Inez was almost stunned at first by the suddenness of the blow which had fallen upon her. She could hardly realize that she was not in a horrible dream. Was it true—could it be true—that her brother, that Don Alcala de Aguilera had been arrested as if he were a felon, and marched off to endure, in his enfeebled state, the miseries of a Spanish prison? Alcala's danger so entirely absorbed the mind of Inez that it left no room for a thought of self; in her desolation and poverty the Spanish girl did not even ask herself, "What will become of me?"
Inez was roused from her state of half-stupefaction by Teresa, who, beating her breast, and tearing her gray hair, came up to her young mistress.
"Ah, Donna Inez! Donna Inez!" she exclaimed, "all this disgrace and misery would never have befallen the house of Aguilera had you not sold the hair of Santa Veronica!"
"Teresa, this is no time for reproaches," said Inez faintly; "we must act, we must do all in our power to aid my brother. Oh that the English señor were not absent at Madrid!"
Teresa ground her teeth at the mention of Lucius Lepine, whom she regarded as the original author of all these calamities, the villain who had corrupted the faith of her master.
"I can think of no friend to consult save Donna Maria," continued Inez, after a pause for anxious reflection. "Her husband may have some little influence with the Governor, Don Rivadeo; and she will at least give sympathy and advice. Teresa, let us go to Donna Maria at once."
"We cannot both leave the house," said Teresa sharply. "There's Donna Benita almost in fits. The wretches dared to enter the presence of a lady of the house of Aguilera, and terrify her out of her senses."
"Hasten to my grandmother,—do not leave her!" cried Inez. "How could I be so thoughtless as to forget her helpless state for a moment!" And as Teresa turned away to seek the room of Benita, Inez murmured to herself, "I will go alone to the friend of my mother."