Part 13 (1/2)

This was painful to him, both because he was sensitively alive to the opinions of others; and also because he actually preferred Gonsalvo, notwithstanding his great and glaring faults, to his more calculating and worldly-minded brothers. Force of any kind possesses a real fascination for an intellectual and sympathetic, but rather weak character; and this fascination grows in intensity when the weaker has a reason to pity and a desire to help the stronger.

It was not altogether grace, therefore, which checked the proud words that often rose to the lips of Carlos in answer to his cousin's sneers or sarcasms. He was not ignorant of the cause of Gonsalvo's contempt for him. It was Gonsalvo's creed that a man who deserved the name always got what he wanted, or died in the attempt; unless, of course, absolutely insuperable physical obstacles interfered, as they did in his own case. As he knew well enough what Carlos wanted before his departure from Seville, the fact of his quietly resigning the prize, without even an effort to secure it, was final with him.

One day, when Carlos had returned a forbearing answer to some taunt, Dona Inez, who was present, took occasion to apologize for her brother, as soon as he had quitted the room. Carlos liked Dona Inez much better than her still unmarried sister, because she was more generous and considerate to Beatriz. ”You are very good, amigo mio,” she said, ”to show so great forbearance to my poor brother. And I cannot think wherefore he should treat you so uncourteously. But he is often rude to his brothers, sometimes even to his father.”

”I fear it is because he suffers. Though rather less helpless than he was six months ago, he seems really more frail and sickly.”

”Ay de mi, that is too true. And have you heard his last whim? He tells us he has given up physicians for ever. He has almost as ill an opinion of them as--forgive me, cousin--of priests.”

”Could you not persuade him to consult your friend, Doctor Cristobal?”

”I have tried, but in vain. To speak the truth, cousin,” she added, drawing nearer to Carlos, and lowering her voice, ”there is another cause that has helped to make him what he is. No one knows or even guesses aught of it but myself; I was ever his favourite sister. If I tell you, will you promise the strictest secrecy?”

Carlos did so; wondering a little what his cousin would think could she surmise the weightier secrets which were burdening his own heart.

”You have heard of the marriage of Dona Juana de Xeres y Bohorques with Don Francisco de Vargas?”

”Yes; and I account Don Francisco a very fortunate man.”

”Are you acquainted with the young lady's sister Dona Maria de Bohorques?”

”I have met her. A fair, pale, queenly girl. She is not fond of gaiety, but very learned and very pious, as I have been told.”

”You will scarce believe me, Don Carlos, when I tell you that pale, quiet girl is Gonsalvo's choice, his dream, his idol. How she contrived to gain that fierce, eager young heart, I know not--but hers it is, and hers alone. Of course, he had pa.s.sing fancies before; but she was his first serious pa.s.sion, and she will be his last.”

Carlos smiled. ”Red fire and white marble,” he said. ”But, after all, the fiercest fire could not feed on marble. It must die out, in time.”

”From the first, Gonsalvo had not the shadow of a chance,” Dona Inez replied, with an expressive flutter of her fan. ”I have not the least idea whether the young lady even knows he loves her. But it matters not. We are Alvarez de Menaya; still we could not expect a grandee of the first order to give his daughter to a younger son of our house.

Even before that unlucky bull-feast. Now, of course, he himself would be the first to say, 'Pine-apple kernels are not for monkeys,' nor fair ladies for crippled caballeros. And yet--you understand?”

”I do,” said Carlos; and in truth he _did_ understand, far better than Dona Inez imagined.

She turned to leave the room, but turned back again to say kindly, ”I trust, my cousin, your own health has not suffered from your residence among those bleak inhospitable mountains? Don Garcia tells me he has seen you twice, since your return, coming forth late in the evening from the dwelling of our good Senor Doctor.”

There was a sufficient reason for these visits. Before they parted, De Seso had asked Carlos if he would like an introduction to a person in Seville who could give him further instruction upon the subjects they had discussed together. The offer having been thankfully accepted, he was furnished with a note addressed, much to his surprise, to the physician Losada; and the connection thus begun was already proving a priceless boon to Carlos.

But nature had not designed him for a keeper of secrets. The colour mounted rapidly to his cheek, as he answered,--

”I am flattered by my lady cousin's solicitude for me. But, I thank G.o.d, my health is as good as ever. In truth, Doctor Cristobal is a man of learning and a pleasant companion, and I enjoy an hour's conversation with him. Moreover, he has some rare and valuable books, which he is kind enough to lend me.”

”He is certainly very well-bred, for a man of his station,” said Dona Inez, condescendingly.

Carlos did not resume his attendance upon the lectures of Fray Constantino at the College of Doctrine; but when the voice of the eloquent preacher was heard in the cathedral, he was never absent. He had no difficulty now in recognizing the truths that he loved so well, covered with a thin veil of conventional phraseology. All mention, not absolutely necessary, of dogmas peculiarly Romish was avoided, unless when the congregation were warned earnestly, though in terms well-studied and jealously guarded, against ”risking their salvation”

upon indulgences or ecclesiastical pardons. The vanity of trusting to their own works was shown also; and in every sermon Christ was faithfully held up before the sinner as the one all-sufficient Saviour.

Carlos listened always with rapt attention, usually with keen delight.

Often would he look around him upon the sea of earnest upturned faces, saying within himself, ”Many of these my brethren and sisters have found Christ--many more are seeking him;” and at the thought his heart would thrill with thankfulness. But even at that moment some word from the preacher's lips might change his joy into a chill of apprehension. It frequently happened that Fray Constantino, borne onward by the torrent of his own eloquence, was betrayed into uttering some sentiment so very nearly heretical as to make his hearer tingle with the peculiar sense of pain that is caused by seeing one rush heedlessly to the verge of a precipice.