"Plead your cause with your husband, Teresa; it is more necessary to pacify him than me."

"I have no husband, Emilia; he is now pleading his own cause with G.o.d-- for he has fallen by the sword of yours."

Donna Emilia started.

"Yes, Emilia, dear, dear sister, it is but too true, and still more true, that you have caused his death. Do not kill me too, Emilia, by refusing to believe what I declare, as I hope for eternal salvation-- that I never was aware of the mistake, until the boy discovered it to me, on the ensuing day. If you knew the shame, the vexation, the fear of discovery which racked my frame, when I was but too sure of it, you would forgive my having tried to hide a fault, the knowledge of which would make others miserable, as well as me. Say you believe me--say you forgive me, Emilia. Oh! Emilia, cannot you forgive a sister?"

Emilia answered not, and Teresa, clinging to her knees, and embracing them, sobbed hysterically. At this moment Don Perez, who had obtained admittance to see his wife, came into the room, and walking up to the part in which the two unfortunate ladies remained in the att.i.tudes described, said,--"You, Teresa, who have been the original cause of this unhappy business, I mean not to reproach again. Your punishment has been greater than your offence. It is to you, madam, I must address myself; who, by not believing in the words of truth, have caused me to slay my dearest friend and brother, and, after having unwittingly wounded him in the tenderest point, add to the injury by taking away his life. Are you yet satisfied, madam? Are you satisfied with having embittered my days by your injustice and unworthy suspicions--by having reduced your unfortunate, yet not guilty sister, to the state of an unhappy, lonely woman, now suing in vain for pardon at your feet; by having been the occasion of the death of your brother by marriage--her husband and my friend? Say, madam, are you yet satisfied, or will you have more victims to your unbelief?"

Emilia answered not, but continued with her face averted.

"Be it so, then, madam;" replied Don Perez; and, before any one was aware of his intention, he drew his sword, and fell upon it. "Now, Emilia, let the sacrifice of my life be a proof to you of my sincerity.

As I hope for pardon, I have told the truth;" and Don Perez fell on his back, and was dead.

Emilia started round when he fell, and threw herself down by his side in horror and amazement. The film that pa.s.sion had thrown over her eyes was removed, as she witnessed the last melancholy result of her unbelief. When Don Pedro ceased speaking, she threw herself on his body, in an agony of grief.--"I do, I do believe--Perez. I do, I do!

Oh! indeed I do believe--speak to me, Perez--O G.o.d, he is dying!-- Sister, Teresa, come, come, he'll speak to you--he's not angry with you--Sister, sister, speak--O G.o.d! O G.o.d!" screamed the unhappy woman, "he's dead--and I have murdered him!"--and she dashed her head upon the floor. Teresa hastened to her sister, and held her in her arms, while the tears poured fast. It was some time before reason resumed her seat; at last, exhausted by the violence of her feelings, she was relieved with a flood of tears.

"Who is it?--you, Teresa--kind sister, whom I have used so ill--I do believe you--I do believe, Teresa; G.o.d forgive me! kiss me, sister, and say that you forgive me--for am I not punished?"

"It is all my fault," answered Teresa, bursting into tears: "Oh! how wicked, how foolish have I been!"

"No, no, sister, your fault is small, compared to mine; you allowed your pa.s.sion to overcome you, but it arose from an excess of love, the best feeling in our nature--the only remnant of heaven left us since our fall. I too have allowed my pa.s.sion to overcome me; but whence has it arisen?--from hatred and jealousy, feelings which were implanted by demons, and which create a h.e.l.l wherever they command. But it is done, and repentance comes too late."

The unfortunate sisters embraced each other and mingled their tears together; and I hardly need say, that the lady abbess and I could not restrain our meed of pity at the affecting scene. As the evening closed, they separated, each to attend to the same mournful duty, of watching by the bodies of their husbands, and bedewing them with their tears. A few days after the interments took place, Emilia sent for her sister, and after an affectionate interview, took the veil in the convent to which she had retired--endowing the church with her property.

Donna Teresa did not take the veil; but employed herself in the more active duties of charity and benevolence; but she gradually wasted away--her heart was broken. I stayed with her for three years, when she died, leaving a considerable sum to me, and the remainder of her wealth to beneficent inst.i.tutions. This is about five years ago; since when I have been living on the property, which is nearly all expended by my extravagance. The stigma on my birth is, however, the only subject which has weighed upon my spirits--this is providentially removed, and I trust that I shall not disgrace the mother who has so kindly acknowledged me, or the dear girl who has honoured this faulty person with her attachment.

My mother and Clara thanked me when I had concluded my narrative, and we remained unto a late hour entering upon family affairs, and planning for the future. My mother informed me that upon the estates she had only a life interest, as they were entailed, and would revert to a cousin; but that she had laid by a considerable sum of money, intending it as a dowry for my Clara, and that she hoped to increase it before she died.

As I was anxious to quit Seville, where I feared daily discovery, I proposed that we should retire to the estate near Carthagena, by which not only a considerable expense would be saved, but I should feel more happy in the company of Clara and herself. My mother and my intended gladly consented to the proposal, not only for the above reasons, but because she was aware that the questions which might be asked about me would tend to the injury of her character. In less than a fortnight the establishment at Seville was broken up, and we retired to the country, where I was made happy by the possession of my Clara. I now considered myself as secure from any discovery, and although I had led a life of duplicity, meant by future good conduct to atone for the past. Whether Donna Celia was my mother or not, I felt towards her as if she was, and after some time from habit considered it an established fact. My Clara was as kind and endearing as I could desire; and for five years I was as happy as I could wish. But it was not to last: I was to be punished for my deceit. My marriage with Clara, and the mystery attached to my birth, which was kept secret, had irritated the heir of the estate, who had been in hopes, by marrying Clara himself, to secure the personal as well as the real property. We occasionally met, but we met with rancour in our hearts, for I resented his behaviour towards me. Fearful of discovery, I had never paid any attention to music since my marriage; I had always pretended that I could not sing. Even my wife was not aware of my talent; and although latterly I had no fear of the kind, yet as I had always stated my inability, I did not choose to bring forth a talent, the reason for concealing which I could not explain even to my wife and mother, without acknowledging the deception of which I had been guilty.

It happened that one evening at a large party I met my cousin, the heir of the entailed estates. We were very joyous and merry, and had drunk a good deal more than usual. The wine was powerful, and had taken effect upon most of us. Singing was introduced, and the night pa.s.sed merrily away, more visitors occasionally dropping in. My cousin was much elated with wine, and made several ill-natured remarks, which were meant for me. I took no notice for some time, but, as he continued, I answered with such spirit, as to arouse his indignation. My own blood boiled; but the interference of mutual friends pacified us for the time, and we renewed our applications to the bottle. My cousin was called upon for a song; he had a fine voice and considerable execution, and was much applauded.

"Now then," said he, in an ironical tone, "perhaps Don Pedro will oblige the company; although perhaps the real way to oblige them will be by not attempting that of which he is not capable."

Stung with this sarcasm, and flushed with wine, I forgot my prudence.

s.n.a.t.c.hing the guitar from him, after a prelude which created the greatest astonishment of all present, I commenced one of my most successful airs: I sang it in my best style, and it electrified the whole party. Shouts proclaimed my victory, and the defeat of my relative. Some embraced me in their enthusiasm, and all loudly encored; but as soon as there was a moment's silence, I heard a voice behind me observe--"Either that is the monk Anselmo's voice, or the devil's."

I started at the words, and turned round to the speaker, but he had mingled with the crowd, and I could not discover who it was. I perceived that my relative had followed him on; and I now cursed my own imprudence. As soon as I could, I made my escape from the company, and returned home. As I afterwards found out, my relative had immediately communicated with the person who had made the observation. He was one of the priests who knew me at Seville. From him, my cousin gained the information that brother Anselmo had left the convent about five years ago, and not having returned, it was thought that an accident had happened to him. But a discovery had since been made, which led them to suppose, that brother Anselmo had, for some time, been carrying on a system of deception. You may remember I stated, that when I resumed my worldly apparel to introduce myself as the son of Donna Celia, I changed the dress at my lodgings. I locked up my friar's dress and the false tonsure in the chest, intending to have returned, and destroyed it; but I quite forgot it, and left Seville with the key of my lodgings in my pocket. The landlord waited until his rent was due, when not hearing any thing of me, he broke open the door and found the chest. This he opened, and discovered the false tonsure and friar's gown. Knowing the monastic order to which it belonged, and suspecting some mischief; he took it to our convent, and all the habits of the monks being numbered in the inside, it was immediately recognised as mine: the false tonsure also betrayed that I must have been breaking through the rules of my order, and the most rigorous search after me was made for some time without success. Possessed of this information, my vindictive relative repaired to Seville to ascertain the exact date of my quitting the convent, and found that it was about a fortnight previous to Donna Celia having quitted Seville. He then repaired to the landlord for further information. The landlord stated that the lodgings had been taken by a monk, for his brother, who had occupied them. He described the brother's person, which exactly corresponded with mine; and my relation was convinced that the monk Anselmo and Don Pedro were one and the same person. He immediately gave notice to the Inquisition. In the mean time, I was in the greatest consternation. I felt that I should be discovered, and reflected upon my conduct. I had lately abjured all deceit, and had each day gained a step in the path of virtue. I acknowledged with bitterness, that I deserved all that threatened me, and that, sooner or later, vice will meet with its reward. Had I at first made known my situation to Donna Celia, she would have had interest enough (believing me to be her son), to have obtained a dispensation of my vows. I then might have boldly faced the world--but one act of duplicity required another to support it, and thus had I entangled myself in a snare, by which I was to be entrapped at last.

But it was not for myself that I cared; it was for my wife whom I doted on--for my mother (or supposed mother), to whom it would be the bitterness of death. The thoughts of rendering others miserable as well as myself drove me to distraction--and how to act I knew not.

After much reflection, I resolved as a last resource, to throw myself upon the generosity of my adversary; for although inimical to me, he bore a high character as a Spanish cavalier. I desired to be informed the moment that he returned from Seville; and when the intelligence came, I immediately repaired to his house, and requested an audience. I was admitted; when Don Alvarez, for that was his name, addressed me.

"You wish to speak with me, Don Pedro--there are others at your house by this time who wish to speak with you."

I guessed that he meant the officers of the Inquisition; but pretending not to understand the remark, I answered him:--"Don Alvarez, the enmity that you have invariably shown towards me has, I am sure, proceeded from the affront, which you consider that your n.o.ble family has received, by your cousin having formed an alliance with one of unknown parentage. I have long borne with your pointed insults, out of respect for her who gave me birth; I am now about to throw myself upon your generosity, and probably when I inform you, that I am the unhappy issue of the early amour of Donna Celia (which of course you have heard of), I may then claim your compa.s.sion, if not your friendship, from having at least some of the same n.o.ble blood in my veins."

"I was not indeed aware of it," replied Don Alvarez, with agitation; "I would to Heaven you had confided in me before."

"Perhaps it would have been better," replied I, "but permit me to prove my a.s.sertions." I then stated my having been the friar Anselmo, the discovery of my birth by accident, and the steps which I had taken. "I am aware," continued I, "that I have been much to blame, but my love for Donna Clara made me regardless of consequences. Your unfortunate enmity induced me, in an unguarded moment, to expose myself; and it will probably end in my destruction."

"I acknowledge the truth of your remark, and that no power can save you, I lament it, Don Pedro; but what is done cannot be undone. Even now the officers of the Inquisition are at your house." As he uttered these words, a loud knocking at the door announced that they had followed me.

"This must not be Don Pedro," said Don Alvarez, "step this way." He opened a panel, and desired me to go in--and he hardly had time to shut it before the officers came into the room.

"You have him here, Don Alvarez, have you not?" inquired the chief.

"No, unfortunately," replied he, "I tried to detain him, but suspecting some discovery he forced his way out, sword in hand, and has gone I do not know in what direction; but he cannot be far--saddle all the horses in my stable and pursue the sacrilegious wretch. I would sacrifice half my worldly wealth, that he should not escape my vengeance."

As Don Alvarez was the informant, and uttered these words with the apparent violence of rage, the inquisitors had no suspicion, but hastened to comply with his request. As soon as they had departed, he opened the panel and let me out.

"So far, Don Pedro, have I proved the sincerity of my a.s.sertion; but now, what remains to be done?"

"But one thing, Don Alvarez, to conceal the truth from my poor wife and mother. I could bear it all with firmness, but for them," (and I fell on a sofa, and burst into tears.) Don Alvarez was much affected.

"Oh, Don Pedro! it is too late now, or I should say, 'What a warning this ought to be to us--that honesty is the best policy!' had you communicated to me the mystery of your birth, this never would have occurred. Instead of having been your persecutor, I should have been your friend--What can I do?"

"Kill me, Don Alvarez," replied I, baring my breast, "and I will bless you for the deed. My death may afflict them, but they will recover from their grief in time; but to know that I am murdered by the Inquisition, as a sacrilegious impostor, will bring them to their grave with shame and mortification."

"Your observation is correct; but kill you I must not. I will, however, so far comply with your wishes, that I will bear the news of your death, and their hatred of the deed, rather than the family should be disgraced." He then went to his scrutoire, and taking out a bag of one thousand pistoles--"This is all the money that I have at present--it will serve you for some time. Put on one of my servant's dresses, and I will accompany you to a seaport, and secure your safety before I leave you. I will then state, that I met you in a fair duel, and will bribe the officers of the Inquisition to hold their tongues about the circ.u.mstances which have been communicated."

The advice was good, and I agreed to it; following him as a servant, I arrived safely at Carthagena, whence I took a pa.s.sage for New Spain. We sailed; and before we were clear of the Straits of Gibraltar, we were attacked by one of the cruisers of the state. We fought desperately, but were overpowered by numbers; and they took possession, after we had lost more than half of our crew. They brought us into this port; where, with the rest, I was sold as a slave.

"Such is my history," ended the Spaniard, "which I trust has afforded some amus.e.m.e.nt to your sublime highness."

The immediate answer of the pacha was a loud yawn.

"Shukur Allah! Praise be to G.o.d you have done talking. I do not understand much about it," continued the pacha, turning round to Mustapha; "but how can we expect a good story from an unbelieving dog of a Christian?"

"Wallah thaib! Well said, by G.o.d!" replied Mustapha; "who was Lokman, that they talk of his wisdom? Are not these words of more value than strung pearls?"

"What was the name of the country?" demanded the pacha.

"Spain, your sublime highness; the infidel tribes which you allow to remain there, are employed in cultivating the olive for true believers."

"Very true," rejoined the pacha; "I remember now. Let the kafir taste of our bounty. Give him two pieces of gold; and allow him to depart."

"May the shadow of your sublime highness never be less," said the Spaniard. "I have here a ma.n.u.script which I received from an ancient monk of our order when at the point of death. At the time of my capture it was thrown on one side, and I preserved it as curious. It refers to the first discovery of an island. As your highness is pleased to be amused with stories, it may be worth while to have it translated." The Dominican then handed from his breast a discoloured piece of parchment.

"Very good," replied the pacha, rising. "Mustapha let it be put into Arabic by the Greek slave, who shall read it to us some evening when we have no story-tellers."

"Be chesm! Upon my eyes be it," replied Mustapha, bowing low, as the pacha retired to his harem.

VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER FIVE.

The pacha had repeated his perambulations for many nights, without success; and Mustapha, who observed that he was becoming very impatient, thought it advisable to cater for his amus.e.m.e.nt.

Among those who used to repair to Mustapha when he exercised his former profession, was a French renegade, a man of considerable talent and ready invention, but a most unprincipled scoundrel, who, previous to the elevation of Mustapha, had gained his livelihood by daring piratical attempts in an open boat. He was now in the employ of the vizier, commanding an armed xebeque which the latter had purchased. She pa.s.sed off as a government cruiser but was in reality a pirate. Selim, for that was the name which the renegade had adopted when he abjured his faith, condemned every vessel that had the misfortune to meet with him, taking out the cargoes, burning the hull, and throwing the crews overboard, with the privilege of swimming on sh.o.r.e if they could. By this plan he avoided the inconveniences attending any appeals from the jurisdiction of the High Court of Admiralty, which he had established upon the seas.

The consequence was, that his cruises were more successful than ever; and Mustapha, who was not content with pillaging the pacha's subjects on dry land, was ama.s.sing a large fortune at their expense by his maritime speculations.