"Grant me but one salute, and I leave you. Oh, after all the misery of my long year's absence, do not refuse me that!"
"Take it, thou false picaro, and be gone," replied the coquettish girl, pouting her cherry mouth, towards which the cavalier advanced his well-moustached lip.
"Perish first!" exclaimed the enraged Truxillo, rushing forward and driving his sword through the back and breast of the unfortunate lover. "Die in your audacity, whoever you are, you false interloper! Die, villain!" he added, repeating the stab; and the cavalier died without a groan. "Farewell for ever, false Olivia," cried the savage condé; "and remember that my love, unworthy as you are of it, alone protects you from the effects of my fury and disappointment!" He was about to leave the place, when his eye fell upon the countenance of the cavalier he had so ruthlessly and rashly slain. He was now lying stark and dead, the blood from his wounds streaming over the oaken floor of the room. Truxillo groaned deeply, and striking his forehead, staggered back, dropping his sword, while his countenance became pale and livid.
"El Espiritu Santo santissimo! O Dios mio!" he cried in a husky voice, the tone of which was heart-piercing and horrible, "I have slain my brother,—my brave brother! O Manuel el Carbinero,—is it you I have murdered? Ten thousand maledictions blast you, false woman! blast you, and follow you to all eternity! 'Tis you have wrought me this deadly sin!" And rushing into the balcony he sprung into the street, leaving Ronald in the apartment of the lady, standing irresolute and stupified with amazement at the suddenness of this catastrophe, which came to pass in less time than I have taken to record it. Olivia, whose voice had at first failed her in the extremity of her terror, now shrieked long and loudly to arouse the household, which she did so effectually, that in three minutes they were all mustered in her chamber, armed with all sorts of weapons, and among others Lisle with his drawn sword. Great indeed was their astonishment to see Ronald in the sleeping-room of Donna Olivia at midnight, and an officer lying dead on the floor, weltering in a pool of blood. All clamorously demanded an explanation of this singular scene, and the indignation of the old duke it is impossible to describe, such room was there for scandal in the story of a cavalier being slain at night in the bed-room of his daughter. Diavolo! thought he, all Spain, from Cape Ortegal to Gibraltar, will be ringing with the tale! Some of the females attempted to recover the lady, who had sunk on her bed in a swoon; while the others required Ronald, in shrill tones of anger and surprise, to give a detail of the matter. This he hesitated to do, not wishing to criminate the condé, and still less wishing to be taken for the culprit himself.
In this dilemma the bustle and commotion were increased by the arrival of a pompous old alcalde, who dwelt opposite, and Senor Rubio, the notary, with six alguazils, who were for arresting Ronald on the instant; but, laying his hand on the hilt of his dirk, he vowed to run through the heart the first who laid a finger upon him; upon which the limbs of the law, recoiling, began to handle the locks of their heavy trabucos, and more blood would probably have been shed had not the alcalde interfered.
This magistrate, whose person and authority the duke had always treated with contempt, was very glad to have opportunity of affronting him; and assuming as much consequence as he could, he administered an oath to Ronald in the Spanish manner, by swearing him across his sword and dirk, and then desiring him to relate what he knew of this matter,—and word for word his relation was committed to writing by the keen-eyed and sharp-visaged little notary. Englishmen might have doubted the relation; but in Spain the words of an honourable cavalier are not to be questioned, and the account proving satisfactory to the alcalde, in so far as concerned Ronald Stuart, he was permitted to retire; while Senor Rubio, and the six men with blunderbusses, were sent off in pursuit of the condé, whom they discovered on his knees before the very shrine he had made the subject of his jests an hour before. Three days afterwards he was tried by a general court-martial, composed of Spanish officers,—the General de Costa being president. Every man supposed his death to be certain; but he was, strange to say, acquitted. Yet life was no boon to poor Truxillo, who, being continually haunted by the miserable death of his brother, became reckless of existence, and by throwing himself madly in the way of danger, endeavoured to perish in expiation of the crime he had committed in the blindness of his rage and jealousy.
This occurrence appeared for the present to be a death-blow to the hopes of Louis Lisle. On the following day the duke quitted Aranjuez with his family, retiring suddenly no one knew whither. He was so much enraged against Olivia, who indeed was not to blame, that he threatened to disgrace her for ever, by incarcerating her in the Monasterio de los Arrepentidas[*] of Seville, but the tears and entreaties of Donna Virginia made him change his intention: the sisters were separated, and for ever. Olivia was sent off to Galicia, and confined in a solitary convent among the wild ridges of the Sierra de Mondonedo, where, if living, she probably still resides.
[*] A place of confinement for ladies who misbehave.
CHAPTER III.
THE SKIRMISH OF FUENTE DUENNA. THE LEAGUER
OF ALBA DE TORMES.