CHAPTER XIV.

Si! m'ingannai: scerner dovea, che in petto Di un traditor mai solo un tradimento Non entra.

_Alfieri._

Le cruel, hélas! il me quitte, Il me laisse sans nul appui!

_Berquin._

"In the name of Heaven, Don Lope," said Roque; "let me again conjure you to pause before you finally resolve upon this undertaking: my heart misgives me strangely."

"Thy heart," replied Gomez Arias, "is a most impertinent monitor. Simple man! what other course is left me to pursue?--Is it thy wish that I should relinquish the most glorious prize, at the very moment of its attainment, from a pusillanimous fear of consequences? Already so far advanced, must I shrink from an honorable alliance with Leonor? By heaven! I cannot; I will not. Prudence, consistency, honor, forbid!

"But, saving your displeasure," interposed Roque, "methinks that same honor of which you appear so tenacious, cannot urge you to betray an unfortunate girl into the hands of infidel Moors. And although your present situation is certainly fraught with difficulties, there may yet be found some other way of proceeding with regard to Theodora, not altogether so frightful."

"No, Roque, none. We have now no longer time to think; we must act, and act without wasting a single precious moment.--Go, dispatch, deliver this letter to Theodora, and conduct her to the place that I have already pointed out. The night is fast advancing; dispatch; and be faithful in the discharge of my orders. This step is unavoidable, and to its necessity even thou thyself wilt be reconciled, though at present it may awaken in thy bosom a foolish sentiment of pity, or fear, I know not which."

Roque attempted no farther expostulation, but heaving a sigh, and casting his eyes to heaven, proceeded to the discharge of his commission, whilst his master hurried to the solitary spot where he had decided they should meet. Roque, in that wavering mood so natural to his character, alike unfit for good or evil, made his way to Don Alonso's garden, deliberating within himself on the course he ought to follow. Pity and remorse, at intervals, made him shrink with dismay from the picture of wretchedness which the unfortunate Theodora presented to his view. There was something so iniquitous and unmanly in betraying the unsuspecting and lovely victim, that the feelings of the valet, though far from being refined, revolted from the participation: once or twice he had even resolved to acquaint Theodora with the premeditated plot, but these momentary impulses of his better feelings were soon checked for want of strength to follow up the generous suggestion. The awe with which Roque beheld his master, and the dread of the results which his disclosure might produce in the mind of the victim, powerfully contributed to silence the voice of conscience. Then he hoped that the marriage once over, measures might be taken for the security and comfort of Theodora; and finally he fondly admitted the hope, or rather forced his rebellious mind to encourage it, that Gomez Arias would relent at the sight of the unhappy girl, and that he would then fix upon some other expedient less distressing and criminal.

In this conflict, he arrived at the palace, and entering by a private gate into the garden, he approached the window of Theodora's apartment. The anxious girl, who had been all the day on the alert, immediately descended, and stood by the side of Roque.

"Where is he?" she eagerly cried, upon meeting the valet.

"Prudence," replied Roque, "has obliged him, much against his inclination, to keep aloof; but here is a letter which will explain his motives, and the course that you are immediately to adopt."

Theodora ran over the contents of the letter in a trepidation of anxiety, and closed the perusal of it by imprinting the fervent kisses of love and devotion on the vile instrument of treachery.

"Let us make haste," she then said, and without waiting for Roque to lead the way, she hurried through the garden upon the wings of affection. The valet's heart misgave him, when he beheld her speeding with such haste to her destruction. He contrasted the devoted confidence of Theodora, hurrying to the fatal spot, with the duplicity and heartlessness of Gomez Arias tranquilly awaiting her arrival. Roque led her towards the place appointed; nor could he suppress a tear, as he listened to the artless language in which her full heart indulged during the way, in the fond expectation of being again united to her lover, and obtaining the forgiveness of her beloved parent. They arrived at length at the place. It was a beautiful night, unsullied by a breath of wind. The eager eyes of Theodora were strained to catch as soon as possible a sight of the dear object of her solicitude. She perceived at the further extremity a man enveloped in a cloak, and standing beside three horses. She gazed intensely; her bosom throbbed with emotion,--forward she hurried--she flew; and in a moment, with all the enthusiasm of her fond nature, threw herself into the arms of her lover.

Gomez Arias received the tender pressure with feelings hard to be defined. Distracted with conflicting passions, he appeared unable to act the part which he had judged necessary in this critical moment, while the loving Theodora, despite of her infatuation, could not but observe the coldness and restraint evident in his manner.

"What ails you, Lope?" she said, soothingly "are you not happy?"

"Happy! yes, Theodora, I am happy; but be not astonished at my disquietude: for alas! in my distracting situation I can feel no otherwise; the step which I am about to take----"

"Oh! I am sensible!" cried Theodora, earnestly, "of the extent of the sacrifice; I know the glorious prospects you relinquish by renouncing the hand of Leonor. Yes, I am indeed, aware of all the distressing circumstances that may ensue from the resolution you have taken. But, oh, Lope! will not the unutterable love, the fervid devotion of your poor Theodora, afford you some requital for the advantages which your honor obliges you to abandon?"

She looked fondly in his countenance. A tear stood trembling upon her eye, but in her lover's she beheld no sign of mutual tenderness. He coldly assisted her to mount, and bidding Roque follow, for some time they continued their route in silence. Theodora, however, in the gentleness of her nature, was disposed to deceive herself, and without hesitation attributed her lover's strange behaviour to the difficult situation in which he was placed. Nor could she feel hurt when she considered that it was for her sake that Gomez Arias exhibited this disquietude. She had secured the most important object of her life, and was not so selfish or unfeeling as to reproach him with a conduct which she hoped would soon be changed. But the arguments of reason are not always in accordance with the suggestions of feeling. Her mind commanded her to be satisfied, but her heart, in acquiescing with those dictates, was not entirely at ease, though she sedulously endeavoured to conceal her emotion from Gomez Arias. Her efforts, however, were not always successful, and the deep sighs that escaped her bosom, naturally attracted the notice of her lover. He, therefore, artfully strove, by bestowing some passing tokens of affection, to reassure the victim he was leading to the sacrifice. But the art of man, though it may succeed in imitating the various passions which agitate the human breast, is rarely successful when he attempts to feign the more tender sentiments of the heart; for cold must always be the language addressed to one, who has been the object of a fervid passion, when that passion is unhappily extinct. No powers of art--not all the force of imagination can call into life fresh flowers on the barren waste of a heart that no longer loves.

As they approached _El cerro de los Martires_ Theodora suddenly began to sob aloud, and Gomez Arias foresaw the dreadful scene he should have to sustain before he could finally disengage himself from the sorrowing girl.

"Theodora, why do you weep?" he asked in a tender tone.

"Alas! I know not," she answered. "But my heart is heavy--I feel as though some misfortune were impending. Whither are we going?--surely this is not the road to my father's mansion? Lope! Lope! whither are you leading me?" she inquired, in a thrilling voice of distress.

Steeled as it was against compassion, the heart of Gomez Arias felt moved at the question. Roque was exceedingly affected, and a groan escaped him as he piously ejaculated--"Heaven protect her!"

Theodora heard the exclamation; for nothing that bodes ill can evade the acute sense of misery.

"Thank you, good Roque," she said, mournfully. "But why call on the protection of heaven? My own Lope, are we in danger?"

Gomez Arias did not answer; for a feeling akin to remorse arose within him, as he thought on the treacherous duplicity he was about to practice against one whose very existence seemed to depend upon his love. They had now crossed _El cerro de los Martires_, and were ascending a little slope, when suddenly three or four persons sprung from their concealment, and checked their further advance. The moon shone brilliantly, so that every object could be plainly distinguished, and Theodora saw with dismay the forms that were moving towards them, as if with the express determination of intercepting their passage.

"They are Moors!" she exclaimed. "Oh, heavens! what can they want in this solitary place at the dead of night? Surely they must be some of those desperate people, who have been left houseless and forlorn in the late rebellion. Alas! they will retaliate on us all the horrors which they have suffered. My dear Lope, if we must die, it will be at least some consolation to meet death with thee."

She looked earnestly on her lover, but could trace no emotion in his features; they were composed. The present feelings of Gomez Arias partook of no alarm, and the unfortunate Theodora felt a fearful presentiment, as she perceived the unmoved expression of his countenance; for though the bravery of her lover might not allow him to dread the approach of death, for his own sake, yet, surely, her own danger ought to create in his mind some sensation of anxiety. In this frightful agony of thought, Theodora remained until they came up with the individuals who had awakened her fears. One of them now detached himself from the group, and advanced to address Gomez Arias, who had checked his horse to await his coming. What was the horror of Theodora when she recognized in the person that stood before them, the dreaded form of the renegade! She uttered a faint scream; and had not Gomez Arias prevented her, she would have fallen to the ground.

"So, Don Lope," said the renegade, "you have kept your word: I could expect no less from the noble Gomez Arias."

"And who are thy companions?" inquired Don Lope.

"There stands," replied Bermudo, pointing to Cañeri, "the illustrious Moor of whom I spoke--so the sooner we proceed to our arrangements, the better."

The mutual understanding which appeared to subsist between Gomez Arias and the renegade, and the heartless manner in which the last words were delivered, left not a doubt in the mind of Theodora, that some treacherous design was in contemplation. Her fears were soon confirmed; for Gomez Arias, turning to her, in a tone of pity, began----

"Theodora, I will not attempt to palliate the conduct which necessity obliges me to pursue; but the circumstances in which I am placed admit of no alternative. We must part for ever--nor can I for a moment prolong a scene, which must be so distressing to your feelings. It consoles me, however, to think that I can place you in the care of those who have pledged themselves to treat you with every consideration."

Saying this, he threw himself from his horse, and found no difficulty in bearing to the ground the yielding form of Theodora. She could not speak; amazement had absorbed all the powers of her mind, and benumbed the principle of will and action. She stood wildly gazing on vacancy, like one conscious of labouring under a dreadful dream, and striving to awake from the painful illusion. But when Cañeri advanced, when she actually saw his hated figure standing before her with a smile of exulting joy, she seemed suddenly to regain all her powers of recollection.

"'Tis he!" she cried franticly, "'tis he. Oh! horror!"--She ran wildly towards her lover.

"Oh, Lope, deliver me from him."

"No, young lady," returned the Moor, "you must now come with me."

"Oh, heaven!" she shrieked, "no, no, he cannot--he will not thus abandon me!--Oh, Lope!--my dear--my own beloved!--undeceive this barbarous, this abhorred Moor."

She appealed to her lover in the fervour of deep anguish,--he turned from her to depart; the moment was bitter; he felt the rankling pangs of remorse. The wretched girl clung to him,--he made one desperate struggle to disengage himself.

"Moor, take her," he cried with throbbing emotion, "but oh! deal thou more kindly by her than I have done. Here," he continued, "receive this, and see that she is treated with the regard which her beauty merits, and her misfortunes deserve. Act faithfully to thy pledge, or dread the worst effects of my vengeance."

He threw a large purse of gold upon the ground, which Malique lost no time in securing, whilst Cañeri, addressing Gomez Arias,--

"Christian," he said, "I fear not thy vengeance, and I value not thy gifts; the word of a Moor is plighted; I love the beauteous female, and these considerations will afford the best security for my conduct."

He then advanced to take the hand of Theodora, but she flew from him with a look of wildness that might have moved the very stones to pity.

"Oh! no, no, never! Gomez Arias, you may be cruel, but cannot be infamous.--Oh, do not, do not deliver me into the hands of the detested enemy of our country--the ferocious, the false Cañeri."

"What!" exclaimed Gomez Arias, surprised, "is this, then, Cañeri, the rebel chief?"

"The same," replied the renegade, interposing; "will that be an obstacle to our agreement?"

Gomez Arias remained a few minutes in silence; he felt an inward disquiet he could not well explain; the name of Cañeri had awakened a new and painful sensation; it recalled to his mind the edicts of the queen, which he was on the point of violating by holding intercourse with the rebel; but again he thought that the elevated situation to which he would be shortly exalted might sufficiently secure him against any danger, should even this transaction ever come to light, of which he could not foresee the slightest probability.

Meantime, poor Roque, who perceived the hesitation of his master, ventured to approach him, and with a voice agitated with fear,--

"Oh, my dear master," he said, "if it is not too late, let us retreat from this dreaded spot; do not conclude this hellish treaty, for be assured it will prove the destruction of your fortunes, if there is an omnipotence above or justice amongst men."

It was too late; the heart that could not yield to the voice of its own conscience, was not easily to be moved by the expostulation of a dependant. Gomez Arias had now advanced too far to retrace his steps; it was a fearful deed, but he relied with implicit confidence on its being for ever buried in silence. Then, without further delay, he made a sign to the renegade in token of agreement, and turned towards Granada.

Theodora became frantic; with a desperate effort she flew to her lover; a dismal, harrowing shriek quivered through the inmost fibres of her heart; and then she spoke not, but clung to Gomez Arias with the fearful might arising from despair. Her face was hidden in his bosom, her pulse beat not, and the spark of life seemed extinct. Gomez Arias gently endeavoured to extricate himself from her firm embrace; she again became conscious of his intention, and in the paroxysm of agony she exclaimed--

"Barbarian! have I deserved this from you?"

Roque now sobbed aloud like a child, and Gomez Arias himself was moved; but the renegade, fearful of the results of the scene, advanced to claim his victim.

"Oh, my honored master!" cried Roque, "does not this harrowing picture of despair move the kinder feelings of your heart?--you once loved her tenderly, and were it only for the remembrance of what she was, spare her now."

Gomez Arias felt the rebuke; it soured his temper and confirmed him in his purpose. He was indignant at the freedom of his dependant, and darted on him a withering look of displeasure. But Roque, who had now acquired a strength of mind and courage, of which his nature till then had seemed wholly destitute, in a bold tone began--

"Shame to the man who calls himself noble, and can behave in this manner towards a helpless woman! Don Lope, this is a fearful deed, and, mark me well, the time will come at last, the time of terrible retribution."

The brow of Gomez Arias grew black as a storm, and every suggestion of pity at once vanished.

"Villain!" he cried, in a voice choaked with rage, "is it a base born varlet like thee, that dare utter such threats to me! Moor--" he added, turning to the renegade, "take this fellow into your charge, and see that he does not return to Granada; I will reward thee well."

The renegade gave a token of assent, and made a sign to his companions to secure him.

"And what right," said Roque, indignantly, "have you to sell me thus? I am a free born man, and a true Christian."

"Roque," replied Gomez Arias, somewhat more composedly, "I have often warned thee that thy indiscretion would at length bring thee into trouble and disgrace. Thy offence merits even a more exemplary punishment, which I will spare in consideration of thy former services. Away with him, Moors," he added, "and take him to the distant country whither you are going, for here he may prove dangerous to me."

"Aye," returned Bermudo, in a voice of import, "we will take him in charge, for as you say, Don Lope, he may indeed be dangerous to you."

These words, though nothing in themselves, were uttered with a mysterious meaning that sounded ominous to Gomez Arias. He felt as though a cloud was darkening over the ambitious prospects which had seduced his mind and perverted his heart; the voice that spoke rung in his ear like an awful warning of which he had some strange recollection. Again he attempted to escape from the scene. One sudden powerful effort, and he loosened himself from the grasp of Theodora: the despairing girl fell to the ground, and raved aloud, and pronounced a curse on her betrayer. Then in the furious impulse of madness, she snatched at the dagger that glittered in the girdle of Cañeri, with the determination of closing her wretched existence; but her deadly intention was thwarted by the renegade, who arrested her arm in time to prevent the fatal deed.

Gomez Arias now sprung upon his horse, and Cañeri took the hand of Theodora; but she furiously darted from him, and sought to fly after her lover, who was speeding fast away.

"Oh stay!" she continued, crying in a tone of agony; "Oh stay, Lope! complete your work--in pity kill me. One crime more will not make you unacceptable to her you love. Return! return! oh Lope, in the name of heaven!--Not for me, but for the love of Leonor, do not leave me thus! Oh Lope, do not leave me thus!"

Gomez Arias, as he sped away, heard the piteous appeal dying faintly on the wind, and he plunged the rowels into his courser's sides, to escape the harrowing sensation which such accents produced. Soon the mournful cries were lost in the distance, and the wretched Theodora, at length exhausted and overpowered, fell senseless on the ground. The Moors easily succeeded in bearing her away, while poor Roque, who followed close, seemed, out of pity for her, to be reconciled to his own fate.

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

GOMEZ ARIAS;

OR,

THE MOORS OF THE ALPUJARRAS.

A SPANISH HISTORICAL ROMANCE.

BY

DON TELESFORO DE TRUEBA Y COSÍO.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. III.

_LONDON_:

HURST, CHANCE, AND CO.

65 ST. PAUL'S CHURCH YARD.

1828.