Occupied solely with the romantic reveries of an amiable, though erring ambition, he had hitherto felt without reasoning upon the subject, that he had no time for love; conscious that whenever he yielded to that sentiment it would influence his happiness entirely. Here, now, was the only opportunity that might ever present itself for acquiring a female heart, without the hateful aid of royalty; here was an opportunity of gratifying his people without mortifying his own feelings. The prospect of arms and victories, no longer filled the void of his capacious soul, and how could he better console himself for this, than by trying to accommodate his private inclinations with those of his subjects?
The extreme beauty and graceful gaiety of Donna Gonsalva delighted the senses of Sebastian; he hoped to find her equally charming in mind and heart: above all he passionately desired to make her love him. With the inperiousness of a King, he resolved to reign absolute over her affections, to have his power avowed and submitted to, or not to reign at all: he determined to be preferred as Don Fabian, before he should be known as Sebastian. Every thing promised success to this romantic resolution; and the more he reflected on it the more he was confirmed in the intention of concealing his real rank from Gonsalva; as she lived much secluded, and at some miles distance from Crato, discovery was unlikely, besides which, the clandestine nature of their intercourse rendered enquiries on her part almost impossible.
Satisfied with these mental arrangements, the King rode gaily home, forgetful of the foolish vow he had taken; treading lightly on the delightful precincts of Love, whose first prospects are like “the opening of Heaven’s everlasting gates, on golden hinges turning.”—
He finished the day amongst his young nobles, with uncommon animation.
The prior of Crato was expected the next morning: Sebastian saw day dawn, after passing a night of sweet wakefulness, during which the image of Donna Gonsalva had floated perpetually before him. Eager to behold her in reality, ere the return of his cousin, the King withdrew early from his attending lords, and took the road to Vimiosa.
As he was proceeding to enter the path through the thicket, he saw Gonsalva at a distance, in another part of the domain, walking on a terrace, cut on the side of a hill, that overlooked the house; he hastened thither, but perceiving that she had a female companion, retreated and placed himself under the boughs of a tree. The ladies turned, and walked towards him: as they approached, his heart beat with an anxiety that surprized himself; if Gonsalva should not see him! he shook the branches of the tree with a trembling hand, at which she started and put aside her veil. The same bright glow of pleasure irradiated her effulgent beauty, the same smile that had charmed away the reason of Sebastian, again transported him; but she dropped her veil, and passed on without speaking.
After taking several turns together, the ladies separated: the aunt of Gonsalva descended a flight of steps over which the trees hung so thick, as soon to exclude her from sight, while her fair niece at first advanced towards the grove which concealed Sebastian, and then capriciously struck into a path sloping directly from him.
The impetuous monarch disturbed at the thought of her departure, sprang forward, intreating that she would stay. Gonsalva half turned round—“So, you are here again my good friend?”—she said, in a tone of careless gaiety which her sparkling looks contradicted,—“are you come to teach me another lesson out of your new catechism of female subjection?—let me tell you that air of authority that you have, is abominably provoking, and I should like vastly to break its neck: one grain of humility would make you—not absolutely hateful.”
“You shall find me humbler to you, than to any other being in the world;” replied Sebastian smiling, “if you will but strive to think of me with tenderness.” Gonsalva laughed. “What a pleasant madman chance has introduced me to!—upon what do you ground these extravagant pretensions? pretensions too, so insolently urged! did you never read the Spanish author, who calls Love, that courteous affront offered to beauty?—prithee con over his definition and profit by it. Think of you with tenderness! why, my presumptuous friend, if I think of you at all in any way ’tis more than you should expect. Think of you with tenderness, when all I know of you is that you have a tolerable figure, which sillier women than myself may have persuaded you is irresistible!—A potentate could not woo with more authority.”
The accidentally penetrating glance of her eyes while speaking these words, so confounded Sebastian, that it made the blood mantle on his cheeks, she laughed again. “Come, this is the colouring of penitence, so I must not chide you any more. Never let me hear a presumptuous word breathed, consent to be docile as a lamb, and I may condescend to be so much interested in you as to ask you, who you are? whence you come! and whither you go?”