Chapter VII: Part 7

"What wouldst thou, my son?" said a voice, in a deep and hollow tone. He started, with horror on his countenance. His thoughts, his conscience told him, had been evil, and he was one over whom superstition and bigotry held full sway; for a moment, therefore, he expected to see the father of sin in a bodily presence rising up before him. He looked up, and beheld a dark figure of gigantic height, it seemed, amid the thickening shadows of the trees. A cold sweat stood on his brow. Had his dark thoughts then conjured up a spirit of evil? With noiseless steps the figure approached over the soft mossy ground, and, instead of the unwelcome visitor he had expected, he saw the Father Malagrida standing before him. He breathed more freely, and felt his courage revive in the presence of so righteous a man, whose sign alone was sufficient to keep at bay the whole infernal host.

"What would you, my son?" repeated the Father. "Some half-uttered sentences fell on my ear, and I observed your violent action. Tell me, my son, what thoughts oppress your bosom, and I will pour balm into it."

"Father, you cannot aid me," said the Duke; "it is beyond your province."

"There is nothing beyond my province, there is nothing I cannot foresee," exclaimed the Jesuit, in a deep tone. "Think you I see with the mortal eyes men see with, or judge with the judgment of the vulgar? No, my son, my spirit is elevated above the world. The vision of prophecy illumines my mind, and where men of common souls, unenlightened by Divine grace, grope on in the dark, like blind moles, all before me is clear and light. Speak not, then. I know your thoughts, and you need not fear to indulge in them; for they are righteous and sanctified. You would seek to inflict a just punishment on the evil doer--you would chastise him who has elevated himself, by aid of the spirit of darkness, to a post of power, in order that he may heap damnation on his own head by afflicting with cruelties and insults those chosen of the Lord as his servants."

"Father, you have divined my thoughts," exclaimed the Duke. "I was, at the moment you arrived, considering by what means I could bring down punishment on the head of that man, Sebastiao Joze de Carvalho, equally the foe of the fidalgos and of religion."

"All means are allowable when the end proposed is holy," answered the Jesuit. "And what more righteous object than the punishment of the wicked? Be assured, my son, that Heaven will avenge itself in due time on the destroyer of its servants, and blessed will those be who are chosen as the instruments to work out its inscrutable ends. Hear me, Duke of Aveiro! The Lord of Heaven has chosen me, as he did the most holy prophet Balaam of olden time, whose deep learning taught him to understand the language of the beasts of the field; and to me he has given in charge to deliver his messages to the kings and potentates who rule the world. Thus does he declare that he who is exalted shall be brought low, and that he who will protect his servants shall be exalted even to sit on the regal throne."

The Duke started. "Is such the message Heaven deigns to send to me?" he exclaimed, as he gazed with a look of doubt and astonishment at the speaker.

"Ah, thou confidest not in my sayings," exclaimed Malagrida; "thou doubtest that I speak the words of inspiration. Beware, Duke of Aveiro, beware of the temptations of Satan!"

"Holy Father, I believe your words," answered the Duke, trembling.

"Rememberest thou not, then, that in thy veins flows the royal blood of Portugal? then why not mount that throne when he who now reigns has departed? Say! ought he to rule a Catholic people, who cherishes the persecutor of our holy religion, who confides in one who would destroy the bulwarks of the Church, who has driven its most devoted servants from his presence? No, my son, I will answer for you, no. Such a man ought not to live, and blessed is he who does the work of Heaven in destroying him."

The Duke stood gazing on the Jesuit as one whose senses are bewildered by the sudden communication either of joyful or disastrous intelligence. Had he ever before indulged in thoughts such as these words conjured up? Yes, he had; but, as he thought, he trembled; but now all his fears were banished, and those imaginings which he had before fancied were the instigations of the evil one, he was now told, were the inspirations of the Divine will. Neither the Duke nor Malagrida had moved since they first met; the tall gaunt figure of the priest appearing of still greater height from a bright gleam of sunshine, which, piercing through the foliage, fell upon his head, as he waved his arms wildly round while he spoke; the former now standing in the deep shade beneath the thickly growing orange-trees, which extended in a long avenue, the ground beneath being striped with lines of the brightest gold and black. Now, some may suppose that Malagrida was an impersonification of the evil one, come to tempt the unfortunate Duke to his destruction; but such was not the case. He had from his earliest day's been an enthusiast, with an eager mind, weakened by the exercises of superstition, and now insanity was making rapid progress over it, though he still retained a considerable spice of that species of cunning which often accompanies madness, pointing out the best means of attaining what was most advantageous to him. He thus, while he fancied that he was giving utterance to the inspirations of Heaven, was perfectly well aware that he was making a tool of the weak and bigoted Duke, not discovering that he was himself influenced by another his superior, but who, in his estimation, was vastly his inferior in talent and holiness. Respecting the latter quality he might not have far erred.

He stood gazing down on his noble dupe for several minutes. "Come," he said, "my son, whose brow I may some day see graced by a regal diadem, let us walk beneath this shady grove, and talk further on this subject. Should Heaven not alter its intention of placing you on the throne of these realms, you will not forget the interests of the Church, and of one of its most devoted servants, who has been the privileged and true prophet of your elevation."

"No, holy Father, trust to my gratitude," answered the Duke. "The Church, under my protection, shall flourish in full power; and you shall ever remain the guardian of my conscience, and my spiritual adviser."

"Such is well, my son," answered the Jesuit; "and, ere long, your good intentions will be rewarded. In the meantime, be prepared for the events which are at hand, and be not dismayed by the difficulties in your path. He who would succeed must suffer all things, and dare all things; nor fear but that the Church will grant absolution, even unto the shedding the blood of the wicked."

"I understand your words; Father," answered the Duke, in an agitated and hollow tone. "The matter you speak of is of deep importance, and requires mature consideration; yet would I hazard all to destroy that upstart Carvalho, who so insolently lords it over us nobles, by birth his masters."

Thus conversing, the Duke and Malagrida continued pacing the orange grove till the quick coming shades of darkness made it no longer safe to speak aloud on such dangerous subjects, lest any, unperceived, might approach and overhear them.

As the name of the Father Malagrida was at one time known over a great part of the Catholic world, by some lauded as a saint and prophet, by others scorned as an impudent hypocrite and impostor, we may be excused for giving a slight sketch of his history.

Gabriel Malagrida, an Italian, was born in 1689, at Mercajo, in the Milanese, and was thus, at the time we have introduced him, upwards of sixty years old. At an early age he migrated to Portugal, then the paradise of priests and religious adventurers of all classes, but particularly of the Jesuits, who possessed the supreme control over the consciences of the royal family and the chief nobility; and into that order he was there, after the usual probation, admitted. His peculiar talents were soon discovered, and he was despatched as a missionary to South America. Over the whole of that part under the dominion of Portugal he travelled barefooted and alone; his only sustenance the wild roots and herbs, which he dug with his own hands; his body being covered with the marks imprinted on it by the teeth and claws of the wild beasts he encountered. Having escaped the glories of martyrdom, such a life fully entitled him to the character of a saint of the very first order, which, on his recall by his superior, he took every opportunity to improve; adding to it that of a prophet and worker of miracles, thousands being ready to swear to the fulfilment of the predictions he had uttered, and to the miracles he had wrought. King John the Fifth, of pious memory, who ever preferred the society of bigots, flatterers, buffoons, and fools, to the cares of government, for which he probably felt a consciousness of total incapacity, leaving his kingdom to rapid decay, while he was slowly toiling to merit heaven and gain forgiveness for rather numerous peccadillos, which private memoirs hint he had some difficulty in giving up, had distinguished Malagrida by marked partiality, and had performed what were called exercises under his direction. He had, likewise, been a favourite with the queen, Mary Anne of Austria; and, on his return from South America, the present king, Joseph, then Prince of Brazil, had gone out to meet him, and throwing himself at his feet, had implored his blessing. It is, indeed, scarcely possible, in the present day, to conceive a Court so completely debased by superstition, so overrun by herds of slothful, ignorant, or designing priests, as was that of Lisbon; from whose worse than Augean filth it was Carvalho's Herculean undertaking, in some degree, to cleanse it for the time. Malagrida having thus retained almost supreme power over the consciences of the chief persons in the realm for a long series of years, his hatred was rancorous and deadly against the man who had deprived him of it; and the Minister had occasion for the utmost watchfulness and talent to guard himself against the secret machinations and the public attacks with which he and the rest of his order attempted to destroy him.

When Carvalho first returned to Portugal, after his embassy to the Court of London, he had paid every respect to the Jesuits, particularly to Father Moreira, the confessor to the Prince of Brazil, in order, by his aid, to gain the confidence of the heir to the throne; but no sooner did he find his power secure, than he threw off the mask and proclaimed himself the enemy of the whole order, whom he declared the chief cause of the ignorance and bigotry of the people.

It is not surprising, therefore, that they should regard with fear and hatred a man so opposed to all their principles of government; and, accordingly, they used every means in their power to instigate the people against him, thundering anathemas on his head from their pulpits, and spreading tracts, loaded with abuse, among all circles. No one equalled Malagrida in the measures he took, or the daring he exhibited; but, though years first rolled on, the bitter and relentless vengeance of the Minister ultimately overtook him.

Such was the man we left with the Duke of Aveiro: their conference was yet unfinished, when, having taken another turn, they had reached the further end of the avenue, which led to a small grotto of stone-work, surrounded by a thicket of low shrubs. Malagrida laid his arm on the shoulder of the Duke, exclaiming, with deep energy, "Nought but the death of the persecutor of its servants will satisfy the vengeance of Heaven."

A hollow voice echoed, "the vengeance of Heaven!" and, at the same time a noise was heard in the shrubbery. Both the monk and the noble started--perhaps neither had quite deceived themselves as to their secret aims.

"Avaunt thee, Sathanas, if thou art the spirit of evil," exclaimed Malagrida.

The Duke trembled with agitation. The rustling noise was again heard. "Ah! 'tis some villain spy," he cried, drawing his sword and rushing towards the spot. "His death shall secure his silence."

Being now persuaded that it was a mortal enemy he had to encounter, his boldness returned, and, without hesitation, he sprung into the thicket; but all was silent: the gloom preventing his seeing many feet before him. He beat about for a considerable time, plunging his sword into every bush that appeared darker than the others; but to no purpose, for the sound was not repeated. Malagrida watched on the outside, but no one appeared.

"It was a deception of the evil one, to turn us from our path," he cried. "Come forth, my son, and fear not. That was no mortal voice we heard, and with me you need fear no spirit of darkness."

The Duke at length came out of the shrubbery, his dress torn and disordered, and his voice yet trembling with alarm. "Surely some one must have been hidden there," he said: "yet, if there was, he must have escaped, and will report our words to one who is not likely to forget them."

"Fear not; no mortal could have remained undiscovered," answered the Jesuit; "and of nought else need you be afraid."

"Since you affirm it, Father, I am convinced also that the noise was caused by no mortal being," said the Duke; "but we ought no longer to remain here. I like not this threatening gloom. Let us return to the more open ground: the air here is oppressive and damp, and aids to conjure up doubts and fears to my mind."

"Again, I say, fear not; but remember my words--both dare and do," returned Malagrida. "It is now time that I should depart."

"First come, then, to the house, holy Father, and take some refreshment and rest," said the Duke.

"My body requires neither food nor rest when I am about a great work," answered the Priest. "It is advisable, also, that I should be observed by none of your retainers. Return, then, to your house, and forget not what I have said. I will tarry in this spot to see if the evil one shall again venture to make his presence known, and if he comes not before long, secretly, as I came, will I again depart. Farewell, my son."

The Duke, however, was unwilling to leave the side of the holy man, with the prospect of a long dark avenue before him, which he must traverse alone, exposed to the assaults of the spirits of evil; but Malagrida signed him to depart, waving his arms wildly round, and then, turning towards the grotto, disappeared in the gloom.

He waited not a moment longer, but with quick steps hurried towards his house, his heart beating with apprehension; and, as he went, he fancied that he heard voices on every side gibbering and muttering threats and curses against him, till his terror made him break into a run; nor did he stop till he arrived at the door of his mansion. Pale and breathless with the exertion, his brow covered with perspiration, he rushed into the room where his duchess was sitting, not perceiving her, and threw himself into a seat. She looked up, alarmed, marking his disordered appearance.

"What is the matter with my lord?" she said, as she approached him, and took his hand.

The contact of a human being, and one for whom he possessed as much affection as he was capable of feeling for any, revived his spirits. "Oh! nothing, nothing!" he answered. "A freak made me run faster than I have run since I was a boy."

"I rejoice to hear it; for I feared you were ill, or that something had alarmed you," returned the Duchess.

"Oh no! I am well--perfectly well," exclaimed the Duke, bursting into a wild laugh. "Ha! ha! What think you of the title of Queen, fair lady? Would it not be a proud thing to be a king, to trample on the neck of that insolent plebeian Carvalho, who now lords it so boldly?"

"He is a bad man, my lord," answered the Duchess, meekly; "and Heaven will punish him."

"Bad! he is the incarnation of the evil one," cried the Duke, stamping his foot. "But you answer not my question. Would you not be a queen, and see your Marquezinho a prince? Ha! then you might be proud indeed!"

"I seek not for more than I possess," answered the lady. "Oh! my lord, indulge not in such dangerous thoughts: they can but bring destruction on your head. That you do think of them I know too well; for I have of late heard you muttering them in your sleep."

"Then go to bed, and dream of them yourself, fair lady: you will find them pleasant and enticing," said the Duke, again laughing.

"It is early, my lord, and the sun has but just set," answered the Duchess.

"Oh, I forgot--I forgot!" exclaimed her husband. "No matter, you must keep country hours. It is good for the health: so to bed--to bed, and dream of a royal crown."

"'Tis a dream, my lord, which has cost many a one his head," said the Duchess, sadly.

The Duke started, and his pallor again returned. "What folly is this?" he exclaimed, angrily. "I spoke but in jest.--Now, obey me, and to bed!"

The duchess turned a look of grief towards her haughty lord; but, accustomed to obey his imperious commands, she retired to her room.

"That woman is not to be trusted," muttered the Duke, when left alone. "She has neither ambition nor courage. It was folly to speak to her on the subject."

We constantly observe that weak and vain men have some parasite attached to them, who plays on the former quality by flattering the latter for his own individual interests, at the same time despising and often destroying the very person who supports him, like the noxious weed the tree to which it clings; and such an one had the Duke of Aveiro, in the person of his secretary, master of the household, and chief butler, Captain Policarpio d'Azevedo; for in all those capacities did that worthy gentleman serve him, besides holding a commission in the army. The duke now summoned his confidant, ordering supper to be brought, and having disencumbered himself of his morning costume, and dressed in a light gown, he seated himself at table. Captain Policarpio soon appeared, bearing a dish, which he placed before his master; and then took his station behind his chair, while a troop of other servants followed, with the remainder of the repast, who were ordered forthwith to retire. It may seem strange, but it is a notorious fact, that at the time of which we speak, and even until very lately, commissions in the army were procured by the nobles for their domestics, as a reward for services often of a very doubtful nature. Many of the principal fidalgos retained in their household three or four of these gentry holding the rank of captain, who waited on them at their meals, dressed in their uniforms, and often decked with the Order of Christ; and it was not till the army was remodelled by Lord Beresford, that the abuse was finally abolished. It may be supposed that an army so organised could not be in a very efficient state, or possessed of officers with a very high tone of feeling among them. It also showed the arrogant dispositions of the fidalgos, who thus attempted to assume even more than the state of princes.

"You have now served me faithfully for some years, Policarpio, and it is time your services were more amply rewarded," began the Duke.

"Oh, your Excellency is too kind, too generous; for when you are served for love, why speak of reward?--the satisfaction of following so good a master is in itself sufficient payment," answered the Escudeiro, sidling round, so as to come in sight of his lord.

"Because it is my pleasure to repay those who serve me faithfully and well as you have done," answered the Duke. "It may soon, too, be in my power to reward you far more than I have yet done; for when the master rises, so will those who follow him. Mark that, Policarpio!"

"How can my lord rise higher than he is at present?" said the flatterer, surprised at the question, and eager to learn to what it might further tend. "Is not my lord already one of the greatest men in the kingdom, both in rank and wealth?"

"I was so, truly, under the reign of our late pious king; but things have changed, and a vile upstart has dared to insult my honour; but the day will come, and soon, too, when I may have my full revenge, and he who now triumphs in power shall writhe beneath my feet."

"May my lord have success in all his wishes, and enjoy full revenge on all his enemies!" answered the Escudeiro.

"Wishes are but of little avail, without action," observed the Noble; "and much must be accomplished before my hopes are fulfilled."

"Whatever need be done, I will undertake to serve you, my lord," answered Captain Policarpio, bowing, and laying his hand to his heart.

"Ah, my friend, you are a man in whom I can place implicit confidence," said the Duke; "and I know that you would rejoice in my prosperity. What think you, then, if the crown of Portugal were placed on my brow? Would not then my friends have cause to esteem themselves fortunate?"

"Those are already fortunate who serve your Excellency; and no one is more calculated to adorn a throne," answered the subtle follower,--his own ambition taking fire on the instant at thoughts of his master's aggrandisement, in the advantages of which he might well expect to participate. "And well do I feel assured that you will not neglect those who have hitherto obeyed you faithfully. Do but point out the means to attain your aims, and no scruples, no obstacles shall deter me from prosecuting them."

"Well, well, we will talk of that anon, my worthy servant," answered the Duke. "It is but lately Heaven has thought fit to inspire my heart with such mighty aims; nor have I yet been able to form any plans; but this alone I know, that while that enemy to our holy religion, Sebastiao Joze de Carvalho exists, all will be fruitless; and he who would do me service will strike a poniard to his heart. In this will he commit no sin, as I have been assured by Heaven itself, in the sacred person of one of its most devoted ministers."

"I should fear nothing to serve my master," said Policarpio. "But how can the death of the Minister alone place your Excellency on the throne?"

"Hark, you!" whispered the Duke, drawing his servant close to him. "The king himself may die. He is weak and sickly; or he may be killed while hunting; he may be thrown from his horse, or a shot may strike him.--Ha! dost thou understand me?"

The attendant nodded, a smile of satisfaction passing over his features. "I comprehend, I comprehend; nor will your Excellency's hint be thrown away."

Much more, to the same effect as the above, the Duke spoke, a mixture of blasphemy, folly, and daring, to which his worthy servant listened with profound humility and attention, fully determined to take advantage of the knowledge he had gained; if successful, to follow the fortunes of his master, or to betray him, if he saw a probability of his plans failing: and thus are traitors nearly always served.

However, we must confess that we take no interest in these personages, or their conversation; nor do we believe that it would either instruct or amuse our readers--which is our only aim in writing--were we to detail it: we therefore refrain from doing so. Indeed, would the truth of history allow us, we would gladly consign all bad characters to the shades of oblivion, and describe such only as had high and noble motives for their actions; but, alas! as the world is constituted, did we do so, we should be most justly accused of compiling an extravagant and absurd romance, without either truth for the groundwork, or nature in the colouring; thus neglecting what we conceive are the great rules to be observed by those who would paint an historical picture of days gone by. We are, therefore, compelled to introduce such a man as the Duke of Aveiro, in whom we have sought, but sought in vain, to discover some redeeming qualities; but he appears to have possessed but few friends, even among his own class, and those of his own political opinions; as he is described by all as a man singularly ignorant and grossly superstitious; of a vindictive and savage disposition, and arrogant and haughty to all who approached him. We wished to have drawn him otherwise; but we found it impossible so to do and adhere to truth. This we mention, that our readers may not suppose we have caricatured in his person a Portuguese nobleman of the past century, who could thus weakly yield to the instigations of a designing madman like Malagrida, and believe in his blasphemous prophecies; but we can assure them that we have faithfully translated the very language of that person, avoiding even much that might shock the ear of the present generation.

The insane ambition of the Duke being once kindled with the hopes of promised success, every thought of his mind was occupied with projects, equally replete with wickedness and folly, to compass his end; nor did he from that time forth again know one moment of tranquillity or happiness. Leaving his duchess and young son at Azeitao, he, a few days afterwards, set off for Lisbon, with a nephew, who constantly resided in his house, accompanied by his constant attendant, Captain Policarpio, and followed by a train of servants.

Volume 1, Chapter XI.

We invariably feel much satisfaction, when, in turning over the pages of the manuscripts before us, we come to the name of Don Luis d'Almeida, albeit he played no very conspicuous part in the events of the times; yet we take pleasure in following his course, and we also feel tolerably certain that we are about to read of some interesting adventure.

We left him, followed by his train, riding through the narrow and winding street of Leiria, towards the gate by which he had entered the previous evening. As he wound down the rugged pathway, after passing the gates, he cast a last look at the battered moss-grown walls, and ruined towers of that ancient town, now for ever associated in his mind with the fair young being from whom he had there parted, and then, putting spurs to his horse, he galloped on, at the great risk of breaking his neck, his followers in vain endeavouring to keep him in view. His luggage also would certainly have been left to the mercy of the brigands, had he not fortunately recollected that such might be its fate; so he wisely drew in his rein, and allowed his horse to proceed at its own pace till his party should come up with him.

He could not discover the reason, but so it was, that, although proceeding towards his home, he did not enjoy his morning ride half so much as that of the last evening. It could not be because a certain young lady was travelling south while he was going north; for he thought, and fancied that he thought very wisely, that he could not take any interest in one, although he acknowledged her to be very lovely, whom he had neither seen nor heard of twenty hours before. He concluded that it was because he disliked solitude, and he had now no one with whom to converse; but, for some reason or other, he did not think half so much of the infidelity and treachery of Donna Theresa; and when he did think of the subject, he began rather to pity her, and to congratulate himself on having escaped from the toils of a heartless coquette. It was some time, however, before the last happy idea occurred to him, for at first his feelings towards her were rather bitter; then he was angry with himself for indulging in them, and then very miserable, and then, as if by magic, appeared the portrait he had Daguerreo-typed in the morning, of Donna Clara in her travelling mantle of blue silk.

But we shall never carry Don Luis to his home, and back again to Lisbon, if we do not proceed at a faster rate. To account for his having four persons in his train, we must explain that, besides Pedro, one other only was his own servant, the third was a native of Galicia, of that hardy race called Gallegos, who come with willing hands, light, honest hearts, and empty pockets, to make their fortune in Portugal; and the one in question was returning to enjoy the fruits of his labour with his family, in respectable independence in his native land, now mounted on a stout mule, with his pockets well lined with gold. He had easily obtained permission to accompany Don Luis thus far, having once served in his father's house. The other man was a tenant of the count's, whom legal business had called to Lisbon. Pedro, whose heart was light and free, amused himself from morning till night by singing, in high glee at returning once more to his home to relate all the wonders he had seen in his travels.

After waiting a couple of hours at a small village on the road to bait their animals and recruit themselves, it was late in the day before they entered the forest in which the attack on Goncalo Christovao had been made, and the party began to look around, in expectation of a fresh encounter with the banditti, although that kind of gentry were not fond of meeting with those from whom little booty, and abundance of hard blows, were to be expected. However, as they neared the scene of the encounter, even Don Luis began to think it would have been wiser to have procured a guard, or waited for a larger party of travellers, lest the banditti, observing their small number, might, to revenge themselves for their defeat, pick them off from an ambush at a distance. Pedro no longer sang his merry songs, his fellow said all the prayers he could remember, the Gallego vowed a candle to Saint Jago de Compostella, and the farmer a pig to the priest, if they escaped the danger. The muleteers who had charge of the baggage, though they had seen nothing of the fray, caught the contagion of fear, giving but scanty promise of fighting if brought to the trial. The body of the robber was no longer there, but at a little distance from the spot where he had been left, lay his hat, and part of his dress, torn and bloody, telling plainly that Christian sepulture he would never now enjoy; for limb by limb had the body been borne off by the savage inhabitants of the forest. Don Luis stopped a moment involuntarily on the spot, shuddering at the wretch's fate; but Pedro, being in no romantic humour, hinted to his master that all the time they were affording an opportunity to the comrades of the deceased to take better aim, and begged him to move forward without delay, declaring that he saw the muzzle of a gun projecting from among the thick-growing leaves beyond the bank.

Accordingly they proceeded down the hill, and crossed the stream, the rest keeping close to Don Luis, and splashing him not a little in their hurry to get across, looking anxiously behind them, to see if the brigands were in their rear, and expecting every moment to hear the sharp click of the locks of their carbines, with the ringing report of their discharge, each hoping that he should not be the one picked off. When they mounted the opposite hill, and had arrived on the open heath, the hearts of all the party beat more freely, and as they got beyond musket range of the wood they laughed at their previous terrors, no longer feeling inclined to scold their master for the coolness he had shown, or the slow pace at which he had chosen to ride.

The sun had just sunk as they reached the inn where Goncalo Christovao and his family had rested the day before, at the door of which the buxom Rosa was standing, busily employed in spinning, and looking out for a stray traveller; and of course her delight was proportionably great, when she found that so large a party, with so graceful a cavalier, were about to honour the house with their presence.

The horses and mules were stalled, and Don Luis was shown upstairs, while Pedro set himself to work to aid Rosa in preparing his master's supper, during which operation he exerted his utmost powers of pleasing to ingratiate himself in her favour. But she was either out of humour at something, or offended by his addresses, for she returned his attentions with scanty courtesy, appearing anxious to get rid of his presence; that, however, was not so easy a matter, as he had never been remarkable for either bashfulness or modesty: at all events, if he ever had possessed those qualities, he had most effectually eased himself of them during his travels. Do all he could--praise her beauty, her figure, or her voice as she sang at her employment over the fire--Rosa was not in the mood to be won by any of his fascinations, and insisted on carrying up some of the dishes herself; perhaps it was from her very natural wish to see more of his master, as she had not every day the opportunity of admiring so handsome a guest.

As she was preparing the table, Don Luis could not help observing a handsome ring, with a sparkling diamond, on her little finger, an unusual ornament for a person of her class, though with her gala costume she might have worn ear-rings and several gold chains. He made no remark till she went down stairs and returned again, when, in a playful manner, he admired the jewel. "Sim senhor, it is very pretty," she answered, rather confused, and busied herself in putting the dishes in order.

"What kind friend gave you so pretty an ornament?" said Don Luis; "I fear you run a great risk of dimming its lustre."

At that moment a noise, which sounded very like a growl, though it might have been a groan, proceeded from one of the recesses in the room, across which a curtain was drawn.

"What noise is that?" exclaimed Don Luis, "Have you any sick person in the house?"

"'Tis an unfortunate frade, a very holy man, who was taken ill here last night," answered the damsel. Another growl interrupted her observations. "I'll run and bring you up an omelette, senhor," she said quickly, as she escaped out of the room.

Pedro gave his master a nod, as much as to say, "I do not exactly believe her," when, running towards the curtains, he poked his head between the in, and then took the liberty of drawing them aside, so as to let the light fall into the recess, where a pair of ferrety eyes were seen glaring forth, with no very amicable expression, on the intruder, while a ruddy countenance, with a red rim of hair under a black skull cap, appeared above the bed clothes.

"In the name of all the saints, let down the curtain, and allow a sick man to rest in peace," exclaimed a gruff voice. "The light hurts my eyes, and prevents me from sleeping."

"Your pardon, senhor," answered Don Luis, politely. "My servant's curiosity has made him commit a solecism in good manners, for which pray excuse him."

"Well, let him draw the curtain, and leave me to repose," returned the voice, ending the sentence with what sounded very like an oath, too profane to proceed from such reverend lips.

Pedro did as he was ordered; but not until he had taken another glance, to assure himself that he had before seen that pair of eyes at no very distant period, though he did not express his opinion aloud to his master, nor could he venture to do so by signs; for he felt a moral conviction, that they were still glaring on him through some opening in the drapery, an idea which, as may be supposed, made him feel anything but at his ease. He determined, however, to keep a narrow watch on the inmate of the recess, and on the movements of several other doubtful-looking personages whom he had seen about the inn; yet he was puzzled how to prevent them from guessing that his suspicions were aroused; for he knew that every word he uttered in the room would be overheard; and, if he whispered to his master, it would make the matter still worse; therefore, like a prudent statesman, he determined to wait the course of events.

By the time he had arrived at this determination, Rosa returned, and began to clear away the dishes, when he observed that she no longer wore the ring on her finger; yet he forebore to make any further observation on the subject. He waited till he was preparing his master's couch for the night, when he seized the opportunity to make him comprehend his suspicions, by pointing significantly towards the recess, in which the sick friar lay, then, putting his head on the pillow, and shaking it, and drawing his finger across his throat, and again shaking his head; by which signs, Don Luis understood him to say, "If you do go to sleep, you will have your throat cut;" no very pleasing prospect for a person so overcome by weariness, that he could scarcely keep his eyes open. Pedro, however, merely meant to advise him not to go to sleep till his return; and he then hurried out to hint his doubts, if possible, to the rest of the party, and to desire them to come up stairs immediately, where they could roll themselves up in their cloaks, in the corners of the room, begging them on no account to separate.

Don Luis, having also his suspicions aroused, observed, as he looked round the room, that his luggage, with his holsters, had been piled up close to the recess in which the friar slept. It might, certainly, have been placed there by accident; but, for caution's sake, as he walked about the room, he very quietly removed his weapons, and hung them up close to his bed, carefully examining the primings of his pistols. Pedro soon returned with the rest of the party, and, having assisted in undressing his master, who threw himself on the bed, he rolled himself up on the ground close to him, while the other men followed his example in another corner, from whence, in a few minutes, loud snores proceeding, gave notice of their being wrapt in sleep. A small lamp, burning in the centre of the room, gave a dim and uncertain light, throwing long shadows from the tables and chairs, and exhibiting a troop of mice, like tiny phantoms, playing on the floor, and picking up the crumbs from the evening repast. Having gazed at these objects for some time, till they grew still more confused, Don Luis could no longer resist the inclination he felt to close his eyes, persuading himself that, after all, there was no cause for fear.

Two or three hours passed quietly away, when, on a sudden, he was awoke by an exclamation from Pedro; and, starting up, he beheld him grasping tightly the legs of a man, whom he recognised as the invalid friar; who, with uplifted arm, was on the point of plunging a long knife into poor Pedro, having already possessed himself of the holsters, when Don Luis sprang up, and seized him firmly.

"Spare my life, senhor," he said with the greatest coolness; "I was not going to take yours; but merely to carry your weapons out of harm's way; for I do not like to see such murderous things in the hands of youths."

While he was speaking, Pedro had contrived to rise and seize his other arm.

"How dare you tell me so abominable a falsehood?" exclaimed Don Luis.--"Wretch! you are in my power, and deserve to die."

"I am in your power at this moment, I very well know," answered the Friar; "but, if you were to kill me, you would not benefit yourselves. I should therefore advise you to allow me to return quietly to bed, and I shall be grateful; if not, a cry from me would bring a whole party of men, who have sworn to avenge themselves on you, and who would make small ceremony in cutting all your throats, and burying you before morning."

"I grant you your life, then, in trust that you will show your gratitude," said Don Luis.

"Was a Capuchin friar ever ungrateful?" exclaimed their prisoner. "Well, then, I should advise you to barricade the door, load your arms, call your servants, and declare, if any body tries to enter, you will shoot me. Now, having given you my advice, let me go quietly to bed again, for I really am ill, and undertook only to withdraw your pistols, lest you should hurt anybody with them."

"Well, Senhor Frade," answered Don Luis, laughing, "you certainly are a most cool and impudent gentleman; but I will trust to you, when we have secured the door; in the meantime, you must consent to sit quiet for awhile, with your arms tied behind you, in this chair."

"Take care what you are about, senhores. You hurt my arm, which I sprained badly the other day, or you would not have caught me so easily," observed the Friar.

"Oh!" thought Pedro, as he saw that the friar's arm was bandaged up and bloody, "Well, well, holy Father, you must sit quiet then," he added, aloud, then called to his fellow-servant: "Come here, Bento, and take the liberty of shooting the friar through the head, if he attempts to call out, while I assist our master in securing the fortress. I'll be answerable for your getting absolution."

The friar was therefore obliged to sit down, while Bento stood over him; Don Luis, and the rest of the party, with as little noise as possible, placing the tables and chairs against the door, though such a barricade would offer but slight resistance, should any strong force be used outside. They then examined the room well, to see that no one else was hidden there, and to discover if there were any other outlets, by which they might be surprised.

In the course of the search, as Pedro was looking into the cell of the friar, he discovered a broad-brimmed hat, thrown under the foot of the bed, so he brought it out, and placed it on that reverend person's head, nodding most approvingly, as if to an old acquaintance; then threw it back to whence he had taken it.

"You may now retire to your couch, Senhor Frade," said Don Luis.--"We will no longer disturb the tranquillity of your slumbers; and, on condition that you do your best to aid us, you shall not suffer."

"I promise you, on the honour of a friar, that if I can help it, no harm shall happen to you; and in return, you must promise me, on the honour of a fidalgo, that you will never mention to any human being that you have seen me here, or allow your people to do so, whatever your suspicions may be; for I have repented of certain little peccadillos I have committed, and intend to lead a new life."

"If you adhere to the conditions, I promise not to betray you," said Don Luis.

"Very well; and now, in mercy's sake, don't keep me up in the cold any longer," said the Friar.

"Permit me first, senhor, to deprive you of that delicate little penknife," said Pedro, taking the friar's dagger from his hands, "and now, pray retire to your couch."

The friar was not long in doing as he was ordered; and, as if to convince them of the purity of his conscience, he was soon fast asleep, as might be supposed from his loud snores.

Not long afterwards, some one was heard pressing against the door. "Curses on the lazy friar," muttered a voice outside, in a low growl, yet loud enough to be heard through the crevices of the walls,--"He's snoring away like a hog, without thinking of his promise to us."

"Open the door, and steal softly in," said another voice. "You can easily get possession of their arms, when we can rush in to bind them, and then it will be time enough to bind the estalajadeiro, and the rest of the household, though I suspect Senhora Rosa will give us some little trouble; however, we can let her loose the first, to release the rest, when we are far off with the booty."

"A very good plan, doubtless; but I am not going to run the chance of being shot by that hot-headed youngster. What can have become of the frade? Hark! the lazy brute is still snoring on, forgetful of our interests."

"Will nothing waken him?" said another voice. "Try the door again."

Another attempt was now made to open the door without noise. Don Luis and his servants stood prepared, with pistols in hand, to defend themselves, while Pedro kept his eye on the snoring friar, who, the more the people outside spoke, made the louder nasal music to drown their voices. After the door had been several times gently shaken, and the wooden fastening turned in several ways to no purpose--

"Carramba!" exclaimed one of the voices. "They have secured the door inside, and, unless that houndish friar will wake up, we shall be foiled completely. Curses on the fool! There he snores away. This delay will never do; we must dash open the door, and cut all their throats."

"By Saint Anthony, nothing would give me greater satisfaction," said another. "I long to revenge myself for the loss that youth caused us yesterday, and see, Heaven has delivered him into our hands!"

"So do I; but the estalajadeiro declared he would have no murder, nor any of the horses taken, which might be traced to give his house a bad name; and that nobody should know he had a hand in it."

"That is very well; but I should like to know what we are to do then?" asked another.

"There is only one way left: dash the door off its hinges, tie the young fidalgo and his servants to the beds, and walk off with whatever we may find convenient."

"Agreed, agreed!" said two or three voices. "Your plan is a good one, Rodrigo. Call the others up stairs. Remember, we all rush in together; and do not forget to give the friar a good beating, as if by mistake, to punish him for his stupidity. We would dash his brains out if he were not useful."

The Friar snored louder than ever. Several feet were heard ascending the stair; then there was a sudden rush, and the ill-secured door was dashed off its hinges with a loud noise, falling inside, when a dozen or more dark forms were seen attempting to scramble over the tables and chairs.

Don Luis fired his pistol, unwisely, perhaps--one ought to try negotiation before going to war--and the ball took effect on some one in the rear; then changing his sword to the right hand, he rushed forward to meet the first who should enter, while his servants discharged their pistols at the aperture, now crowded with human beings.

"Murder! murder!" shouted the Friar, leaping up in his bed, as if just awoke from sleep; but Pedro kept his eye upon him.

"Carramba! fire in on them, or we shall have more holes in our ribs than the doctors can cure."

"Hold!" shouted the Friar: "if you do, you will kill me, you fools!"

The robbers heeded him not, throwing a volley into the room; but no one fell. At the same time, a shrill female voice was heard crying out, "Murder! murder!"

"On, comrades! We must not be baulked by this foolery!" and before the smoke cleared away, making a desperate rush, they leaped over all obstacles into the room, the headmost attacking Don Luis with great fury; but they were not good swordsmen, and for several passes he easily kept them at bay. Numbers, however, must soon have overpowered him, those behind again loading their muskets, when he received succour from a quarter he little expected.

"I will keep my promise, and soon clear the room of these rascals, while you go and aid your master," cried the Friar to Pedro. "By all that is sacred, I will."

Before Pedro had time to answer, he sprang up, seizing a thick oak stick from the head of the bed, and rushed towards the robbers, flourishing it over his head, and exclaiming, "I will pay you for your kind intentions towards me, my masters."

This sudden reinforcement made the parties more equal; for Pedro, seeing that the friar really intended to aid them, was able to assist his master. Down came the friar's stick on the head of the foremost robbers, and blow after blow descended with more execution than the swords of Don Luis and his party.

"The friar has turned traitor," shouted several voices. "Cut him down, cut him down!"

"Hold, hold, ye fools!" cried the Friar, in return. "Back, back, or it will be the worse for you!"

At that instant the innkeeper seemed aroused from his slumbers; for his voice, also, was heard exclaiming, "Back, back, ye cursed idiots! What! would you have my house looked upon as a den of thieves for this night's work? Back, back! or by the Holy Virgin some of you will not live to repent it!"

He seemed to be enforcing his orders by blows; for a scuffle was heard outside, above which arose the shrill tones of a woman's voice, the robbers appearing to be giving way.

The man with whom Don Luis was chiefly engaged glared fiercely on him. "You killed my brother yesterday, and I will be revenged on you," he exclaimed. "I know you, Don Luis d'Almeida: you foiled me before; but we shall meet again ere long, when this blade shall drink your life's blood:" saying which, with curses on his companions for their cowardice, he bounded down the stairs after them, leaving Don Luis and his attendants masters of the room; while the innkeeper and the friar were seen on the top of the stairs, the latter still flourishing his cudgel, and vehemently abusing the banditti in no measured terms. The voices of the robbers were heard outside, in high and fierce dispute, the sounds gradually dying away as they gained a greater distance from the house.

The innkeeper, followed by the friar, then entered the apartment, making many apologies for the outrage. "I hope, senhor, you will not bring ruin on an unfortunate man, by mentioning the occurrences of the night," he said, in a supplicating tone. "You see, senhor, I am entirely in the power of those gentlemen, and could not avoid what happened; therefore, as none of your party are hurt, and you have wounded two of the banditti, I trust that this punishment will satisfy you."

"Oh yes, yes; I know that Don Luis will be generous, and act like a true fidalgo," interrupted the Friar. "You see that I kept my word; so in future remember you may trust to a friar's promise: and now, by your leave, cavalheros, I will go to bed again, for the night air does not agree with me, and my shoulder is painful." Saying which, he composedly walked to his recess, and covered himself up with the clothes.

"I ought to make no terms with you," said Don Luis; "yet, having no wish to ruin you, I shall not complain, if you will undertake that we receive no further annoyance."

"Oh yes, senhor, yes; on my word of honour as a gentleman, you shall be unmolested," returned the Innkeeper, putting his hand to his heart, and bowing low.

"The fidalgo will do as we beg him, I know," cried the Friar, from his dormitory; "so go away, and leave him to finish the night in peace."