Olla Podrida Part 8

_Bep._ Husband, farewell. I trust you'll mend your ways. [_Exit Beppa._

_Ant._ Cursed jealous c.o.c.katrice! Why, Sancho, you are serious.

_San._ Why, yes, a little. I thought you were my friend, but if you are only doing a friendly act for Nina in getting her a husband----

_Ant._ My dear Sancho, I'll explain it all. Nina is virtuous. It was her husband that she kissed, and this alone has made that woman jealous.

_San._ Why should she be jealous of Nina's kissing her own husband?

_Ant._ Because that husband had my livery on; and Beppa swears 'twas I.

When Lopez arrived here he wanted a situation, but his clothes were so shabby, he could not offer himself to any gentleman. I lent him a suit of mine, a very good one too, and yet the wretch had the ingrat.i.tude to quarrel with me, although dressed in my clothes. They are on his body now. When he met his wife he kissed her, and Beppa, who was pa.s.sing by, thought it was I; and this is the whole mystery. You can ask Nina how her husband was dressed when she met him, and her answer will prove the truth of what I say. Only, you must not mention a word of me or of Beppa. I hope you're satisfied.

_San._ Why, yes--it seems the truth.

_Ant._ Well, now, Sancho, let me know how Nina received the news of her husband's death.

_San._ Women are strange creatures! Would you believe it? When I told his death--Saint Petronila, be merciful to me!--although she always disliked him, she cried and sobbed most bitterly; and when I would have consoled her she pushed me--yes, me, Sancho, away! Saint Petronila!

_Ant._ I almost repent of my scheme. I wish it had been Beppa that the fool fancied.

_San._ But this did not last above ten minutes. She then wiped her eyes, and suffered me to kiss her.

_Ant._ So soon--confound her! He shall have her (_aside_).

_San._ O more than that: when she became more tranquil she smiled--hi, hi, hi! by the lips of the holy saint, she did!

_Ant._ (_aside_). The Jezebel! (_Aloud_) But, Sancho, was she quite satisfied with your a.s.sertion of his being killed?

_San._ No; she said she must have more proof, that there might be no mistake; for, as she truly observed, it would be an awkward thing to have two husbands.

_Ant._ (_aside_). It is to have two wives. (_Aloud_) Sancho, proceed.

_San._ I followed your advice, and told her 'twas by my hand that Lopez fell--Saint Petronila pardon me the lie.

_Ant._ What said she then?

_San._ Why, at first, she repulsed; but then remembering that second thoughts as well as second husbands were the best, she dried her eyes, and was content; don't you see how fresh I am with the joy?

_Ant._ (_aside and looking contemptuously on Sancho_). Confound him!

_San._ What say you?

_Ant._ That you're a happy man. Did you press her hard to marry you at once, as I advised you?

_San._ I did, and at last she promised, as soon as she had seen her husband dead, to marry me immediately.

_Ant._ Now, Sancho, I will be your friend. Of course I must not appear in this, nor must my name be mentioned. But if to-morrow at dusk will suit you, I'll drag his body from the place where I concealed it, and lay it in the path which leads to the summer house--you know where I mean, just where the row of tall chestnut trees----

_San._ I know exactly. Thank you, Antonio. She said to-morrow night she thought she would be able to come out. I'll go to her immediately, and make the appointment. Saint Petronila, smile on my joys of wedlock!

[_Exit Sancho._

_Ant._ How I hate women!... If that fool had mentioned the name of Lopez, the crafty Beppa would have discovered the whole affair. What with keeping my own secrets, and finding out those of my master, I have enough to do. So far the former has been well managed, now for the latter. [_Exit into house._

_Scene V._

_An Apartment in the Guzman Palace. Donna Inez discovered seated at table._

_Inez._ Last night, again, beneath my niece's window I heard that tuneful voice; and if mine ears Deceived me not, my Isidora's too.

As I pa.s.s'd by, a light whose feeble rays Shone thro' the vacancy beneath the door Proved that she'd not retired. I much suspect She is entangled in some web of love.

Yet oft have I enjoin'd her to advise With me, her friend, and truest counsellor.

But 'tis in vain; Love ne'er would be so sweet,--so fondly cherish'd, If not envelop'd in the veil of secrecy: And good intents are oft in maidens check'd By that strange joyous fear, that happy awe, Which agitates the breast when first the trembler Receives its dangerous inmate.

I've summon'd her, for now I must endeavour To be her confidante. (_Muses._) 'Twere better first I made her mine.

And sympathy may win the treasured key, Which startled love would willingly retain.

_Enter Isidora._

_Isid._ You wish my presence. (_Aside_) Hush, my tell-tale heart.

_Inez._ Hast thou slept well, my child?

_Isid._ My dreams have been confused, but not unhappy.

_Inez._ Oh! may'st thou never wake to mystery!

Thine is a dang'rous age: my Isidora, Thou little know'st, that while thy path is strew'd With flow'rs, how many serpent dangers lurk Beneath the sweets.

_Isid._ I will not stray, then.

_Inez._ It is a happy resolution.

If, in my youth, I had been so resolved, I had not loaded mine old age with care, Nor soak'd my pillow with remorseful tears.

_Isid._ I've often seen you weep, and then retire, Nor glad me with your presence, until after You had communion held with Father Philip; Then have you smiled again, that is to say, Smiled mournfully, as does the winter's sun, Gleaming through heavy clouds, and scarce deigning To light up sober nature for the minute.

_Inez._ True, dearest child, for such is our blindness, That we reject our greatest boon, until We can receive support from it alone.

'Tis time thou should'st receive my confidence, And learn the danger of clandestine love.

_Isid._ (_aside_). She must suspect me. (_Aloud_) I'm all attention.

_Inez._ To say I once was fair, and that mine eyes Were bright as thine are now, were almost needless.

I had a mother most considerate-- Kind to excess, yet ever pointing out The path to virtue, and to happiness.

One precept above all did she enjoin, And sure 'twas little in exchange to ask For so much kindness--wisely to seek her counsel Ere the heart was wounded. You hear me, love, I oft have made the same request of you.

_Isid._ (_faintly_). You have.

_Inez._ I promised faithfully, as thou hast done, And well, I know, wilt keep the promise made.

But virgin fear induced _me_ to withhold My confidence, until it was too late.

My heart was given and my troth was plighted; Don Felipe, such was his cherish'd name, Implored my silence; our frequent meetings Were sanctified by marriage: then I learn'd It was an old and deadly feud that barr'd His long sought entrance to our house; but soon He hoped our marriage publicly t'announce, And strife of years to end, and peace restore By our acknowledged union.

Alas! two days before this much-sought hour, My brothers were inform'd I did receive My husband in my chamber. He was surprised And murder'd--basely in my presence slain!