Even now, at times, when he would fall asleep after the midday meal, and Antonia and Heimbert would watch his slumbers like two smiling angels, he would suddenly start up and gaze round him with a terrified air, and then it was not till he had refreshed himself by looking at the two friendly faces that he would sink back again into quiet repose. When questioned on the matter, after he was fully awake, he told them that in his wanderings nothing had been more terrible to him than the deluding dreams which had transported him, sometimes to his own home, sometimes to the merry camp of his comrades, and sometimes into Zelinda’s presence, and then leaving him doubly helpless and miserable in the horrible solitude as the delusion vanished. It was on this account that even now waking was fearful to him, and even in sleep a vague consciousness of his past sufferings would often disturb him. “You cannot imagine it,” he added. “To be suddenly transported from well-known scenes into the boundless desert! And instead of the longed-for enchanting face of my beloved, to see an ugly camel’s head stretched over me inquisitively with its long neck, starting back as I rose with still more ugly timidity!”
This, with all other painful consequences of his past miseries, soon wholly vanished, from Fadrique’s mind, and they cheerfully set out on their journey to Tunis. The consciousness, indeed, of his injustice to Heimbert and its unavoidable results often lay like a cloud upon the noble Spaniard’s brow, but it also softened the natural proud severity of his nature, and Antonia could cling the more tenderly and closely to him with her loving heart.
Tunis, which had been before so amazed at Zelinda’s magic power and enthusiastic hostility against the Christians, now witnessed Antonia’s solemn baptism in a newly-consecrated edifice, and soon after the three companions took ship with a favorable wind for Malaga.
CHAPTER XVII.
Beside the fountain where she had parted from Heimbert, Dona Clara was sitting one evening in deep thought. The guitar on her knees gave forth a few solitary chords, dreamily drawn from it, as it were, by her delicate hands, and at length forming themselves into a melody, while the following words dropped softly from her partly opened lips:
“Far away, ‘fore Tunis ramparts,
Where the Christian army lies,
Paynim host are fiercely fighting
With Spanish troops and Spain’s allies.
Who from bloodstained lilies there,
And death’s roses pale and fair—
Who has borne the conquerer’s prize?
“Ask Duke Alba, ask Duke Alba,
Which two knights their fame have proved,
One was my own valiant brother,
The other was my heart’s beloved.
And I thought that I should crown them,
Doubly bright with glory’s prize,
And a widow’s veil is falling
Doubly o’er my weeping eyes,
For the brave knights ne’er again
Will be found mid living men.”
The music paused, and soft dew-drops fell from her heavenly eyes. Heimbert, who was concealed under the neighboring orange-trees, felt sympathetic tears rolling down his cheeks, and Fadrique, who had led him and Antonia there, could no longer delay the joy of meeting, but stepping forward with his two companions he presented himself before his sister, like some angelic messenger.
Such moments of extreme and sudden delight, the heavenly blessings long expected and rarely vouchsafed, are better imagined by each after his own fashion, and it is doing but an ill service to recount all that this one did and that one said. Picture it therefore to yourself, dear reader, after your own fancy, as you are certainly far better able to do, if the two loving pairs in my story have become dear to you and you have grown intimate with them. If that, however, be not the case, what is the use of wasting unnecessary words? For the benefit of those who with heart-felt pleasure could have lingered over this meeting of the sister with her brother and her lover, I will proceed with increased confidence. Although Heimbert, casting a significant look at Fadrique, was on the point of retiring as soon as Antonia had been placed under Dona Clara’s protection, the noble Spaniard would not permit him. He detained his companion-in-arms with courteous and brotherly requests that he would remain till the evening repast, at which some relatives of the Mendez family joined the party, and in their presence Fadrique declared the brave Heimbert of Waldhausen to be Dona Clara’s fiance, sealing the betrothal with the most solemn words, so that it might remain indissoluble, whatever might afterward occur which should seem inimical to their union. The witnesses were somewhat astonished at these strange precautionary measures, but at Fadrique’s desire they unhesitatingly gave their word that all should be carried out as he wished, and they did this the more unhesitatingly as the Duke of Alba, who had just been in Malaga on some trivial business, had filled the whole city with the praises of the two young captains.
As the richest wine was now passing round the table in the tall crystal goblets, Fadrique stepped behind Heimbert’s chair and whispered to him, “If it please you, Senor—the moon is just risen and is shining as bright as day—I am ready to give you satisfaction.” Heimbert nodded in assent, and the two youths quitted the hall, followed by the sweet salutations of the unsuspecting ladies.