which occupiedthe greater part of the time, as on it they had very much to say. Whatit was we leave our readers to guess, it being remembered that they hadnot met with an opportunity to converse since the evening when theyfirst made their mutual acknowledgments of love; and they agreed thatwhat they then felt was cold and tame, compared to their presentfeelings, after all the dangers and sufferings they had undergone.
We, however, prefer leaving what are usually called love scenes to bedescribed by our fair sister authoresses; because they can paint thecharacters of their own sex 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 passed 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 sheobserved them, gazed at them as if they were a couple of spirits fromthe dead, and then rushing towards them, seized Clara in her arms, withcries and tears of joy, almost smothering her with kisses; and thenseizing on Luis, joined him in the embrace, bestowing alternate kisseson him; and if, in returning them, which he was bound to do, he did makesome slight mistake in the person, we think he is justly to be excused,considering he had never before ventured on such a liberty. He thenresigned 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 againparting from you: I know not what may occur: I fear some danger mayhappen to you, or I may again be committed to a convent. Come to myfather, 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 Iknow is not true, but which makes your father dislike to see him."
"Senhora Gertudes speaks rightly," said Luis. "Go, beloved one, aloneto meet your father, and I doubt not he will soon learn to think morejustly of me. I will not quit the palace."
Persuaded by this assurance, Clara accompanied the nurse to the shed inwhich the fidalgo was lying. Gertrudes first prudently entered, toadvise the father of his daughter's safety and return, but soon againcame out and beckoned her to approach.
No sooner did he behold her, than raising himself from his couch as shestooped to meet him, he pressed her in his arms, sobbing like a childthe while. "Thank Heaven that you are restored to me, my Clara!" heexclaimed; "for I could not bear the double loss I thought I was doomedto suffer,--two children within two days!--it was a heavy blow; but nowyou are recovered, I must, if so I can, be reconciled to your brother'sdeath."
"My brother dead?" responded Clara, in a tone of sadness. "Alas! Iheard, but did not believe, the tale."
"It is but too true, I fear," said the Fidalgo. "He was slain by oneyou must in future learn to hate,--Don Luis d'Almeida!"
"Oh, do not, do not believe that one so brave, so noble, could be guiltyof 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 allothers were flying for their lives, forgetful of parents, children, andall the nearest ties of kindred, he rushed among the falling ruins,braving a horrid death to rescue me! In every way has he proved hislove,--and he surely could not have slain my brother. Oh, do not, myfather, 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 harshword, my child," said the Fidalgo; "but remember that you are vowed tothe service of Heaven; and were you not, you could not wed one whosehands are stained with a brother's blood, although guiltless of theintention of shedding it. That Don Luis has risked his life to save onedear child from destruction, disarms me of my revenge; but fromhenceforth you must be as strangers to each other."
Poor Clara scarce heard the concluding sentence; the bright hopes whichwere budding forth with the first gleam of sunshine were suddenlyblighted by this confirmation of the masked stranger's report of herbrother's death; and instead of feeling joy at her return home, naughtbut clouds and gloom threatened her future days. She had no argumentsto advance against her father's decree; for she felt that what he saidwas just. Placing her head on his pillow, she burst into an agony oftears.
The fidalgo in vain endeavoured to comfort her; for he had noconsolation that could avail to offer her. He assured her that herreturn had restored him to health and strength, and that he would notwillingly contradict her wishes in anything; but that his confessor,Father Alfonzo, had told him that he must determine, if he recoveredher, to keep to his original intention of dedicating her to the Church,as the most acceptable way of proving his gratitude to Heaven for thefavour vouchsafed to him,--the Father promising not to cease his prayersto the saints to intercede for him, but more especially to the HolyVirgin.
To this the unhappy girl had not a word to answer: it was but, alas! toomuch in accordance with the creed she had been taught, and she had nevereven heard that a doubt had been started against its infallibility. Yether heart rebelled against the decree; but she shuddered at her ownfeelings, and endeavoured to stifle them; for the lessons inculcated onher mind told her they were sinful.
After some time, in a voice trembling with grief and agitation, sheinquired the manner of her brother's death. Her father then told her,that on the morning after the sad occurrence, the one preceding theearthquake, he had become alarmed at Goncalo's not returning; when theConde San Vincente called to say, with much friendly concern, that hehad been with him on the previous evening, when suddenly they were setupon by several persons, among the foremost of whom he recognised DonLuis d'Almeida, who seemed bent upon engaging with Goncalo, and that,after exchanging several passes, he saw his friend fall severelywounded; but from having great difficulty in defending his own life, hecould not go to his assistance. While thus engaged, several persons whohad taken no part in the fray had rushed up, and lifting Goncalo fromthe ground, had borne him off he could not tell where, and that, as soonas this was done, Don Luis and his party had drawn off. The Count thensaid, that he had made every exertion to discover whither Goncalo hadbeen conveyed; and that he had at length learned from a man who had beenengaged in the affair, and whom he could produce, that he had beencarried off by order of Don Luis, and that he hoped, in a few days, todiscover where.
The fidalgo then said, that the Count had called that very morning onhim, having only just learnt where he was to be found; and that hisworst fears had been realised. He said that Goncalo had been conveyedto a house near where the fray took place, and had died of his wound thevery morning that the awful catastrophe had occurred; that the housefalling, had involved all its inmates in destruction, so that it wasutterly impossible to discover any further particulars of the case. Thefidalgo finished by lamenting that his own prostration of strength hadprevented him from making inquiries, and searching for his children ashe earnestly had sought to do.
Clara listened to the account the Conde had given with incredulous ears,and then, in return, narrated the adventures which had befallen herself,and her suspicions that it was from his power Luis had rescued her; butto this her father would not for a moment listen, affirming that he wasthe soul of honour, and incapable of such an act; nor could anythingadvanced by Clara convince him to the contrary. We have beforeremarked, that when once an impression had been made on his mentalfaculties, it was difficult to remove it. No longer able to bear theconversation, even of his daughter, he sank back exhausted on his couch.
Luis had long been anxiously waiting at the entrance of the garden forthe return of Clara, when he saw her approaching with slow and timidsteps. He hastened to meet her.
"Oh, Luis, I am very wretched," she said; and she detailed the historyshe had heard from her father, as the Count had given it, at which theindignation of Luis was excessive; though, a
s may be supposed, he had nogreat difficulty in persuading her of its falsehood. Yet her tearsflowed fast; for he acknowledged what she hoped to hear him deny, that,though he had striven to avoid it, her brother had been wounded by hishand. "Yet far rather would I myself have been the victim, than havespilt a drop of the blood of one dear to you," he continued. "Andbelieve me, did I deem myself your brother's murderer, I would not havedared to touch you with my polluted hands."
"Oh no, no, I feel that you are not," she answered. "But, Luis, thereis a sad foreboding at my heart, which tells me that we must part, andfor ever. My father did not forbid me to see you to-day; though, alas!I know full well he will do so to-morrow, and then I dare not disobeyhis commands. Yet think not, Luis, that I shall forget you; _that_ nopower can
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