his pride was dearer to him than aught else, and for that must everyconsideration be sacrificed: all peace on earth, all hopes of heaven,must bow before that cursed, blood-stained idol of his soul!
"Clara," he said, as he led her to a seat, "this day the Count will cometo receive the answer to his suit. He loves you, my child, for he hasoften assured me of it. He appears, in every way, such a husband as Ishould desire for you; and I feel perfectly satisfied with the selectionI have made: you will, therefore, I trust, offer no further oppositionto my wishes, though Father Alfonzo tells me you have yet some maidenlyscruples about accepting one whom you fancy you cannot love."
"I must not for a moment longer allow you to remain in uncertainty, myfather," cried Donna Clara. "I cannot wed the Count. I dreaded him atfirst, though, by your desire, I sought to conquer my repugnance; butnow--oh! spare me, my father, spare me! retract your stern decree--Inever can be his!"
"Is such your firm resolve, Clara?" asked her father. "Remember thealternative."
"It is, my father; for you know him not!" she exclaimed, as she castherself kneeling at his feet, while she clasped his hand and gazed intohis countenance. "But you will not be so cruel, so unlike yourself, asto compel me to embrace a life for which I have no calling. Father, ohhear me! I love another, fondly, devotedly,--one whom you cannotdisapprove,--one who merits your esteem and gratitude. I knew it notbefore, or I would have told you; I knew not that he loved me; but nowthat I feel assured of his love, I would not wed another to gain thecrown of Portugal! Frown not thus on your child, my father; I have notloved unworthily; he is noble, brave, and good,--he will himself come tourge his suit."
"Who is the person who has dared to win my daughter's affections withoutmy permission?" exclaimed the Fidalgo, interrupting her. "Speak,child!"
"Don Luis d'Almeida," answered Clara, firmly.
"Clara, you have deceived me," said her father. "Has this conduct beenworthy of a high-born maiden, to receive the addresses of one, whoeverhe may be, without your father's permission? But the crime will bringits own punishment. Yet how can it be so? You could have seen him butonce, and how know you that he loves you?"
"I saw him again, here, on the evening when he came to tell me that hehad recovered the casket with my mother's jewels; and he promised toreturn this morning to deliver them," said Clara.
"I will receive him, and thank him for his courtesy," returned theFidalgo, coldly. "I have nothing for which to blame him; and, underother circumstances, I might have consented to his suit, though hispoverty is an objection. But it is now too late; my honour is pledgedto the Count, and I must fulfil my contract, provided he is worthy ofyou; nor has he given me any cause to suppose to the contrary."
A gleam of hope shot across the bosom of his daughter, as she exclaimed,"Oh! my father, he is"--but, like the dark thunder cloud, theremembrance of her oath again rushed on her mind, and obscured thefeeling.
At that moment one of her attendants entered, to announce that the Countwas waiting below.
"Once more, Clara, I ask you, will you receive the Count?" demanded theFidalgo, sternly.
"Father, I cannot!" gasped forth his unhappy child. "At least, spare methe horror of meeting him. In everything else I will obey you, but inthis I cannot. I will sacrifice all my hopes in life to save yourhonour; I will give up the world, and the happiness I thought to find init. I will quit life itself, and oh, gladly! but I cannot wed theCount."
"Clara, you have chosen your lot," exclaimed the Fidalgo, raising her,and placing her on a seat, when he moved towards the door. "I willdismiss the Count at your desire, but I have one only course to pursue,which you have already consented to follow. Prepare to quit me forever!"
With these words the proud fidalgo left his gentle daughter.
The Conde San Vincente was furious when he heard from Goncalo Christovaothat his suit was finally rejected, and he demanded that the fidalgoshould fulfil his promise in consigning his daughter to a convent,rather than that any other should gain the prize which was not to behis. He concealed, however, the fierce rage which burnt within hisbosom at the disappointment of his wishes, and with a show of haughtycourtesy took his leave of the fidalgo.
Clara anxiously waited all day, in the hopes of hearing that Don Luishad called, and of receiving the casket he had promised to bring. Sheknew it was wrong to wish it; but she trusted that Gertrudes wouldcontrive to enable her to meet him; but the day passed away, and sheheard not of him, nor could her nurse gain her any information.
We cannot dwell on her grief and wretchedness. Poor girl! she was butone of the many victims to pride, bigotry, and designing hypocrisy.Several days passed away, the friar visiting her constantly, anddwelling strongly on her mother's dying vow, when she had devoted her tothe Church; so that, heart-broken and despairing, she agreed to obey herfather's commands.
Yet, young and innocent as she was, and free from all sort of guileherself, there was something in the manner and the conversation of thefriar which raised horrid doubts in her mind as to the purity of hismotives. He did not shock her ear by a word which could be repeated tohis discredit; he did not propose aught unbecoming her maiden modesty tolisten to, but he insinuated that a conventual life was not of thatascetic nature she had supposed; that pleasures, of which custom forbadethe enjoyment in society, might be tasted within the precincts of thoseseemingly gloomy walls; and that the fair brides of Heaven were notentirely secluded from all intercourse with lovers of a more earthlymould.
Though she could not understand his discourse, for a virtuous andyouthful mind cannot comprehend the extent of villainy of which man iscapable, yet how gladly would she have escaped from the life to whichshe was doomed! But she had promised her father to enter it, and heinsisted on her fulfilling that promise; for he believed the Countupright and honourable; yet a word from her would convince him of thecontrary--would show him that he had been vilely imposed on; and, by hisown acknowledgment, he would yield to her wishes, and she might be happywith the man she loved: but that word her oath forbade her to pronounce.She knew the Count to be a murderer and a dark ruffian, but she couldnot breathe this knowledge into mortal ear, though her own happiness orlife depended on it: hers was indeed a cruel fate.
Her father kept much aloof from her; for he could not bear to meet theeye of his child. He, too, looked pale and wretched; for there was aworm at his heart gnawing at his more tender affections, which his prideendeavoured in vain to crush. Her brother never came near her; he choseto be offended at her rejection of his friend, and when the oldmarchioness saw her, she scolded her half the time for refusing theCount, and the rest she spent in praising the holiness and pure joys ofa conventual existence. Poor Gertrudes was most completely at fault:she had trusted too much to her sagacity and acuteness, and had beenfoiled at every point; so she spent the day and the greater part of thenight in weeping by the side of her young mistress.
At length the day arrived on which Clara was to quit her father's care,and to take up her abode within the walls of the convent.
The convent selected for her was that of Santa Clara, her patron saint,the abbess of which was a relative of Father Alfonzo, a woman of noblefamily, and many connexions among the high dignitaries of the Church, bywhose exertions she had been raised to her present dignity, more than byany peculiar claims to sanctity which she could boast of. In earlyyouth she had been very beautiful; indeed she yet retained many of herformer attractions, still having a right to claim the privilege of beingconsidered young. She had assumed the veil from conviction certainly,but it was from the conviction that it would free her from the restraintand formality of a home governed by an austere father, and a bigoted,tyrannical mother; it was also a sure way to save a fame against whichthe breath of scandal had dared to whisper. Nor was she disappointed inthe liberty she expected to enjoy; a devoted admirer she possessedbefore she entered, having no occasion to die of grief at her loss.
Such was the Mother superior to whose spiritual directio
n a young andinnocent girl was to be confided. Accompanied by the father confessorand the old marchioness, Clara was driven to the convent. On one sideof the building stood the church, an edifice of magnificent proportions,elegant architecture, and richly ornamented. The convent itself formedthe corner of a square; the high walls of the garden belonging to itmaking up the remainder.
In front of the great entrance was a courtyard, into which the carriagedrove; when, the gates being thrown open, the almost fainting girl wasled within her prison walls, and conducted to the community room, wherethe Mother superior and several of the professed nuns were waiting toreceive their new sister, of whose coming they had been forewarned.They received the old marchioness and her young charge with every signof respect, conducting them to seats, and placing themselves in a