He was a man in years; but time, though it had whitened his hair, had not bent his tall form, or broken the stiffness of his figure. Even his grey hair, which would have given a venerable look to others, served to render his appearance more rigid, and the severity of his glance was magnified by his white brows, while his lips, pressed sternly together, looked more repulsive under his grizzled moustachios. He was dressed in grave habits, with a slouched hat, as though—which probably was the case—he had but just returned from abroad, and had passed straight to his ward’s sitting-chamber.
On his entrance into the apartment, he closed the door behind him, and, turning round, glanced inquiringly at the two inmates. His quick eye, surveying them earnestly, readily detected the embarrassment of his niece, and discerned that all was not right with her grave duenna. But what probably tended most to excite his suspicions, and led him to surmise that some evil was on foot, was the attire of the two females, which, considering the lateness of the hour, was certainly singular, as it comprehended their veils and mantillas.
“Ye have been walking late, Senhoras,” he said, “yet not, I trust, without good escort, or ye may have met some misadventure.”
There was a pause.
“And whither hast thou roamed, fair niece?” resumed Don Gonzalez. “What happy gallant, of all the young bachelors of Cadiz, hast thou favoured with an assignation?”
“What meanest thou, Sir?” said Inez, recovering herself.
“Wouldst thou outface me?” demanded Gonzalez. “There is that on thy cheek, woman, would avow thy guilt, though thy tongue grew dumb in swearing its tale false.”
But Inez was not to be brow-beaten. Though the unexpected intrusion of her uncle had taken her aback, it could not, by any possible bearing, bend and overcome her indomitable spirit; and now that the first shock of the surprise had worn off, she was prepared to meet him, and could look the danger in the face with perfect firmness. She met his insinuations with indignant remonstrance; and answered his taunts, though they were the most bitter he could devise, with taunts more galling. He sought to silence her once or twice; but the more he stormed, the more did Inez persist, both by her voice and gesture, in braving his fury, and treating him with scorn and defiance. At last, his passion rose, almost to madness. There was one thing that Inez had not explained, and that was, how, at so late an hour of the night, she and her duenna were dressed for walking. This was a point, however innocent it might be in itself, that he was not disposed to give up, and it furnished him with an excuse for his last outburst.
“Thou hast had no assignation,” he said, “and yet, by all appearance, hast been abroad at midnight. I prithee what mighty matter took thee forth so late?”