“That is he not, but duly licensed,” returned Don Felix. “I will inquire him out anon.”
While he was thus discussing the last preliminary of the proposed marriage, Evaline, who was to be its victim, was brooding over it in her chamber. Strange as it may seem, the evidence of Hildebrand’s inconstancy, whether from familiarity, or from being reviewed with a too partial eye, now appeared to her to be defective, and she began to hope that he would be able to prove it false. It is true, her hope, if viewed closely, was associated with a thousand fears, but still it was a hope. She knew that he had introduced to her acquaintance, under the name of Don Rafaele, a person of exceeding beauty, and whom only the most skilful disguise could make to pass for a male, and she recollected many particulars in the conduct of that person that quite confirmed the statement advanced by Don Felix. But would Hildebrand have brought his wretched victim into the presence of one whose ruin he only meditated? She thought not; and though harassed, every now and then, with the most bitter and excruciating apprehensions, and occasionally horrified at the thought of the sacrifice she had proposed to her father, she still hoped for a satisfactory and happy issue.
The hope, limited as it was, inspired her with new spirits, and, compared with her previous bearing, she was quite animated when she rejoined her father. Sir Edgar was overjoyed, and, to all appearance, Don Felix was no less so; and they both strove their utmost, by engaging her constantly in conversation, to maintain her in the equanimity she seemed to enjoy. For a week, or so, while her hope retained its ascendency, their efforts were successful; but as the time drew nigh at which, according to the period she had fixed, she might expect a reply to her letter to Hildebrand, her spirits drooped, and she again sank into listlessness and apathy.
The mental fever that she now endured was beyond expression excruciating. It would have been far better for her to be without hope, than to hang, hour by hour, and minute by minute, by such a pitiful thread, and look down on all the horrors of despair. What poignant thoughts struck her every minute! Now she would be comparatively composed, and then, quick as lightning, a fear would spring from her heart, that would make her brow sweat again. What fearful agony was that! Yet it was nothing, in force and horror, compared with what she endured at night. Then, when every other eye was sealed in sleep, she lay on her troubled pillow in a raging fever—restless, racked, and burning. Even when exhausted nature sank her into a brief sleep, she writhed under horrible dreams, and was soon, in spite of her exhaustion, startled into action by a monstrous nightmare.
Yet all this time, under all this suffering, she bent her knee daily, in humble adoration, before the inscrutable providence of her Maker; she never once questioned the equity of His dispensations; she only asked for mercy, patience, and fortitude to bear them meetly.
Never a breath of complaint once escaped her. She even tried to look cheerful; to exhilarate her father, she would even smile, when, God knows, her noble heart was bursting.
At length the day arrived which was to decide her fortune. What a day! Every approaching step, if she did not recognise it directly, made her start. Once, looking out of the casement, on the side of the mansion nearest the lodge, she espied a horseman coming up the avenue. What a host of hopes and fears rose in her bosom, during the few minutes that, from the time she first saw him, the horseman was occupied in riding to the house! Both Sir Edgar and Don Felix were in the room; but though she felt assured, from the very outset, that the horseman was a messenger from Hildebrand, she was afraid to call their attention to his appearance, lest they should perceive her agitation. She was still looking out of the casement, when, with a beating heart, she heard old Adam enter the chamber, and approach Don Felix. The next moment, the voice of Don Felix, whispering her father, brought all her bright and inspiriting speculations to the ground.
“It is the priest,” he said.
Sir Edgar started up at this announcement; and, together with Don Felix, and Adam, who was waiting their commands in the matter, passed out of the chamber. As she heard them make their egress, Evaline, now perfectly hopeless, drew back from the casement, and ventured to turn round. She stood still a moment, as if her despair had deprived her of motion; and then, with frantic energy, rushed through the open doorway, and repaired to her own chamber.
There she remained for several hours, alone and undisturbed. At last, when it had become quite dark, she was joined by Martha, who came to assist her to bed. Just as she had effected that object, a slight knock, yet evidently proceeding from an unsteady hand, was inflicted on the chamber-door.