Part 9 (1/2)
The effect was electric. Until that moment horror and indignation had been the predominant feeling; but with those words came the thought of his young, his beautiful, his treasured wife--the utter, utter desolation which that fearful death would bring to her; the contrast between her present position, and that in which they had so lately beheld her; and there was scarcely a manly spirit there, that did not feel unwonted moisture gather in his eyes, or his heart swell with an emotion never felt before.
”Now blessings on thy true woman's heart, my Isabel!” exclaimed the King, tenderly drawing her from the couch of the dead. ”I dare vouch not one of us, mourning the n.o.ble dead, has, till now, cast a thought upon the living. And who shall breathe these fearful tidings? Who prepare the unfortunate Marie for the loss awaiting her, and yet tarry to behold and soothe her anguish?”
”That will I do,” replied the Queen, instantly. ”None else will prepare her so gently, so kindly; for none knew her husband's worth so well, or can mourn his loss more deeply. She shall come hither. And the murderer,” she continued after a brief pause, and the change was almost startling from the tender sympathy of the Woman to the indignant majesty of the Queen--”Ferdinand, have they told me true as to his person--is he secured?”
”Ay,” answered the King, briefly and bitterly: and from respect to his feelings, Isabella asked no more. Orders were issued for the body to be laid in one of the state apartments; a guard to be stationed at the entrance of the chamber, and measures taken to keep the events of that fatal night profoundly secret, lest confusion should be aroused in the easily excited populace, or her terrible loss too rudely reach the ears of the most painfully bereaved. These orders were punctually obeyed.
CHAPTER XV.
”Yet again methinks Some unknown sorrow, ripe in Future's womb, Is coming towards me; and my inward soul With nothing trembles. At something it grieves More than the parting with my lord.”
SHAKSPEARE.
Long did Marie Morales linger where her husband had left her after his strangely pa.s.sionate farewell. His tone, his look, his embrace haunted her almost to pain--all were so unlike his wonted calmness: her full heart so yearned towards him that she would have given worlds, if she had had them, to call him to her side once more--to conjure him again to forgive and a.s.sure her of his continued trust--to tell him she was happy, and asked no other love than his. Why had he left her so early?
when she felt as if she had so much to say--so much to confide. And then her eye caught the same ominous cloud which had so strangely riveted Don Ferdinand's gaze, and a sensation of awe stole over her, retaining her by the cas.e.m.e.nt as by some spell which she vainly strove to resist; until the forked lightnings began to illumine the murky gloom, and the thunder rolled awfully along. Determined not to give way to the heavy depression creeping over her, Marie summoned her attendants, and strenuously sought to keep up an animated conversation as they worked. Not expecting to see her husband till the ensuing morning, she retired to rest at the first partial lull of the storm, and slept calmly for many hours. A morning of transcendent loveliness followed the awful horrors of the night. The sun seemed higher in the heavens than usual, when Marie started from a profound sleep, with a vague sensation that something terrible had occurred; every pulse was throbbing, though, her heart felt stagnant within her. For some minutes she could not frame a distinct thought, and then her husband's fond farewell flashed back; but what had that to do with gloom?
Ringing a little silver bell beside her, Manuella answered the summons, and Marie anxiously inquired for Don Ferdinand. Had he not yet returned? A sensation of sickness--the deadly sickness of indefinable dread--seemed to stupefy every faculty, as Manuella answered in the negative, adding, it was much beyond his usual hour.
”Send to the castle, and inquire if aught has detained him,” she exclaimed; hastily rising as she spoke, and commencing a rapid toilet.
She was scarcely attired before Alberic, with a pale cheek and voice of alarm, brought information that a messenger and litter from the palace were in the court, bringing the Queen's mandate for the instant attendance of Donna Marie.
”Oh! lady, dearest lady, let me go with thee,” continued the boy, suddenly clasping her robe and bursting into tears. ”My master--my good, n.o.ble master--something horrible has occurred, and they will not tell me what. Every face I see is full of horror--every voice seems suppressed--every--”
”Hus.h.!.+” angrily interposed Manuella, as she beheld Marie's very lips lose their glowing tint, and her eyes gaze on vacancy. ”For G.o.d's sake, still thine impudent tongue; thou'lt kill her with thy rashness.”
”Kill! who is killed?” gasped Marie. ”What did he say? Where is my husband?”
”Detained at the palace, dearest lady,” readily answered Manuella.
”This foolish boy is terrified at shadows. My lord is detained, and her Grace has sent a litter requiring thine attendance. We must haste, for she wills no delay. Carlotta, my lady's mantilla; quick, girl!
Alberic, go if thou wilt: my Lord may be glad of thee! Ay, go,” she continued some little time afterwards, as her rapid movements speedily placed her pa.s.sive, almost senseless mistress, in the litter; and she caught hold of the page's hand with a sudden change of tone, ”go; and return speedily, in mercy, Alberic. Some horror is impending; better know it than this terrible suspense.”
How long an interval elapsed ere she stood in Isabella's presence, Marie knew not. The most incongruous thoughts floated, one after another, through her bewildered brain--most vivid amongst them all, hers and her husband's fatal secret: had it transpired? Was he sentenced, and she thus summoned to share his fate? And then, when partially relieved by the thought, that such a discovery had never taken place in Spanish annals--why should she dread an impossibility?--flashed back, clear, ringing, as if that moment spoken, Stanley's fatal threat; and the cold shuddering of every limb betrayed the aggravated agony of the thought. With her husband she could speak of Arthur calmly; to herself she would not even think his name: not merely lest he should unwittingly deceive again, but that the recollection of _his_ suffering--and caused by her--ever created anew, thoughts and feelings which she had vowed unto herself to bury, and for ever.
Gloom was on every face she encountered in the castle. The very soldiers, as they saluted her as the wife of their general, appeared to gaze upon her with rude, yet earnest commiseration; but neither word nor rumor reached her ear. Several times she essayed to ask of her husband, but the words died in a soundless quiver on her lip. Yet if it were what she dreaded, that Stanley had fulfilled his threat, and they had fought, and one had fallen--why was she thus summoned?
And had not Morales resolved to avoid him; for her sake not to avenge Arthur's insulting words? And again the thought of their fatal secret obtained ascendency. Five minutes more, and she stood alone in the presence of her Sovereign.
It was told; and with such deep sympathy, so gently, so cautiously, that all of rude and stunning shock was averted; but, alas! who could breathe of consolation at such a moment? Isabella did not attempt it; but permitted the burst of agony full vent. She had so completely merged all of dignity, all of the Sovereign into the woman and the friend, that Marie neither felt nor exercised restraint; and words mingled with her broken sobs and wild lament, utterly incomprehensible to the n.o.ble heart that heard. The awful nature of Don Ferdinand's death, Isabella had still in some measure concealed; but it seemed as if Marie had strangely connected it with violence and blood, and, in fearful and disjointed words, accused herself as its miserable cause.
”Why did not death come to me?” she reiterated; ”why take him, my husband--my n.o.ble husband? Oh, Ferdinand, Ferdinand! to go now, when I have so learnt to love thee! now, when I looked to years of faithful devotion to prove how wholly the past was banished--how wholly I was thine alone! to atone for hours of suffering by years of love! Oh, how couldst thou leave me friendless--desolate?”
”Not friendless, not desolate, whilst Isabella lives,” replied the Queen, painfully affected, and drawing Marie closer to her, till her throbbing brow rested on her bosom. ”Weep, my poor girl, tears must flow for a loss like this; and long, long weeks must pa.s.s ere we may hope for resignation; but harrow not thyself by thoughts of more fearful ill than the reality, my child. Do not look on what might be, but what has been; on the comfort, the treasure, thou wert to the beloved one we have lost. How devotedly he loved thee, and thou--”
”And I so treasured, so loved. Oh, gracious Sovereign!” And Marie sunk down at her feet, clasping her robe in supplication. ”Say but I may see him in life once more; that life still lingers, if it be but to tell me once more he forgives me. Oh, let me but hear his voice; but once, only once, and I will be calm--quite calm; I will try to bear this bitter agony. Only let me see him, hear him speak again. Thou knowest not, thou canst not know, how my heart yearns for this.”
”See him thou shalt, my poor girl, if it will give thee aught of comfort; but hear him, alas! alas! my child, would that it might be!