of the room. The young lady was severely punished for herfault, by the just indignation of her friends, who refused to have anyintercourse with her till, by the death of several relations of herhusband's, a coronet was placed on her brow, when their hearts relentedtowards her, and they thought she had acted very wisely. The moral ofthis anecdote is, that chaperones must not be too confident because theykeep the young ladies near them.
Luis claimed Donna Clara's hand, and led her forth to dance: they thenwandered together through several rooms, where they fancied that theywere unobserved. The temptation was very great, and he yielded to it.His words were few and low; but Clara's ears were quick, and she heardevery one of them; for they were such as she would not have lost forworlds. She longed to ask him to repeat them again, but as she couldnot do that, she told him they made her very happy; for, at that moment,poor girl, she forgot all but the present. She looked up, and beheldthe dark eye of the Count glaring at her from among the crowd. In aninstant her joy was turned to anguish; and like a thunderbolt, therecollection of her father's stern decree, and of some dreadful wordsthe friar had once spoken to her, rushed upon her mind.
Luis saw the sudden change in her countenance; but, knowing not thecause, supposed that an illness had seized her, when, forgetful of allhis former caution, he exclaimed, "Speak, my beloved, are you ill?"
His agitation was marked by the Count, though his words reached no otherears but hers.
"Oh no, no! Leave me, in mercy," she answered, her voice trembling withalarm: "I am not ill, but I have acted very wrong; I ought to have toldyou at once of the lot to which I am destined; but oh! believe me, Iforgot it in the joy of seeing you. See, the fierce glance of the CountSan Vincente is cast on me. Oh! pardon me, that I must now tell you so,I am condemned to wed that dark man, or to assume the veil."
A chill weight pressed on Luis's heart. "Was the bright fabric he hadjust raised up but a vain illusion?" he asked himself.
Donna Clara was the first to recover herself; she continued, speakingmore calmly: "Go now, and confide in me. Yesterday I might have beencompelled to accept the Count; but now no earthly power shall make mewed him. The confidence of your love will give me strength to resistall the temptations, and to despise all the threats which are held outto cause me to do that which I knew was wrong, and against which myheart revolted. Come to-morrow, for my father has ever been kind, andhe may relent. Tell him openly of our love, and I will beseech him notto sacrifice me to the Count: to you, surely, he can have no objection,and, for very gratitude for what you have done for him, he cannot refuseyou."
The last few sentences were spoken while Luis was conducting her to herseat. Unperceived by either, the Count had followed them at a distance,where he stood watching them among the crowd. Clara looked up into heryoung lover's face, and smiled. "Fear not, Luis, we may yet be happy,"she said; but scarcely had she uttered the words, when, as if by somefascination she could not resist, she again beheld from afar thebasilisk eyes of the Count glaring on her; but though their glance didnot wither her, it at once recalled all her fears and forebodings, andbrought clearly to her remembrance her father's words. Her gentle heartsank within her: she could not allow Luis to leave her with hopes whichshe felt too truly must inevitably be blighted. "Luis," she said, "Icannot deceive myself, and I must not deceive you. My doom, I fear, issealed. My father, I remember, told me, though I scarce noted hiswords, that his honour was pledged to the Count, that if I did not wedhim, I should become the bride of Heaven, for that such was my mother'sdying wish. That I will not wed him, I have assured you, and I know youtrust me; the rest is in the hands of Heaven, and in Heaven alone can Iconfide. Oh! Luis, once again I pray you to leave me. Farewell! forwe ought not to meet again."
Luis saw by her looks that his remaining would agitate and pain hermore. "At your bidding, beloved one, I leave you now. I will see yourfather to-morrow, and urge my claim; he cannot be so cruel as thusbarbarously to sacrifice you. Farewell!" Saying which, with grief inhis tone and look, he tore himself from her side, and hastily threadinghis way through the crowd of guests, he rushed from the palace.
Clara remained unconscious of all that was passing around, till theCount and her brother approached her. "Who was the gentleman with whomyou have been dancing?" said the latter. "He seemed an intimateacquaintance."
The tones of her brother's voice aroused her.
"Don Luis d'Almeida; to whom your gratitude is due for rescuing yourfather and sister from the power of brigands," answered Clara, withgreater firmness than she could have supposed herself to possess; buther womanly pride was roused at the tone of the question, and at thepresence of the Count.
"He seemed to presume, then, too much on the service he was so fortunateto perform, for the Count tells me he was engaged in long and earnestconversation with you, which he does not approve, and would haveinterrupted, had not the etiquette of society prevented him."
"The Count was employed in a truly noble occupation," answered Clara,her gentle spirit excited beyond endurance at the unauthorisedinterference of the Count and her brother: "nor do I know by what righthe claims the privilege of directing my conduct."
"By that of being your affianced husband, my fair sister; and as hisfriend, I must guard his interests as well as yours," said her brother."He requests your hand for the next dance, and will then better urge hisown claims." Upon this the Count advanced, assuming the softest smile,and in the blandest voice made his request.
Clara shrunk from him, as she answered, "I can dance no more; and I begthe Conde San Vincente will not deceive himself by supposing that anyclaims he can urge will afford me otherwise than pain."
"Is this, then, madam, the answer I may expect to-morrow--for which Ihave waited patiently a whole month?" exclaimed the Count, fiercely.
"Such is the only one I can ever be induced to give," returned Clara,with firmness. "Though, had not the Conde San Vincente drawn the answerfrom me now, I should have preferred giving it through my father."
The Count's brow lowered, and again that ominous glance shot from hiseyes. "I give you till to-morrow to alter your determination, madam,"he whispered, between his closed teeth; "for I was led to expect a verydifferent answer; when, if I find that a rival has influenced it, as youhave given me just cause to suspect, remember that his heart's bloodshall pay for his audacity. I will not lose so fair a prize withoutwreaking my vengeance on him who has ventured to deprive me of it."
Clara turned pale at these words, which her brother could not hear; andthough they increased her horror and hatred of the speaker, shesmothered the feeling for the moment, for the sake of one who, from thecontrast, was every instant becoming dearer to her. "Oh, no," sheanswered, "you have no rival but the Church, which claims me, if Ibecome not your bride; yet, as a man, a noble, and a Christian, do noturge your claim. I can never love you; but surely that is not a crime:and I will never wed where I cannot love, for that would indeed becrime. Then spare me, for my fate is in your power."
The Count smiled darkly, as he spoke. "You know that I love you, lady,and my love is not a weak, puny passion, to be thrown aside at pleasure;nor will I yield it to any power but the Church, against which even Icannot strive; so do not persuade yourself, that I am, like a boy, to begained over, by prayers or tears, to do what I should most assuredlyrepent of. For the present, I yield to your wishes, and leave you; butto-morrow I shall return, and claim the fulfilment of your father'spromise." The Count, on this, bowed profoundly, and joined her brother,who was standing at some little distance, and to whom he expressed hisconviction that he possessed a rival in his sister's affections in theperson of Don Luis d'Almeida, when they together left the palace.
Poor Clara watched their departure with anxiety. What fears does loveconjure up in a woman's breast! She knew her brother's fiery temper,and dreaded the Count's vindictive disposition. They might encounterDon Luis; they would quarrel, and he would fall a victim to their anger.She longed to be able to seek D
on Luis, and to warn him of his danger;or to have some trusty messenger whom she could send to assist him; butshe felt that she was helpless, and so completely did her agitationovercome her, that she was obliged to fly to her own chamber, to giveway to her feelings in tears. The old marchioness was excessively angrywhen she found that the Count had quitted the party, and she couldnowhere see Donna Clara. The fidalgo, who had been deeply engaged in agame of cards, knew nothing of his daughter; and when, at last, it wasdiscovered that she had retired to her chamber, which no persuasionscould induce her to leave, the old lady grew more sour than ever, andvowed she would never again be guilty of the folly and wickedness ofgiving a party to please any human beings, as