Kabanata Kabanata 12 · THE TWO DAMSELS

Five leagues from the city of Seville there is a town called

Castelblanco. At one of the many inns belonging to that town there

arrived at nightfall a traveller, mounted on a handsome nag of foreign

breed. He had no servant with him, and, without waiting for any one to

hold his stirrup, he threw himself nimbly from the saddle. The host, who

was a thrifty, active man, quickly presented himself, but not until the

traveller had already seated himself on a bench under the gateway, where

the host found him hastily unbuttoning his breast, after which he let

his arms drop and fainted. The hostess, who was a good-natured soul,

made haste to sprinkle his face with cold water, and presently he

revived. Evidently ashamed of having been seen in such a state, he

buttoned himself up again, and asked for a room to which he might

retire, and, if possible, be alone. The hostess said they had only one

in the house and that had two beds, in one of which she must accommodate

any other guest that might arrive. The traveller replied that he would

pay for both beds, guest or no guest; and taking out a gold crown he

gave it to the hostess, on condition that no one should have the vacant

bed. The hostess, well satisfied with such good payment, promised that

she would do as he required, though the Dean of Seville himself should

arrive that night at her house. She then asked him if he would sup. He

declined, and only begged they would take great care of his nag. Then,

taking the key of the chamber, and carrying with him a large pair of

leathern saddle-bags, he went in, locked the door, and even, as it

afterwards appeared, barricaded it with two chairs.

The moment he was gone, the host, the hostess, the hostler, and two

neighbours who chanced to be there, held a council together, and all

extolled the great comeliness and graceful deportment of the stranger,

agreeing that they had never seen any one so handsome. They discussed

his age, and came to the conclusion that it was between sixteen and

seventeen. They speculated largely as to what might have been the cause

of his fainting, but could make no plausible guess at it. The neighbours

after a while went home, the host went to look after the nag, and the

hostess to prepare supper in case any other guest should arrive; nor was

it long before another entered, not much older than the first, and of no

less engaging mien, so that the hostess no sooner saw him than she

exclaimed, "God bless me! how is this? Are angels coming to stop here

to-night?"

"Why does the lady hostess say that?" said the cavalier.

"It is not for nothing I say it. Only I must beg your honour not to

dismount, for I have no bed to give you; for the two I had have been

taken by a cavalier who has paid for both, though he has no need of more

than one; but he does that because no one else may enter the room,

being, I suppose, fond of solitude; though upon my conscience I can't

tell why, for his face and appearance are not such that he need be

ashamed of them or want to hide them, but quite the contrary."

"Is he so good-looking, señora hostess?"

"Good-looking? Ay, the best of good-looking."

"Here, my man, hold my stirrup," said the cavalier to a muleteer who

accompanied him; "for though I have to sleep on the floor, I must see a

man of whom I hear such high encomiums;" and then dismounting he called

for supper, which was immediately placed before him. Presently an

alguazil dropped in--as they commonly do at the inns in small towns--and

taking a seat, entered into conversation with the cavalier while he

supped; not forgetting at intervals to swallow three large glasses of

wine, and the breast and leg of a partridge, which the cavalier gave

him. He paid his scot meanwhile by asking news of the capital, of the

wars in Flanders, and the decay of the Turk, not forgetting the exploits

of the Transylvanian, whom God preserve. The cavalier supped and said

nothing, not having come from a place which would have supplied him with

the means of satisfying these inquiries. By and by, the innkeeper,

having seen to the nag, came in and sat down to make a third in the

conversation, and to taste his own wine no less copiously than the

alguazil; and at every gulp he leaned his head back over his left

shoulder, and praised the wine, which he exalted to the clouds, though

he did not leave much of it there, for fear it should get watered.

From one subject to another, the host fell at last upon the praises of

the first comer; told how he had fainted, how he had gone to bed without

supper, and had locked himself in; and spoke of his well-filled

saddle-bags, the goodness of his nag, and the handsome travelling-dress

he wore, all which made it strange that he travelled without any

attendant. The cavalier felt his curiosity piqued anew, and asked the

landlord to contrive that he might sleep in the second bed, for which he

would give him a gold crown. The landlord's fingers itched to take the

money; but he said the thing was impossible, for the door was locked

inside, and he durst not wake the sleeper, who had paid so well for both

the beds. The alguazil, however, got over the difficulty. "I'll tell you

what is to be done," said he. "I will knock at the door, and say that I

am an officer of justice; that I have orders from the señor alcalde to

see this cavalier accommodated in this inn; and that as there is no

other bed, he must have one of those two. The landlord will cry out

against this, and say it is not fair, for the second bed is already

engaged and paid for; and so he will clear himself of all

responsibility, while your honour will attain your object." This scheme

of the alguazil's was unanimously approved, and the cavalier rewarded

him for it with four reals. It was carried into effect at once; the

first guest was compelled, with manifest reluctance, to open the door;

the second entered the room with many apologies for the intrusion, to

which the first made no reply, nor did he even show his face; for

instantly hastening back into bed, he turned to the wall, and pretended

to be asleep. The last comer also went to bed, hoping to have his

curiosity satisfied in the morning when they both got up.

The night was one of the long and weary ones of December, when the cold

and the fatigues of the day should naturally have disposed the two

travellers to sleep; but they had not that effect on the first of the

pair, who not long after midnight began to sigh and moan as if his heart

would break. His lamentations awoke the occupant of the other bed, who

distinctly overheard the following soliloquy, though uttered in a faint

and tremulous voice, broken by sighs and sobs.

"Wretch that I am! Whither is the irresistible force of my destiny

hurrying me? What a path is mine; and what issue can I hope for out of

the labyrinth in which I am entangled? O my youth and inexperience!

Honour disregarded! Love ungratefully repaid! Regard for honoured

parents and kindred trampled under foot! Woe is me a thousand times to

have thus given the reins to my inclinations! O false words which I have

too trustingly responded to by deeds! But of whom do I complain? Did I

not wilfully betray myself? Did not my own hands wield the knife that

cut down my reputation, and destroyed the trust which my parents reposed

in my rectitude? O perjured Marco Antonio! Is it possible that your

honeyed words concealed so much of the gall of unkindness and disdain?

Where art thou, ingrate? Whither hast thou fled, unthankful man? Answer

her who calls upon thee! Wait for her who pursues thee; sustain me, for

I droop; pay me what thou owest me; succour me since thou art in so many

ways bound to me!"

Here the sorrowing stranger relapsed into silence, broken only by sobs.

The other, who had been listening attentively, inferred from what he had

heard that the speaker was a woman. The curiosity he had before felt was

now excited to the highest degree: he was several times on the point of

approaching the lady's bed; and he would have done so at last, but just

then he heard her open the door, call to the landlord, and bid him

saddle the nag, for she wanted to go. It was a pretty long time before

she could make the landlord hear her; and finally, all the answer she

could obtain was a recommendation to go to sleep again, for there was

more than half the night yet to come, and it was so dark that it would

be a very rash thing to venture upon the road. Upon this she said no

more, but shut the door, and went back to bed, sighing dismally.

The other stranger now thought it would be well to address her, and

offer her his aid in any way that might be serviceable, as a means of

inducing her to say who she was, and relate her piteous story.

"Assuredly, señor gentleman," said he, "I should think myself destitute

of natural feeling--nay, that I had a heart of stone and a bosom of

brass--if your sighs and the words you have uttered did not move me to

sympathy. If the compassion I feel for you, and the earnest desire I

have conceived to risk my life for your relief--if your misfortunes

admit of any--may give me some claim upon your courtesy, I entreat you

to manifest it in declaring to me the cause of your grief without

reserve."

"If that grief had not deprived me of understanding," said the person

addressed, "I ought to have remembered that I was not alone in this

room, and have bridled my tongue and suppressed my sighs; but to punish

myself for my imprudent forgetfulness, I will do what you ask; for it

may be that the pangs it will cost me to relate the bitter story of my

misfortunes will end at once my life and my woes. But first you must

promise me solemnly, that whatever I may reveal, you will not quit your

bed nor come to mine, nor ask more of me than I choose to disclose; for

if you do, the very moment I hear you move I will run myself through

with my sword, which lies ready to my hand."

The cavalier, who would have promised anything to obtain the information

he so much desired, vowed that he would not depart a jot from the

conditions so courteously imposed. "On that assurance, then," said the

lady, "I will do what I have never done before, and relate to you the

history of my life. Hearken then.

"You must know, señor, that although I entered this inn, as they have

doubtless told you, in the dress of a man, I am an unhappy maiden, or at

least I was one not eight days ago, and ceased to be so, because I had

the folly to believe the delusive words of a perjured man. My name is

Teodosia; my birth-place is one of the chief towns of the province of

Andalusia, the name of which I suppress, because it does not import you

so much to know it as me to conceal it. My parents, who are noble and

wealthy, had a son and a daughter; the one for their joy and honour, the

other for the reverse. They sent my brother to study at Salamanca, and

me they kept at home, where they brought me up with all the scrupulous

care becoming their own virtue and nobility; whilst on my part I always

rendered them the most cheerful obedience, and punctually conformed to

all their wishes, until my unhappy fate set before my eyes the son of a

neighbour of ours, wealthier than my parents, and no less noble than

they. The first time I saw him, I felt nothing more than the pleasure

one feels at making an agreeable acquaintance; and this I might well

feel, for his person, air, manners, disposition, and understanding were

the admiration of all who knew him. But why dwell on the praises of my

enemy, or make so long a preface to the confession of my infatuation and

my ruin? Let me say at once that he saw me repeatedly from a window

opposite to mine; whence, as it seemed to me, he shot forth his soul

towards me from his eyes, whilst mine beheld him with a pleasure very

different from that which I had experienced at our first interview, and

one which constrained me to believe that everything I read in his face

was the pure truth.

"Seeing each other in this way led to conversation; he declared his

passion, and mine responded to it, with no misgiving of his sincerity,

for his suit was urged with promises, oaths, tears, sighs, and every

accompaniment that could make me believe in the reality of his devoted

attachment. Utterly inexperienced as I was, every word of his was a

cannon shot that breached the fortress of my honour; every tear was a

fire in which my virtue was consumed; every sigh was a rushing wind that

fanned the destructive flame. In fine, upon his promise to marry me in

spite of his parents, who had another wife in view for him, I forgot all

my maidenly reserve, and without knowing how, put myself into his power,

having no other witness of my folly than a page belonging to Marco

Antonio--for that is the name of the destroyer of my peace--who two days

afterwards disappeared from the neighbourhood, without any person, not

even his parents, having the least idea whither he was gone. In what

condition I was left, imagine if you can; it is beyond my power to

describe it.

"I tore my hair as if it was to blame for my fault, and punished my face

as thinking it the primary occasion of my ruin; I cursed my fate, and my

own precipitation; I shed an infinity of tears, and was almost choked by

them and by my sighs; I complained mutely to heaven, and pondered a

thousand expedients to see if there was any which might afford me help

or remedy, and that which I finally resolved on was to dress myself in

male apparel, and go in quest of this perfidious Æneas, this cruel and

perjured Bireno, this defrauder of my honest affections and my

legitimate and well-founded hopes. Having once formed this resolution, I

lost no time in putting it in execution. I put on a travelling suit

belonging to my brother, saddled one of my father's horses with my own

hand, and left home one very dark night, intending to go to Salamanca,

whither it was conjectured that Marco Antonio might have gone; for he

too is a student, and an intimate friend of my brother's. I did not omit

to take at the same time a quantity of gold sufficient for all

contingencies upon my journey. What most distresses me is the thought

that my parents will send in pursuit of me, and that I shall be

discovered by means of my dress and the horse; and even had I not this

to fear, I must dread my brother's resentment; for he is in Salamanca,

and should he discover me, I need not say how much my life would be in

peril. Even should he listen to my excuses, the least scruple of his

honour would outweigh them all.

"Happen what may, my fixed resolve is to seek out my heartless husband,

who cannot deny that he is my husband without belying the pledge which

he left in my possession--a diamond ring, with this legend: 'Marco

Antonio is the husband of Teodosia.' If I find him, I will know from him

what he discovered in me that prompted him so soon to leave me; and I

will make him fulfil his plighted troth, or I will prove as prompt to

vengeance as I was easy in suffering myself to be aggrieved, and will

take his life; for the noble blood that runs in my veins is not to be

insulted with impunity. This, señor cavalier, is the true and sad

history you desired to hear, and which you will accept as a sufficient

apology for the words and sighs that awoke you. What I would beseech of

you is, that though you may not be able to remedy my misfortune, at

least you may advise me how to escape the dangers that beset me, evade

being caught, and accomplish what I so much desire and need."

The cavalier said not a syllable in reply, and remained so long silent

that Teodosia supposed he was asleep and had not heard a word she had

been saying. To satisfy herself of this, she said, "Are you asleep,

señor? No wonder if you are; for a mournful tale poured into an

unimpassioned ear is more likely to induce drowsiness than pity."

"I am not asleep," replied the cavalier; "on the contrary, I am so

thoroughly awake, and feel so much for your calamity, that I know not if

your own anguish exceeds mine. For this reason I will not only give you

the advice you ask, but my personal aid to the utmost of my powers; for

though the manner in which you have told your tale proves that you are

gifted with no ordinary intelligence, and therefore that you have been

your own betrayer, and owe your sorrow to a perverted will rather than

to the seductions of Marco Antonio, nevertheless I would fain see your

excuse in your youth and your inexperience of the wily arts of men.

Compose yourself, señora, and sleep if you can during the short

remainder of the night. When daylight comes we will consult together,

and see what means may be devised for helping you out of your

affliction."

Teodosia thanked him warmly, and tried to keep still for a while in

order that the cavalier might sleep; but he could not close an eye; on

the contrary he began to toss himself about in the bed, and to heave

such deep sighs that Teodosia was constrained to ask him what was the

matter? was he suffering in any way, and could she do anything for his

relief?

"Though you are yourself the cause of my distress, señora," he replied,

"you are not the person who can relieve it, for if you were I should not

feel it."

Teodosia could not understand the drift of this perplexed reply; she

suspected, however, that he was under the influence of some amorous

passion, and even that she herself might be the object of it; for it

might well be that the fact of his being alone with one he knew to be a

woman, at that dead hour of the night, and in the same bed-room, should

have awakened in him some bad thoughts. Alarmed at the idea, she hastily

put on her clothes without noise, buckled on her sword and dagger, and

sat down on the bed to wait for daylight, which did not long delay to

appear through the many openings there were in the sides of the room, as

usual in inn-chambers. The cavalier on his part, had made ready exactly

as Teodosia had done; and he no sooner perceived the first rays of

light, than he started up from his bed, saying, "Get up, señora

Teodosia, and let us be gone; for I will accompany you on your journey,

and never quit your side until I see Marco Antonio become your lawful

husband, or until he or I shall be a dead man;" and so saying, he opened

the windows and the doors of the room.

Teodosia had longed for daylight that she might see what manner of man

he was with whom she had been conversing all night; but when she beheld

him, she would have been glad that it had never dawned, but that her

eyes had remained in perpetual darkness, for the cavalier who stood

before her was her brother! At sight of him she was stupefied with

emotion, her face was deadly pale, and she could not utter a word. At

last, rallying her spirits, she drew her dagger, and presenting the

handle to her brother, fell at his feet, and gasped out, "Take it, dear

señor and brother, punish the fault I have committed, and satisfy your

resentment, for my offence deserves no mercy, and I do not desire that

my repentance should be accepted as an atonement. The only thing I

entreat is that you will deprive me of life, but not of my honour; for

though I have placed it in manifest danger by absenting myself from the

house of my parents, yet its semblance may be preserved before the world

if my death be secret."

Her brother regarded her fixedly, and although her wantonness excited

him to vengeance, he could not withstand this affecting appeal. With a

placable countenance he raised her from the ground, and consoled her as

well as he could, telling her, among other things, that as he knew of no

punishment adequate to the magnitude of her folly, he would suspend the

consideration of that matter for the present; and as he thought that

fortune had not yet made all remedy impossible, he thought it bettor to

seek one than at once to take vengeance on her for her levity. These

words restored Teodosia to life; the colour returned to her cheeks, and

her despair gave way to revived hope. Don Rafael (that was the brother's

name) would speak no more on the subject, but bade her change her name

from Teodosia to Teodoro, and decided that they should both proceed at

once to Salamanca in quest of Marco Antonio, though he hardly expected

to find him there; for as they were intimate friends, they would have

met had he been at the university, unless indeed Marco Antonio might

have shunned him from a consciousness of the wrong he had done him. The

new Teodoro acquiesced in everything proposed by her brother; and the

innkeeper coming in, they ordered breakfast, intending to depart

immediately.

Before all was ready another traveller arrived. This was a gentleman who

was known to Don Rafael and Teodoro, and the latter, to avoid being

seen by him, remained in the chamber. Don Rafael, having embraced the

newcomer, asked him what news he brought. His friend replied that he had

just come from the port of Santa Maria, where he had left four galleys

bound for Naples, and that he had seen Marco Antonio Adorno, the son of

Don Leonardo Adorno, on board one of them. This intelligence rejoiced

Don Rafael, to whom it appeared that since he had so unexpectedly

learned what it was of such importance for him to know, he might regard

this an omen of his future success. He asked his friend, who knew his

father well, to exchange the hired mule he rode for his father's nag,

giving him to understand, not that he was coming from Salamanca, but

that he was going thither, and that he was unwilling to take so good an

animal on so long a journey. The other obligingly consented, and

promised to deliver the nag to its owner. Don Rafael and he breakfasted

together, and Teodoro alone; and finally the friend pursued his journey

to Cazallo, where he had an estate, whilst Don Rafael excused himself

from accompanying him by saying that he had to return that day to

Seville.

As soon as the friend was gone, and the reckoning paid, Don Rafael and

Teodoro mounted and bade adieu to the people of the inn, leaving them

all in admiration of the comeliness of the pair. Don Rafael told his

sister what news he had received of Marco Antonio, and that he proposed

they should make all haste to reach Barcelona; for vessels on their way

to or fro between Italy and Spain usually put in at that port; and if

Marco Antonio's ship had not yet arrived there, they would wait for it,

and be sure of seeing him. His sister said he should do as he thought

best, for his will was hers. Don Rafael then told the muleteer who

accompanied him to have patience, for he intended to go to Barcelona,

but would pay him accordingly. The muleteer, who was one of the merriest

fellows of his trade, and who knew Don Rafael's liberality, declared

that he was willing to go with him to the end of the world.

Don Rafael asked his sister what money she had. She told him she had not

counted it; all she knew was that she had put her hand seven or eight

times into her father's strong box, and had taken it out full of gold

crowns. From this Don Rafael calculated that she might have something

about five hundred crowns, which, with two hundred of his own, and a

gold chain he wore, seemed to him no bad provision for the journey; the

more so, as he felt confident of meeting Marco Antonio in Barcelona.

They pursued their journey I rapidly without accident or impediment

until they arrived within two leagues of a town called Igualada, which

is nine leagues from Barcelona, and there they learned that a cavalier

who was going as ambassador to Rome, was waiting at Barcelona for the

galleys, which had not yet arrived. Greatly cheered by this news, they

pushed on until they came to the verge of a small wood, from which they

saw a man running, and looking back over his shoulder with every

appearance of terror. "What is the matter with you, good man?" said Don

Rafael, going up to him. "What has happened to you, that you seem so

frightened and run so fast?"

"Have I not good cause to be frightened and to run fast," said the man,

"since I have escaped by a miracle from a gang of robbers in that wood?"

"Malediction! Lord save us!" exclaimed the muleteer. "Robbers at this

hour! By my halidom, they'll leave us as bare as we were born."

"Don't make yourself uneasy, brother," replied the man from the wood,

"for the robbers have by this time gone away, after leaving more than

thirty passengers stripped to their shirts and tied to trees, with the

exception of one only, whom they have left to unbind the rest as soon as

they should have passed a little hill they pointed out to him."

"If that be so," said Calvete, the muleteer, "we may proceed without

fear, for where the robbers have made an attack, they do not show

themselves again for some days. I say this with confidence, as a man who

has been twice in their hands, and knows all their ways."

This fact being confirmed by the stranger, Don Rafael resolved to go on.

They entered the wood, and had not advanced far, when they came upon the

persons who had been robbed, and who were more than forty in number. The

man who had been left free, had unbound some of them; but his work was

not yet complete, and several of them were still tied to the trees. They

presented a strange spectacle, some of them stripped naked, others

dressed in the tattered garments of the robbers; some weeping over their

disaster, some laughing at the strange figure the others made in their

robber's costume; one dolorously reciting the list of the things he had

lost, another declaring that the loss of a box of Agnus Dei he was

bringing home from Rome afflicted him more than all besides. In short,

the whole wood resounded with the moans and lamentations of the

despoiled wretches. The brother and sister beheld them with deep

compassion, and heartily thanked heaven for their own narrow escape from

so great a peril. But what affected Teodoro more than anything else was

the sight of a lad apparently about fifteen, tied to a tree, with no

covering on him but a shirt and a pair of linen drawers, but with a face

of such beauty that none could refrain from gazing on it. Teodoro

dismounted and unbound him, a favour which he acknowledged in very

courteous terms; and Teodoro, to make it the greater, begged Calvete to

lend the gentle youth his cloak, until he could buy him another at the

first town they came to. Calvete complied, and Teodoro threw the cloak

over his shoulders, asking him in Don Rafael's presence to what part of

the country he belonged, whence he was coming, and whither he was going.

The youth replied that he was from Andalusia, and he named as his

birthplace a town which was but two leagues distant from that of the

brother and sister. He said he was on his way from Seville to Italy, to

seek his fortune in arms like many another Spaniard; but that he had had

the misfortune to fall in with a gang of thieves, who had taken from him

a considerable sum of money and clothes, which he could not replace for

three hundred crowns. Nevertheless he intended to pursue his journey,

for he did not come of a race which was used to let the ardour of its

zeal evaporate at the first check.

The manner in which the youth expressed himself, the fact that he was

from their own neighbourhood, and above all, the letter of

recommendation he carried in his face, inspired the brother and sister

with a desire to befriend him as much as they could. After they had

distributed some money among such of the rest as seemed in most need of

it, especially among monks and priests, of whom there were eight, they

made this youth mount Calvete's mule, and went on without more delay to

Igualada. There they were informed that the galleys had arrived the day

before at Barcelona, whence they would sail in two days, unless the

insecurity of the roadstead compelled them to make an earlier departure.

On account of this news, they rose next morning before the sun, although

they had not slept all night in consequence of a circumstance which had

occurred at supper, and which had more surprised and interested the

brother and sister than they were themselves aware. As they sat at

table, and the youth with them whom they had taken under their

protection, Teodoro fixed her eyes intently on his face, and

scrutinising his features somewhat curiously, perceived that his ears

were bored. From this and from a certain bashfulness that appeared in

his looks, she suspected that the supposed youth was a woman, and she

longed for supper to be over that she might verify her suspicion.

Meanwhile Don Rafael asked him whose son he was, for he knew all the

principal people in the town he had named as his birth place. The youth

said he was the son of Don Enrique de Cardenas. Don Rafael replied that

he was well acquainted with Don Enrique, and knew for certain that he

had no son; but that if he had given that answer because he did not

choose to make known his family, it was of no consequence, and he should

not be questioned again on that subject.

"It is true," said the youth, "that Don Enrique has no children, but his

brother Don Sancho has."

"He has no son either," replied Don Rafael, "but an only daughter, who,

by the bye, they say is one of the handsomest damsels in Andalusia; but

this I know only by report; for though I have been often in her town I

have never seen her."

"It is quite true, as you say, señor, that Don Sancho has only a

daughter, but not one so handsome as fame reports; and if I said that I

was the son of Don Enrique it was only to give myself some importance in

your eyes; for in fact, I am only the son of Don Sancho's steward, who

has been many years in his service, and I was born in his house. Having

displeased my father, I carried off a good sum of money from him, and

resolved to go to Italy, as I have told you, and follow the career of

arms, by which men even of obscure birth have been known to make

themselves illustrious."

Teodoro, who listened attentively to all this conversation, was more and

more confirmed in her suspicion, both by the manner and the substance

of what the youth said. After the cloth was removed, and while Don

Rafael was preparing for bed, she made known to him her surmise, and

then, with his permission, took the youth aside, and, going out with him

upon a balcony which looked on the street, addressed him thus:--

"Don Francisco," for that was the name he had given himself, "I would

fain have done you so much service that you could not help granting me

anything that I should ask of you; but the short time we have known you

has not permitted this. Hereafter perhaps you may know how far I deserve

that you should comply with my desires; but if you do not choose to

satisfy that which I am now about to express, I will not the less

continue to be your faithful servant. Furthermore, before I prefer my

present request, I would impress upon you that although my age does

exceed yours, I have more experience of the world than is usual at my

years, as you will admit when I tell you that it has led me to suspect

that you are not a man, as your garb imports, but a woman, and one as

well-born as your beauty proclaims, and perhaps as unfortunate as your

disguise implies, for such transformations are never made willingly, or

except under the pressure of some painful necessity. If what I suspect

is the case, tell me so, and I swear to you on the faith of a cavalier

to aid and serve you in every way I can. That you are a woman you cannot

make me doubt, for the holes in your ears make that fact very clear. It

was thoughtless of you not to close them with a little flesh-coloured

wax, for somebody else as inquisitive as myself, and not so fit to be

trusted with a secret, might discover by means of them what you have so

ill concealed. Believe me, you need not hesitate to tell me who you are,

in full reliance on my inviolable secrecy."

The youth had listened with great attention to all Teodoro said, and,

before answering her a word, he seized her hands, carried them by force

to his lips, kissed them with great fervour, and even bedewed them

copiously with tears. Teodoro could not help sympathising with the acute

feelings of the youth, and shedding tears also. Although, when she had

with difficulty withdrawn her hands from the youth's lips, he replied

with a deep-drawn sigh, "I will not, and cannot deny, señora, that your

suspicion is true; I am a woman, and the most unfortunate of my sex;

and since the acts of kindness you have conferred upon me, and the

offers you make me, oblige me to obey all your commands, listen and I

will tell you who I am, if indeed it will not weary you to hear the tale

of another's misfortunes."

"May I never know aught else myself," replied Teodoro, "if I shall not

feel a pleasure in hearing of those misfortunes equal to the pain it

will give me to know that they are yours, and that will be such as if

they were my own." And again she embraced and encouraged the seeming

youth, who, somewhat more tranquilised, continued thus:--

"I have spoken the truth with regard to my native place, but not with

regard to my parents; for Don Enrique is not my father but my uncle, and

his brother Don Sancho is my father. I am that unhappy daughter of his

of whom your brother says that she is celebrated for her beauty, but how

mistakenly you now perceive. My name is Leocadia; the occasion of my

disguise you shall now hear.

"Two leagues from my native town there is another, one of the wealthiest

and noblest of Andalusia, where lives a cavalier of quality, who derives

his origin from the noble and ancient Adornos of Genoa. He has a son,

who, unless fame exaggerates his praises as it does mine, is one of the

most gallant gentlemen one would desire to see. Being so near a

neighbour of ours, and being like my father strongly addicted to the

chase, he often came on a visit of five or six days to our house, the

greater part of that time, much of the night even included, being spent

by my father and him in the field. From these visits of his, fortune, or

love, or my own imprudence, took occasion to bring me down to my present

state of degradation. Having observed, with more attention than became a

modest and well-behaved maiden, the graceful person and manners of our

visitor, and taking into consideration his distinguished lineage and the

great wealth of his parents, I thought that to obtain him for my husband

would be the highest felicity to which my wishes could aspire. With this

thought in my head I began to gaze at him most intently, and also, no

doubt, with too little caution, for he perceived it, and the traitor

needed no other hint to discover the secret of my bosom and rob me of my

peace. But why should I weary you by recapitulating every minute detail

of my unfortunate attachment? Let me say at once that he won so far

upon me by his ceaseless solicitations, having plighted his faith under

the most solemn and, as I thought, the most Christian vows that he would

become my husband, that I put myself wholly at his disposal.

Nevertheless, not being quite satisfied with his vows alone, and in

order that the wind might not bear them away, I made him commit them to

writing, and give them to me in a paper signed with his own hand, and

drawn up in terms so strong and unequivocal as to remove all my

mistrust. Once in possession of this paper, I arranged that he should

come to me one night, climb the garden-wall, and enter my chamber, where

he might securely pluck the fruit destined for him alone. The night so

longed for by me at last arrived--"

Up to this point Teodoro had listened with rapt attention, especially

since she had heard the name of Adorno, but now she could contain

herself no longer. "Well," she cried, suddenly interrupting the speaker,

"and then, what did he do? Did he keep the assignation? Were you happy

in his arms? Did he confirm his written pledge anew? Was he content when

he had obtained from you what you say was his? Did your father know it?

What was the end of this good and wise beginning?"

"The end was to bring me to what you see, for he never came."

Teodoro breathed again at these words, and partly recovered her

self-possession, which had been almost destroyed by the frantic

influence of jealousy. Even yet she was not so free from it but that she

trembled inwardly as Leocadia continued her story.

"Not only did he fail to keep the assignation, but a week after I

learned for certain that he had disappeared from home, and carried off

from the house of her parents, persons of distinction in his own

neighbourhood, a very beautiful and accomplished young lady named

Teodosia. I was nearly mad with jealousy and mortification. I pictured

Teodosia to myself in imagination, more beautiful than the sun, more

perfect than perfection itself, and above all, more blissful than I was

miserable. I read the written engagement over and over again; it was as

binding as any form of words could be; but though my hopes would fain

have clung to it as something sacred and inviolable, they all fell to

the ground when I remembered in what company Marco Antonio had departed.

I beat my face, tore my hair, and cursed my fate; but what was most

irksome to me was that I could not practise these self-inflictions at

all hours in consequence of my father's presence. In fine, that I might

be free to indulge my woe without impediment, I resolved to quit my

home. It would seem that the execution of a bad purpose never fails for

want of opportunity. I boldly purloined a suit of clothes belonging to

one of my father's pages, and from himself a considerable sum of money;

then leaving the house by night I travelled some leagues on foot, and

reached a town called Osuna, where I hired a car. Two days afterwards I

entered Seville, where I was quite safe from all pursuit.

"There I bought other clothes, and a mule, and set out with some

cavaliers who were travelling with all speed to Barcelona, that they

might be in time for some galleys that were on their way to Italy. I

continued my journey until yesterday, when the robbers took everything

from me, and among the rest, that precious thing which sustained my soul

and lightened my toils, the written engagement given me by Marco

Antonio. I had intended to carry it with me to Italy, find Marco Antonio

there, and present it to him as an evidence of his faithlessness and my

constancy, and constrain him to fulfil his promise. At the same time I

am conscious that he may readily deny the words written on this paper,

since he has made nought of the obligations that should have been

engraved on his soul; besides, it is plain that if he is accompanied by

the incomparable Teodosia he will not deign to look upon the unfortunate

Leocadia. But happen what may, I am resolved to die or present myself

before the pair, that the sight of me may trouble their joy. This

Teodosia, this enemy of my peace, shall not so cheaply enjoy what is

mine. I will seek her out, I will find her, and will take her life if I

can."

"But how is Teodosia in fault," said Teodoro, "if, as is very probably

the case, she too has been deluded by Marco Antonio, as you, señora,

have been?"

"How can that be so," returned Leocadia, "if he has her with him? Being

with the man she loves, what question can there be of delusion? They are

together, and therefore they are happy, and would be so, though they

were in the burning deserts of Lybia, or the dreary wastes of Scythia.

She is blest in his arms wherever she is, and therefore she shall pay

for all I shall suffer till I find her."

"It is very likely you are mistaken," said Teodoro; "I am very well

acquainted with this enemy of yours, as you call her, and I know her

prudence and modesty to be such, that she never would venture to quit

her father's house and go away with Marco Antonio. And even had she done

so, not knowing you, nor being aware of any claim you had on him, she

has not wronged you at all, and where there is no wrong, vengeance is

out of place."

"Tell me not of her modesty, señor; for I was as modest and as virtuous

as any maiden in the world, and yet I have done what I have told you.

That he has carried her off there is no doubt. I acknowledge, looking on

the matter dispassionately, that she has not wronged me; but the pangs

of jealousy which she occasions me make me abhor her. If a sword were

thrust through my vitals, should I not naturally strive to pluck it out

and break it to pieces?"

"Well, well, señora Leocadia, since the passion that sways you makes you

speak so wildly, I see it is not the fit time to offer you rational

advice. I shall therefore content myself with repeating that I am ready

and willing to render you every service in my power, and I know my

brother's generous nature so well, that I can boldly make you the same

promise on his part. We are going to Italy, and it rests only with

yourself to accompany us. One thing only I entreat, that you will allow

me to tell my brother what I know of your story, that he may treat you

with the attention and respect which is your due. I think you had better

continue to wear male attire, and if it is to be procured in this place,

I will take care that you shall be suitably equipped to morrow. For the

rest, trust to time, for it is a great provider of remedies even for the

most desperate cases."

Leocadia gratefully thanked the generous Teodoro, saying he might tell

his brother whatever he thought fit, and beseeching him not to forsake

her, since he saw to what dangers she was exposed, if she was known to

be a woman. Here the conversation ended, and they retired to rest,

Teodosia in her brother's room, and Leocadia in another next it. Don

Rafael was still awake, waiting for his sister to know what had passed

between her and the suspected woman; and before she lay down, he made

her relate the whole to him in detail. "Well, sister," he said when she

had finished, "if she is the person she declares herself to be, she

belongs to the best family in her native place, and is one of the

noblest ladies of Andalusia. Her father is well known to ours, and the

fame of her beauty perfectly corresponds with the evidence of our own

eyes. My opinion is, that we must proceed with caution, lest she come to

speak with Marco Antonio before us, for I feel some uneasiness about

that written engagement she speaks of, even though she has lost it. But

be of good cheer, sister, and go to rest, for all will come right at

last."

Teodosia complied with her brother's advice so far as to go to bed, but

it was impossible for her to rest, so racked was she by jealous fears.

Oh, how she exaggerated the beauty of Leocadia, and the disloyalty of

Marco Antonio! How often she read with the eyes of her imagination his

written promise to her rival! What words and phrases she added to it, to

make it more sure and binding! How often she refused to believe that it

was lost! And how many a time she repeated to herself, that even though

it were lost, Marco Antonio would not the less fulfil his promise to

Leocadia, without thinking of that by which he was bound to herself! In

such thoughts as these she passed the night without a wink of sleep; nor

was her brother Don Rafael less wakeful; for no sooner had he heard who

Leocadia was, than his heart was on fire for her. He beheld her in

imagination, not tied to a tree, or in tattered male garments, but in

her own rich apparel in her wealthy father's house. He would not suffer

his mind to dwell on that which was the primary cause of his having

become acquainted with her; and he longed for day that he might continue

his journey and find out Marco Antonio, not so much that he might make

him his brother-in-law, as that he might hinder him from becoming the

husband of Leocadia. In fact, he was so possessed by love and jealousy,

that he could have borne to see his sister comfortless, and Marco

Antonio fairly buried, rather than be himself without hope of obtaining

Leocadia.

Thus with different thoughts, they all quitted their beds at break of

day, and Don Rafael sent for the host, and asked him if he could

purchase a suit of clothes in that place for a page who had been

stripped by robbers. The host said he happened to have one for sale

which he would dispose of at a reasonable price. He produced it,

Leocadia found that it fitted her very well, she put it on, and girt

herself with sword and dagger with such sprightly grace that she

enchanted Don Rafael, and redoubled Teodosia's jealousy. Calvete saddled

the mules, and about eight in the morning, they started for Barcelona,

not intending to take the famous monastery of Monserrate on their way,

but to visit it on a future occasion, whenever it might please God to

send them home again with hearts more at ease.

Words are not adequate to describe the feelings of the two brothers, or

with what different eyes they severally regarded Leocadia; Teodosia

wishing for her death, and Don Rafael for her life; Teodosia striving to

find faults in her, in order that she might not despair of her own

hopes; and Don Rafael finding out new perfections, that more and more

obliged him to love her. All these thoughts, however, did not hinder

their speed, for they reached Barcelona before sunset. They admired the

magnificent situation of the city, and esteemed it to be the flower of

the world, the honour of Spain, the terror of all enemies near and far,

the delight of its inhabitants, the refuge of strangers, the school of

chivalry, the model of loyalty, in a word, a union of all that a

judicious curiosity could desire in a grand, famous, wealthy, and

well-built city. Upon their entering it they heard a great uproar, and

saw a multitude of people running with loud cries. They inquired the

cause, and were told that the people of the galleys in the port had

fallen upon those of the town. Don Rafael desired to see what was going

on, though Calvete would have dissuaded him; for, as the muleteer said,

he knew well what mischief came of interfering in such frays as this,

which usually occurred in Barcelona when galleys put in there.

In spite of this good advice, Don Rafael and his fellow-travellers went

down at once towards the beach, where they saw many swords drawn, and

numbers of people slashing at each other without mercy, and they

approached so near the scene without dismounting, that they could

distinctly see the faces of the combatants, for the sun was still above

the horizon. The number of townspeople engaged was immense, and great

crowds issued from the galleys, although their commander, Don Pedro

Vique, a gentleman of Valencia, stood on the prow of the flag-ship,

threatening all who entered the boats to succour their comrades. Finding

his commands disregarded, he ordered a gun to be fired without ball, as

a warning that if the combatants did not separate, the next gun he fired

would be shotted. Meanwhile, Don Rafael, who narrowly watched the fray,

observed among those who took part with the seamen a young man of about

two-and-twenty, dressed in green, with a hat of the same colour, adorned

with a rich loop and buttons apparently of diamonds. The skill and

courage with which he fought, and the elegance of his dress, drew upon

him the attention of all the spectators, and Teodosia and Leocadia both

cried out, as if with one voice, "Good heavens! either my eyes deceive

me, or he in green is Marco Antonio." Then, with great nimbleness, they

dismounted, drew their swords and daggers, cleared their way through the

crowd, and placed themselves one on each side of Marco Antonio. "Fear

nothing, Señor Marco Antonio," cried Leocadia, "for there is one by your

side who will defend your life at the cost of his own." "Who doubts it,"

ejaculated Teodosia, on the other side, "since I am here?" Don Rafael,

who had seen and heard all this, followed his two companions, and took

sides as they did.

Marco Antonio was too busy smiting and defending himself to heed what

his two seconds had said; he could think of nothing but fighting, and no

man ever fought more bravely; but as the party of the town was every

moment increasing in numbers, the people of the galleys were forced to

retreat and take to the water. Marco Antonio retreated with the rest,

much against his will, still attended on either side by his two valiant

Amazons. By this time a Catalonian knight of the renowned House of

Cardonas, made his appearance on a noble charger, and, throwing himself

between the two parties, ordered the townspeople to retire. The majority

obeyed, but some still continued to fling stones, one of which unluckily

struck Marco Antonio on the breast with such force that he fell

senseless into the water, in which he was wading up to his knees.

Leocadia instantly raised and supported him in her arms, and Teodosia

aided her.

Don Rafael, who had turned aside a little to avoid a shower of stones,

saw the accident which had befallen Marco Antonio, and was hastening

forward to his aid, when the Catalonian knight stopped him, saying,

"Stay, señor, and do me the favour to put yourself by my side. I will

secure you from the insolence of this unruly rabble."

"Ah, señor!" replied Rafael, "let me pass, for I see that in great

danger which I most love in this world."

The knight let him pass, but before he could reach the spot, the crew of

the flagship's boat had already taken on board Marco Antonio and

Leocadia, who never let him out of her arms. As for Teodosia, whether it

was that she was weary, or overcome with grief to see her lover wounded,

or enraged with jealousy to see her rival with him, she had not strength

to get into the boat, and would certainly have fallen in a fainting fit

into the water, if her brother had not opportunely come to her aid,

while he himself felt no less torment than his sister at seeing Leocadia

go away with Marco Antonio.

The Catalonian knight being very much taken with the goodly presence of

Don Rafael and his sister (whom he supposed to be a man), called them

from the shore, and requested them to go with him, and they were

constrained to accept his friendly offer, lest they should suffer some

injury from the people, who were not yet pacified. Thereupon, the knight

dismounted, and with his drawn sword in his hand, led them through the

tumultuous throng, who made way at his command. Don Rafael looked round

to see if he could discover Calvete with the mules; but he was not to be

seen, for the moment his employers dismounted, he had gone off to an inn

where he had lodged on previous occasions. On their arrival at the

knight's abode, which was one of the principal houses in the city, he

asked them in which of the galleys they had arrived. Don Rafael replied

that they had not come in any, for they had arrived in the city just as

the fray began; and it was because they had recognised the gentleman who

was wounded with a stone that they had involved themselves in danger.

Moreover, he entreated the knight would have the gentleman brought on

shore, as he was one on whom his own dearest interests depended. "I will

do so with great pleasure," replied the knight, "and I am sure the

general will allow it, for he is a worthy gentleman and a relation of

mine." Thereupon he went at once to the galley, where he found Marco

Antonio under the hands of the surgeon, who pronounced his wound

dangerous, being near the heart. With the general's consent he had him

brought on shore with great care, accompanied by Leocadia, and carried

to his own house in a litter, where he entertained the whole party with

great hospitality.

A famous surgeon of the city was now sent for, but he would not touch

the patient's wound until the following day, alleging that it had no

doubt been properly treated already, army and navy surgeons being always

men of skill, in consequence of their continual experience in cases of

wounds. He only desired that the patient should be placed in a quiet

room and left to rest. Presently the surgeon of the galley arrived, and

had a conference with his colleague, who approved of what he had done,

and agreed with him in thinking the case highly dangerous. Leocadia and

Teodosia heard this with as much anguish of heart as if it had been a

sentence of death upon themselves; but not wishing to betray their

grief, they strove to conceal it in silence. Leocadia, however,

determined to do what she thought requisite for her honour, and as soon

as the surgeons were gone, she entered Marco Antonio's room, where,

going up to his bed side, and taking his hand in presence of the master

of the house, Don Rafael, Teodosia, and others, "Señor Marco Antonio

Adorno," she said, "it is now no seasonable time, considering your

condition, to utter many words; and therefore I shall only entreat you

to lend your ear to some few which concern, if not the safety of your

body, at least that of your soul. But I must have your permission to

speak; for it would ill become me, who have striven never to disoblige

you from the first moment I knew you, to disturb you now in what seems

almost your last."

At these words Marco Antonio opened his eyes, looked steadfastly at

Leocadia, and recognising her rather by the tone of her voice than by

her face, said with a feeble voice, like one in pain, "Say on, señor,

what you please, for I am not so far gone but that I can listen to you;

nor is that voice of yours so harsh and unpleasing that I should dislike

to hear it."

Teodosia hearkened most attentively, and every word that Leocadia spoke

pierced her heart like an arrow, and at the same time harrowed the soul

of Don Rafael. "If the blow you have received," continued Leocadia, "or

rather that which has struck my heart, has not effaced from your memory,

señor Marco Antonio, the image of her whom not long ago you called your

glory and your heaven, you must surely call to mind who Leocadia was,

and what was the promise you gave her in writing under your own hand;

nor can you have forgotten the worth of her parents, her own modesty and

virtue, and the obligation you are under to her for having always

gratified you in everything you desired. If you have not forgotten all

this, you may readily know, in spite of this disguise, that I am

Leocadia. As soon as I heard of your departure from home, dreading lest

new chances and opportunities should deprive me of what is so justly

mine, I resolved, in defiance of the worst miseries, to follow you in

this garb, and to search the wide world over till I found you. Nor need

you wonder at this, if you have ever felt what the strength of true love

is capable of, or know the frenzy of a deceived woman. I have suffered

some hardships in my quest, all of which I regard as pastime since they

have resulted in my seeing you; for, though you are in this condition,

if it be God's will to remove you to a better world, I shall esteem

myself more than happy if before your departure you do what becomes you,

in which case I promise you to live in such a manner after your death

that I shall soon follow you on that last inevitable journey. I beseech

you then, for the love of heaven, for your own honour, and for my sake,

to whom you owe more than to all the world, receive me at once as your

lawful wife, not leaving it to the law to do what you have so many

righteous motives for doing of your own accord."

Here Leocadia ceased speaking. All present had listened to her in

profound silence, and in the same way they awaited the reply of Marco

Antonio. "I cannot deny, señora," he said, "that I know you; your voice

and your face will not suffer me to do that. Nor yet can I deny how much

I owe to you, nor the great worth of your parents and your own

incomparable modesty and virtue. I do not, and never shall, think

lightly of you for what you have done in coming to seek me in such a

disguise; on the contrary, I shall always esteem you for it in the

highest degree. But since, as you say, I am so near my end, I desire to

make known to you a truth, the knowledge of which, if it be unpleasant

to you now, may hereafter be useful to you.

"I confess, fair Leocadia, that I loved you, and you loved me; and yet I

confess also that my written promise was given more in compliance with

your desire than my own; for before I had long signed it my heart was

captivated by a lady named Teodosia, whom you know, and whose parentage

is as noble as your own. If I gave you a promise signed with my hand, to

her I gave that hand itself in so unequivocal a manner that it is

impossible for me to bestow it on any other person in the world. My

amour with you was but a pastime from which I culled only some flowers,

leaving you nothing the worse; from her I obtained the consummate fruit

of love upon my plighted faith to be her husband. That I afterwards

deserted you both was the inconsiderate act of a young man who thought

that all such things were of little importance, and might be done

without scruple. My intention was to go to Italy, and after spending

some of the years of my youth there, to return and see what had become

of you and my real wife; but Heaven in its mercy, as I truly believe,

has permitted me to be brought to the state in which you see me, in

order that in thus confessing my great faults, I may fulfil my last duty

in this world, by leaving you disabused and free, and ratifying on my

deathbed the pledge I gave to Teodosia. If there is anything, señora

Leocadia, in which I can serve you during the short time that remains to

me, let me know it; so it be not to receive you as my wife, for that I

cannot, there is nothing else which I will not do, if it be in my power,

to please you."

Marco Antonio, who had raised himself on one arm while he spoke, now

fell back senseless. Don Rafael then came forward. "Recover yourself,

dear señor," he said, embracing him affectionately, "and embrace your

friend and your brother, since such you desire him to be."

Marco Antonio opened his eyes, and recognising Don Rafael, embraced him

with great warmth. "Dear brother and señor," he said, "the extreme joy I

feel in seeing you must needs be followed by a proportionate affliction,

since, as they say, after gladness comes sorrow; but whatever befals me

now I will receive with pleasure in exchange for the happiness of

beholding you."

"To make your happiness more complete," replied Don Rafael, "I present

to you this jewel as your own." Then, turning to look for his sister, he

found her behind the rest of the people in the room, bathed in tears,

and divided between joy and grief at what she saw and what she had

heard. Taking her by the hand, her brother led her passively to the

bed-side, and presented her to Marco Antonio, who embraced her with

loving tears.

The rest of those present stared in each others' faces in speechless

amazement at these extraordinary occurrences; but the hapless Leocadia,

seeing her whom she had mistaken for Don Rafael's brother locked in the

arms of him she looked on as her own husband, and all her hopes mocked

and ruined, stole out of the room unperceived by the others, whose

attention was engrossed by the scene about the bed. She rushed wildly

into the street, intending to wander over the world, no matter whither;

but she was hardly out of doors before Don Rafael missed her, and, as if

he had lost his soul, began to inquire anxiously after her; but nobody

could tell what had become of her. He hastened in dismay to the inn

where he was told Calvete lodged, thinking she might have gone thither

to procure a mule; but, not finding her there, he ran like a madman

through the streets, seeking her in every quarter, till the thought

struck him that she might have made for the galleys, and he turned in

that direction. As he approached the shore he heard some one calling

from the land for the boat belonging to the general's galley, and soon

recognised the voice as that of the beautiful Leocadia. Hearing his

footsteps as he hastened towards her, she drew her sword and stood upon

her guard; but perceiving it was Don Rafael, she was vexed and confused

at his having found her, especially in so lonely a place; for she was

aware, from many indications, that he was far from regarding her with

indifference; on the contrary, she would have been delighted to know

that Marco Antonio loved her as well. How shall I relate all that Don

Rafael now said to Leocadia? I can give but a faint idea of the glowing

language in which he poured out his soul.

"Were it my fate, beautiful Leocadia," he said, "along with the favours

of fortune to lack also at this moment the courage to disclose to you

the secret of my soul, then would there be doomed to perpetual oblivion

the most ardent and genuine affection that ever was harboured in a

lover's breast. But not to do it that wrong, I will make bold, señora,

come of it what may, to beg you will observe, if your wounded feelings

allow you, that in nothing has Marco Antonio the advantage of me, except

the happiness of being loved by you. My lineage is as good as his, and

in fortune he is not much superior to me. As for the gifts of nature, it

becomes me not to laud myself, especially if in your eyes those which

have fallen to my share are of no esteem. All this I say, adored señora,

that you may seize the remedy for your disasters which fortune offers to

your hand. You see that Marco Antonio cannot be yours, since Heaven has

already made him my sister's; and the same Heaven which has taken him

from you is now willing to compensate you with me, who desire no higher

bliss in this life than that of being your husband. See how good fortune

stands knocking at the door of the evil fortune you have hitherto known.

And do not suppose that I shall ever think the worse of you for the

boldness you have shown in seeking after Marco Antonio; for from the

moment I determine to match myself with you, I am bound to forget all

that is past. Well I know that the same power which has constrained me

so irresistibly to adore you, has brought you also to your present pass,

and therefore there will be no need to seek an excuse where there has

been no fault."

Leocadia listened in silence to all Don Rafael said, only from time to

time heaving a sigh from the bottom of her heart. Don Rafael ventured to

take her hand; she did not withdraw it; and kissing it again and again,

he said, "Tell me, lady of my soul, that you will be so wholly, in

presence of these starry heavens, this calm listening sea, and these

watery sands. Say that _yes_, which surely behoves your honour as well

as my happiness. I repeat to you that I am a gentleman, as you know, and

wealthy; that I love you, which you ought to esteem above every other

consideration; and that whereas I find you alone, in a garb that

derogates much from your honour, far from the home of your parents and

your kindred, without any one to aid you at your need, and without the

hope of obtaining what you were in quest of, you may return home in your

own proper and seemly garb, accompanied by as good a husband as you had

chosen for yourself, and be wealthy, happy, esteemed, and even applauded

by all who may become acquainted with the events of your story. All

this being so, I know not why you hesitate. Say the one word that shall

raise me from the depth of wretchedness to the heaven of bliss, and in

so doing, you will do what is best for yourself; you will comply with

the demands of courtesy and good sense, and show yourself at once

grateful and discreet."

"Well," said the doubting Leocadia, at last, "since Heaven has so

ordained, and neither I nor any one living can oppose its will, be it as

Heaven and you desire, señor. I take the same power to witness with what

bashfulness I consent to your wishes, not because I am unconscious of

what I gain by complying with them, but because I fear that when I am

yours you will regard me with other eyes than those with which hitherto

perhaps you have mistakingly beheld me. But be it as it may, to be the

lawful wife of Don Rafael de Villavicencio is an honour I cannot lose,

and with that alone I shall live contented. But if my conduct after I am

your wife give me any claim to your esteem, I will thank Heaven for

having brought me through such strange circumstances and such great

misfortunes to the happiness of being yours. Give me your hand, Don

Rafael, and take mine in exchange; and, as you say, let the witnesses of

our mutual engagement be the sky, the sea, the sands, and this silence,

interrupted only by my sighs and your entreaties."

So saying, she permitted Don Rafael to embrace her, and taking each

other's hand they solemnised their betrothal with a few tears drawn from

their eyes by the excess of joy succeeding to their past sorrows. They

immediately returned to the knight's house, where their absence had

occasioned great anxiety, and where the nuptials of Marco Antonio and

Teodosia had already been celebrated by a priest, at the instance of

Teodosia, who dreaded lest any untoward chance should rob her of her

new-found hopes. The appearance of Don Rafael and Leocadia, and the

account given by the former of what had passed between them, augmented

the general joy, and the master of the house rejoiced as if they were

his own near relations; for it is an innate characteristic of the

Catalonian gentry to feel and act as friends towards such strangers as

have any need of their services.

The priest, who was still present, desired that Leocadia should change

her dress for one appropriate to her sex, and the knight at once

supplied both the ladies with handsome apparel from the wardrobe of his

wife, who was a lady of the ancient house of the Granolliques, famous in

that kingdom. The surgeon was moved by charity to complain that the

wounded man talked so much and was not left alone; but it pleased God

that Marco Antonio's joy, and the little silence he observed, were the

very means of his amendment, so that when they came to dress his wound

next day, they found him out of danger, and in a fortnight more he was

fit to travel. During the time he kept his bed he had made a vow that if

he recovered he would go on a pilgrimage on foot to Santiago de Galicia,

and in the fulfilment of that vow he was accompanied by Don Rafael,

Leocadia, Teodosia, and even by the muleteer Calvete, unusual as such

pious practices are with men of his calling; but he had found Don Rafael

so liberal and good-humoured that he would not quit him till he had

returned home. The party having to travel on foot as pilgrims, the mules

were sent on to Salamanca.

The day fixed for their departure arrived, and equipped in their

dalmaticas and with all things requisite, they took leave of their

generous and hospitable friend, the knight Don Sancho de Cardona, a man

of most illustrious blood and personally famous; and they pledged

themselves that they and their descendants, to whom they should bequeath

it as a duty, should perpetually preserve the memory of the singular

favours received from him, in order that they might not be wanting at

least in grateful feeling, if they could not repay them in any other

way. Don Sancho embraced them all, and said it was a matter of course

with him to render such services or others to all whom he knew or

supposed to be Castilian hidalgos. They repeated their embraces twice,

and departed with gladness, mingled with some sorrow. Travelling by easy

stages to suit the strength of the lady pilgrims, they reached

Monserrate in three days, remained as many more there, fulfilling their

duties as good Catholic Christians, and resuming their journey, arrived

without accident at Santiago, where they accomplished their vows with

all possible devotion. They determined not to quit their pilgrim garbs

until they reached their homes. After travelling towards them leisurely,

they came at last to a rising ground whence Leocadia and Teodosia

looked down upon their respective birth-places, nor could they restrain

their tears at the glad sight which brought back to their recollection

all their past vicissitudes.

From the same spot they discovered a broad valley, which divided the two

townships, and in it they saw under the shades of an olive a stalwart

knight, mounted on a powerful charger, armed with a strong keen lance

and a dazzlingly white shield. Presently they saw issuing from among

some olive trees two other knights similarly armed, and of no less

gallant appearance. These two rode up to the first, and after remaining

awhile together they separated. The first knight and one of the two

others set spurs to their horses, and charging each other like mortal

enemies, began mutually to deal such vigorous thrusts, and to avoid or

parry them with such dexterity, that it was plain they were masters in

that exercise. The third knight remained a spectator of the fight

without quitting his place. Don Rafael, who could not be content with a

distant view of the gallant conflict, hurried down the hill, followed by

the other three, and came up close to the two champions just as they had

both been slightly wounded. The helmet of one of them had fallen off,

and as he turned his face towards Don Rafael, the latter recognised his

father, and Marco Antonio knew that the other was his own, whilst

Leocadia discovered hers in the third knight who had not fought.

Astounded at this spectacle, the two brothers instantly rushed between

the champions, crying out "Stop, cavaliers! Stop! We who call on you to

do so are your own sons! Father, I am Marco Antonio, for whose sake, as

I guess, your honoured life is put to this peril. Allay your anger; cast

away your weapons, or turn them against another enemy; for the one

before you must henceforth be your brother."

The two knights instantly stopped; and looking round they observed that

Don Sancho had dismounted and was embracing his daughter, who briefly

narrated to him the occurrences at Barcelona. Don Sancho was proceeding

to make peace between the combatants, but there was no need of that, for

he found them already dismounted and embracing their sons with tears of

joy. There now appeared at the entrance of the valley a great number of

armed men on foot and on horseback: these were the vassals of the three

knights, who had come to support the cause of their respective lords;

but when they saw them embracing the pilgrims they halted, and knew not

what to think until Don Sancho briefly recounted to them what he had

learned from his daughter. The joy of all was unbounded. Five of the

vassals immediately mounted the pilgrims on their own horses, and the

whole party set out for the house of Marco Antonio's father, where it

was arranged that the two weddings should be celebrated. On the way Don

Rafael and Marco Antonio learned that the cause of the quarrel which had

been so happily ended was a challenge sent to the father of the latter

by the fathers of Teodosia and Leocadia, under the belief that he had

been privy to the acts of seduction committed by his son. The two

challengers having found him alone would not take any advantage of him,

but agreed to fight him one after the other, like brave and generous

knights. The combat, nevertheless, must have ended in the death of one

or all of them but for the timely arrival of their children, who gave

thanks to God for so happy a termination of the dispute.

The day after the arrival of the pilgrims, Marco Antonio's father

celebrated the marriages of his son and Teodosia, Don Rafael and

Leocadia, with extraordinary magnificence. The two wedded pairs lived

long and happily together, leaving an illustrious progeny which still

exists in their two towns, which are among the best in Andalusia. Their

names, however, we suppress, in deference to the two ladies, whom

malicious or prudish tongues might reproach with levity of conduct. But

I would beg of all such to forbear their sentence, until they have

examined themselves and seen whether they too have not been assailed

some time or other by what are called the arrows of Cupid, weapons whose

force is truly irresistible. Calvete was made happy with the gift of the

mule which Don Rafael had left at Salamanca, and with many other

presents; and the poets of the time took occasion to employ their pens

in celebrating the beauty and the adventures of the two damsels, as bold

as they were virtuous, the heroines of this strange story.

* * * * *

LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, STAMFORD STREET AND

CHARING CROSS.