CHAPTER V.

In the garden, where the last scene of the don’s married life was to take place, and in the moonlight, tripped Norina--a young widow again--to the secret garden gate. Click, click went the lock, and the next moment Ernesto was at her little feet, vowing in the warmest manner that he loved her.

Barely had he got through a dozen protestations when there was the flashing of a few rays from a dark lantern all up and down the garden walks, and there was the cranching of the don’s heavy legs in the gravel, followed by the lighter walk of the intriguing doctor.

The doctor quite cleverly showed the little lantern rays as he slid behind from tree to tree, and as he did not see Ernesto glide away to the house.

All of a sudden, and with a terrific lunge, he dashed before Norina, and started open the dark little lantern full in her face.

“Thieves! thieves!”

“Hush, ma’am, where is he?”

“Who, the thief--thieves! thieves!”

“No, ma’am, he--who was whispering in your ear.”

“Sir, how dare you. There was no one here.”

Whereon the don shot the dark lantern all round and about, like clock-work.

“Sir, I say again, how DARE you, there was no one here.”

“Pray what were you doing at this dark spot, at this hour of midnight?”

“Enjoying the cool air and the moonlight.”

“Begone ma’am--out of my house, ma’am.”

“Sir, what tone is this?”

“I say, begone ma’am.”

“A pretty tale; this house is mine, and in it I’ll remain.”

“Ten thousand bombs, you won’t.”

“Ten thousand bombs I will.”

“Don Pasquale, Don Pasquale,” said the doctor, “pray leave it all to me. Sister, I would spare you.”

“Would you, sir, indeed.”

“To-morrow, a new bride will be brought to this house.”

“How _dare_ you, sir, indeed.”

Don Pasquale paid great attention to the dialogue.

“And pray whose bride?”

“Ernesto’s, Norina. That contemptible, coquettish, arrant widow!”

Don Pasquale felt some satisfaction, and cried out, “Bravo, doctor.”

“That odious woman, here in spite of me. Norina and I under the same roof. Never, I’ll leave the house first.”

“DO.”

“But stop, stop, brother. Perhaps this is a trick. I must be sure of it.”

The doctor went up to the don and said, “Then Don Pasquale, you must let them marry, or she’ll _never_ go.”

“_Never?_ Will she when they _are_ married?”

“Here--house! who is there? Why, as I’m a doctor, ’tis Ernesto.”

“Well, well.”

“I, Doctor Malatesta, speaking for Don Pasquale, grant you the hand of Norina, and an income of four thousand dollars a year.”

“Dear uncle, is this true?”

“Dear nephew, yes it is.”

“And _I_ (stamp of the foot) oppose it.”

“And _I_ (don, shaking his head) do not. Go and fetch her, some one; go and fetch her straight.”

Said the doctor. “No one need go far, for she, Norina’s here.”

“What--what--what--what--what!”

Here Norina made a full curtsey.

“THEN WHERE’S SOPHRONIA!”

“I’d not be sure, dear don, she should be in her convent.”

“And the marriage, doctor.”

“A glimpse, dear don, of what your future _might_ have been.”

“Dear--dear--dear--dear--dear! Thank heaven. Still--”

“Come don, be generous.”

Need it be said where the two “young people” were at this particular moment--of course, at the don’s stout feet.

The don blessed them in the usual manner, and the young people rose, happy.

THE MORAL OF THIS IS MOST EASILY GUESSED, IN AGE TO SHUN WIVES, IS OF WISDOM THE BEST.

LA SOMNAMBULA. (BELLINI.)

THE SLEEP WALKER.