The Constant Prince

by Mrs. Molesworth

was dressed, growing more and more weary, tillshe began to wonder at the delay. Perhaps Dom Alvarez would not cometo-day after all.

  At last, hearing sounds without, she sent one of her maids to inquire ifher father had returned, and in a moment Sir Walter came into the room.

  "Alas! my daughter!" he said, "better a widow's coif than all thisbravery! Young Hartsed, whom I renounce for ever, has foully slainAlvarez!"

  "How?" said Nella, in a tone of utter amaze.

  "He attacked and challenged him in the public street; they fought, andAlvarez is wounded well-nigh to death; while Hartsed is put in wardduring the king's pleasure. Now we see his treason plain enough--hesought to be rid of the witness of it."

  "Do not all men fight those who call them traitor?" said Nella, in a lowclear voice.

  "Your lady is distracted with the fatal news," said Sir Walter, hastily;"she knows not what she is saying. See to her, ladies, I have no timeto spare."

  With desperate hands Nella unfastened the jewels from her hair, andhelped to cast aside her gay attire; then she sent all the ladies away,and alone awaited further tidings.

  These were not long in coming. Dom Alvarez was severely wounded, but itwas thought that he would recover in time; and after a very hastyinquiry into the matter, the king sentenced Hartsed to banishment fromLisbon. It was ill for them all that his strength was failing undersorrow and suspense, and that Dom Enrique had started on his unhappyembassage to Arzella.

  As it was not thought suitable for Nella to visit the court during thesevere illness of her betrothed, she was not aware of the king'sincreasing indisposition, and was not present at Dom Enrique's sadreturn, yet she dimly hoped that he might take up the cause of hisbrother's favourite. But the news he brought stirred up the wholenation to a pitch of fury, and preparations for a renewal of the warwere begun on a much larger scale, and with lavish expenditure. Thepride of Portugal was touched to the quick, and the king reduced hisprivate expenses, and gave all he could save to the common object. Thewinter and spring passed in arming and planning the campaign. Nella'saffairs were in abeyance. Harry Hartsed was gone, no one knew whither;and Dom Alvarez, on recovering from his wound, left Lisbon for change ofair, and was to join the army with Sir Walter. All the talk was of hopeand revenge, only the king's face was unchangeably sorrowful.

  One evening, shortly before the expedition was to start, Duarte waslying on a couch in his private room, resting from the fatigue of a longday in council. Beside him sat Enrique, who, with Joao, was to commandthe army, Dom Pedro being needed at home in the king's weak state.

  "Enrique," said Duarte, breaking a long silence, "ere we part, I wouldtell you my mind on certain matters."

  "I will never cross your will again, my brother," said Enrique, humbly.

  "I have thought much and long," said Duarte, with his grave gentleness."This war is good,--justified by the conduct of the Moors to our belovedone. But, if it fails, I have written in my will that Ceuta must beceded to them, and, to my thinking, it was our duty to have abided byour word. I was slow plainly to see this, but in this long sickness myeyes have grown clearer. Our Blessed Lord knows the souls in Ceutawhich are His own, and would guard them through the fiery persecutionwhich the failure of our arms would have brought on them. Maybe Hewould have allowed us to deliver them from it. It shows the faith ofthe blessed Cross in a poor light to the heathen when Christian menbreak plighted faith. And yet, Enrique, though as I lie here on softcushions, with all things easy round me, I seem verily to feel _his_rough usage, taste _his_ hard fare, it goes harder with me to pluck thatjewel out of my father's crown, and give it back to the darkness whencehe won it, than to see my Fernando win a martyr's crown."

  "I shall never raise my voice against your will," said Enrique. "Daily,with prayer and penance, I entreat that Ceuta and Fernando both may yetbe saved to us. If Ceuta goes, there is nothing for me who lost it butto vow myself to a life of penitence, and till Fernando is safe, thereis no joy on earth for me."

  "Take heart, my Enrique," said Duarte, tenderly. "If you have riskedCeuta, you have won wide lands to Portugal and to the Church; andremember, it is to you and Pedro I confide my son."

  "Alas, Duarte, there would be no hope for church or country without youat the helm."

  "As God wills," said Duarte, and words and tone vividly brought Fernandobefore Enrique's mind.

  And before many days were over the stroke fell; and, as some say, of anattack of the plague, which he was too weak to resist, as others tell,of the long strain of grief and responsibility, the just and gentleDuarte died, of whom all agree that he never uttered a harsh word, norcommitted an unrighteous action.

  "A selfless man and stainless gentleman, Who reverenced his conscience as his king."

  He died, and with his life all the preparations for war fell to pieces,and came to an end. Portugal was plunged into a wild chaos of disputeand mis-government; the three remaining princes passed out of the clearfollowing of clear aims that had marked their youth, into the wretchedconflict, half-good, half-evil, of hand-to-hand fighting, with thenecessities of every-day, till they hardly knew for what they werestriving. There were miserable differences and cabals between thewidowed Queen and Dom Pedro, who yet strove to act honourably by her;wild, mad accusations against these loving brothers of having poisonedDuarte, for whom either of them would gladly have died, a world of wrongand worry, from which they could not escape.

  With the rights and wrongs of that unhappy story, a sadder one perhapsthan the fatal siege of Tangier, we have now no concern; but somestrange change must have passed over the mind of the nation, for noother effort was ever made to rescue Fernando. To all seeming, hiscountry forgot him, as Harry Hartsed was forgotten. But Enrique, whenin the intervals of his wretched life at court he went to gaze over thewide Atlantic, and plan how to penetrate its mysteries, prayed for theunknown suffering of his beloved brother, while Nella Northberry addedto her prayers the name of another loved and lost one.

  CHAPTER TWENTY.

  DARKNESS.

  "For there is no way out of pain and trouble but only to endure them."

  A party of travellers had come to a halt in the shade of a clump oftrees, which pleasantly varied the monotony of the rough, sandy plains,covered with long grass, through which the road lay between Arzella andFez. A weary journey, under the blasting winds and blazing sun of aNorth-African May. The sun was sinking now, and the wind was calm, andthe Moorish cavalry, with their white turbans, flashing weapons, andbeautiful steeds, brought to a halt on the small spot of grass, stoodout picturesque and bright under the dear, rosy sky, a subject for apicture; the foil to these splendid soldiers being the coarsely-cladprisoners, or perhaps slaves. Prisoners, for how could they escape fromtheir well-mounted guards? Slaves, for they ran hither and thither,fetching and carrying, rubbing down the horses, and bringing them waterfrom a spring at hand, their steps, if lagging, hastened often by blows,and their answers, if sullen, met by rough jests or curses. And veryvarious was their demeanour. Some fierce, and evidently stung to thequick, glanced up at their tyrants with muttered curses, and eyes ofwrath and scorn; some sulkily did as little as they could; some stumbledthrough their work in utter weariness and pain, others hurried over itwith officious readiness, humbled into an effort to avoid offendingtheir terrible masters. It is not noble blood alone that can give a manpatience, dignity, and courage, when called to lead the life of a slave.

  One there was who, a little apart from the rest, was tending a splendidcharger, black as jet, and with large, gentle eyes. The beautifulcreature stood patient and still, as slowly, as if from fatigue andweakness, but with no apparent reluctance, and with more than one gentleword and caress, his delicate-handed attendant washed the sand from hishoofs, and gave him food and drink. As the prisoner turned somewhatfeebly to lift a heavy skin of water, one of his fellow-slaves flungdown his own burden, and, lifting the skin, held it to him on his knee,kissing the hand that took it.

&nb
sp; "My lord, my lord, to see you serving that accursed brute?"

  "Nay, my friend; thanks for your help; but do not call the good horsenames. My brother, the king, has none such in his stable. I think Ihave something of his love for noble horses," said Fernando, with asmile. "But finish your own task, Manoel, or Moussa-ben-Hadad will giveyou the rough words you like so little."

  "No matter, if I can aid your highness."

  "I have finished," said the prince; "and our hour of rest is coming."

  As he spoke, a tall Moor came up and struck young Manoel a rough blow,bidding him not to linger, but to bring him the water for his horse atonce. Fernando did not interfere; perhaps experience had taught himthat it was useless; but his brow contracted, and he bit his lip hard.

  A little