The Prime Minister Part 31

She was no longer deceived in the speaker's voice. She rose calmly from her seat:--"Count San Vincente," she said, "the disguise you wear cannot conceal you from me; nor do I believe your words; for I feel firm in the conviction that Don Luis could not have slain my brother. I knew not even that he was reported to have been killed; nor do I believe, from your a.s.sertion, that such is the case. Now, leave me, senhor; for I know full well you dare not venture to use violence towards a n.o.ble maiden. Find means to inform my friends of my situation, and I will not breathe my suspicions; if not, dread the consequences of this outrage."

"You mistake, fair lady; I am not the person you suppose," answered the stranger; "and though I am unwilling to use threats to compel you to do what I would wish you to perform of your own accord, you must remember that you are completely in my power, and that I fear not the vengeance of your friends; for none will know that you were not lost in the ruins of the convent, till he who seeks to wed you thinks fit to produce you as his bride. Will you now consent to accompany me?"

"Never!" answered Clara, firmly; "I would rather trust myself to the common ruffian who brought me hither, than to one who is capable of deceit and treachery so vile to gain his wishes. Hear me! Whatever betide, I will never become the bride of the Conde San Vincente, and him I know that I see before me!"

"You will gain little by your resolution, lady, which, like women in general, you will be glad to break on the first occasion," answered the stranger. "I leave you now to reflect on my words; and remember, that even if Don Luis survives, which I know not he does, you cannot wed him who has slain your brother; and that such is the case, is well-known by all. Farewell, lady; I trust that, by to-morrow, you will have considered the subject more calmly, when I will again visit you."

Saying which, the stranger, bowing low, quitted the cottage, without even deigning to regard the old woman; but Clara was confirmed in her persuasion that he was a princ.i.p.al person concerned in the outrage offered to her, by hearing him again lock the door and withdraw the key, as the keeper of her prison.

For the remainder of the day she was unmolested by further visits; but if she even attempted to approach the window, the old beldame followed her closely, to prevent her, in case she should make any signal for a.s.sistance to those pa.s.sing by; a chance not likely to occur, seeing that the cottage stood in a lane but little frequented at any time, and one end of it being now completely blocked up with ruins.

On the morning of the second day, a knock was heard at the door, to which the old woman went directly, when a hand was thrust in with a basket of provisions, as before, and immediately withdrawn. About two hours afterwards, the tall masked stranger returned, again bowing profoundly, as he advanced towards Clara.

"Lady, I trust that a night's rest has enabled you to perceive your true condition more clearly than you did yesterday," he began. "Pardon me that I appear importunate; but though, as I before a.s.sured you, I should be unwilling to force your inclinations, yet I must insist on your accompanying me, without resistance, from this wretched hovel, which is not fit to be honoured: by your presence."

"Neither my opinion of my gaoler, nor my feelings, have changed since yesterday," replied Clara; "nor is the treatment I have received at all likely to alter them; and, as I have before declared, I will not quit this house, unless in the company of friends in whom I can confide.

Force, I think, you would scarcely dare exert, and it would defeat your own purpose."

"Trust not to such fallacious hopes, lady," answered the stranger, fiercely; "you know not to what lengths your coldness will drive one who long has lived but in thinking of your charms! By a fortunate chance you were placed in my power, and, believe me, I value you too much to allow you to escape. You understand not my character when you thus venture to trifle with my feelings, for I am one whom the fear of consequences never daunts in the pursuit of my aims; threats cannot terrify me, and all laws I despise, or can elude. Yes, Donna Clara, I will not deny it is of myself I speak. I would woo you as a humble suitor for your hand; but, if you spurn my love, I have the power, and will exert it, to command you as a master; ay, and I will so tame that proud spirit, that you will crave as a boon what you now so haughtily refuse."

"Never!" exclaimed Clara, with energy; for all the lofty feelings of her n.o.ble race were aroused within that bosom, by nature so gentle, and formed for love. "I fear not your unworthy threats. Sooner, far sooner, would I die, than yield to your wishes; for each word you have spoken has but increased the hatred and contempt I have from the first felt for you."

"Ah! is it so, lady?" said the stranger, his voice trembling with rage.

"You will find yourself miserably deceived. Hear me for the last time.

I have determined to try what leniency will effect in your sentiments; but, if you still refuse to listen to reason, you will lament the consequences of your folly. Do not suppose that you can escape from hence; for you are here as securely guarded as within one of the dungeons of the Jungueira; so build no hopes on that account. But I will not attempt to persuade you further. I now again quit you, to return but once more, when a priest will be in readiness to unite your fate with mine; and be a.s.sured that my impatience will brook but short delay. Till then, Donna Clara, farewell!" He bent low, and attempted to take her hand, but she hastily withdrew it. "Well, well, lady," he added, in a scornful tone, "to-morrow, methinks, you will act differently;" and, as on the former occasion, he bowed, and quitted the cottage. When, no sooner had he gone than the fair girl's self-possession gave way, and she burst into a flood of tears.

Volume 2, Chapter XVII.

Sad was the change which three days of intense anxiety and suffering had worked on the fair cheek of the still lovely Clara. She might have been compared to the fresh-blown rose, drooping beneath the hot blast of the sirocco, yet still retaining its fragrance and beauty, and which the balmy dews of evening would quickly restore to health and vigour. The old hag had never for an instant quitted her, nor had she been able to extract a single sentence from her, even to learn in what part of the city she was imprisoned. Her thoughts all the time dwelling on the too probable loss of her father, and brother, and of one who she could not help confessing was even dearer than either, yet she did not rely on her informer's declaration of their deaths; and she endeavoured so to nerve her courage, as to resist every attempt he might make to compel her to become his bride. Though he had spoken in a feigned voice, and she had not seen his features, she had no doubt as to the ident.i.ty of her gaoler; and she felt a.s.sured that terror of the law would prevent him from perpetrating any violence,--the abduction only of the daughter of a fidalgo being punishable by death, with confiscation of property; though, had she known the disorganised state of society since the earthquake, her alarm would have been far greater. Since the masked stranger had visited her, no one had appeared, and she was now, with dread and agitation, looking forward to his return. She heard footsteps approaching--her heart beat quick--they stopped at the cottage-door, against which a single blow was struck; but the old woman paid no attention to it. It was again repeated, with the same result. Several louder knocks were then heard, when the hag approached the door, and placed her ear against it, in the act of listening.

"Who is there?" she asked, in a voice like the croaking of a raven. "Go away, and leave an aged lone woman in quiet."

"Open the door first, and we will not harm you," said a voice.

"I cannot open the door, for my son has gone away, and taken the key: you must wait till he returns," answered the hag.

"We should have to wait long enough," muttered some one outside.

Clara's heart throbbed yet quicker; but it was with hopes of liberation; yet she feared to cry out, for the eye of the hag was fixed on her with a malignant glance; and while she held up one finger to impose silence, her other hand clasped the handle of a sharp-pointed knife, with a significant gesture.

"What is that you say about my son?" she asked, with a startling energy, which made Clara's blood thrill with dread.

"We speak not of your son, old woman," said the voice. "Open the door quietly, or we shall be obliged to force it, in the name of the King."

"You had better not attempt it," she croaked forth. "My son is not one who likes to have his house visited in his absence, so go your ways till he returns."

"Delay no longer, but force the door!" said another voice, which caused a tumultuous joy in Clara's bosom, for she knew it to be that of Luis.

"First tell me where my son is?" cried the beldame.

"Your son Rodrigo is in prison, where you will join him, if you do not directly obey our orders," said the former voice.

"Ah! is it so?" she shrieked. "It shall not be without cause, and I will be revenged on you first." Clara uttered a cry of terror--loud blows resounded against the door,--and the vile hag, with her glittering knife upraised, rushed towards her, her eyes glaring with savage fury; and, with a yell of derisive laughter, she aimed her weapon at the bosom of the fair girl; but her foot slipped, and she fell to the ground. In a moment she rose again, and pursued her victim, who endeavoured to escape her rage.

"Luis, Luis, save me!" cried Clara, in an agony of fear.

The blows against the door were redoubled. The hag, with frantic gestures, followed her. Her last moment seemed come, when the door was burst open; and, while several men seized the wretched woman--yet not before she had plunged the knife into her own heart--Clara, with a cry of joy, fell fainting into her lover's arms.

"Where is my son? you said he was taken," muttered the old woman, as she forced away the hand of Antonio, who was endeavouring to stanch the blood flowing from her wound.

"By this time he is dangling from one of the new gibbets at the gates of the city," answered one of the men.

"Then I will disappoint those of what they would much like to know," she muttered.

She then suddenly endeavoured to tear herself from the grasp of those who held her, uttering shriek upon shriek, mixed with dreadful curses on all around.

"Ay, ay, I see my son in the flames of purgatory, and the devils are dragging me down to him. I will not go yet--I will live to curse those who have slain him. May their end be like his, and may they dwell for ever in the torments of h.e.l.l!"

She ceased not uttering exclamations like these till her evil spirit fled its vile tenement.

Luis bore Clara from the dreadful scene, accompanied by Captain Pinto, and followed by the rest of the party, till they reached an open s.p.a.ce, where a carriage was in waiting; and, as he placed her in it, and took his seat by her side, he caught a glimpse of a tall man, whose features were concealed in a cloak, watching them at some distance. Having received the warm congratulations of his friend, who was obliged to return to his duty, while Pedro and some of the men prepared to accompany him as guards, Luis offered a purse of money to Antonio, as a recompense for his exertions.

"No, senhor," he answered, declining it; "I have but performed the commands of the Minister, and I seek my reward from him alone;" and, bowing profoundly, he took his leave.

We must not attempt to transcribe the conversation of Clara and Luis, as they slowly proceeded by a long and circuitous road towards the residence of the old Marchioness. She first asked eagerly for her father, when Luis a.s.sured her that though too unwell to engage personally in the search for her, he was in no danger, and that her presence would soon recover him. Why, we know not, but she did not even mention her brother's name. Luis then told her of his wretchedness, and almost madness, at her loss, and she confessed to have suffered as much, which afforded, doubtless, great consolation to him. Next he told her of all the fruitless endeavours he had made to recover her, which had worn him nearly to a skeleton; and, in answer, she told him of the visits she had received from the masked stranger, and of her suspicions as to who he was; when they both agreed, that, if she was right, the Count had acted so cautious a part, that though he as richly deserved hanging as his a.s.sistant Rodrigo, it would be utterly impossible to punish him by any legal means, though Luis vowed internally to take the first opportunity of chastising him. Yet they only slightly touched on these subjects; for there was a far more engrossing one which occupied the greater part of the time, as on it they had very much to say. What it was we leave our readers to guess, it being remembered that they had not met with an opportunity to converse since the evening when they first made their mutual acknowledgments of love; and they agreed that what they then felt was cold and tame, compared to their present feelings, after all the dangers and sufferings they had undergone.

We, however, prefer leaving what are usually called love scenes to be described by our fair sister auth.o.r.esses; because they can paint the characters of their own s.e.x with far more delicate touches, and, besides, know much more about the subject than we old men possibly can, whose days of tender endearment have so long pa.s.sed by. We shall, therefore, carry them safely to the gates of the palace, when Luis, lifting Clara from the carriage, supported her to the garden, where, under various tents and sheds, the family were still residing.

The first person they encountered was old Gertrudes, who, the moment she observed them, gazed at them as if they were a couple of spirits from the dead, and then rushing towards them, seized Clara in her arms, with cries and tears of joy, almost smothering her with kisses; and then seizing on Luis, joined him in the embrace, bestowing alternate kisses on him; and if, in returning them, which he was bound to do, he did make some slight mistake in the person, we think he is justly to be excused, considering he had never before ventured on such a liberty. He then resigned Clara into her nurse's care, and was about to withdraw, when, clasping his hand, she raised it to her lips.

"Oh! do not leave me," she exclaimed. "I dread the thoughts of again parting from you: I know not what may occur: I fear some danger may happen to you, or I may again be committed to a convent. Come to my father, and he will thank you for having again saved his child!"

"You had better first go alone and see the senhor your father,"

interrupted the nurse. "There is a vile story told of Don Luis, which I know is not true, but which makes your father dislike to see him."

"Senhora Gertudes speaks rightly," said Luis. "Go, beloved one, alone to meet your father, and I doubt not he will soon learn to think more justly of me. I will not quit the palace."

Persuaded by this a.s.surance, Clara accompanied the nurse to the shed in which the fidalgo was lying. Gertrudes first prudently entered, to advise the father of his daughter's safety and return, but soon again came out and beckoned her to approach.

No sooner did he behold her, than raising himself from his couch as she stooped to meet him, he pressed her in his arms, sobbing like a child the while. "Thank Heaven that you are restored to me, my Clara!" he exclaimed; "for I could not bear the double loss I thought I was doomed to suffer,--two children within two days!--it was a heavy blow; but now you are recovered, I must, if so I can, be reconciled to your brother's death."

"My brother dead?" responded Clara, in a tone of sadness. "Alas! I heard, but did not believe, the tale."

"It is but too true, I fear," said the Fidalgo. "He was slain by one you must in future learn to hate,--Don Luis d'Almeida!"

"Oh, do not, do not believe that one so brave, so n.o.ble, could be guilty of such a deed! Twice, at the hazard of his life, since we first met, has he saved me from destruction. At that dreadful time, when all others were flying for their lives, forgetful of parents, children, and all the nearest ties of kindred, he rushed among the falling ruins, braving a horrid death to rescue me! In every way has he proved his love,--and he surely could not have slain my brother. Oh, do not, my father, believe that lying tale which says so; for I, whatever befalls, can never cease to love him."

"At the moment you are restored to my heart, I cannot speak a harsh word, my child," said the Fidalgo; "but remember that you are vowed to the service of Heaven; and were you not, you could not wed one whose hands are stained with a brother's blood, although guiltless of the intention of shedding it. That Don Luis has risked his life to save one dear child from destruction, disarms me of my revenge; but from henceforth you must be as strangers to each other."

Poor Clara scarce heard the concluding sentence; the bright hopes which were budding forth with the first gleam of sunshine were suddenly blighted by this confirmation of the masked stranger's report of her brother's death; and instead of feeling joy at her return home, naught but clouds and gloom threatened her future days. She had no arguments to advance against her father's decree; for she felt that what he said was just. Placing her head on his pillow, she burst into an agony of tears.