Note. Dom Pedro, the father of her present Majesty of Portugal.
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty.
We left the Count d’Almeida an inmate of the Jungueira prison, from whence the stern policy of the Prime Minister allowed few captives to depart, except to the scaffold and to death. Many an unfortunate victim of this iron despotism remained there year after year, demanding to be brought to trial,—to be told of his crime,—to have the witness of his guilt produced, but his petitions were unheard or disregarded; he might, if free, become dangerous, so he was allowed to pine on in chains, till death, more kind than man, released him.
Luis sat disconsolate and sad in his narrow cell, with few happy remembrances of his past life to dwell on, and without a book to withdraw his mind from the melancholy present. For his own fate, come what might, he was prepared; but he thought of Clara, and there was bitter anguish. He could now prove himself innocent of her brother’s death, but he was a prisoner, without a hope of escape, and within a week, at furthest, perhaps at that very time she might be pronouncing the fatal vow which would tear her from him for ever! The thought almost drove him to madness—his feelings may be more easily pictured than described. He felt that he was shrieking, but his voice gave forth no sound,—that he could dash himself against the door, but yet he sat, his hands clasped before him, without moving,—a statue of manly grief.
His meditations were interrupted by the opening of his prison door, and his worthy friend, Frè Diogo Lopez, stood before him.
“Ah! my dear Count, you see I have not delayed long in fulfilling my promise,” began the Friar.
“I saw your young friend, and offered him such consolation as was in my power, and now I have brought you a fresh bottle of wine, to keep up your spirits. I offered him a little, but he could scarcely drink a drop. I fear he is going, poor youth.”