At this moment the door of the saloon was thrown open, and Theodora was ceremoniously ushered in by the stately duenna, who, after making a stiff and formal courtsey, sunk back, and kept a respectful distance.
"Dear child," said Don Manuel, "here is your kinsman, Don Antonio de Leyva, with whom you are already acquainted. He appears in our house as best becomes a gallant knight; his brow adorned with the wreath of triumph for the skill and prowess he has displayed in the games, a sure omen of his future glory in the field."
Theodora offered her hand to the salutation of her kinsman, with an attempt at cordiality; but it was evidently an effort to hide the real coldness she felt; for an involuntary tremor crept gradually over her, and her countenance betrayed strong symptoms of emotion, as she began to suspect the object of Don Antonio's visit. Indeed, the tone of ease and affection, in which her father and young de Leyva conversed, tended to confirm those suspicions, the truth of which she so much dreaded to learn.
As soon as Don Antonio withdrew, Monteblanco requested to speak with his daughter in his apartment. The trembling girl obeyed with a faltering step, looking like a criminal about to receive the sentence that is to seal her fate. The duenna remained somewhat surprised at this mysterious transaction, in which her family counsel and approbation had been so unceremoniously dispensed with. Her pride was mortified; in high dudgeon, she crossed herself with fervour; and then departed, muttering something between a prayer and a malediction.
A short time after, the conference broke up, and Theodora came forth, her eyes swimming in tears, and evincing the most lively emotion. She hied to her own chamber, and fastening the door, she gave a free vent to her grief.
"Alas!" she exclaimed, "the dreadful suspicion is confirmed, and the resolute manner in which my father has enforced his commands, affords me no room to hope for any alteration—any delay. Not a month—not even a week is allowed me to prepare—the measure of my misfortune is full—Lost! lost!—Oh! Lope! Lope!—--"
She could proceed no further; the tumult of sorrow impeded her utterance, and she gave loose to her feelings in sighs and tears.
Presently, however, a comforter came to proffer advice and assistance—in the shape of the duenna. As we have already seen, she was ruffled by Don Manuel's want of confidence, and proper regard for her judgment; and she had resolved to tender her assistance to another quarter. It is to be observed the duenna was of a most obliging disposition. She bestowed her good advice most liberally, and she had an inexhaustible fund of pious exclamations and admonitions at the service of her friends. She could not forego the idea of being serviceable, and therefore very properly desired to be consulted on all occasions. Yet with all these amiable qualities, the duenna, in the opinion of most people, would be entitled to no better appellation for her pains than that of a busy body.
"Niña,[21] how's this?" she cried—"What mean these tears?—Aye! aye! I see that your father has been guilty of some preposterous and tyrannical measure; I suspected as much from his carefulness in keeping the secret from me.—God bless the man!—what is the matter with him?—he will never be advised, and really I cannot imagine why I remain in his house. Well, child, unfold your sorrows and grievances to your kindest friend; you know nothing delights me so much as consoling the afflicted, and offering service to the unprotected."
"Yes, good Martha," replied the sorrowing girl; "I am fully sensible of your goodness, and I do trust you will not deny me your compassion. Alas! without your valuable advice and assistance, I shall never surmount the difficulties with which I am surrounded. I must see him—I must see Don Lope this very night!"