"The Marquis de Montemar, his only son, fell on the walls of Ceuta in his sight. and in his defence. And when any circumstances recall the scene, then it is I see the palsied quivering of his lip, and hear the often repeated lost, lost! till the low, half uttered sound almost drives me mad. I too, loved him. But all is now gone for ever!"
Louis grasped his arm, and made a sign to the brethren to withdraw. There was that in the credentials he brought, that told them to respect all his wishes; and without a word they obeyed the motion of his hand.
Assured from what he now heard, that his father had restored him to his heart; the hope he derived from this happy change, nerved him with perfect self-possession; and drawing Martini towards the lamp that hung over the altar, he raised his cowl from his face.
"Martini," said he, "you will not deny me the sight of my father!"
It was flesh and blood that clasped his arm: but it seemed the voice and countenance of the slain de Montemar! The latter was wan and pale, and in the scared apprehension of the beholder, ghastly, as if just risen from his bloody grave. He did not speak; but with his eyes fixed on what he believed a terrible fore-warning of his master's death, shook almost to fainting, on the breast of the supposed phantom.
Louis comprehended his fear, and instantly relieved it, by saying, "I was wounded when my father saw me fall. But heaven has spared me to this hour; and you must do the last service to the Duke de Ripperda and his son." Though Martini was now convinced, it was no spectre that stood before him, he sunk upon the steps of the altar, and remained for some time in much emotion before he could reply. At last he spoke; and in his rapid and agitated recapitulation of the events which succeeded the repulse at the storming of Ceuta, he mentioned, that Ripperda's indignation at the Moors for abandoning the ramparts, seemed the more exasperated, when report told him the breach was defended by the Marquis de Montemar.
"We both did our duty," said he to me, with a horrible smile; "though Louis would have served Spain better, if he had suffered his brother soldiers to kill its enemy." "But he would not have been your son!" replied I. The Duke looked sternly at me. "Martini how often have I told you, I have no son? No part in any human being—but what administers to my vengeance!"
"Then came the intercepted courier from Oran. His dispatches related the attempt on Ceuta; and that the Marquis de Montemar was dying of his wounds. He was brought before the Basha; and, on being questioned, acknowledged that you were dead. At that unexpected disclosure, nature asserted itself in your father's breast. He found you were yet his son, in the moment you were lost to him for ever. His grief knew no bounds; it was terrible, and in despair. Alas! Signor, it was phrenzy wearing the garb of warlike retaliation. His orders were full of blood and extirpating revenge. All flew at his command; but, though all were brave, none fought as he did. His onward courage and invincible resolution on that desperate day of his defeat, surpassed human daring, and almost human credibility. He fell, bleeding at every pore. I was near him at the instant; and raising him from the ground, then as insensible as if past the pains of death, the Arab, Ismail Cheriff, assisted me, and we bore him to a place of security.
"We knew that all was over in the field; and, dreading the malice of his Moorish rivals, as soon as we perceived life in him, we conveyed him safely into Tetuan; and, closing the gates, prepared to defend him against the immediate fury of his vanquished soldiers; who, we were soon informed, were in mutiny, and urging their no less hostile commanders to lead them against their former Basha."
But an antidote to the deadly aconite which much of this narrative contained, was also gathered by the anxious son of Ripperda. He learnt that the blood which flowed so copiously from his father's wounds had cleared the long troubled fountain of his heart.