CHAPTER XII.
GATHERED THREADS.
SOME time before the events which we have just related, the loves of Ricardo and Maria, which had been going on in a gradual diminuendo like the notes of a beautiful melody, until Ricardo himself knew not whether they really existed or had completely died away; whether he was the lover of the first-born daughter of the Elorzas, or whether he had other rights over her heart than those granted to an old valued friend—these loves, I say, had suddenly and unexpectedly gained, without any one knowing a reason for it, a new lease of life, just as a light about to die from lack of oil is renewed by being given a good quantity of this combustible. Every one was surprised to see them together, talking as before in one corner of the parlor, during long interviews, oblivious of everything around them, dwelling in that nook of heaven which lovers find as easily in crowds as in solitude. Satisfaction followed surprise in their friends, and this in turn was followed by hypotheses as to the approach of the wedding-day, and conjectures about the motives serving to make such a change in the conduct of the lovers. The mischievous ones, winking as they said it, declared that of the three enemies of the soul, the flesh was the most to be feared, and that God had said, Crescite et multiplicamini, and that it was folly to fight against the laws of nature. The ladies, casting down their eyes, declared that in all states one could well serve God, and that not the easiest of penances were imposed by the care and education of children and the rule of the house. But at all events, the fact was that things had changed without any one knowing why, and that ladies and gentlemen were delighted, hoping that the illustrious partners would soon vouchsafe them a happy day. Don Mariano's delight was so great that it shone through his eyes every time that he turned them toward the handsome couple, and a thousand lovely dreams in which figured a swarm of rosy, frolicsome grandchildren, just as his daughter had been, came at night to caress him in the solitudes of his feudal couch. Doña Gertrudis, as usual, thoroughly approved of Maria's conduct. Learn now how this state of things came about.
One morning when the young Marqués de Peñalta awoke earlier than usual, noticing from the window of his room that the sky was clear (contrary to its time-honored custom), he felt an inclination to take a walk in the environs of the town, and making the thought father to the act, he hastily dressed and went down into the street in search of pure air; but before he left the inner town, as he was passing the Elorza mansion, he accidentally met Maria going to church with her maid. His heart gave a leap, and, somewhat agitated, he stopped to salute her. The girl met him with that gay, blithesome gesture, full at once of mischievousness and candor which was peculiar to her nature, and therefore impossible to overcome by any force.
"You have got up early—to hear mass, I suppose?"
"Oh no," replied Ricardo with a smile; "I was going to take a walk in the country, as it must be very lovely now."
"Very well; but to-day you must not go to walk: I claim you, and am going to take you to mass," said the girl in a tone of resolution, and with a decidedly adorable inflection of voice; and suiting the action to the word, she took him by the hand and led him captive this way for a number of feet.
Lucky Ricardo! what better could he desire at that moment than to see himself captured in such a lovely way? He could not say a word during the first few moments. Emotion overmastered him, and a tear slid down his honest, manly face.
"Oh, Maria, if you knew how happy you make me!" he said to her in a low, trembling voice. "If you wanted to take me with you, where would I not go? You cannot comprehend how I long for you to speak with me, to smile on me, to lead me. I try eagerly to find ways to please you, and I don't find them. Tell me how I can cause you any pleasure, how I can melt the ice which is destroying our love, and I will try to do it, even if it should cost me my life. If I did not love you more than any other being in this world, and also as the blessed remembrance of my mother, how long ago I should have left you forever!... But my love is of such a nature, it is so strong, so eager, so absorbing, that it has succeeded in disarming all my pride ... and I fear that it has got the better of my dignity," he added in a low tone.
The young woman looked at him steadily, full of delight and admiration of such sincere affection, and she replied gayly,—
"At present you can please me by going to mass with me; will you?"