Then she explains to him how, following the counsel of the pilgrim knight whom he had sent to her, she bribed the Alcaide with all the jewels she possessed.
“And could you, Don Conde,” says she, gazing up into his face from under the folds of the heavy mantilla which concealed her features, “could you doubt my honour and my faith? Out on the base thought! Shame on your weak love! I waited but the occasion, and it came.”
“Oh! let me hear your voice,” sighs the love-sick Conde, “though it rain curses on me! Forgive my unworthy doubt, or that in aught I misjudged you. I am sure you pleaded for me. Have you softened the king’s heart?”
“No, not a whit,” answers Ava, with a sigh. “His enmity but grows more dangerous as the time wears on for him to depart to Burgos to meet King Don Sancho and his mother.”
“To Burgos, my capital?”
“Yes, they will divide your kingdom, and then march against Almanzor. Fernan, you have no friend but me!”
“Now may the foul fiend seize them on the way!” cries the Conde. “Oh! that I had a sword to fight! Castile and Burgos in their hands! The dastards! And I am bound here like a slave!”
“But I am come to free you!” replies the Infanta, with such courage in her voice that already the fresh air of freedom seems to fan his cheek, as with deft hands she loosens his fetters. “The door is open, before you lies the way.”
“And you, dear Ava,” clasping her willing hand “are we to part thus?”
At this question she hung her head, and a great blush mounted to her cheeks.