wrought so speedy a cure. Her father, having made uphis mind that she should become the bride of his estimable young friend,the Conde San Vincente, determined, as soon as he considered she wassufficiently recovered to bear conversation, to open the subject to her.Now, he was, as we have said, a very amiable man, and an affectionatefather; but he was one of those people who, according to circumstances,may be either praised for their firmness or blamed for their obstinacy;if he had once taken an idea into his head, he was very fond ofretaining it, from the difficulty he had in getting it there. Of hisown accord, and by the advice of his son, he had determined that hisdaughter should espouse the Conde San Vincente, while his confessor, inwhose judgment he put implicit confidence, had persuaded him, by dint ofmuch argument, that if she would not marry according to his will, shemust inevitably assume the veil. Besides the quality which his enemieswould have called obstinacy, he possessed another, which the samepersons would have designated as a passionate temper, though hisadmirers might look upon it as a just indignation: it had rarely beenaroused, principally from his having always enjoyed his own way, no oneattempting to oppose his will, so that he was not even aware of ithimself, imagining that he was of the mildest disposition possible.When he entered his daughter's apartment, he found her risen from herbed, and seated on a sofa near the open window, enjoying the fresh air,the only remedy which she required to restore her to perfect health. Hetook her hand as he seated himself by her side. He began much in theway fathers always must begin when they have the same sort of subject tocommunicate, particularly when they have some floating suspicions thatit may not afford entire satisfaction to their hearers, and that theymust be prepared for a slight opposition to their will, as his confessorhad warned him might now be the case. He talked a great deal about hislove and affection, and his care for her interests and happiness, inanswer to which his daughter looked into his face, and thanked him witha sweet beaming smile, and an assurance of her confidence in his love.Then he talked of the necessity of leaving as large a fortune aspossible to his son, whose expenses were, he confessed, considerable,that he might maintain the family honour and dignity, in which she mostreadily acquiesced. He next approached the main point. He observedthat young ladies must form matrimonial connexions suitable to theirfamily and station, and that nothing was more disgraceful or wrong thanfor a person of pure and noble blood to wed with one who could not boastan equal number of quarterings on their escutcheons. Clara said she hadalways heard such was the case, and believed it fully; then she lookeddown on the ground, wondering what was next to come. The Fidalgo wenton to observe, that there were very few unmarried men of hisacquaintance whom he should consider as a suitable match for hisdaughter, that many of pure blood were poor, and that he would, on noaccount, expose her to the miseries of poverty; and that there wereseveral aged bachelors and widowers who were most unexceptionable, butthat there were objections to her marrying an old man, especially if notvery wealthy. She again thanked him, and agreed in some part of theobservations. It did occur to her for an instant, and she longed to sayso, that she thought she had met with one who might perhaps please him,but her modesty restrained her, so she blushed at her own thoughts, andfixed her eyes more intently on the ground. He had now arrived at thedelicate point, and he began to speak quicker, as if to get over it; forhe saw his daughter turning paler every instant, and he could not bearto watch her, so he averted his eyes while he spoke. He said that hehad looked round among all his acquaintance, in which search her brotherhad materially aided him, to find a suitable husband for her, as heconsidered that she ought now to marry; that, after infinite trouble, hehad succeeded in selecting one in every way her equal in blood, being ofthe highest Fidalguia, and of title and large property, so that she mustconsider herself as a very fortunate girl. Poor Clara now trembledviolently, but her father did not, or would not, observe her agitation.He continued, that her intended husband was a particular friend of herbrothel, who much wished the match to take place; that he was the youngConde San Vincente; and that he had engaged his word as a fidalgo thatshe should marry him and no one else: therefore, that she must beprepared to receive him on the following day as her future husband. Atthis communication Clara turned deadly pale, and trembled so violently,that she almost fell from her seat. Her worst suspicions were realised:that dreaded man must be her husband! She shuddered at the thought; forher confessor had taken care to instil into her mind his opinion of thecount, more by dark insinuations than by any direct accusation; for theformer he knew would have far greater effect, while the latter might berefuted, and might injure himself. There was a spirit in the bosom ofthat young girl which she knew not of, both firm and enduring, enablingher to resist tyranny with determination; but she first made use of thefeminine weapons most natural to her age and habits.
"Oh, my father, I love you, and have always sought to obey your wishes;but do not now require of me what I cannot do,--cause me not now to actin disobedience to your commands. Oh! alter that decision, which itwould break my heart to obey. It is impossible that I should love thecount, and you would not make me wed one for whom I can never feelaffection?"
The fidalgo looked at her with amazement. He had never supposed itpossible that she should offer any resistance to his wishes, though theymight not at first please her. It is just probable that, had she notmentally daguerreo-typed that likeness of Don Luis at Leiria, she mightnot have thought of opposing the commands of her father, who, however,never made any such calculation; nor had the said Don Luis even occurredto his recollection, as he knew him to be the son of a poor noble, whoseproperty was much involved.
"What is this nonsense I hear about love and affection? What objectionscan you have to the count? He is young, handsome, and rich, as youknow; and as you have scarcely seen him, it is not possible that you candislike him; so that you will soon learn to love him as much as isnecessary; and what further would you wish? Come, come, Clara, I havealways been an indulgent father to you,--do not let me now find you adisobedient child, in the most important affair of your life. Am not Ithe fittest person to choose a husband for you? and tell me, how couldyou, who can know nothing of the world, select one for yourself? Suchan idea would be unmaidenly and highly incorrect, and one in which noyoung lady would dream of indulging; and I have pledged my word to thecount, therefore you must marry him."
Clara did not see the clearness of her father's reasoning. "I would doall to please you," she again answered; "I would die, and, oh!willingly, for your sake; but this I cannot do."
"Clara, beware you do not make me utter such words as I thought never tospeak to you. My honour is dearer to me than my life: it is dearer eventhan my child's life or happiness; and my honour is pledged to thecount. It must be so."
"Oh, my father, I must die, then, if I obey you!" returned the fairgirl, faintly.
The fidalgo's heart was softened, and, for the moment, he repented ofhis pledge; but it must be redeemed, if the count demanded it.
"Clara, there is an alternative, but one that I wish you not to choose.Your mother, on her death-bed, made it her dying request that you shouldrather take the veil than marry against your will. I have vowed tofulfil her wish. I give you, therefore, your choice. Within a monthyou must wed the Count San Vincente, or give up the world and all itspleasures, and dwell for the remainder of your life in the gloomyprecincts of a convent. But I know my pretty Clara will recover fromher fit of bashful fears, and long before that time the count will havewon the love you speak of."
"Oh no, no!" exclaimed Clara, with energy. "Let me far rather enter aconvent. I will at once so decide; and let me not be exposed to thedark glances of the count, which alone fill me with terror."
"Clara, you will excite my just anger," returned the Fidalgo, in a tonewhich very plainly showed his anger was excited already. "I will notnow hear your decision. At the end of the month we will again speak onthe subject; till then I will not allude to it. I insist on yourreceiving the count, in the meantime, and s
hall inform him that he mustnot expect your answer till that period has elapsed."
Clara burst into tears; but her father was angry, and they did notinfluence him. He was, as we have said, not accustomed to be opposed.Seeing that she continued weeping (it was at her father's unkindness, sounusual in him, towards her), his feelings were moved, which made himonly still more angry; so he rose to quit her, in order to avoid thesight. "Clara, this is but increasing your folly. I must now quit you,and remember to-morrow to wear at least a serene countenance to receivethe count." He stooped down, as was his wont, to kiss her brow, whenshe threw herself on his neck, and wept hysterically; but he placed heragain on the seat, and left the room, muttering, "It must be thus," andordered Senhora Gertrudes to attend her mistress.
The proud fidalgo was not the most happy man in