Part 19 (1/2)
”Ha, Lepine, you here!” exclaimed Peter Pa.s.smore; there was no time for another word. The last of the party had barely cleared the vestibule, and pa.s.sed through the grating, which was instantly closed behind them, before the mob, bent on slaughter, swarmed into the archway.
”_Muera Rivadeo! muera Rivadeo!_” How horrible sounded that cry for blood yelled from the throats of the savage rabble, mingled with the clash of weapons furiously struck against the iron grating.
Antonia dropped her cloak as she staggered forward into the patio; the once proud queen of beauty, now disrobed and discrowned, with torn dress and dishevelled hair, stood in the presence of Alcala and Inez,--of the admirer whom she had slighted, the woman whom she had insulted! Rivadeo's daughter, who had shown no mercy, must seek for mercy from them!
But no feeling of triumph swelled in the breast of the gentle Inez on beholding the humiliation of one who had treated her with cruelty and scorn. The maiden's heart had in it now only room for tender compa.s.sion. With such sympathy as she might have shown to a dear friend in distress, Inez welcomed the fugitive lady, took her by the trembling hand, and drew her away from the patio into an inner apartment, that the horrible sound of voices demanding a father's life might be less audible to the ear of the governor's daughter. Inez made Antonia rest on her own bed, spoke softly and soothingly to her, and then left her to give directions to Teresa to bring wine to revive the spirit of the terrified lady. Inez could not bear to be herself long absent from her newly-recovered brother; she dreaded lest his harbouring Don Lopez should bring Alcala into new peril. But even if it were so, Inez would never regret that her hand had thrown open the grating to receive the hunted fugitives.
The delicacy and tenderness of Inez were by no means shared by Teresa.
It was very unwillingly indeed that, in obedience to her young lady's orders, the old servant poured out for Antonia the very last gla.s.sful of wine from the very last bottle left in the once well-filled cellars. Teresa, her visage looking more grim and ill-tempered than usual, carried the beverage which she grudged to the daughter of Don Lopez de Rivadeo.
”There--take it, Donna Antonia,” said Teresa bitterly, as she proffered the gla.s.s. ”If I were you, it would choke me! Remember Don Alcala de Aguilera--he of whose love you never were worthy--lying bleeding, for your pride, under the horn of a bull!”
Antonia's hand shook so violently, that she could scarcely raise the gla.s.s to her lips.
”Remember Donna Inez,” continued the tormentor, ”the descendant of countless generations of heroes, stooping to sue for a boon from you, who were but too much honoured if a lady of the house of Aguilera deigned to enter your gate. Remember--”
”Oh, those yells! O holy Virgin!” shrieked Antonia, dropping the gla.s.s, as a louder ebullition of popular fury from without made her start in alarm. ”Shut the door, woman! oh, shut it and bolt it! the wretches may rush in even here!”
Teresa turned, and gloomily obeyed, muttering half-aloud as she did so, ”An Aguilera would have had no thought of self, when a father was so near to the knives of a.s.sa.s.sins!”
CHAPTER x.x.xI.
VENGEANCE.
Antonia might well be excused for the excess of her terror. If in one European country more than another an infuriated mob is to be dreaded, that country, perhaps, is Spain. A people accustomed to find delight in seeing bulls tortured, horses gored to death, and men imperilled and often wounded or slain, are not likely, when their pa.s.sions are roused, to be moved to pity, or to feel horror at deeds of blood.
Religion, degraded into superst.i.tion or utterly cast aside, has little power to control. The commandment, ”_Thou shalt not kill_,” has been broken so often, that its breach has almost ceased to be regarded as a crime. The stoutest heart might have quailed at the sound of the savage roar of voices, and that of thundering blows on the ornamental grating which alone divided the mob from their prey.
A little group stood together in the patio, whose marble pavement was likely so soon to be stained with the blood of at least one victim.
Lucius Lepine, with the generous spirit which makes the Englishman ”strike as soon for a trampled foe as he would for a soul-dear friend,” stood by the side of Aguilera, to protect his endangered guest. The Briton grasped his loaded pistol, the Spaniard was quite unarmed. A little behind them appeared Lopez de Rivadeo, a haggard, desperate man, clutching his dagger and clinching his teeth, as he watched the grating, which he every moment expected to give way under the clanging blows which were showered upon it. Near the governor stood Peter Pa.s.smore, flushed and snorting with excitement, and heartily wis.h.i.+ng himself out of a country where an honest man could not take a morning drive without the risk of being baited like a wild beast. Diego completed the group; the chulo had attached himself to Alcala, and was resolved to stand by the cavalier to the last. Once the pale face of Inez had appeared at a door which led to the interior part of the dwelling, but she had retired at the urgent desire of her brother. ”This is no place for ladies!” cried he.
”That bit of wrought iron will not hold out long under such battering,” cried Pa.s.smore, addressing himself to Lopez; ”why do you not hide yourself in some inner apartment?”
”Because I would rather make my last stand here, under the open sky, than be killed like a rat in a hole,” hoa.r.s.ely muttered the desperate man.
Cr--cr--cr--as.h.!.+ down goes the grating, and over it rush the human wolves towards their victim.
”Back, back, ye men of Seville!” exclaimed Alcala, coming forward to meet the mob with that calm dignity which marked one born to command.
”How dare ye thus force your way into the dwelling of a cavalier of Andalusia?” Alcala's stern eyes were fixed on the leader of the rioters, in whom he recognized one of the robbers with whom he had pa.s.sed the previous night in prison. The bandit was taken aback by the unexpected meeting with that strange fellow-prisoner whom he had almost deemed a prophet inspired by Heaven.
”We seek not to harm you or yours, senor, but that wretch--”
”Is my guest, and as such shall be protected with my life!” cried Alcala. ”What, my brave countrymen! will ye celebrate the birthday of your liberty with deeds of violence which would disgrace the heathen?
When the eyes of Europe are upon them, will Spaniards show themselves unworthy of their freedom? I have heard in your streets the shout of 'Viva la Const.i.tucion!' I hailed it as a sign that my countrymen could distinguish liberty from license, and that in Spain at least revolution meant not robbery and murder!”
Alcala had appealed to the self-respect of his hearers--that quality which appears to be inherent in Spaniards, and which, as history proves, can act as a curb even on the rage of their mobs. No one of the intruders rushed violently forward, although the only barrier between them and their prey was the firm will and dauntless courage of one unarmed individual. But a haggard, wild-looking man came a little in front of the rest, to act as the spokesman of all. Fierceness, almost resembling that of insanity, flashed from his sunken eyes, as, glaring on Rivadeo, the Spaniard brandished aloft his huge knife, and then addressed himself to Alcala.