“To gratify the selfish vanity of a weak old dupe. Inez was the orphan daughter of a poor knight of San Iago; and on her father’s death, without friends or fortune, she was destined to take the veil. Educated at the same convent with the heiress of the admiral, she came to visit her young companion before the vows should be pronounced, that would sever her for ever from society. The old man saw her, and, struck with her beauty, fancied that he loved. He told his tale of folly. Inez detested the seclusion which awaited her. A splendid home—a life of luxury—the name of wife—a lover—coupled with a title, were offered and accepted. Inez is vain and ostentatious, and a sudden rise from humble orphanage, has almost turned her brain. She indulges in every extravagance, and the doting admiral, they say, yields to every solicitation, no matter how expensive; and thus a fortune, sufficient to support the rank and establishment of a grandee, has been found inadequate to meet the profusion his silly marriage has entailed; and to gratify the extravagance of his youthful consort, the old dupe has determined that his only child shall be sacrificed, to enable him to meet the extra demands made upon his purse, by the capricious girl whom he has been weak enough to marry. And now, Captain Ramirez, you know as much as I do of every thing connected with the lovely religieuse.”
“By Heaven!” returned the stranger, passionately, “friend Sanchez, I will know more, or the fault shall not be mine. But see—the procession is about to move. Whither will these fat drones steer to now? Stand fast; they’ll pass again. I would not lose the chance of another angel-glance of yon dark eye, for this brilliant in my hat; and the water is the purest in Grenada.”
“And what would you give me, could I procure you an interview? Ay, captain, stare not so incredulously; an interview!—not exactly tête-à-tête; but in the presence only of a youthful step-dame, and myself, your very humble servant,” said the civilian, with a smile.
“Give!” exclaimed the stranger; “change your query, Signor Sanchez, and rather inquire, what would I not give. Pshaw! the thing’s impossible.”
“Would you wager one hundred dollars on the event?” inquired the Captain’s companion.
“No,” returned the stranger; “but I’ll bet you three to one, and in hundreds too.”
“Done,” was the brief reply.
“And done. The wager’s made. Prepare your money, Master Sanchez. Were it but for exciting false hopes, every dollar shall be exacted, whether they be begged, borrowed, or stolen. But, saints and angels! here she comes.”
Again the long array filed past in solemn mardi; and a less devout spectator could not have been discovered in the crowded assemblage than Captain Ramirez. The archbishop of Moldivia glided on in stately dignity; and the stranger regarded the haughty prelate with as little veneration as the neophyte who waved a perfumed censer in his rear. On came the thin black canon of San Roque; and the ablest preacher in the province elicited no more notice. In fact, two objects engrossed the gallant captain’s attention—one was the old admiral with the yellow taper; and the other that lovely devotee, his daughter.
She passed the pillar closely as before. To the stranger, the crowded procession contained a single object, and his ardent gaze sought that one only in the throng. She came; for a moment she raised her soft and speaking eyes,—they met those of the stranger. He took the flowers from his bosom—pressed them to his lips. The fair devotee observed the act; and the glance that answered it, would not induce a lover to despair.