CHAPTER X.

Where is she? I wish to see my daughter, shew her me;

* * * *

You have betrayed me; y' have let loose The jewel of my life: Go, bring her me, And set her here before me.--

_Beaumont and Fletcher._

The next day arrived--a day of sorrow for the unfortunate Monteblanco. Seated on a ponderous chair of rude workmanship, the old _caballero_ waited for the appearance of his darling daughter, to pay her morning devoirs, and receive his blessing. He waited patiently for some time, but his mind becoming fraught with more than usual anxiety, he called lustily to the duenna,--he called again, and again, but to no purpose. The pious old dame was deeply engaged in her orisons, and her mind occupied with other affairs than appertain to this sinful world. She appeared at last, her eyes half closed, her lips moving fast in the fervour of her devotions, and her long skinny fingers employed in a manner equally devout, as with the most exemplary industry, and solemn sedateness, she let fall in measured intervals, one by one, the large black counters of her rosary.

"The Lord be with you!" ejaculated piously the duenna.

"Save you, good Martha," responded Don Manuel.

"And may the blessed Virgin forgive you Señor, for thus disturbing an humble sinner at her prayers."

"Amen!" answered Don Manuel; "and now Martha tell me where is my daughter."

"_Ave Maria!_" continued the duenna, as another counter fell.

Monteblanco, who expected quite a different answer, was however kind enough to give the customary response to the salutation.

"_Santa Maria!_" muttered he with a movement of impatience, raising nevertheless his eyes to heaven. But it so happened that the devotion of the old cavalier was obliged to give way to his paternal solicitude.

"Martha," he therefore cried, "put aside your beads, and tell me, in goodness tell me, if my child is indisposed."

"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed the duenna, "what brings that into your head, Don Manuel?"

"If not," demanded the father, "how does it happen she has not yet appeared?--Where is she?"

"In bed, God help her," replied Martha, "for she very naturally concluded, that a lady who had spent the night in an amorous colloquy, could not be expected to rise over early the next morning."

"In bed!" echoed Monteblanco, "in bed! shame, why it is past seven," he added, somewhat ruffled at the idea. "What! has she passed an indifferent night?"

"Not that I know of, unless indeed that she may have been a little too zealous in her midnight devotions: the grace of the Lord be upon her for a sweet, innocent child. Bless her soul, she could not be otherwise after the holy counsel which I, a miserable sinner, have endeavoured to instill into her tender mind."

"Martha, Martha," seriously observed Don Manuel, "I do not entirely approve of this excess of devotion."

"Ah!" ejaculated the duenna. "That is exactly what I say to her, but she is very scrupulous in her religious exercises."

"Well Martha, you must moderate her zeal, and make her understand that the views of heaven will be much better realized, by yielding implicit obedience to the dictates of a father; and now," he added in a more familiar tone, "go, and bid her come, for I expect Don Antonio de Leyva every minute."

The duenna went out muttering a _Gloria Patri_, which was exactly finished by the time she got at the other side of the door. She then hastened to the chamber of her charge, by no means pleased with a somnolency that exposed her to any rebuke, however trifling.

"Oh you sluggish girl," she began. "_Dios me perdone_,[22] what means this? Are you not ashamed to be in bed at this time in the morning, and allow a christian matron like me to be disturbed at her prayers on your account? This comes of your nocturnal meetings; I must put a stop to them; they may be very refreshing to the heart, but cannot contribute to the health, nor to the good keeping of the soul; up, up _perezosa_,[23] and never more expose a kind duenna to your father's rebukes; up, immediately, Don Manuel is waiting." Receiving no answer, she took it for granted, being not a little deaf, that Theodora was replying with the various excuses which were naturally to be expected, under similar circumstances. She continued, therefore, without troubling herself as to their import. "Nay, nay, attempt not to exculpate yourself, for it is very wrong to expose me thus, because I am so amiably inclined as to overlook your frailties with christian charity. Holy Virgin! I shudder when I think to what perilous compromises my unsullied reputation is daily exposed by the tenderness of my disposition. What is it you say?--Eh?--What?--you are silent then, well child, after all that is the wisest thing you can do; it pleaseth me to see you thus humble, for humility, like charity, covereth a multitude of sins." The good duenna proceeded in this strain for some time, without receiving any check to her eloquence, till at length, surprised at such an excess of contrition, she grew impatient, flung the windows wide open, pulled the bed hangings aside, when to her utter consternation she found the object of her intended visitation vanished. The surprise of the duenna was strongly pictured on her shrivelled visage, as the dismal truth obtruded itself upon her mind. The wrath of Monteblanco, and the blot upon her own dear reputation, as the natural consequences of this disaster, took possession of her mind. She first uttered something between a whine and a discordant cry, meaning thereby to indicate at once her emotions of anger and sorrow. Then she began busily to invoke the protection of all the saints in the calendar. But the saints, though very holy personages in their way, are by no means the proper persons to consult respecting the discovery of stray damsels. She appeared to place more confidence in her own exertions than in their assistance. She commenced a scrupulous search in every part of the chamber, under and round about the bed, and waddling out of the apartment, she left no corner in the house unsearched.

Astonished at the duenna's activity, and puzzled to discover the cause, the servants flocked around her, but to all their inquiries she gave no other answer but interjections and exclamations, and such harsh guttural sounds, that they began to suspect that the good dame had fairly lost her wits.

The garden was now explored, but alas! with no better success, and the perturbation of poor Martha's mind baffled all description.

It was some time before she could determine what course to pursue, balancing in her mind whether it would be more prudent to avoid the impending storm by flight, or boldly and confidently to encounter her master's ire. Flight certainly is the method preferred on similar occasions; but then by adopting it she would tacitly confess herself guilty, and her tender reputation would be sullied with an indelible stain; by bravely encountering, on the other hand, the irritated father, she could stoutly deny all cognizance of the affair, and boldly call on all the saints of Heaven to assert her innocence, witnesses to whose testimony Martha always confidently appealed, being satisfied they would have no inclination to contradict her.

Acting upon this idea, she left the garden, instilling into her parchment features all the surprise and grief that she could muster up at so short a notice.

In the meantime Monteblanco, heartily tired of sending message after message, resolved to seek himself the cause of the duenna's protracted absence.

"Martha--Martha," he cried, as soon as he saw her--"In the name of the devil, what means this?"

"Hush, Don Manuel!" replied the duenna, with great solemnity of manner--"Hush, venerated Señor; for sure enough the evil one has been at work."

"What!" exclaimed the astonished Don Manuel, "explain yourself, and quickly."

"Holy Virgin!" proceeded the dame, "that such a thing should happen in my time!"

"In the name of God--Martha," cried again the father, in agony, "tell me what misfortune has happened."

"Oh!" whined the duenna, struggling hard to force from her old eyes a couple of rebellious tears, "ask me not, for shame and sorrow will choke my utterance."

"May all the curses of Heaven choke you! Woman, what have you done with my daughter? Speak--speak, or by _Santiago de Compostela_, I will so belabour thy shrivelled form, as to reduce it to atoms in less time than you can say your _credo_."

The duenna had never before seen her master in so terrible a passion, and she almost repented not having followed her first impulse to fly. She inwardly cursed that tenderness for her reputation, which had brought the more substantial part of her person into the present quandary. A vigorous defence was the only alternative now left her.

"What have I done with your daughter!" she exclaimed, with a look which she meant to be expressive of indignant surprise.--"May the Lord help you!--what should I have done with your daughter?"

"Where is she then?"

A pause ensued.

"Where is she?" demanded again the agitated father, with redoubled emotion.

"Alas! I know not--she is gone to all appearance--May the light of Heaven, and her guardian angel conduct her steps!"

"Gone!--my Theodora gone!" cried Don Manuel in the height of affliction.

"I conclude that to be the case," added the duenna, with assurance, "for she is nowhere to be found."

The desolate father appeared thunderstruck at this intelligence. He smote his venerable forehead, and plucked his grey beard in the anguish of despair. Then he vented the most bitter reproaches against the ingratitude of his daughter, and cursed the day that gave her birth.

Whilst he was thus vainly indulging in the paroxysm of grief, the duenna kept crossing herself with such active fervour, that the repeated and rapid motion of her hand at last caught the attention of the sorrowing and abstracted father.

"Oh, thou vile hypocrite!" he exclaimed, darting a furious look--"Thou beldame!--Is this the way thou hast answered the confidence reposed in thee?--I have nurtured a serpent in my house--I have set the ravenous wolf to guard the lamb! Accursed beldame! Thou art an accomplice in my daughter's flight."

"Holy Virgin of the Conception!" ejaculated the offended Martha, "that such foul aspersions should be thrown on my character, after sixty years of rigid penitence! May the Lord forgive you, Señor, as I do"--and she crossed herself with redoubled zeal.

"Forgive me, thou imp of the devil!" thundered Don Manuel, astonished at her assurance.--"Forgive me!"

"I an imp of the devil!--I, who had an aunt who died in odour of sanctity, in the convent of Santa Clara--I, who am second cousin to Fray Domingo, one of the most religious as well as most celebrated preachers of the day!"

"May the curse of Heaven fall on thee, and him, and all thy race."

"Do not swear," interrupted Martha; "Oh! do not swear--you fright me--I shall faint."

"Avaunt, thou detested hag!" continued Don Manuel.

"_San Pedro y san Pablo!_" cried the duenna.

"Thou poisonous crocodile!" replied Don Manuel.

"_San Jose bendito!_" responded the duenna.

"Abominable fiend!" returned Don Manuel.

"_Animas benditas!_" answered the duenna.

This extraordinary litany, however, was at length cut short by the arrival of Don Antonio de Leyva. He was not a little surprised at the scene which presented itself, and was for some time unable to obtain an explanation. When he at length arrived at a knowledge of the affair, his astonishment and sorrow were exhibited in the most lively manner.

"Alas!" he cried, "I could not but suspect from my first interview with Theodora, that her affections were fixed on another object."

"Oh, no, no," eagerly replied Don Manuel--"you are far from the mark--she cannot love any one--how could she form an attachment without my knowledge?"

"Then," said Don Antonio, sighing, "it was to avoid my addresses that she has sought a refuge in flight."

"_Jesus Maria!_" interposed the duenna--"Do not say so, Don Antonio--how could she possibly object to so accomplished a cavalier?"

"Good dame," answered he, "it is not difficult to account for her dislike; and I must acknowledge with painful sensations, that I am chiefly to blame for this unfortunate occurrence."

"No, no," cried Monteblanco, pointing to Martha; "the person chiefly to blame in this affair, is that detestable hag.--See how she crosses herself, and rolls her eyes to impose upon our credulity; but it is all over--I have been too long the dupe of her affected piety, and seeming austerity of manners; my eyes are at length open to conviction, and I see the despicable creature in her true colours."

"What reason," observed de Leyva, "can you assign for Theodora's strange resolution, unless it be dislike to me, or love for another."

"Alas! I know not what to think," answered Don Manuel; "my mind is bewildered, and all my conjectures may prove wrong. Perhaps some hastiness in my way of proceeding may have influenced her determination. But I do not despair; she may yet be brought to a sense of her duty; if not," he added despondingly, "the happiness of my declining age is blasted, and heartily shall I wish to be numbered with the dead."

Monteblanco by these means sought a medium between accusing his daughter of downright criminality, and confessing to young de Leyva that his suspicions concerning Theodora's aversion to the intended wedding were not entirely groundless.

He was unwilling also to relinquish the thought of having so excellent a son-in-law, and he believed Don Antonio to be possessed of all those qualities which are capable of enslaving the affections of women, even the most fastidious. He, therefore, prudently resolved, in case of his child's return, to allow her due time to consider the proposal, which he had been so anxious to carry by parental authority, hoping that she would at last be brought to acquiesce in his wishes, by the constant assiduity and numberless accomplishments of her suitor.

Under this impression, he readily accepted the services proffered by Don Antonio, for the recovery of Theodora, and for speedily concerting the means.

"Don Manuel," exclaimed the gallant de Leyva, "spite of your kind and courteous asseverations, I cannot but consider myself the cause of your daughter's leaving her home. This reflection and that tender sentiment which Theodora was as capable of inspiring as I am susceptible of feeling, makes me perhaps a principal in this melancholy event. It is with heartfelt sincerity, therefore, that I offer my assistance. Let us first endeavour to restore the lovely fugitive to her deserted home, and then let not the shadow of compulsion actuate her future determination."

"I shall be happy," replied Don Manuel, "to profit by advice dictated at once by affection and prudence. Theodora," he added after a short pause, "cannot have departed from this city, and we shall probably find her either in a convent, or at the abode of one of her relatives. However, to insure all precaution, I shall forthwith send despatches to Granada, and the neighbouring towns."

Saying this, Monteblanco made a movement to retire with his young friend, and casting a look of anger on the duenna, he said as he passed--"Thou mayest well tremble, miserable sinner that thou art!"

"Tremble, forsooth!" returned the stately dame, with great dignity of manner. "Innocence has no occasion to tremble; and now it only remains for me to quit a place where my virtue and honesty have so unwarrantably been called in question."

"When thou dost quit my house," said Don Manuel, "it will be to be shut up for life in a convent, there to do penance for thy sins, and to profit by the holy example of that good aunt that died in odour of sanctity."

Left to herself, Martha began seriously to reflect on the unpleasantness of her situation; the threat of a conventual seclusion sounded harshly to her ear. She fancied it would be more advantageous to society that her good offices should continue in requisition, than that they should be for ever lost by an untimely adoption of a contemplative life.

"Oh, that ungracious Gomez Arias!" she exclaimed, in her perplexity.

"What wouldst thou with Gomez Arias?" said a well known voice.

She turned, and saw before her the object of her exclamation.

"Blessed be the Virgin! It is he, sure enough. What brings you here, Sir? Where is my young lady?"

"Where is she?" inquired Gomez Arias, with feigned anxiety.

"Nay, nay, your arts are thrown away on me; I know that Theodora, poor silly thing, has eloped with you. She loves you, in very truth, she does; and when a woman really loves, it is unaccountable what a number of fooleries she will be tempted to commit."

"Well," returned Don Lope, "supposing she has intrusted herself to my protection, she only followed the dictates of pure affection; surely there could be no harm in so doing."

"Under favour, Don Lope," observed the duenna, "but there is. Not forsooth in loving you; but yet, there is a crying injustice, an unpardonable cruelty, in leaving me to suffer for it without a----"

"Reward, wouldst thou say?" interrupted Don Lope.

"_Valgame San Juan!_ But you misapprehend me strangely. I am not mercenary; heaven knows my only concern is for my safety, threatened as I am."

"Threatened! in what possible manner?" demanded Gomez Arias.

"With nothing less than a convent."

"A convent," repeated Don Lope, smiling, "to so devout a dame, methinks, can have no terrors."

"Aye in troth, I am devout," replied the duenna, "and yet I feel nowise inclined to be immured between four walls. What merit would there be in the sacrifice of an old, poor, decrepid piece of mortality such as I. No, it is the voluntary seclusion of young, rich and beautiful virgins that delights the divinity."

"Most prudent Martha," gaily replied Gomez Arias, "I greatly admire and applaud your discretion. Never ought so worthy, so valuable a matron to be lost to the world. No, thou wert born to be the consolation of gallant knights and amorous damsels; it would be really unpardonable to permit thy seclusion, whilst thou mayest yet tend thy services to lovers. No, no, God forbid thou shouldst go to a nunnery."

"The Lord bless you, good Señor," returned Martha with humility; "but you over-rate my poor deserts."

"By my sword! that modesty becomes thee mightily. But we must lose no time. Attend vespers this afternoon, there thou shalt find my conscientious valet, who will give thee proper directions and assistance to effect thy escape, and ample means to pass the remainder of thy precious life in some distant city of Spain, free from the blessed idea of conventual retirement."

"That will I do, most generous Don Lope, and be thankful withal."

"But stay," added Gomez Arias with mock gravity; "there is one objection to this arrangement."

"_Virgen de las Angustias!_--What is it, Señor?" demanded the duenna, in visible alarm.

"Why!" answered Gomez Arias, "only that thou must sacrifice somewhat of that dear, unsullied reputation by following such a course."

"Alas, Señor!" exclaimed she of the nice reputation--"That is too true; willingly would I preserve it entire, but feeble mortals are not bound to do more than their strength can compass."

"True," rejoined Gomez Arias; "thine argument, most venerable Martha, is a very plausible argument, and very consoling withal."

At this moment a noise was heard. The duenna started. "It is my master, and Don Antonio," cried she. "Hence! begone, Don Lope, they must not see us together."

"Fear not, most respected dame," said Gomez Arias; "I am no college gallant, no unskilful tyro in the affairs of love; I depart but to return in due time."

"Return!" echoed Martha; "to what purpose?"

"To cover thy threadbare reputation," said he laughing; "it appears of so tender a texture, that it is likely to be torn piece-meal, if not remedied in time. Besides, I must protect my own, should it be necessary: a good pilot, even in a calm, must prepare against foul weather."

"Our Lady's blessing be upon your head!" said Martha, "for a right prudent _caballero_."

"Well, mind to give thy assistance at vespers."

"Ah, my good Señor; my devotion requires no stimulus."

Gomez Arias made his exit, just in time to prevent a meeting with the aforesaid gentlemen. They had been busily occupied in devising the most efficacious means to insure success in their researches. Don Manuel appeared more composed in his demeanor, for he placed much confidence in the influence and abilities of his ally. Hope, that with its cheering ray lights us even on the gloomy borders of the tomb, now in part dispelled the heavy cloud that overshadowed the deserted father's heart.

Don Antonio took an affectionate leave, and after repeating his cordial offers of assistance, departed.

Monteblanco, when left by himself, felt his wrath again revived, at the sight of the duenna; he therefore renewed his threats of a convent.

"Don Manuel!" said the duenna, with a most sanctimonious look, "I am innocent--innocent, as the child unborn: yet if it so pleaseth Heaven, that I should be immured in a cloister, the Lord's will be done; a convent has no terrors for me; alas! a poor humble sinner can desire no better abode; but think, Señor, how galling it is to be forced by compulsion to embrace a state, that ought to be embraced out of spontaneous inclination; allow me at least a few hours to arrange my worldly concerns, and I shall be ready to obey your commands."

Saying this, the female _tartuffe_ retired to her chamber, to prepare for her secret departure.