The Three Brides, Love in a Cottage, and Other Tales | Page 3

my certain knowledge, Magdalena is beloved by another."
"What of that, man? A fair field and no favor, is all I ask."
"But what if she loves another?"
"Ha!" exclaimed the cavalier. "Can she be sporting with me?--playing the coquette? But no! I will not believe it, at least upon the say so of a stranger. I must have proofs."
"Pray, senor, have you never observed upon the lady's fair arm a turquoise bracelet?"
"Yea, have I," replied the cavalier; "by the same token that she has promised it to me as a gage d'amour."
"Do you recognize the bracelet?" cried the stranger, holding up, as he spoke, the ornament in question. "Or, if that convince you not, do you recognize this tress of raven hair--this bouquet that she wore upon her bosom yesternight?"
"That I gave her myself!" cried the cavalier. "By Heaven! she has proved false to me. But I must know," he added, fiercely, "who thou art ere thou goest hence. I must have thy secret, if I force it from thee at the dagger's point. Who art thou? speak!"
"Prithee, senor, press me not," said the stranger, drawing his cloak yet closer about him, and retreating a pace or two.
"Who art thou?" cried the cavalier, menacingly, and striding forward as the other receded.
"One whose name breathed in thine ear," replied the other, "would curdle thy young blood with horror."
Julio laughed loud and scornfully.
"Now, by Saint Iago! thou art some juggling knave--some impish charlatan, who seeks to conceal his imposture in the garb of mystery and terror. Little knowest thou the mettle of a Castilian heart. Thy name?"
The stranger stooped forward, and whispered a word or two in the ear of his companion. The young man recoiled, while his cheek turned from the glowing tinge of health and indignation to the hue of ashes; and, as he stood, rooted to the spot in terror and dismay, the stranger threw the hem of his cloak over his shoulder, and glided away like a dark shadow.
Julio's heart was so far enlisted in favor of Magdalena, that it cost him a severe struggle to throw her off as utterly unworthy of his attachment, but pride came to his rescue, and he performed his task. He wrote a letter, in which, assigning no cause for the procedure, he calmly, coldly, contemptuously renounced her hand, and told her that henceforth, should they meet, it must be as strangers.
This unexpected blow almost paralyzed Magdalena's reason. It was to be expected of her temperament that her anguish should be in proportion to her former rapture. At first stunned, she roused to the paroxysm of wild despair. Henceforth, if she lived, her life, she felt, would be an utter blank. Passion completely overmastering her reason, she resolved to destroy herself. This fearful resolution adopted, her excitement ceased. She became calm--calm as the senseless stone; no tremors shook her soul, no remorse, no regret.
She was seated alone, one evening, at that very window whence she had first beheld her false suitor, and bitter memories were crowding on her brain, when the door of her apartment opened, and closed again after admitting her old duenna, Margarita. The old woman approached with a stealthy, cat-like step, and sitting down beside the maiden, and gazing inquisitively into her dim eyes, said, in a whining voice, intended to be very winning and persuasive,--
"What ails my pretty pet? Is she unwell?"
"I am not unwell," replied Magdalena, coldly, rousing herself to the exertion of conversing, with an effort.
"Nay, my darling," said the old woman, in the same whining tone, "I am sure that something is the matter with you. You look feverish."
"I am well, Margarita; let that suffice."
"And feel no regret for the false suitor, hey?"
Magdalena turned upon her quickly--almost fiercely.
"What do you know of him?"
"All! all!" cried the old woman, while her gray eyes flashed with exultation.
"Then you know him for a false and perjured villain!" cried the beautiful Spaniard.
"I know him for an honorable cavalier; true as the steel of his Toledo blade!" retorted the duenna. "I speak riddles, Magdalena, but I will explain myself. Do you think I can forget your insults, jeers, and jokes? Do you think I knew not when you mocked me behind my back, or sought to trick me before my face? You little knew, when you and your gay-faced cousin were making merry at my expense, what wrath you were storing up against the day of evil. But I come of a race that never forgets or forgives; there is some of the blood of the wild Zingara coursing in these shrivelled veins--a love of vengeance, that is dearer than the love of life. I watched your love intrigue from the very first. I saw that it bade fair to end in happiness. Don Julio was wealthy and well born, and his