"The foe retires—she heads the sallying host,
Who can appease like her a lover's ghost?
Who can so well appease a lover's fall?
What maid retrieve when man's flushed hope is lost?
Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul,
Foiled by a woman's hand before a battered wall."
BYRON.
"What a singular adventure this is," thought Quentin; "and what a perplexing position for us both! It is very romantic, certainly. A deserted house, a lovely girl, and all that. 'Tis very like some incidents I have read of, and some I have imagined; but, by Jove! I wish I could see my way handsomely out of it."
The last desire resulted from the unpleasant recollection of the Padre Trevino's face and intonation of voice, when he spoke so impressively of the interest he felt in the lady committed to his care, and the sternly expressed anxiety that she should reach Portalegre "without hindrance or delay."
Was the fellow only acting a part, or could it be that the ugly ogre actually had some tender fancy for Isidora? Whether he had or not, an unfrocked friar, especially of his peculiar character, had not much chance of success with the sister or support from the brother, so Quentin dismissed the idea.
"How charming she looks!" he thought, stealing a glance at the long lashes of the now pensive eyes, the soft features half shaded by the black lace veil, and the graceful contour of her bust and shoulders, in her low-cut scarlet velvet corset. "How delightful, if, instead of being lost in this barbarous place, she were at Rohallion or Ardgour; what a lovely friend and companion for Flora!"
Poor Quentin! Alas, this was but the sophistry of the heart, and was, perhaps, its first impulse towards the donna herself, and might end by her image supplanting Flora's there.
"Such desecration, that her hand should even be touched by such a wretch as Trevino!"
He had muttered his last thought aloud, so Donna Isidora looked up and said—
"You mentioned the Padre Trevino?"
"Did I?—surely not?" replied Quentin, as the colour rushed into his face.