“I am in an ill-humour cousin,” replied the King, “in a rage at my own conduct; and at this moment could tear up the roots of earth itself.”—Antonio expressed some astonishment and more curiosity: Sebastian declined satisfying it, adding, “I have quite enough to bear, cousin, when I have my own contempt to encounter, without seeking the addition of yours. Let this squall of temper have its way—for heaven’s sake talk with me of business, news, nonsense, any thing—change the current of my thoughts if possible.—What said Alcoçava and the cardinal to my refusal of the Frenchwoman?”
“Since you require me to change the current of your thoughts, and thus lead to the subject of love and marriage, I may conclude the mischief-making God has had no hand in raising the present storm?”—Don Antonio spoke this with a forced smile, and not without hesitation; yet he fixed his eyes earnestly upon those of his cousin: the ingenuous countenance of the latter was immediately crimsoned over; he turned away, uttering an exclamation of contempt, coupled with the idea of love, and abruptly entered on another topic. The prior surprized and disturbed, appeared somewhat hurt at the King’s reserve, for he became thoughtful, and supported conversation with less spirit than was usual with him; but at length this mutual restraint wore off, and the remainder of the day was spent in all the freedom of friendship.
Sebastian’s resolution to avoid Gonsalva, lasted rather longer than his indignation. By degrees the flattering parts of her manner came oftener to his memory than those gay airs of indifference which had mortified his too sanguine nature: the agitating blush, the hope-awakening smile haunted his day-dreams; sometimes he saw her in the visions of the night, yielding him one of those tresses like the morn, which shaded her ivory neck, and half-averting a cheek now glowing with the sensibility of a melting heart.—He awoke, but the seducing image still swam before him.
Sebastian then revolved the probability of his having judged hastily and harshly: delicacy alone, or love distrustful of its empire, might have dictated that sprightly carelessness which had shocked him: though she had said they might not meet again, she did not perhaps think so, nor mean him to seek for her in vain at her window; would it not be well then, to make another essay to observe the effect of his absence? the youthful lover decided in the affirmative.
Being unexpectedly summoned by state affairs to his capital, he determined to make a last trial of Gonsalva’s sentiments, by visiting her on the night before his departure. When that night came, he excused himself from the amusements of his courtiers, and leaving Don Antonio chained down to a game of chess, he glided away unobserved, and was soon conveyed by his swiftest horse to the domain of Vimiosa.
A soft moonlight distinctly discovered the spot to which Gonsalva had directed him six days before. He saw the steep romantic bank shading the road towards which he now turned his steps: as he trod it lightly, the smell of orange flowers and wild thyme, came mingling from the hills and the gardens. While his eyes were fixed on the windows of the tower, where perhaps Gonsalva slept, some low tender sounds caught his ear: he listened, but they had ceased; the next moment they returned again; drawing gently nearer he found they proceeded from a lute which some one was touching at intervals with an unsteady hand, another pause succeeded: he stood still, and scarcely respired; for now the voice of Gonsalva was heard singing this canzonet.
“Hast thou, a sleepless pillow prest,
And vainly, vainly sought for rest?
Ah! say, have sighs and tears confess’d
That love was kindling in thy breast?
Alas! if not, why dost thou fly
To haunt my gate, my path, mine eye,
Still looking as thou wanderest nigh
A world of fond idolatry?
O cease, if vanity should be
The only aim that leads to me;
O cease, while yet my heart is free
From hope, and fear, and love, and thee!”
Rapt, enchanted, Sebastian stood listening to this celestial voice: its thrilling tones revolving in continual sweetness but endless variety, were like the melodious warblings of a nightingale. The serene Heavens, the resplendent moonlight, the fragrance of the earth, the transport and the gratitude of his own heart, all conspired to heighten its magical effect. Donna Gonsalva had evidently chosen this song because it pourtrayed a situation like her own; this thought finished the intoxication of Sebastian, and he vehemently exclaimed, “Angel!”