He had complained of her perverse nature. Had she obediently gone to the convent, he might have spared himself and her the sorrow of holding her so rigidly aloof from his person. Finally, he had spoken of her singing with rapturous delight. At night the "Quia amore langueo" from the Mary motet had echoed softly from his lips, and when he perceived that Don Luis had heard him, he murmured that this peerless cry of longing, reminded him not of the earthly but the heavenly love.
At these words Barbara hid her face in her hands, and Wolf paused until she had controlled the sobs which shook her breast.
Then he went on, she listening devoutly with wet eyes and clasped hands.
The Archbishop of Toledo was summoned, and predicted that Charles would
die on the day after to-morrow, St. Matthew's day. He was born on St.
Matthias's day, and he would depart from life on St. Matthew's,—
[September 12, 1558]—Matthias's brother and fellow-disciple.
So it was, and Barbara remembered that his son and hers had also seen the light of the world on St. Matthias's day.
Charles's death-agony was severe. When Dr. Mathys at last said softly to those who were present, "Jam moritur,"—[Now he is dying]—the loud cry "Jesus!" escaped his lips, and he sank back upon the pillows lifeless.
Here Wolf was again obliged to give his weeping friend time to calm herself.
What he now had to relate—both knew it—was well suited to transform the tears which Barbara was shedding in memory of the beloved dead to tears of joy.
While she was wiping her eyes, Wolf described the great anxiety which, after Charles's death, overpowered the Quijadas in Villagarcia.
The codicil had existed, and Don Luis was familiar with its contents.
But how would King Philip take it?