Many days passed away, while many-tongued rumour was busy with spreading tales of various colours in all directions, blasting the characters of some of the highest and noblest in the land. Few, at length, there were who disbelieved that treason was on foot; the names of some were ascertained, it was said, without a doubt, and were whispered abroad in every circle, except where the true conspirators moved; for, as often happens, reports, whether true or scandalous, often reach last the ears of those most concerned. Thus, the Duke of Aveiro, whose wishes had, at all events, instigated the assassins to their deed of blood, appeared everywhere in public with an untroubled brow, and continued to be the most assiduous in his inquiries at the palace after the health of his Majesty.
The King, however, still kept himself closely confined to his chamber, to which even the Queen was not admitted; the Minister, as before, receiving all guests with the most affable courtesy, seeming to take a delight in paying them attentions, and holding them in lengthened conversations. Many an eye sunk beneath his piercing glance, though a smile wreathed itself about his lips, and his voice was softly modulated, and many a heart trembled lest he should read its inmost thoughts. Two or three nobles, from whom, not suspecting them, he had less concealed his thoughts, passed their estates in trust into other hands, being suddenly seized with a strong desire to visit other lands; not even waiting for permission to leave the country. Those who did so, had full reason, shortly afterwards, to congratulate themselves on their caution. The flight of these gave security to others; the young Marquis of Tavora being advised to return to the city, and plead illness as an excuse for his short absence,—while his father rejoiced that he himself had not acted according to the counsels of his wife, lest suspicion might have fallen upon him.
Among the visitors at the palace was our friend Gonçalo Christovaö, who had, a short time before, arrived in Lisbon. Senhor Carvalho welcomed him with even more than his usual courtesy, regretting that the King could not receive the petition, which he understood he had come to present from the city of Oporto; but assuring him, that he would use his utmost endeavours to abolish the grievances of which the inhabitants complained. He then took him aside.
“I have a subject, Senhor Christovaö, which I have long wished to broach to you. It is to make a request, which I trust you will not deny me, for it will conduce to strengthen your family interests, and add honour to mine.”
The high-born fidalgo gazed at the Minister with an air of surprise, wondering what he could possibly mean.
“You have a fair daughter, full worthy of her high name,” continued the latter, “whom my son beheld when Lisbon was honoured by her presence.” The fidalgo started, and a frown gathered on his brow. “He has ever since pined to possess her; and, as I hear she is still not betrothed, I now ask her hand in marriage for him.”
If a leper, or one of the vilest of the children of earth, had made the same request, the proud fidalgo could scarce have cast a look more full of indignant scorn towards him than he now threw at the powerful Minister, as, in a tone of mingled anger and disdain, he answered, “You strangely forget our relative positions, Senhor Carvalho; but know, senhor, that in my garden there is no room for oaks.” Alluding to his hereditary estate called the “Fair Garden,” and the name of Carvalho, which is the Portuguese for an oak.
The Minister bowed, and returned a smile, which could scarce be called treacherous, if the fidalgo had not been too much excited by his indignation to observe the withering gleam which shot from the eyes of the man whose vengeance he had thus provoked, but the latter in no other way committed himself.
“You indulge somewhat in pleasantry this morning, Senhor Christovaö,” he said, in a tranquil tone. “However, I conclude that you have good reasons for refusing my son’s suit, and I therefore withdraw it.”
“You act wisely, senhor,” answered the fidalgo, still in an offended tone. “My daughter’s hand is not to be bought and sold, and of her own free-will she has dedicated it to the Church.”