CHAPTER XII.

GATHERED THREADS.

Some time before the events which we have just related, the loves of Ricardo and Maria, which had been going on in a gradual diminuendo like the notes of a beautiful melody, until Ricardo himself knew not whether they really existed or had completely died away; whether he was the lover of the first-born daughter of the Elorzas, or whether he had other rights over her heart than those granted to an old valued friend--these loves, I say, had suddenly and unexpectedly gained, without any one knowing a reason for it, a new lease of life, just as a light about to die from lack of oil is renewed by being given a good quantity of this combustible. Every one was surprised to see them together, talking as before in one corner of the parlor, during long interviews, oblivious of everything around them, dwelling in that nook of heaven which lovers find as easily in crowds as in solitude. Satisfaction followed surprise in their friends, and this in turn was followed by hypotheses as to the approach of the wedding-day, and conjectures about the motives serving to make such a change in the conduct of the lovers. The mischievous ones, winking as they said it, declared that of the three enemies of the soul, the flesh was the most to be feared, and that God had said, _Crescite et multiplicamini_, and that it was folly to fight against the laws of nature. The ladies, casting down their eyes, declared that in all states one could well serve God, and that not the easiest of penances were imposed by the care and education of children and the rule of the house. But at all events, the fact was that things had changed without any one knowing why, and that ladies and gentlemen were delighted, hoping that the illustrious partners would soon vouchsafe them a happy day. Don Mariano's delight was so great that it shone through his eyes every time that he turned them toward the handsome couple, and a thousand lovely dreams in which figured a swarm of rosy, frolicsome grandchildren, just as his daughter had been, came at night to caress him in the solitudes of his feudal couch. Doña Gertrudis, as usual, thoroughly approved of Maria's conduct. Learn now how this state of things came about.

One morning when the young Marqués de Peñalta awoke earlier than usual, noticing from the window of his room that the sky was clear (contrary to its time-honored custom), he felt an inclination to take a walk in the environs of the town, and making the thought father to the act, he hastily dressed and went down into the street in search of pure air; but before he left the inner town, as he was passing the Elorza mansion, he accidentally met Maria going to church with her maid. His heart gave a leap, and, somewhat agitated, he stopped to salute her. The girl met him with that gay, blithesome gesture, full at once of mischievousness and candor which was peculiar to her nature, and therefore impossible to overcome by any force.

"You have got up early--to hear mass, I suppose?"

"Oh no," replied Ricardo with a smile; "I was going to take a walk in the country, as it must be very lovely now."

"Very well; but to-day you must not go to walk: I claim you, and am going to take you to mass," said the girl in a tone of resolution, and with a decidedly adorable inflection of voice; and suiting the action to the word, she took him by the hand and led him captive this way for a number of feet.

Lucky Ricardo! what better could he desire at that moment than to see himself captured in such a lovely way? He could not say a word during the first few moments. Emotion overmastered him, and a tear slid down his honest, manly face.

"Oh, Maria, if you knew how happy you make me!" he said to her in a low, trembling voice. "If you wanted to take me with you, where would I not go? You cannot comprehend how I long for you to speak with me, to smile on me, to lead me. I try eagerly to find ways to please you, and I don't find them. Tell me how I can cause you any pleasure, how I can melt the ice which is destroying our love, and I will try to do it, even if it should cost me my life. If I did not love you more than any other being in this world, and also as the blessed remembrance of my mother, how long ago I should have left you forever!... But my love is of such a nature, it is so strong, so eager, so absorbing, that it has succeeded in disarming all my pride ... and I fear that it has got the better of my dignity," he added in a low tone.

The young woman looked at him steadily, full of delight and admiration of such sincere affection, and she replied gayly,--

"At present you can please me by going to mass with me; will you?"

"Yes, dear."

"Will you come to-morrow also, and every other day?"

"Yes, loveliest, I ask nothing better."

"You don't know how you rejoice me, Ricardo!"

"Truly?"

"Yes, I love you dearly, but I want you to be good and religious, because, before everything else we ought to think of our salvation, and make it our richest possession in this world."

The young man at that moment felt his heart melt within him, as he drank in the drops of affection which his sweetheart let fall upon his lips. There is nothing that can so quickly change our most deeply rooted ideas and our firmest judgments as the voice of the woman whom we love. Ricardo was a lukewarm believer, like most men of our day, and he detested exaggerations, and looked with decided repugnance upon religious practices. Accordingly then, by the work of enchantment, that is, by the work of that sweet voice and those still sweeter eyes, which gazed upon him with eloquent expression, he was stripped of his anti-clerical opinions, and was transformed into a decided champion of the altar and a fervid devotee of the saints, male and female, of the celestial court. He took delight in thinking that what his betrothed was doing was, after all, not blameworthy; that her piety and mysticism were the reflection of a noble and lofty spirit; that this same piety was the sweet pledge of her conjugal happiness, since it would cause her to refrain from the vanities to which other women after marriage devote themselves; that there was nothing strange in the poor girl desiring her betrothed to be a believer and devout, when her ideas about eternal salvation were taken into consideration, and that in this regard he had done very wrong to oppose her so obstinately, striking her in the very heart of her sensitive and admirable faith; finally he came to the conclusion that he was a barbarian, incapable of enjoying the sacraments or of understanding the adorable mysteries which a heart consecrated to God might take in, and that Maria was a saint who had borne with him with too much patience. Moved, partly by this thought, and infinitely more by the emotion caused by his sweetheart's unexpected favor, he replied with accents of tenderness:--

"Listen Maria.... You know well that I am not, and have never been an unbeliever.... It is true I have looked with a certain coolness on religious practices, but you ought to know just as well that this is a common fault among young men, and particularly among the military.... As for the rest, I tell you with all the sincerity of my soul, I have never abandoned the faith which my sainted mother taught me in childhood.... Even now ring in my ears her counsels, and still I can repeat without mistake, the multitude of prayers which she made me say on my knees on the bed, when I retired.... That cannot be forgotten, Maria.... It would be infamous if one forgot it! To-day the same counsels are repeated by lips that I worship.... How could you think that a religion always inculcated by the beings whom I have most loved and respected in my life, should not be sweet!... Yes, my loveliest, I am religious by birth and by conviction, and I hope to be still more fervently so by your aid.... Tell me what you desire me to do in this regard, and I will do it.... Tell me what thoughts you wish me to think, and I will think them!... I am all yours, body and soul...."

"Thus, thus I love you.... But you must not be religious for the sake of my love, for then it has no merit in it, but for the sake of God. The ties which are made in this world,--what are they worth in comparison with that existing eternally between the Creator and his creatures? If you love me much, love me in God and for God, as I love you. In any other way it is a sin to fix our attention and our love on any creature."

Ricardo's emotion and ardor received from these words a dash of cold water, but they were strong enough to persist without diminution, and they still kept control of his heart until they reached the portico of the church. Then Maria, taking the holy water, and offering it to him with the tips of her fingers, said:--

"Now you must stay under the choir to hear the mass; I am going up to the altar. Be careful not to look for me a single time! You must understand that this would be to profane the sanctuary, and in such a case it would be better for you not to come in."

"No, I will not look at you, though it will be very hard work."

"Give me your word that you won't."

"I give it."

"Well, then, adios, ... it won't be long[55] ... wait for me at the entrance...."

After she had gone several steps away, she turned around to say in a very subdued tone,--

"Be sure to do as I said, ... and be reverent, will you?"

Ricardo gave a sign of assent, while a happy smile brightened his face.

From that time forth the Marqués de Peñalta every morning escorted the eldest daughter of the Elorzas to mass, leaving her at the church door and joining her again when service was over. Maria evidently felt great pleasure in having his company, and as for Ricardo, it is not easy to exaggerate the joy which suddenly fell upon him through the change brought about in the behavior of his betrothed. Gradually her influence began to have such weight upon his spirit, that before long, as he himself had already suspected would be the case, his ideas began notably to modify, and not only his ideas but likewise his habits and manner of life, causing him to be more circumspect in nature, more careful in his speech, more gentle and more religious ... Anxious to please his betrothed, who did not cease to urge him with entreaties and advice, he began to give up the noisy amusements and even the company of the other officers of the gun factory, going home early, frequenting churches, and spending many afternoons with some of the clergymen; he became a member of several pious confraternities, among them that of Saint Vincent de Paul, visiting the poor in company with the _beatos_ of the town, and spending no little money in contributions for worship; finally, after many heartfelt prayers he made general confession to Fray Ignacio, Maria's confessor.

However strange it may seem, we must declare that Ricardo, far from feeling repugnance or discomfort in this new life, found deep, mysterious pleasures, which till then he had never enjoyed. The pomp and circumstance of the Catholic religion, to which he had hitherto paid little attention, began to fascinate him; the sweet seclusion of the church at eventide, when it is peopled with shadows and murmurs, filled him with a gentle perturbation, with a certain peculiar longing for a lofty secret something; the odors of the incense and wax were for him like a pleasant poison, which put him to sleep, carrying him away to glorious regions of immortal bliss; his frequent deeds of charity produced in him an agreeable aftertaste and a great sense of comfort, increasing his faith; the humiliation of the sacrament of penance, which at first had been so distasteful to him, came to be a fountain of delights; he himself did not know whence they proceeded or how they took possession of his soul. Perhaps some of the psychological novelists who know so much and take such delight in investigating the deepest recesses of the consciousness of other people might discover the origin of those joys in the close union which our young friend created in the depths of his soul between religion and his love for Maria, and might see in the pleasure which Ricardo felt in running counter to his ideas, and mortifying his self-love, a certain analogy to what mystics and ascetics feel in the midst of their cruel torments,--the pleasure of sacrificing self for the beloved object. Perhaps they would set themselves minutely to investigate what part of that pleasure corresponded to pure devotion, and what part to the development of amorous sentiments and the movement of the feelings. Possibly, carried away by their love of analysis, and dragged from their moorings by the hurricane of impiety, which is nowadays apt to carry away with it this class of novelists, they might go so far as to declare that there exists at the bottom of religious practices and the ceremonial of the Church something which instead of calming the voice of the feelings adds to it, and that the inclination of the sexes, in the very heart of the religious life, within the temple itself, enjoying the soporific light reflected gently from the gilding of the altars, breathing the keen odors of the dust and the wax, and the narcotic perfume of the incense, listening to the moaning of the organ, and the vague murmur of the prayers of the faithful, acquires the flattering savor of forbidden fruit, and is more delicious and voluptuous than amid the splendor and elegance of the ball-room. Possibly they would say this and add many other considerations to prove it, but I will not follow them on this path, which, without good reason, leads to the offending of timid consciences and the grievous confusing of the novelist with the philosopher. I limit myself gladly to setting forth facts without launching out into the philosophy of them, and I faithfully describe what I have seen and experienced, or have been told by trustworthy people.

One genuine fact, therefore, was that Ricardo enjoyed in his own way yielding to the counsels of his betrothed in reference to the practice of Christian virtue and pious deeds. The afternoon when he made general confession, he felt more deeply than ever the singular consolation and the lively delights to be enjoyed in the depths of humility. It was a clear, beautiful spring afternoon. Fray Ignacio, forewarned by Maria, was waiting for him in the sacristy of San Felipe, and received him with a certain familiar solemnity not free from condescension. He confessed in the sacristy itself, Fray Ignacio being seated in a wooden chair blackened and polished by use, while he knelt at his feet with the diffidence and emotion such as he used to feel as a boy when his mother led him by the hand to the same confessional. The shame of announcing his sins soon passed away, giving place to a gentle tenderness full of unspeakable sweetness, which was so overpowering that he was constrained to tears. The spacious room in which he found himself, its lofty ceiling, its dusty walls set with black shelves and gloomy paintings, gave a melancholy echo to the murmured words of his confession; the sunlight made its way in through the leaded panes of the two windows, making in the wide spaces lines of floating, luminous dust. The priest threw one arm around his neck and brought his ear close to his lips, gradually probing with many leading questions the inmost nooks and corners of his conscience and the deepest secrets of his soul, sometimes severely chiding him, sometimes giving him sweet counsels, sometimes entertaining him with exemplary anecdotes which agreeably occupied for a few moments the intervals of the pious proceeding. He stopped to speak long of Ricardo's love and its advantages and of Maria's splendid character. Ricardo felt a lively pleasure in these words: he looked with admiration and reverence on that man who was the absolute master of his loved one's secrets, and he determined to put his soul into his hands, that he might guide it just as she had done. The priest continued with a final exhortation full of fire, wherein he eloquently united Maria's name with all the acts of virtue which he expected from him henceforth, so as to stir him to the highest pitch and kindle in his spirit sincere repentance and an irresistible desire to live piously and rejoice his betrothed. When they were done, and Fray Ignacio, assuming a certain solemnity, drew back a little and let fall upon him a full and generous absolution, the lines of the floating luminous dust had vanished and the sacristy was half enveloped in shadows. On the following day, when he went to mass with Maria, instead of waiting under the choir, he went with her to the great altar and received in her presence and to her great joy the holy wafer.

"You have given me the greatest pleasure of my life, Ricardo," she said as they went out of the church.

The young marquis smiled beatifically, and replied in a whisper,--

"Do you love me more now?"

"I don't care to answer you," replied the girl with a sweet expression of face. "After communion one ought not to speak of such things.... Let us wait till to-morrow."

They waited till the morrow, and then Maria told him without hesitation that his virtuous conduct inspired her with more and more love, and that he must not faint in the way if he desired to see himself always loved. Ricardo had no other thought than this, and he found so much to delight him in this new state of affairs that for no earthly advantage would he consent to change it. Thus, then, each day he kept on with greater resolution in the path which his betrothed laid out for him, and paid no heed to the chaffing of his companions of the factory, since it was difficult to catch sight of him anywhere else except at home, at Don Mariano's, or at church.

"You have converted me into a _beato!_" he said sometimes to Maria, as a sort of affectionate reproach.

"Why? are you getting tired of it, you rogue?"

"No, dear, no; I am happy enough because thus I have conquered your love...."

"Is that the only reason?"

" ...And because I like to lead this better regulated and sober life."

"That is a different thing!"

Let us say here (though the reader will not have failed to perceive it) that in imagination, and even intelligence, Maria was the young Marqués de Peñalta's superior, and that in this regard, and taking into account the deep affection which he professed for her, it was nothing strange that he should yield to his mistress and her counsels in matters wherein men of greater learning and talent frequently give way to their mothers and wives. Maria, aside from her vivid imagination, stimulated and kindled by continual reading, had a special gift for persuading. Her language was always easy and picturesque, and she took especial delight in moving her friends to compassion, when she wanted to entice from them money for the poor or for church services; the rare facility with which she passed from the serious and pathetic to the humorous, and mingled with an earnest entreaty the salt of a witty saying, made her irresistible. The religious confraternities and societies of Nieva had no more active and influential member, and they relied upon her in emergencies as upon a guardian angel who would be able to rescue them from their difficulties. As may be supposed, this lofty estimation was supported, not only by the young lady's splendid moral and physical qualities, but also in no small degree by the fact that she was the daughter of the richest and most respected gentleman in town.

Let us say also that at the period when these events occurred, the clergy and the religious tendencies of our people were suffering a mild sort of persecution on the part of the government, which was then under the control of liberals most extreme in their views and notorious for their heretical ideas, and this, as was to be expected, had greatly excited the consciences of the God-fearing, and had kindled in the Northern provinces, naturally more religious and more tenacious of tradition, an obstinate and bloody civil war which threatened to overthrow the body politic, and, at the same time, our wealth and prestige. All people of greater or less piety who loved our Catholic traditions, every one who detested the persecution suffered by the Church, and yearned for the kingdom of Jesus on earth under the mediation of his ministers, waited eagerly the result of this formidable war, in which were at stake not only the more or less genuine rights of a claimant to the throne, but likewise the dearest and most august interests of religion. Those who frequented the churches and were on terms of intimacy with the clergy, took a tacit stand together against the heretics in power, receiving joyfully and quickly spreading all intelligence favorable to the royal-Catholic cause, and falling into anxiety and melancholy when bad news came. In the houses of the richest landed proprietors, in the sacristies, and in the back shops of many an absolutist merchant was read on the sly the _Cuartel Real_, the official journal of the Pretender, which came from time to time between pieces of _cretonne_ or packages of macaroni. Festivals in honor of the Virgin were celebrated with great pomp as an atonement for the manifold impieties of the Congress of Deputies, and these festivals on more than one occasion ended violently by the interference of drunken Republicans. There was a great increase in attention to religious worship, especially to that of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary, and many pious people went on pilgrimages to the sanctuary of Lourdes, on their return telling their friends about the fine arrangement and the solid organization of the Catholic hosts in the Basque provinces. A number of young men of the best known families of Nieva had not been seen over night, concealing the real purpose of their absence. From this to open, resolute conspiracy is but a step, and in Nieva this preparatory step had already been taken. There was formed in the town a Carlist committee,[56] which held its meetings with a certain mystery and kept up close relations with the Central Committee, whose orders it obeyed, and a lively correspondence with the army of the Pretender. As in the country, though not to such a degree as in the Basque provinces, there existed sufficient elements for the service of the Catholic-monarchical cause, to bring about, provided they were well managed, if not a formal war, at least a serious agitation. The committee of Nieva, instigated by that of the capital, decided, after much vacillation and no few discussions, to raise a company within the territory. The preparations were very extensive; they began early in the winter, and did not terminate until the beginning of the spring. There were reports emanating from Bayonne, there came orders and plans of action, there were numberless secret meetings, a few women were enlisted, muskets were surreptitiously abstracted from the factory by a few Carlist workmen, a quantity of white caps and spatterdashes[57] were made; finally, one night there went out to camp some thirty young men, for the most part students and seminarists, at whose head marched the president of the committee, Don César Pardo, whom we had the honor of meeting at the end of the third chapter of this narration. Those who had sworn to go forth that night were more than three hundred, but only that handful of braves were on hand, and Don César, giving proofs of what he was, that is, a bold, heroic caballero, did not hesitate to take command of them, hoping by his example to carry along the timid. They made their way to the mountain by the valley of Cañedo; but on the next day a dozen policemen,[58] who immediately started in pursuit of them, took them by surprise just as they were dining in camp, and brought them back to the city, bound, without being able to make the least resistance. The people, hearing of the incident, hastened in great numbers to await them on the highway, and saw them filing toward the jail, melancholy but dignified and stern, showing in their haughty eyes that if they had not been victims of a surprise, much blood would have been shed.

The eldest daughter of the house of Elorza, a most ardent devotee of religion, enlisted body and soul in the divine mission of sanctifying her spirit and saving it from the clutches of sin. An unwearied worker in the field of evangelical virtue, ever aspiring to greater perfection, and a zealous propagator of the faith, she could not fail to share in the indignation burning in the breast of the people with whom she had most to do. To her ears came, greatly exaggerated, the rumor of the revolutionary excesses, and the blasphemies daily uttered by the newspapers at the capital, though of course she never ventured to read them. Her confessors commanded her to implore God in her prayers, that the Church might triumph and its enemies be brought to confusion and repentance; her friends and companions in the confraternities asked her to join them in special novenas for the consolation of the Virgin; not a few times they asked alms of her for some priest who was lying in misery, and at other times for the unfortunate nuns of some convent, cruelly torn from it that it might be turned into barracks. All these things, along with a fervid affection for the holy institutions thus persecuted, continually fomented in her ardent, enthusiastic soul a deep aversion for the persecutors and the impious men who governed contrary to the law of God. Sometimes, carried away by her impressionable temperament, she felt powerful impulses to follow the example of Judith, making some villain expiate such horrible deeds of sacrilege. She would have liked to hold in her power the persecutors of Jesus, to destroy them and crush them to powder. When these cruel impulses passed away, they left her always with a warm compassion for the innocent victims of the madness of impiety, and a vague desire to contribute with her blood to the reign of Jesus and Mary over all the powers of the earth. She felt that a something was born in her heart spurring her toward active life, persuading her to leave for a time the joys of contemplation for the pains of struggle, repose for labor, the enchantment of solitude for tumult; she heard, like the bride of the Sacred Song, a voice saying: "_Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled, for my head is fitted with dew and my locks with the drops of the night._" She saw clearly that her Jesus suffered for the injustices of men, and that he demanded her aid; that he asked a new proof of love by tearing her away from the comfort which she enjoyed and casting her amid the hurricanes of the world. But the beautiful young girl at the same time saw the enormous difficulties rising before her at the first step which she should make, the persecutions which would come upon her, and the certainty that those who loved her would regard her conduct as absurd. She understood her weakness, was afraid of the bitter griefs in store for her, and she replied, like the bride: "_I have put off my coat; how shall I put it on? I have washed my feet; how shall I defile them?_" Long she struggled with herself to quench the voice calling her to active life, and convince herself that she could not do anything for the cause of the Lord; but it was in vain. All her specious arguments were answered victoriously by the voice, putting it before her that she ought not to question whether her aid would or would not be valuable, but simply to consider the will with which she offered it; that God was pleased oftentimes to show his power by entrusting the execution of great deeds to humble and frail creatures, as was proved by the renowned Jean d'Arc, Saint Catalina of Sienna, Saint Teresa, and other excellent virgins who accomplished mighty works in spite of the high powers of the earth.

An insignificant incident brought Maria to a decision. Her uncle Rodrigo, Marqués de Revollar, who was one of the most important magnates of the court of the Pretender, learning of her enkindled faith and the relations which she maintained with the partisans of Catholic monarchy in Nieva, wrote her from Bayonne, asking her if she were ready to serve as intermediary for the correspondence between him and Don César Pardo, president of the Carlist committee. Maria hastened to reply that she should be delighted to do so, and from that time she began frequently to receive letters from her uncle, enclosed in which came others for Don César. These were doubtless the thread by which the Carlist conspiracy of Nieva was connected with the lofty spheres whence the orders emanated. And, without her knowing how, she found herself compromised--and she was not troubled by it--in the cause of the good Christians who, as she frequently heard from the lips of Don César and others, were endeavoring to restore Jesus to his sacred throne, and to rescue him from pride and heresy. Far, as I said, from feeling fear or trouble by it, her courage increased from the danger that she ran, and this was for her a manifest sign that the favor of heaven accompanied her, and she constantly entangled herself more and more in the designs of the conspirators, being present at their meetings and serving them with zeal and enthusiasm to the best of her ability. At the time of Don César's armed expedition she it was who embroidered the standard and the flannel hearts which the defenders of the faith wore, sewed on their waistcoats. The conspirators felt toward her the greatest respect on account of her reputation for sanctity, and they professed for her deep affection for the enthusiasm with which she burned for the cause. In some of these meetings she was invited to give her opinion, and she did so with such talent and eloquence, she showed so much fire, and at the same time so much discretion in her language, that the conspirators saw in the beautiful young girl an angel sent from God to sustain their faith and cause them to hold firm in their mighty schemes.

After Don César's abortive attempt the Carlists of Nieva were quite cast down. Maria shed many tears, and besought God earnestly that He would not allow iniquity and falsehood to prevail against His holy law, and that He would have compassion on His good soldiers, now banished and persecuted. And, in fact, God had compassion, and allowed Don César and the larger part of the young men, who with him had been banished to the _Canary Islands_, to escape in a foreign steamship, and return incognito to their fatherland, where they hid in the houses of their faithful and valorous friends. Thereupon the partisans of tradition recovered their energy and began once more to plot, though it was vaguely and without definite object. The object did not appear for some time, until the heroic and determined Don César suggested the idea of striking an audacious blow which would suddenly give them the means of struggling advantageously with the few troops in the province. This stroke, proposed by the valiant ringleader, was nothing less than to seize the gun factory[59] of Nieva. At first all thought the project a crazy one, but gradually, by dint of thinking the idea over and over, they came to look upon it as less unreasonable, and even began quietly, and with great enthusiasm, to prepare the means for carrying it out. Such being the state of things, Maria, one afternoon, went to the house where Don César was concealed, and asked to speak with him in private. What the damsel said must have been exceedingly important and flattering, for the old ringleader, offering her his hand, and giving her a kiss upon the forehead, replied with trembling voice:--

"My daughter, you are going to be our salvation. God desires to submit the lot of many brave men to such dainty hands, and who knows if not also the triumph of His cause?"

The young woman retired to her room, where she engaged in prayer for a long time, and then she went down to her mother's apartment. Ricardo soon came in, according to his habit. After a few moments of conversation, Doña Gertrudis went off to sleep, and the two young people retired to a nook in the window to tell each other the sweet every-day secrets, which are sweeter and more delicious the more they are repeated. Maria was preoccupied; her betrothed, with the quickness of one who truly loves, instantly noticed it.

"What ails you to-day?... it seems to me that you are troubled...."

"I feel sad, Ricardo.... I feel sad, as though some misfortune were hurrying on me."

"It's your nerves, which are overtaxed, dear.... Fasts greatly weaken you. You ought to stop them for a while, as well as so many hours of prayer.... You are weakening yourself very much...."

"On the contrary, I have never felt so well as I have lately. It is not my nerves, but a genuine sadness.... It is my soul that suffers, and not my body."

"But have you any reason for being melancholy?"

"I have a presentiment."

"But who cares for presentiments?"

Maria kept silent, and Ricardo also. It was the twilight hour; both gazed steadily out of the window, upon the great plaza of Nieva, surrounded by its arcades, where the boys who had been let out of school were amusing themselves, running and shouting. The sun was already down, leaving above the tiled roof of the town-hall[60] a wide stretch of sky slightly tinted with rose, which took bluish shades toward the zenith, and yellow toward the horizon. The people of the town were hurrying through the streets, attending to the last duties of the day, and enjoying the sweet gloaming. Such an evening was rare. The balconies of the Café de la Estrella were occupied by a few customers, who were casting their restless eyes around the plaza. On the balcony of the opposite house a little boy, with blue eyes and light, curly hair, was having a good time with a wooden pipe, blowing soap-bubbles. Several ragamuffins below, with no little chatter, caught them as they floated down, bursting them with their hats and handkerchiefs.

After a while, Maria turned to her betrothed, and fixing upon him an intense, anxious look, said, with trembling voice,--

"Ricardo, do you love me much?"

"Why do you ask me that question?... Don't you know that I do?"

"Yes, I know that you love me.... You have already given me proof of it ... but in love, as in everything not transitory in this world, there is always a more and less.... Only divine love is infinite.... The love that you bear me has stood certain proofs; who knows if it could stand others?"

"The love which I have for thee," said the young marquis, placing his hand on his heart, "has power to stand all proofs."

"All?"

"All."

"Even if I were to ask you your life?..."

"Bah! bah!" replied the young man, shrugging his shoulders with gesture of disdain, "that would be to ask very little."

Maria smiled with satisfaction, and after a pause, demanded timidly,--

"And if I asked your honor ... or what you men understand by honor?..." she added, correcting herself.

Ricardo, slightly pale, arose to his feet, and hesitated some time before he replied. At last he said in a low tone, calmly:--

"Honor, my love, is not our own possession; it is a trust which heaven places in our hands at birth, demanding account of it when we die."

A flash of indignation and scorn passed through Maria's eyes, as she heard those words.

"And who has told you[61] what heaven grants you or asks of you, and why do you mix heaven with things that oftentimes pertain to hell?"

But calming herself in an instant, and giving her words a sweet, persuasive tone, she added:--

"What heaven confides to man at birth nothing can reveal except religion, and religion tells us that man not seldom counts his honor in what he ought to look upon as his ruin and destruction.... Generally what the world most appreciates and thirsts for goes against God's law.... Therefore we ought to make very little account of this pretended honor with which pride and haughtiness are cloaked. The true honor of the Christian consists only in serving God, and obeying His holy commands.... Listen, Ricardo.... I asked you if you loved me much for the reason that it was imperative for me to know ... to know with absolute and entire certainty.... I am going to make you a confession, after which, if you are as noble and have as much faith as I may demand of you, perhaps you will love me more than ever; ... but if your faith is frail and vacillating, and you pay tribute to the frivolous considerations of the world, you will surely love me less, and possibly you will even desert me...."

"Never that!"

"Wait a moment.... Imagine that your betrothed, neglecting and even violating certain rules laid down by society, and overstepping the limits always set for woman, especially when she is an unmarried girl, mingles in actions that are purely masculine; ... for example, in politics, ... and not only mingles in them with thought and word, but actually takes an active part in them. Imagine her to enter into a conspiracy, and work with ardor for the triumph of her cause, ... and put her life or her liberty at stake to accomplish it...."

"What, you?..."

"Yes," replied Maria, with resolution. "I have entered with all my heart into a conspiracy.... I am working with all my might and main for the triumph of the cause of the righteous.... God knows well that it makes no difference to me whether one set of men or another rule over us, and that no earthly consideration has tempted me to such a step. But I have seen, and I still see religion and the ministry of religion, abused; I see the salvation of many souls endangered, I see every day the divine Jesus and his sweet name made a mockery by the impious men who chance to rule in Spain, wearing a crown of thorns a thousand times more grievous than what he bore at Jerusalem ... and I feel that his eyes implore me and I hear his celestial voice begging me to lift that terrible crown a little.... Do you think that I can weigh against the sublime interests of religion, the safety of my soul, and the glory of Jesus, the childish fear of displeasing the world?"

"I know nothing about it," replied Ricardo, in a dull voice, buried in deep thought.

"You see how I was right! Now that I have confessed to you and told you my secret, your love already grows dim, and you certainly will soon drift away from me and abandon me!"

The young girl's last word caused Ricardo to lift his head quickly. He had a presentiment that something serious was at hand, and he replied in a tone of ill humor,--

"And what is it that has moved you to confide to me all these things, which you have kept so secret till now?"

"Before all, forgive me for not having confided in you before.... They were secrets that did not belong to me.... Besides, I imagined that you would not think as I did, and would raise some objection to my plans.... But now you have greatly changed: you are more religious, and you love the name of Christian which you bear.... Therefore I decided to open my soul entirely before you, and to put into your trusty, honest hands the lives of many noble-souled men.... I am very weak, Ricardo mio; I am only a poor girl, incapable of struggling and resisting; ... a shadow makes me tremble, ... a word startles me and moves me to the very depths of my being.... My eyes are more accustomed to shed tears than to direct imperious glances, and my hands are folded with more pleasure than they are raised in anger.... I have no cunning to avoid impositions, or fortitude to endure pain.... I can do nothing, ... nothing, ... and I am filled with despair; but thou art brave, thou art noble, and thou art generous.... I can rely on thee as the bird in the air, and thanks to thee, win heaven.... These moments are supreme for me.... I feel as though I was near the abyss, and I have no power to stay my steps.... If thou dost not reach me out thy hand, thou wilt very soon see me plunging into it.... Ricardo mio, do not abandon me, ... for God's sake do not abandon me!..."

The young man felt that the danger was nearer than ever, and exclaimed,--

"Let us have it done with at once, Maria. Let us know what it is all about."

"It is about a great act of merit which you can accomplish toward your salvation if you will abandon the wicked suggestions of the world and listen to the invitation of heaven.... In this town there is a mighty weapon which, instead of serving God, as everything in this world ought to serve Him, is an awful auxiliary of the devil. This weapon is the gun factory...." Maria stopped a moment, and then, casting a frightened look at her lover, continued in a trembling voice: "You can snatch this weapon from the evil one and restore it into the hands of God by delivering it over to the defenders of religion and--"

Maria stopped a second time, and looked with horror at the livid, contracted face of the young marquis, who grasped her by the arm, and shaking her violently, roared, rather than spoke:--

"Who suggested to you the idea of proposing _that_ to me?... Answer me.... Who was the vile, low wretch who advised you to do it?... I'll go myself this very instant and tear out his tongue for him! Tell me, tell me, Maria!... This thought never originated with you.... You couldn't have supposed that your lover, the Marquis of Peñalta, the descendant of so many noble gentlemen, a soldier of honor and loyalty, could calmly listen to such a proposition!... You could not have imagined that the man who adored you was a cowardly traitor, whom his comrades would justly laugh to scorn!... Only thus can I pardon the horrible words which you have just spoken.... Listen for God's sake, Maria.... Just now my brain is on fire and my heart is frozen.... I hear within me a voice which prophesies a great misfortune.... Yet still, at this moment I tell thee that I love thee with all my soul.... Even to the point of giving my life for thee gladly; ... but if this love which I have for thee were multiplied a thousand-fold, and were not to be gratified in this world, I would crush it, I would blot it out as a light is blotted out,--with a breath,--and I would remain all my life long in darkness sooner than consent to such villany.... What am I saying?... If God himself came down to propose that to me, and threatened me with the eternal torments of hell, I would refuse.... I would prefer to be damned with the loyal than be saved with traitors."

Maria hung her head in consternation. After some little time she succeeded in saying in a weak voice:--

"You do not understand me, Ricardo, nor do I understand you any better. In judging of the things of this world we put ourselves at very opposite points of view: you look through the glass of the conventions established by men, and I only through that of the law of God. For you the renown of bravery, the reputation of being loyal and noble, is the first thing; for me the main thing is the salvation of my soul.... Pardon me if I have offended you, and let this _honor_ which you worship so fervently serve you to forget forever what we have been talking about."

Ricardo gave the girl a long, sad look. He had just learned once and for all that that woman could never be his; that he held only a very subordinate place in that idolatrous heart, so full of mysterious sentiments, grand and sublime, perhaps, but incomprehensible for him. A tear sprang into his eyes and rolled tremblingly down his cheeks.

"You are right, Maria.... I don't understand you.... My father was a man of honor, and he also could not have understood you.... My grandfather was a soldier who lost his life in the defence of his country, and he, too, would not have understood you any better.... But my father and my grandfather would have felt insulted, as I feel insulted, that any one should remind them that they ought to keep secrets confided to them."

Both maintained a protracted silence, gazing sadly through the panes upon the great plaza of Nieva, which began to be concealed under the gathering shades of night. The passers-by were going to their homes with slow and lazy gait. A few lights were already burning in the depths of the houses. The ragamuffins, who had been laboriously catching the soap-bubbles sent out to them by the boy in the opposite house, had disappeared, and he, tired of blowing through his pipe, finally flung it to the ground together with his bowl of soap-suds, and set himself making faces at Ricardo and Maria; but they, solemn and motionless, paid no attention, as on other occasions, and the child, surprised to find them so serious, likewise remained motionless, staring at them with his bright, beautiful, cherub eyes.