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

the young cavalier.
"However, friend, since such you purport to be, say your say, and that
right briefly, for I have affairs of urgency on my hands."
"Briefly, then, senor. You have cast your eyes on the daughter of
Antonio Perez, the rich goldsmith?"
"That is my affair, methinks," replied the cavalier, haughtily. "By what
right do you interfere with it? Are you brother or relative of the fair
Magdalena?"
"Neither, senor; but I take a deep interest in your affairs; and I warn
you, if your heart be not irretrievably involved, to withdraw from the
prosecution of your addresses. To 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