Persuaded by this assurance, Clara accompanied the nurse to the shed in which the fidalgo was lying. Gertrudes first prudently entered, to advise the father of his daughter’s safety and return, but soon again came out and beckoned her to approach.
No sooner did he behold her, than raising himself from his couch as she stooped to meet him, he pressed her in his arms, sobbing like a child the while. “Thank Heaven that you are restored to me, my Clara!” he exclaimed; “for I could not bear the double loss I thought I was doomed to suffer,—two children within two days!—it was a heavy blow; but now you are recovered, I must, if so I can, be reconciled to your brother’s death.”
“My brother dead?” responded Clara, in a tone of sadness. “Alas! I heard, but did not believe, the tale.”
“It is but too true, I fear,” said the Fidalgo. “He was slain by one you must in future learn to hate,—Don Luis d’Almeida!”
“Oh, do not, do not believe that one so brave, so noble, could be guilty of such a deed! Twice, at the hazard of his life, since we first met, has he saved me from destruction. At that dreadful time, when all others were flying for their lives, forgetful of parents, children, and all the nearest ties of kindred, he rushed among the falling ruins, braving a horrid death to rescue me! In every way has he proved his love,—and he surely could not have slain my brother. Oh, do not, my father, believe that lying tale which says so; for I, whatever befalls, can never cease to love him.”
“At the moment you are restored to my heart, I cannot speak a harsh word, my child,” said the Fidalgo; “but remember that you are vowed to the service of Heaven; and were you not, you could not wed one whose hands are stained with a brother’s blood, although guiltless of the intention of shedding it. That Don Luis has risked his life to save one dear child from destruction, disarms me of my revenge; but from henceforth you must be as strangers to each other.”
Poor Clara scarce heard the concluding sentence; the bright hopes which were budding forth with the first gleam of sunshine were suddenly blighted by this confirmation of the masked stranger’s report of her brother’s death; and instead of feeling joy at her return home, naught but clouds and gloom threatened her future days. She had no arguments to advance against her father’s decree; for she felt that what he said was just. Placing her head on his pillow, she burst into an agony of tears.
The fidalgo in vain endeavoured to comfort her; for he had no consolation that could avail to offer her. He assured her that her return had restored him to health and strength, and that he would not willingly contradict her wishes in anything; but that his confessor, Father Alfonzo, had told him that he must determine, if he recovered her, to keep to his original intention of dedicating her to the Church, as the most acceptable way of proving his gratitude to Heaven for the favour vouchsafed to him,—the Father promising not to cease his prayers to the saints to intercede for him, but more especially to the Holy Virgin.
To this the unhappy girl had not a word to answer: it was but, alas! too much in accordance with the creed she had been taught, and she had never even heard that a doubt had been started against its infallibility. Yet her heart rebelled against the decree; but she shuddered at her own feelings, and endeavoured to stifle them; for the lessons inculcated on her mind told her they were sinful.
After some time, in a voice trembling with grief and agitation, she inquired the manner of her brother’s death. Her father then told her, that on the morning after the sad occurrence, the one preceding the earthquake, he had become alarmed at Gonçalo’s not returning; when the Conde San Vincente called to say, with much friendly concern, that he had been with him on the previous evening, when suddenly they were set upon by several persons, among the foremost of whom he recognised Don Luis d’Almeida, who seemed bent upon engaging with Gonçalo, and that, after exchanging several passes, he saw his friend fall severely wounded; but from having great difficulty in defending his own life, he could not go to his assistance. While thus engaged, several persons who had taken no part in the fray had rushed up, and lifting Gonçalo from the ground, had borne him off he could not tell where, and that, as soon as this was done, Don Luis and his party had drawn off. The Count then said, that he had made every exertion to discover whither Gonçalo had been conveyed; and that he had at length learned from a man who had been engaged in the affair, and whom he could produce, that he had been carried off by order of Don Luis, and that he hoped, in a few days, to discover where.