"It is spoken in a word; but let the iniquitous details be forgotten. The power of Gregorio, unknown even to Juan, (for the connivance was concealed and unsuspected,) opened the doors of the convent, and the lovers fled, were united in marriage, and then parted for ever."
"United? married? Now by heavens, thou mockest me! Even this had been some mitigation of our shame. But it is not true. Why dost thou say it?"
"Thou wert deceived—all were deceived," said Camarga; "nay, even the scheming Gregorio was deceived; for before he had dreamed that such a fatal blow could be given to his ambition, the knot was tied, and the children of Juan became the heirs of Sebastian. Behold how treachery overshoots its mark! Gregorio opened a path, that the lovers might meet, not that they might escape. This was reserved until the time when the vows should be taken; after which the crime of abduction and flight could not be pardoned. They fled a day too early, and it was within the power of Sebastian to obtain both a pardon and dispensation; for Juan was now his heir, in the place of his children."
"Good heavens!" cried Cortes, "was this indeed possible? But no; thou deceivest me. Had the offence been so venial, Juan Castillejo had not perished among the vaults of the Inquisition."
"Canst thou compass thine own vindictive purposes, and attribute no similar power to others?" cried Camarga, with a laugh, that sounded hollow and unnatural under the mantle. "Did a venial offence, or a malignant and perfidious stratagem, drive Juan Lerma among the pagans of Mexico?—Listen:—Juan Castillejo was dragged from his hiding-place, and that perhaps the earlier, that Gregorio knew of their marriage. The crime of carrying off a novice was not indeed inexpiable, but it demanded a deep cell in the office of the Brotherhood; and such Juan obtained. Now, Cortes, ask not for reasons to explain the acts of Gregorio. The dying Sebastian exerted his powers to save his brother, and would have succeeded, had not Gregorio, visiting the dungeons, in virtue of his office, subtly attacked the prisoner's mind with the fear of torture and final condemnation; until, in a fit of distraction, he laid violent hands upon himself, and so ended a tragedy, for which Gregorio designed another catastrophe. Ay, believe me! Think not that even Gregorio planned out a climax so cruel. He desired only to work upon Juan's terrors, in order to banish him from the land for ever; for it was his purpose to provide him with the means of escape, when this was accomplished. He foresaw not the consequences of the desperation he had produced. Upon the morrow, Sebastian came with an indulgence—almost a pardon. The shock of the spectacle of Juan's dead body, broke away the last feeble cords that bound him to life; and Gregorio, absolved from his vows by the papal dispensation, easily obtained, was now the Count of Castillejo."
"And never sat in the castle-hall a fiend more truculent and diabolic!" cried Cortes, with terrific emphasis. "Hark thee, man, demon, or whatsoever thou art—I did think thee, at first, the very wretched Juan of whom thou hast spoken, escaped by some miracle, and finding the fiercest retribution for his villany, in the misery of his children. I remembered thy words at Tezcuco, and was thus deluded. But I know thee at last, and words cannot express how much I abhor thee."
"We are alike worthy of detestation," said Camarga, rising and flinging back his cowl, "for we are alike villains,—with but this difference between us, that I have preceded thee in the path of remorse, and must perhaps tread it more bitterly, because in all things, self-deluded and baffled. I am what thou thinkest,—the wretched Gregorio—and yet less wretched than when I first discovered the twin children of my brother in thy house at Tezcuco.—Hearken yet a moment, and I have done. All supposed that the unhappy Olivia had cast herself into the river, and so perished. It was not so. Pity, remorse, or some other feeling—perhaps, policy—induced me to preserve her from her distraction. She lived in concealment, until she had given birth to twin children—these very wretches whom we have persecuted. Let me speak their fate in a word. The boy I sent by a creature whose name he bears, to Colon's settlement in Española; the girl I devoted from her infancy to the altar; and in both cases, dreamed that I had provided for their welfare, as well as against the possibility of discovery. When I had thus arranged everything for my own security, heaven sent me the first sting of retribution in the person of my brother Julian, returned in safety from the dungeons of Fez, and, in right of seniority, the heir of the honours I had so vainly usurped. It was a fitting reward, but it was not all. Dishonour, other crimes, and awakened suspicions, followed my downfall; and I became an exile and outcast. What life I have lived, it needs not I should speak. A strange accident acquainted me with the stranger truth, that Magdalena had followed her unknown brother to the islands. I had amassed wealth; and an impulse, combining both pity and foreboding terror, drove me to pursue them. It was easy to trace out their respective fates. The wreck of the ship which carried Magdalena, with the supposed loss of all on board, satisfied me that she was with her mother, in heaven. An unexpected event had invested Juan with new interest. This was the death of Julian, without heirs. It was in my power to repair, at least, the wrongs I had done him, by restoring him to his inheritance; the knowledge and proofs of his legitimacy were in my hands, and I resolved to employ them. This I could not do in mine own person, but I discovered—and know, señor, it filled me with joy,—that thou hadst befriended him. I came then to Mexico, to seek the young man, and to enable thee to do justice to the memory, and to the child of thy sister."
Gregorio, for so we must now call him, paused a moment, while Cortes strode to and fro, in great agitation. He then resumed:
"The first thing I heard was the supposed death of Juan,—his expedition, and the cause of it—thine own bitter and unrelenting hatred."
"It is true," said Cortes, with a vain effort at composed utterance. "I confessed my folly to thee before. I have persecuted the son of my sister almost to death, and for an imaginary crime. There were villains about me—I will tell thee, by and by, my delusion."