“Nay, you will be as much and more a saint than I, for you will suffer and strive, and your triumph will be all the more meritorious. Having no children you can consecrate yourself entirely to the improvement of your inner life. By breaking entirely with the world you can have nothing to fear; and the utter opposition of your ideas to your husband’s, leaves your conscience perfectly free. If, in external matters, he plays the tyrant, you must be his slave; but if he tries to domineer in matters of opinion, pay no more heed to him than to the dropping of the rain. If he revenges himself, suffer in silence; if he smites one cheek, offer the other; but if by insidious argument or diabolical persuasions he tries to insinuate any heretical notions, shut your ears and flee from him in spirit. By yielding superficial obedience you will preserve your liberty of thought. If he forbids you to go to church, stay away, and make up for your absence from public worship by constant meditation and silent prayer; if on the contrary he allows you to go, do so as often as possible, and aim at that exaltation of spirit which may fit you to receive the Eucharist every day. If he does not seek your society, do not seek his; if he insists on being supreme in all your actions, still let me be supreme in all your thoughts; do all you can for his salvation, but never for an instant neglect your own. Do not try to convert him by talking; it will only excite his atheism, and your best arguments will be your virtues and humility. Never on any consideration join evening parties, either in your own house or elsewhere, and make no friends of either sex; though you cannot make your home a sanctuary, never permit the slightest scandal; an orgy or a meeting of infidels will amply justify you in flying from his roof. And if, after all, some day God should in his mercy touch the heart of your most wretched husband, and enlighten his mind—if he should at length confess the true faith, entreat him at once to consent to a separation so that you may each of you retire to a convent and dedicate the remainder of your lives, apart, to winning heaven.”
“Oh! my dear brother,” cried María beside herself, “I cannot doubt that God himself speaks to me through you.”
Luis pressed his sister’s head to his breast. Then suddenly he gasped for breath, moaning as he threw his head back. Life seemed fast ebbing in the struggle; his eyes rolled, till presently he closed them as if to shut out a blinding light; his breathing was a hoarse and laboured sobbing.
“Leon, Leon,” María screamed in terror; but all was silent, not a footstep was to be heard.
“Leon, Leon!... It will pass away,” she added putting her face close to her brother’s and trying to revive him by her appeal.
Then she called again and again, but Leon was not in the garden. She heard no servants, nor any sound but the noises in the road where the children were at play, and a party of thieving dogs were prowling about the gutters. There was not a breath of air to stir the leaves on the trees; all was so still, with a sort of awe-stricken peace, that the very stars seemed to María to twinkle less fitfully than usual, and to gaze down like anxious eyes. She glanced round her and shuddered at finding herself so completely alone with her brother who, to all appearance, was dying. Again she called—nay, screamed; and at last she heard her husband’s step coming slowly towards her.
CHAPTER XXI.
A STRUGGLE WITH THE ANGEL.
Our hero, whom we have found to be almost always grave and silent in the midst of the events and personages that surrounded him, performing as it were a wordless rôle with the weary air of a tired-out actor, and who hitherto has betrayed but a very small part of his thoughts and feelings, was this evening more occupied than usual with his own affairs, and was taking anxious counsel with himself. When he had moved the invalid to the eastern side of the garden he had taken a turn round the house; he could hear the chatter of the servants in the yard, and the laughter of the girls and women, who were sitting out in the street to breathe a little fresh air and carrying on a flirtation with the coachmen and grooms from next door. The noise disturbed him, and he went on along the winding path through the vines; then, seating himself on a bench facing the north, with his eyes fixed on the sky, he remained for a long time, his elbow on the back of the seat, his hand supporting his head, and his limbs stretched at ease.