Part 9 (2/2)
”I know nothing, senor,” Dolores repeated, with the air of a person determined to _say_ nothing.
But Carlos would not allow her to escape thus. Both had gone too far to leave the subject without probing it to its depths. And both felt instinctively that it was not likely again to be discussed between them.
Laying his hand on her arm, and looking steadily in her face, he asked,--
”Dolores, are you sure my father is dead?”
Seemingly relieved by the form the question had taken, she met his gaze without flinching, and answered in tones of evident sincerity, ”Sure as that I sit here--so help me G.o.d.” After a long pause she added, as she rose to go, ”Senor Don Carlos, be not offended if I counsel you this once, since I held you a babe in my arms, and you will find none that loves you better--if a poor old woman may say so to a young and n.o.ble caballero.”
”Say all you think to me, my dear and kind nurse.”
”Then, senor, I say, leave vain thoughts and questions about your father's fate. 'There are no birds in last year's nests;' and 'Water that has run by will turn no mill.' And I entreat of you to repeat the same to your n.o.ble brother when you find opportunity. Look before you, senor, and not behind; and G.o.d's best blessings rest on you!”
Dolores turned to go, but turning back again, stood irresolute.
”What is it, Dolores?” Carlos asked; hoping, perhaps, for some further glimmer of light upon that dark past, from which she implored him to turn his thoughts.
”If it please you, Senor Don Carlos--” and she paused and hesitated.
”Can I do anything for you?” said Carlos, in a kind, encouraging tone.
”Ay, senor, that you can. With your learning and your good Book, surely you can tell me whether the soul of my poor Alphonso, dead on the battle-field without shrift or sacrament, has yet found rest with G.o.d?”
Thus the tree woman's heart, though so full of sympathy for others, still turned back to its own sorrow, which lay deepest of all.
Carlos felt himself unexpectedly involved in a difficulty. ”My book tells me nothing on the subject,” he said, after some thought. ”But I am sure you may be comforted, after all these years, during which you have diligently prayed, and sought the Church's prayers for him.”
The long eager gaze of her wistful eyes asked mournfully, ”Is this _all_ you can tell me?” But her lips only said, ”I thank your Excellency,” as she withdrew.
XI.
The Light Enjoyed.
”Doubt is slow to clear and sorrow is hard to bear, And each sufferer has his say, his scheme of the weal and the woe; But G.o.d has a few of us whom he whispers in the ear; The rest may reason and welcome, 'tis we musicians _know_.”--R.
Browning
Bewildering were the trains of thought which the conversation just narrated awakened in the mind of Carlos. On the one hand, a gleam of light was shed upon his father's career, suggesting a possible interpretation of the inscription on the window, that thrilled his heart with joy. On the other, the termination of that career was involved in even deeper obscurity than before; and he was made to feel, more keenly than ever, how childish and unreal were the dreams which he and his brother had been wont to cherish upon the subject.
Moreover, Dolores, just before she left him, had drawn a bow at a venture, and most unintentionally sent a sharp arrow through a joint in his harness. Why could he find no answer to a question so simple and natural as the one she had asked him? Why did the Book, which had solved so many mysteries for him, shed not a ray of light upon this one?
Whence this ominous silence of the apostles and evangelists upon so many things that the Church most loudly proclaimed? Where, in his Book, was purgatory to be found at all? Where was the adoration of the Virgin and the saints? Where were works of supererogation? But here he started in horror, as one who suddenly saw himself on the brink of a precipice. Or rather, as one dwelling secure and contented within a little circle of light and warmth, to whom such questions came as intimations of a chaos surrounding it on every side, into which a chance step might at any moment plunge him.
Most earnestly he entreated that the Lord of his life, the Guide of his spirit, would not let him go forth to wander there. He prayed, expressly and repeatedly, that the doubts which began to trouble him might be laid and silenced. His prayer was answered, as all true prayer is sure to be, but it was not granted. He whose love is strong and deep enough to work out its good purpose in us even against the pleadings of our own hearts, saw that his child must needs pa.s.s through ”a land of darkness”
to reach the clearer light beyond. Conflicts fierce and terrible must be his portion, if indeed he were to take his place amongst those ”called and chosen and faithful” ones who, having stood beside the Lamb in his contest with Antichrist, shall stand beside him on the sea of gla.s.s mingled with fire.
<script>