“I could not utter another word ere Rosada brake in. ‘Ines!’ she cried in a loud whisper; ‘what do you here? Know you not, amiga, that the Lord Marquis will well-nigh kill you if he find you in this chamber? None of her Highness’ women are ever allowed to enter at will. Back, back, as fast as you can go!’
“Then, kneeling a moment, she said hastily, ‘Criada umilisima de Su Alteza!’ (‘The most humble servant of her Highness.’) and arising, pushed me forth of the chamber, and into mine own, almost before I knew what she had said or done. Five minutes later, my Lord of Denia his steps sounded in the corridor. ‘Thank the holy Virgin and all the saints!’ cried Rosada under her breath. ‘Amiga, you know not that man. He would not hesitate one minute to stab you if he found you there, and fancied any cause of suspicion against you. ’Tis forbidden ground—Maria sin pecado (without sin)! How came you in such peril? I knew her never before left alone even a moment.’—‘I did but hear her Highness moaning,’ I said bewilderedly, ‘and was moved to go to her.’—‘The Devil must have moved you!’ she saith breathlessly. ‘I think rather,’ I answered, ‘saving your presence, Rosada, and not intending you, it was the Devil pushed me forth hither.’—‘You mean my Lord Marquis?’ quoth she, taking me rightly. ‘The saints pardon her Highness! You know she is quite out of her mind. She saith all manner of evil of him.’
“I thought it better, perchance, to make no answer. But into my mind came a remembrance touching a way wherein the fools should not err; and I thought she should maybe come in at the gates of Heaven afore either Rosada or I.
“O Isoult! I would I were forth of this horrible country! It is peopled with devils. Leonor is not one, methinks; nor assuredly is Rosada, neither this my poor sely maiden Maria; but I should find it hard to write a fourth within this palace.
“I may not make my letter much longer. Prithee tell me some news of England, if any be; and shouldst thou hear ought of my gracious mistress (the Duchess of Suffolk), I would like much to know it.
“I do well-nigh wish I had not gone into that chamber! and yet, if I have in any wise comforted her, it is well. It hath maybe done her some little good to pour forth her sorrows to me for a minute. But now I never awake of a night but I listen for those fearful screams. I thank God, I have not heard them again as yet. Methinks her gossips did blunder in naming her Juana; they should have called her Dolores (sorrows).
“I pray thee, make mine hearty commendations to Mr Avery and all other that I know; and kiss thy little Kate for me. And so I commend thee to the tuition of God. From Tordesillas, this fourteenth of August.—Thine own assuredly,—
“Annis Holland.”
When we look back over the way which the Lord has led us these forty years in the wilderness, we sometimes find in retrospect the Marahs no sadder than the Elims. Nay, there are times when the Elims are the sadder.
“A sorrow’s crown of sorrow
Is, remembering happier things.”