The renegade, having left the management of the vessel to a French slave whom he could trust, gave his attention to his passengers. The lady, of course, claimed his first care; and, having restored her to life, he took his measures so skilfully, that Don Fabricio and the Toledan also speedily recovered their senses. Donna Theodora, who had swooned the instant Don Juan was struck, was greatly astonished on her recovery to behold Mendoza; and, although she soon comprehended that the latter had wounded himself for having incautiously assailed his friend, she could not look upon him but as the murderer of the man she loved.
"You would have been affected, Don Cleophas, could you have seen these three persons at the moment I speak of: the deathlike stillness from which they had emerged would not have commanded half your pity. There was Donna Theodora, gazing on Don Juan with eyes which spoke all the feelings of a soul filled with grief and despair; while the two friends, each fondly turning upon her their dying looks, were striving to control the sighs which rent their hearts."
The scene lasted for some time in silence, which Mendoza was the first to break. "Madam," said he, addressing Donna Theodora, "I die; but I have the satisfaction of knowing you are free. Would to Heaven that thy liberty were owing to myself! But it has decreed that you should owe that obligation to him whose image you cherish in your heart. I love too much my rival to complain; and trust that the blow which my blindness dealt may be too light to prevent his sweet reward." The lady answered not this touching speech. Insensible, for the time, to the fate of Mendoza, she could not restrain the feelings of aversion which the condition of the Toledan, over whom she hung, inspired in her bosom towards him who had caused it.
The regenade surgeon now examined and probed the wounds of the two friends. Beginning with Zarata, he pronounced it favourable, inasmuch as the sword had only glanced through the muscles of the left breast, without touching any of the vital parts. This report, while it lessened the grief of Donna Theodora, gave great delight to Don Fabricio, who, turning his head towards the lady, exclaimed, "Madam, I die without regret, since the life of my friend is out of danger: you will forgive me now."
He pronounced these words with so much pathos, that the widow of Cifuentes was moved beyond expression. As she no longer feared for Don Juan, she ceased to hate Mendoza, and beheld in him now but an object of the deepest pity. "Ah! Don Fabricio," she exclaimed, her generous nature resuming its influence, "let them attend to your wound; it is, I trust, not more dangerous than that of your friend. Let not your feelings interfere to render the cares of those who love you useless. Live!—if I cannot yield felicity to you, at least I will never bestow it on another. Friendship and compassion shall restrain the hand that I would give to Don Juan: I will sacrifice for you, as he has done, the dearest wishes of my heart."
Don Fabricio would have replied; but the surgeon, fearing that in his case, as in trouble generally, talking would only increase the ill, imposed silence, while he examined his wound. On so doing, he saw that it was likely to prove mortal, as the sword had penetrated the lungs, and the consequent loss of blood had been excessive. Having however dressed it with care, he left the cavaliers to repose; and that a matter so essential to them, in their present state, might be secured, he took with him, as he left the cabin, Donna Theodora, whose presence seemed likely to disturb it.
But despite all these precautions, Mendoza was seized with fever, and towards midnight the wound began to bleed afresh. The renegade then thought it right to inform him that all hope of recovery was over, and that, if he had anything which he wished to communicate to his friend, or to Donna Theodora, he had no time to lose. The Toledan was greatly affected on hearing the declaration of the surgeon: for Don Fabricio, he listened to it with indifference. He calmly requested that the regenade would summon the widow of Cifuentes to his side.
Donna Theodora hastened to the dying man, in a state more easy to conceive than to describe: tears streamed down her cheeks, and sobs choked her utterance;—so violent was her affliction, that Mendoza could not repress his agitation at the sight. "Madam," he exclaimed, "I am unworthy of the precious drops which dim those lovely eyes: restrain them, I entreat you, and listen to me for a few moments. And you also, my dear Zarata," he continued, observing the excess of grief in which his friend indulged, "control your feelings for a while, and hear me. I well know that to you this separation is a painful shock; your friendship is too well assured for me to doubt it; but wait, both of you, until the earth shall have hidden me from your sight; and honour, with those marks of tenderness and pity, my silent grave.