Tales of the Wonder Club Volume III Part 4

INEZ. I'm glad of 't. And thou thyself, good Pedro?

PED. I thank the Lord, good lady, I'm not worse-- I'm getting old.

LADY AB. That is the fate of all; We cannot aye be young.

PED. True, good lady.

INEZ. And now, Pedro, do thou wait here until I shall return. I'll try not to be long; I've my baggage yet to pack, and to say Some words in private to our Lady Abbess [_Exeunt Inez and Lady Abbess._

PED. Why, how the little wench has grown, i' faith!

But I'd have known her anywhere, I would, So strong is the resemblance to her mother-- Her voice, her very manner too's the same As Lady Dorothy's when first I knew her.

Ah, those were merry days. Would I could live Them o'er again. Let me see. What was it The gipsy beldam told me by the road?

Ha! I remember. When about half-way Between the castle and St. Ursula, While jogging through a bleak and bare ravine Upon my mule, and leading on the other, A crone stood in my path--a gipsy crone.

I know not how old; but past middle age.

Still, from her mien, which was majestic, proud, I think she had been handsome in her youth.

"Good morrow, Pedro," said the crone. "Speed well"

"Good morrow, Dame," said I. "You know me, then?"

"And have done long. Gipsies know everything.

Wilt have a proof of it? Wilt know thy fortune?

Show me thy palm," she said. "My palm!" said I, "Know thou, good gipsy, I have nought withal To pay thee." "Never mind for that," she said; "I love to gossip with an old retainer.

Thy gossip shall repay me. Quick, thy palm."

Then tracing with her gaunt and taloned finger A mystic sign across the line of life, "Not always thus, good Pedro, hast thou been.

Thou hast a master who but ill repays Thy manifold and useful services.

Thou hadst a mistress once, but she is gone; With her decease good luck hath fled the house, But times will change, and luck will reappear, And thou shalt live content to good old age."

I recollect no more of what she said, But mighty promises she made of luck.

Then straightway she did ask me of my lord-- How he fared, and also of Don Diego.

"Excellent well," said I, and here I laughed.

"Too well, too well, for one with head so white."

"How mean'st thou?" she said, with searching gaze.

"Why, marry thus!" said I; "they say Don Diego---- Hush, but this is a secret (here I winked) That old Don Diego, spite his years, doth think To take to him a young and pretty wife."

Here the crone started somewhat, as I thought, And o'er her bronzed features came a flush Like burnished copper, and her eagle eye Flashed as with fire; but in an instant Her cheeks grew ashen pale and her lips trembled.

Why I know not; but deeming her unwell, I offered her a sip of wine from out The gourd I carried at my saddle's flank; But she declined. "No wine," saith she, "hath ever Pa.s.sed my lips since I was born. Shall I Break through my abstinence in h.o.a.ry age?"

Then seeming quite recovered, "Well," she said, "What was it of Don Diego, thou wert saying?

Thou saidst, he thought to take to him a wife.

Can this be true? Who may the lady be?"

Then, mocking her, I said, "Thou knowest all things, Know'st thou not, the lady is our Inez, The daughter of my old lord Don Silvio.

Still in her teens, and staying with her aunt, Lady Superior at St Ursula's, From here some fifteen miles, whither I go By order of her father, at full speed To carry back his daughter to his hall?

And know'st thou not the wedding day is fixed, And all in readiness, but that our Inez As yet knows nought o't; but that to-morrow, When at eve I bring her to her father, She will soon learn it all, and w.i.l.l.y, nilly, Will have to wed the old man for his gold?"'

All this I told her. Then she said, "True, true, The stars already have revealed so much; But mark me, Pedro, mark me well, I say, For I know all things. It shall never be It will not happen. The stars forbid it."

"What! Don Diego's wedding," said I. "We'll see."

And off I trotted till I reached the convent.

_Re-enter_ LADY ABBESS _and_ INEZ.

LADY AB. And now, dear Inez, now that all's prepared For thy long homeward journey, one more kiss.

Salute thy father, and bear well in mind All I have taught thee. When thou hast arrived Write to me straight to say that thou art safe.

Thou, Pedro, do thy duty towards thy charge.

And, Inez, love, thou'lt think of me sometimes, And should chance ever bring thee by this way, Thou'lt come and see me, eh? And now farewell.

I dare not keep thee longer. Bless thee, Inez.

Adieu; the saints protect thee. Go in peace. [_Embracing her._

INEZ. Farewell, kind aunt, farewell.

[_Exeunt Lady Abbess and Inez weeping, Pedro following._

ACT II.

SCENE I.--_A country inn in the Sierra Nevada. A table spread under a vine._

_Enter_ DON ALFONSO _and_ DON PASCUAL.

D. PAS. Must thou then really leave me and return To Salamanca to resume thy studies?

Alas! to think that thou shouldst go alone, And that I dare not bear thee company.

Tell me, Alfonso, think'st thou the police Are ever on my track, or else that they Have now given up all strict and diligent search, Some weeks having pa.s.sed o'er since the fatal deed?

D. ALF. I would not counsel thee yet to return.

Too many rash deeds have been done of late For the law to lie much longer pa.s.sive; Besides, the man you murdered was a count, A great hidalgo, and of haughty race; His family will leave no stone unturned Until this murdered member is avenged.

D. PAS. Murdered! say'st thou again? 'Twas in a duel.

D. ALF. Murder or homicide, 'twill go ill with thee, An thou fall'st in the clutches of the law.

In good time thou leftest Salamanca.

But live and learn; I did ever tell thee Thou wast over ready with thy weapon.

What! For a hasty word said in hot blood Must thou be ever quarte, and tierce, and thrust?

D. PAS. Hold, friend, but you must know the case was thus-- I met Count Pablo----

D. ALF. I know the story.

The count was stern and haughty as thyself, Nor made allowances for others' pride; He could not brook the independent gaze Of one whom, perhaps, he deemed of lower birth; This led to altercation and fierce looks (I own him wrong, for he began the quarrel), But it was thou who wast the first to challenge; And all for a word, too.

D. PAS. And was that nought?

Nought, the being called a gipsy b.a.s.t.a.r.d?

What! Call'st thou that a trifle? b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Ugh!

I swear, that had he been ten times my friend, I would have slain him. b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Gipsy, too!

What! Are we Spaniards of so fair a skin That he would have me pale-eyed, flaxen-haired, Like the barbarians of northern climes?

May not a Spaniard have an olive skin And jetty eye without being gipsy called?

A mystery, I know, hangs o'er my birth; I ne'er knew my parents. Some secret hand Doth forward me remittances at times, That I might be enabled to pursue My studies at the university.

I cannot think it is my spurious father, For I do well remember me of one-- Indeed, I think that she was not my mother.

Although she treated me as her own son-- A lady of high rank and ample means, A widow, too, with kind and gentle ways.

I knew not then that she was not my mother; But dying when I yet was but a child, I was put early to a seminary.

It may be I inherited her fortune, And out of this expenses are disbursed.

When young I made no strict inquiries As to my origin. Those around me Told me but little, but I think I heard I was adopted by this widow lady.

More I ne'er cared to know, until of late, Being stung by the count's taunt of spurious birth, I challenged him and killed him in a duel.

And now I fain would have the myst'ry cleared, E'en should the certain knowledge gall my soul And I in truth should be a gipsy b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

It may be that he spoke the truth. But how Did he come to know of it? Or, if truth, That truth was spoke in insult, and so ta'en.

He who would call me gipsy, let him fear My gipsy blood. Let who would call me b.a.s.t.a.r.d Prepare to feel the sting a b.a.s.t.a.r.d feels.