“Then have mine own eyes deluded me!” cried Don Felix. “What I believe, they saw!”
“I’faith, thou grievest me, Felix,” said Sir Edgar. “Yet can I hardly look ill on my friend, or do him even a thought’s wrong. But the matter! Leaven thy tale with kindness, and be brief.”
“When I was lately in Cadiz,” said Don Felix, “I saw there one day, prowling about the streets, a man whose favour I knew. There was with me the dear friend I spoke of—by name, Gonzalez; and seeing the man aforesaid walked about curiously, like a spy, we dogged him a while. He was no other than Captain Clifford.”
“He was in Cadiz, I know,” observed Sir Edgar.
“We followed him to the chapel of the cathedral,” resumed Don Felix, “where, to our singular admiration, we observed him to be in correspondence with a certain fair lady, my worthy friend’s ward.”
“This is no great harm,” smiled Sir Edgar.
“Anon!” answered Don Felix. “Jealous of my friend’s reputation, I kept a close watch on the young Donna; and, to be brief, on the night following, while parading round the house, I nearly ran against Captain Clifford and her duenna, and tracked them fairly to the Donna’s lodging.”
“An’ this be the sum of his error, ’tis only matter for a little raillery,” remarked Sir Edgar.
“Mark me!” pursued Don Felix. “Stung with passion, I alarmed my friend; and after a rigid search, within and without, we found the Donna and her seducer together. My tale must now be unfolded in few. Don Gonzalez, reasonably enraged, committed Captain Clifford to prison. Howbeit, he had not been there long, when, as we have been advised since, on the confession of the duenna, he was visited by his poor victim, disguised as a cavalier. In that guise, she enabled him to escape; and, under the name of Don Rafaele”—
Sir Edgar started. “By God’s suffering,” he cried, “she was with him in this house! An’ I live to see him, I will call him to account for ’t.”