Part 5 (2/2)

The surgeon removed the bandages from the insensible Alcala, and examined his ghastly wound. There was a deep gash in the left shoulder, from which there had been a great effusion of blood. The full extent of the injury sustained by the unfortunate cavalier could not be ascertained at once.

”He was crushed up against the barrier,--I saw it with my own eyes,--oh that I should have lived to see it!” cried Teresa, with pa.s.sionate gestures. ”The bull charged, and in a moment man and horse were down in the dust. Campeador never rose again, the horns of the savage--”

”Be silent, woman!” said Lucius sternly; ”does not your lady already suffer enough?”

Teresa stared in angry surprise at this unexpected rebuke from the stranger, who had a.s.sumed a post of command in the house of his friend by the tacit consent of its mistress; for Inez felt as if, in her sorest need, a helper and supporter had been sent to her by Heaven.

The old woman dared not reply, but muttering something between her teeth about ”insolent heretic,” busied herself with the bandages required for the wound.

When the surgeon had finished his work, Lucius accompanied him out of the room, that his question, ”Do you think that there is hope?” might not be heard by Inez.

”It is impossible to give any decided opinion as yet, senor,” answered the surgeon. ”Fever will probably ensue; let some one sit up with the caballero during the night.”

As the surgeon crossed the patio, it was entered by a priest. In this stout personage, swathed in long black robe with rosary and crucifix dependent; with plump, dark, close-shaven face, and tonsured head from which the huge flapped hat was now removed, Lucius recognized the priest who had touched him on the shoulder on the previous evening.

There was no word spoken between the two men; the family confessor needed no guide to the room of Alcala. But the eyes of the Spaniard and the Englishman met, and each read in the glance of the other, ”I shall find an opponent in you.”

From motives of delicacy, Lucius did not follow the priest into Alcala's apartment, but remained waiting in the lofty corridor. He would not by his presence disturb the visit of a spiritual director.

The door was closed between them; no ordinary conversation could therefore be heard by one standing outside, who had no wish or intention to listen. The priest, however, probably purposely, spoke loudly enough in the chamber of sickness for a word or two occasionally to reach the ear of Lucius.

”Not at confession for the last year,--bad influence--heretic--Protestant,” such were the words which the raised tone in which they were spoken rendered audible,--though an indistinct murmur was all that was otherwise heard of the voice of the ecclesiastic through the closed door.

”Would that I had better deserved the priest's suspicions!” thought Lucius, with some self-reproach.

When the priest left Alcala's apartment he was followed by Inez and Teresa, though the former went but a few steps beyond the door. Her hands were clasped; a look of entreaty was on her pale face.

”You will not refuse my brother the last rites of the Church?” she said faintly.

”I will come again to-morrow, and hear his confession, if Don Alcala be then able and willing to confess,” was the sternly uttered reply.

”I hope that I shall find him a true son of the Church;” the hope was expressed in a tone that was more suggestive of doubt. Inez bowed low with submissive reverence, and returned to her post.

As Father Bonifacio--such was the name of the priest--pa.s.sed Lucius, again his eyes rested on the young Englishman with an expression of dislike and suspicion. The glance was calmly returned.

Teresa accompanied the priest to the outer arch, while Lucius went back to the room of his friend.

”I knew that there was something wrong,” muttered Teresa, when Bonifacio had pa.s.sed out into the street. ”Don Alcala has been too much with those vile blasphemers of the saints and the blessed Virgin.

If all the bulls that graze on the Sierra Nevada had come against him, the arm of an Aguilera would have prevailed, had his lance but been sprinkled with holy water. Had the caballero been to ma.s.s and confession in the morning, he would never have rolled in the dust at noon. If I had my will, that English heretic should never come near or look at him again!”

But Teresa had not her will, at least on the night which followed that anxious day. Lucius shared with Inez the long sad watch by the sufferer's pillow. As his presence certainly did not seem to be unwelcome to the sister of his friend, he remained at his post until dawn.

How often the scene in that sick-room afterwards returned to the recollection of Lucius, its most trifling accessories imprinted indelibly on his mind! The large and lofty but scantily-furnished apartment, so dimly lighted by one small lamp that its further corners were left in almost absolute darkness; the walls, on which the plaster was cracked and peeling; while square-shaped marks and projecting nails showed that pictures had once been hung where they no longer remained to bear witness to the wealth and taste of their late possessors. One family portrait alone was left, evidently painted by the hand of a master; but it had apparently served as a pistol target in the time when the French were quartered in Seville, as it was drilled with several holes. The ceiling had once been richly painted and gilded; but the gold had long since lost all trace of brightness, and the faded painting showed in the dull light like mere undefined stains of various hues. There was no carpet on the floor; this was not necessarily a sign of poverty in a climate so warm as that of Andalusia, but the boards themselves were time-worn, and in some places seemed going to decay.

The part of the scene on which interest centred was that where Alcala lay, on his bed of pain, with countenance so pale that it looked as if it belonged to a monumental rec.u.mbent figure chiselled out of marble.

Almost as pale and as still, his sister sat watching beside him, scarcely ever raising her long dark lashes, so fixed was her gaze on the face of Alcala. Inez seemed scarcely to be aware of the presence of a stranger, save when Lucius helped her to change the position of the sufferer, or placed the fever-draught in her hand. Inez would then thank him by a mute and scarcely perceptible gesture.

Hour after hour pa.s.sed away, whilst the only sounds that broke the stillness were the rustle of Teresa's dress, or the crack of one of the old boards under her heavy tread. The old servant flitted about uneasily, like a bird whose nest is invaded. It was against all the duenna's ideas of propriety, as well as the devotee's prejudiced views of religion, that the English heretic should remain in the sick-room, which nothing would persuade Donna Inez to quit. But Teresa dared not speak out her mind in the presence of Lucius Lepine, above all in that still and solemn apartment. Even Teresa could hardly help seeing, though she would not have openly acknowledged the fact, that the services of the young stranger could not, on that night, have been well dispensed with. No one would ever have introduced Chico into a sick-room; and before the long night was over, Teresa's own eyelids were closed in sleep. The old servant was worn out with the fatigue, excitement, and distress of the day.

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