"O that Alvaro was here, that I might hear the sound of his voice,—that he might hear mine for the last time, before I pass to the world of shadows. He will be lonely in the world without me. Alvaro is the last of his race,—the last of a long line of illustrious hidalgos. Holy Lady of Majorga,—sweet San Juan de Dios, intercede for me! Dearest Ronald, kiss me—kiss me for the last time, while I have yet feeling, for death is chilling my whole frame."
In an agony of love and sorrow, he passionately pressed his lips to those of the dying girl. She never spoke again. It almost seemed as if he had intercepted her last breath, for at the moment their lips met, a slight tremour passed over her whole form, and the pure spirit of the beautiful donna had fled for ever.
CHAPTER X.
EL CONVENTO DE SANTA CRUZ.
"The abbess was of noble blood,
But early took the veil and hood;
Ere upon life she cast a look,
Or knew the world that she forsook."
Marmion, canto ii.
Grey daylight was straggling through the mullioned windows of the nunnery of Santa Cruz de Jarciejo, which stood close on the skirts of the wood, when the portress was aroused from her straw pallet by a loud peal at the bell, which hung in the porch. On withdrawing the wooden cover of the vizzy hole in the outer door, she crossed herself, and turned up her eyes; and instead of attending to those without, ran to tell the lady abbess that a British officer on horseback, bearing in his arms a dead woman, had been led thither by the old padre Ignacio el Pastor, who was demanding admittance. The abbess, who in the convent was known as El Madre Santa Martha, had many scruples about opening the gates to them; but another tremendous peal at the bell, seconded by a blow which Ronald dealt with the basket-hilt of his sword on the iron-studded door, put an end to the matter, and she desired the portress to usher them into the parlatorio. Entering the gateway in the massive wall surrounding the gardens of the convent, they were led through the formal lines of flower-beds and shrubbery to the main building, where a carved gothic door in a low round archway, on the key-stone of which appeared a mouldered cross, gave them admittance to the chamber called the parlatorio, where the sisters were allowed to receive the visits of their friends at the iron gratings in a stone-screen which crossed the room, completely separating it from the rest of the convent. These grates were strong bars of iron, crossed and recrossed with wire, so as to preclude all possibility of touching the inmates, who now crowded close to them, all gazing with amazement and vague apprehension at the corpse of the young lady, which the officer deposited gently on a wooden bench, and seated himself beside it in apathetic sorrow, unmindful of the many pitying eyes that were fixed upon him. Meanwhile the lady abbess, a handsome woman about twenty, with a stately figure, a remarkably fine face, and soft hazel eyes, entered the apartment, and advanced to where Catalina lay with the tenderest commiseration strongly marked on her features, which, like those of the sisterhood, were pale and sallow from confinement.
For an explanation of the scene before her, she turned to the decrepit old priest Ignacio el Pastor, or the Shepherd, a name which he had gained in consequence of his having become a guardian of Merino sheep among the mountains of the Lina on the demolition of his monastery, which had been destroyed by the French troops when Marshal Massena was devastating the country in his retreat.
Interlarding his narrative with many a Spanish proverb, he related the tale of Catalina's assassination. The querulous tones of his voice were interrupted by many a soft expression of pity and pious ejaculation from the sisters at the grating, gazing with morbid curiosity on the fair form of the dead, whose high bosom was covered with coagulated blood, and the long spiral curls of whose ringlets swept the pavement of the chamber.
The lady abbess, who was far from being one of those sour ancient dames that the superiors of convents are generally reputed to be, seated herself by Ronald's side, and seeing that, although his proud dark eyes were dry and tearless, he was deeply afflicted, she prayed him to be comforted; but he hid his face among the thick tresses of the dead, and made no immediate reply.
"She is indeed most beautiful! As she now lies, her features wear a sublimity which might become an image of Our Lady," observed the abbess, passing her hand softly over the cold white brow of Catalina. "She seems only to sleep,—her white eyelids and long black lashes are so placidly closed! And this is the sister of the noble Cavalier de Villa Franca, of whom we hear so much? If man can avenge, Don Alvaro will do it amply."