Volume Two—Chapter Twenty One.
We have, for a considerable time, lost sight of Donna Theresa d’Alorna, now the young Marchioness of Tavora. She was seated in her private apartment, on the morning following the consultation of the King and his Minister, in the palace which had been allotted by his father to the young Marquis, when one of her female attendants entered to inform her that her confessor was in attendance below, and requested to know if she would wish to see him.
“Yes, yes, I will see the holy father; conduct him hither,” she exclaimed hastily, and the attendant retired.
“His requests are indeed commands,” she whispered to herself. “Alas! I feel a power I cannot see, and know not whence it comes, hurrying me to the edge of a precipice.”
Donna Theresa was but little altered since we introduced her to our readers. In beauty she had rather improved; her figure had become more rounded and voluptuous, and the sparkle of her eyes was brighter even than before, with greater expression in her countenance, her polished brow giving more signs of deep thought, and, alas! it might be, of care.
Though she had been expecting her visitor, she started as he entered, and rose to welcome him. Our readers will recognise, by his tall, yet graceful and dignified form, the lofty and marble brow, the piercing cold grey eye, and rich melodious voice, the holy Father Jacinto da Costa, the head of the Jesuits’ College.
He took the hand of the young lady, and, with respectful courtesy, led her to a seat, and took one by her side. “I have come, my fair penitent,” he said, in a gentle tone, “to hear the result of your conference with the King. He visited you, as you expected, yesterday?”
Donna Theresa cast her eyes to the ground, and then gazing up earnestly at the Jesuit, she exclaimed, with a voice trembling with agitation, “His Majesty did come last night, trusting in my love and faith; but I had not the heart—I wanted the courage—I could not be guilty of the treachery, to ask the questions you dictated. Oh! do not longer impose this odious task on me! If it be necessary for the safety of my family, if it be advantageous to the service of our holy religion, take some other means to attain the same ends, but I can no longer feign love to my confiding sovereign. Every time I meet him, I feel myself lowered and degraded far worse than the guilty thing the world will soon suppose me.”