CHAPTER XII.
THE FATE OF THE HOUSE OF SUABIA.
The soft climate of the south, and the rich and varied scenery upon the banks of the Arlanzon, invited Eleanora to long walks in the suburbs of Burgos: and she found the greatest delight in watching the changing foliage, which announced the approach of the mellow autumn.
Her recent interviews with the philosopher had given a new direction to her thoughts. She experienced a pleasure before unknown in studying the various aspects of nature, and contemplating the subtle arrangement by which all these beautiful phenomena were produced. New proofs of an All-creative Intelligence were daily forced upon her with peculiar distinctness, and her mind was thus fortified against the cold, insinuating doubts, with which her brother continually assailed her faith. Often she became so lost in reflection as to be insensible to all external circumstances, and her ladies, loosed from the restraints of court etiquette, revelled in the unwonted freedom of these rural strolls. Eleanora was often lured from her speculative abstraction by the sportive gayety of their amusements, and she saw with benevolent pleasure the ready tact with which the young Jewess avoided every inquiry that might lead to a discovery of her nation or position, without in the least compromising her truthfulness or transgressing the rules of courtesy.
During one of these rambles, a mendicant of the order of St. Francis approached the queen, and asked an alms. The smoothly-shaven chin of the monk, closely clipped hair, and unsandalled feet, at first completely imposed upon her credulity, but his voice at once betrayed Procida.
With a troubled look she gave him a few denier, as if desirous to escape all parley. But the monk lingered; and after a pause, hesitatingly remarked in a low tone, “I am about to leave Burgos, and I would fain confer with the queen before my departure.”
“But wherefore the monkish habit? Has the Jew resolved to do penance for his sins?” inquired Eleanora.
“Nay,” replied Procida, evasively, “if my gracious mistress will grant me an audience, I will unfold to her the purpose that hath moved me to this disguise.”
“I cannot tell,” replied the queen, with a tone of unwonted reproach, “if it be desirable to entrust thy plans to my keeping, since I may not encourage deceit, and I would not that thy Agnes, so innocent of guile, should learn that her father, for some dark purpose, has assumed the garb he abhors.”
Tears glistened in the eyes of Procida, as he replied, “Thou sayest well and wisely. The sweet child knoweth not more of the secret schemes of her father, than do the angels of the dark deeds of fiends. But—”