The Vale of Cedars; Or, The Martyr

by Grace Aguilar

  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. Poorsuffere
r!" 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.