mexico: Cortes is thy foe.--Leave Mexico."

"These are but wild words, Magdalena," said Juan, with a troubled voice.

"I would do much to remove _thee_ from a situation, the thought whereof is bitterer to me than my own misfortunes."

"Wouldst thou?" said Magdalena, eagerly. "Go then, and I go likewise; go then, and know that thy departure not only releases me from a situation of disgrace, but enables me to make clear a reputation which thou--yes, _thou_,--believest to be sullied and lost. I am not what I seem--Saints of heaven, that I should have to say it! But by the grave of my mother, I swear, Juan Lerma, thou doest me as deep a wrong as others. Leave this land, and thou shalt see that the fame of an angel is not purer than mine own scorned name,--no, by heaven, no freer from a deserved shame.

Thou shakest thy head!--I could kill thee, Juan Lerma, I could kill thee!"--she went on, with a strange mingling of fierce resentment and beseeching grief; "I could kill thee, for I have not deserved this of thee!" Then, changing her tone, and clasping her hands submissively, she said, "But think not of me, or rather continue to think me unworthy of aught but pity: think not, above all, that what I do is with any reference to myself. No, heaven is my witness, I claim of thee neither affection nor respect; I am content to be mistaken, to be despised. All this I can endure, and will, uncomplaining,--so that I can rescue thee from the danger in which thou art placed. Leave this land: Don Hernan deceives thee; he hates thee, and thirsts after thy blood. He has confessed it!"

"G.o.d be my help!" said Juan, despairingly; "my life is in his hands. If this be true--"

"If it be true!" repeated Magdalena: "It is known to all but thyself."

"It is _not_ true!" exclaimed the young man, vehemently: "I have done him no wrong, and he is not the detestable being you would make him. If he be, I owe him a life--let him have it; it is in his hands."

"Leave Mexico," reiterated Magdalena. "If thou goest to Tochtepec, thou art lost. I have it in my power to aid,--nay, to secure thy escape. Say, therefore, thou wilt consent, say thou wilt leave Mexico!"

"It cannot be," said Juan, with a sad and sullen resolution: "I will await my fate in Mexico!"

"And wilt thou stand, like the fat ox, till the noose is cast upon thy neck? till thou art butchered?"