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 http://www.archive.org/details/sonsofaltringham01palm
 
 THE 
 
 SONS OF ALTRINGHAM. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 TUB 
 
 S OM S 
 
 OF 
 
 ALTRINGHAM, 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES, 
 
 BY ALICIA TYNDAL PALMER, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 THE HUSBAND AND THE LOVER," ANp 
 " THE DAUGHTERS OF ISENBERG.** 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR LACKINGTON, ALLEN, AND CO. 
 
 TEMPLE OF THE MUSES, FlNSBURY SQUARE. 
 
 1811.
 
 PrUited by J. D. Dewick, 
 
 46, Barbican.
 
 $23 
 
 ^,1 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 The plan on which this work is con- 
 structed has the name of novelty. 
 
 In compliance with the taste of 
 
 those readers who prefer tales, the 
 
 Author has made each volume com- 
 
 li: prehend a complete story; but those 
 
 ^who regularly peruse the series will 
 
 ^find a chain of connexion which, by 
 
 :^ uniting the whole, forms the work 
 
 l^into one uniform romance. The epoch 
 
 t being before the French revolution, 
 
 ^the Author has to apologize for having 
 
 ^ anticipated the institution of the 
 
 J Four-in-hand Club,
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The emolument arising from this publication 
 is destined to clothe, &c. a Candidate, whose 
 Parents are utterly unable to defray those ne- 
 cessary expences, for his admission into the 
 Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb. This poor 
 boy is an object of peculiar interest, from the 
 inofFensiveness of his disposition. Though the 
 ease with which he is made to understand what- 
 ever is required of him, proves that he possesses 
 great quickness of intellect, he is wholly free 
 from those bursts of impatience, to which per- 
 sons, born with his defects, are usually subject. 
 
 These observations on his character, which the 
 Author, during some years, has had constant 
 opportunities of making, have induced her to 
 lend this aid towards enabling him to profit 
 from the inestimable advantages of the above 
 Benevolent Institution.
 
 THE SONS 
 
 OF 
 
 ALTRINGHAM. 
 
 CECIIL, 
 
 OR THE VENGEANCE OF THE REDEEMED CAPTIVE. 
 
 CHAP. I, 
 
 •And once reduced 
 
 To worse than these the sum of all distress 
 That the most wretched feel, on this side hell, 
 Ev'n slavery itself. 
 
 — — — ^but the desire 
 
 Of life returns, and brings with it a train 
 Of appetites, that rage to be supplied I 
 Ambition, persecution, and revenge. 
 
 A PACKET, bound fromEnglaiid to Lis- 
 bon, lay becalmed within sight of the 
 Tagus, when a youthful passenger on 
 board, who had been for some days con- 
 
 YOL. I. B
 
 5 CECIL. 
 
 fined to his cabin by indisposition, as- 
 cended the deck, impatient to escape 
 from confinement of which he was hear- 
 tily tired. To his eager and liberal offers 
 of reward to any one who would row 
 him on shore, he was answered, that, 
 by the laws of Portugal, sailors were 
 prohibited from passing the bar, ex- 
 cept under the direction of a pilot from 
 the port. The young voyager, vexed 
 at this enforced delay, issued rather 
 vociferous orders that a signal should 
 be immediately given for one to put 
 off; and, on seeing himself obeyed, re- 
 covered at once his usual good humour, 
 This impatient youth was Cecil 
 Altringham, the second son of a re- 
 spected" baronet of that name, who 
 had, about a year before his embarka- 
 tion for Portugal, unexpectedly suc- 
 ceeded to the fortune of a distant rela- 
 tion. Possessed of exuberant spirits, 
 which were nurtured by strong health,
 
 CECIL. 3 
 
 impetuous feelings, and a lively ima- 
 gination, he had, with the facility of 
 his age, been lead into much folly 
 and dissipation, by the companions 
 amongst whom this early indepen- 
 dence had thrown him. At length, 
 becoming weary of a society by no 
 means suited to him, and convinced 
 he had mistaken that road to enjoy- 
 ment of which he had been eagerly in 
 search, he returned to the residence of 
 Sir Godfrey, fully resolved on begin- 
 ning a new course of life. 
 
 While he was yet uncertain what 
 that new course should be, Edward 
 Clarendon, who had been his school- 
 fellow, happened to deviate from his di- 
 rect way to Falmouth for the purpose 
 of seeing him, previous to his project- 
 ed voyage to Lisbon. 
 
 " To Lisbon?'^ enquired Cecil, on 
 learning this, " I have a great mind to 
 go vrith you.'* 
 
 B 2
 
 4 CJECIL, 
 
 Clarendon, delighted with the pros- 
 pect of such a companion, so earnestly 
 seconded this motion, that within a 
 few days from that on which he first 
 conceived the idea of quitting England, 
 the volatile Cecil, with his young 
 friend, found himself on the tempes- 
 tuous ocean, at the mercy of winds 
 and waves, as capricious as himself^ 
 nor did he cease to repent the having 
 so lightly trusted to them, till his near 
 approach to the Tagus promised him 
 a speedy restoration to perfect health. 
 
 With these feelings he was anxiously 
 watching for the appearance of the 
 pilot boat, when his attention was di- 
 verted into another channel by observe 
 ing, not very far distant, another vessel, 
 fixed like his own in its glassy bed. 
 
 As he examined it more attentively, 
 he felt persuaded it was English ; but 
 conscious he was not very conver- 
 sant in the national character of ships,
 
 CECIL. 6 
 
 he was about to enquire whether his 
 conjecture were just, when he was 
 checked by the sudden appearance of 
 a numerous party of gay people, 
 mounting one by one, from its cabin, 
 and spreading themselves over the 
 deck with all the busy activity of vo- 
 taries of pleasure. Presently, the 
 company arranged themselves in a re- 
 gular form— -the spriglitly fiddles struck 
 the joyous notes of an English country 
 dance, and the whole set instantly 
 joined in following its enlivening mea- 
 sure. 
 
 The blood of Cecil, as he watched 
 their spirited movements, and listened 
 to the merry tune, recovered so much 
 of its constitutional quick and healthy 
 circulation, that he felt sorry when 
 the pilot boat, for which he had before 
 impatiently Avished, hove in sight. It 
 was still, however, at a considerable 
 distance, and as it slowly made its way 
 B 3
 
 D CECIL. 
 
 towards the packet, his attention was* 
 for a short time withdrawn from the jo- 
 cund dancers, to the new objects, which 
 on all sides challenged his admiration. 
 
 Yet neither the golden Tagus co- 
 vered with vessels, which doubled 
 themselves in its transparent waters ; 
 the fine eminences crowned with ele- 
 gant buildings, which adorned its sides; 
 nor the luxuriant groves of oranges 
 and olives, beautified and enriched by 
 the fine glow of the afternoon sun, 
 coiild long detach him from the con- 
 genial hilarity which he had witnessed 
 on board the other vessel ; and, turn- 
 ing his eyes once more towards the 
 picture it so temptingly exhibited of 
 happy, careless, unchecked gaiety, he 
 felt a strong inclination to take a 
 nearer view of the vivacious group. 
 
 This inclination he for some time 
 successfully combated ; but, at length, 
 the invigorating effects of the first
 
 CECIL. 7 
 
 tefreshment he had been able to enjoy 
 since his embarkation, restoring to his 
 spirits all their characteristic anima- 
 tion, their impulse to mirth and frolic 
 became irresistible. He now found 
 an excuse for yielding to his desire, in 
 the supposition, that if the account 
 he had received were true, that the 
 vessel was not English, the dancers of 
 country dances, must, at all events, be 
 so. Without farther hesitation, there- 
 fore, he agreed with the captain for the 
 boat— hired the pilot to return for 
 him when he had performed his pre- 
 sent duty, and without saying any 
 thing to Clarendon, who was still 
 confined to his birth by indisposition, 
 he quitted the packet, and soon reach- 
 ed the vessel he w^as so desirous of 
 visiting. 
 
 The boat had, by Cecil's direction, 
 rowed completely round her, in the 
 vain hope of his recognizing, if not 
 B 4
 
 S CECIL. 
 
 the features of an acquaintance, the 
 countenance at least of a countryman ; 
 when he was agreeably surprised by 
 hearing a gentleman from the deck, 
 address to him the information, that a 
 lady of the party requested, Jir. Cecil 
 Altringham would ascend and join 
 the company, to whom she should be 
 happy to introduce him. 
 
 " I was right,'' thought Cecil, '' in 
 my belief that I should find an ac- 
 quaintance amongst these dancers;*' 
 and well pleased at being saved the 
 necessity of inventing an excuse for 
 intruding upon them, he alertly mount- 
 ed the ladder. 
 
 Acknowledging to the gentleman 
 who waited for him, his obligations 
 for the honor he had just received, 
 Cecil was, by him, conducted to the 
 lady, whose flattering message had 
 prepared him to expect an intimate 
 acquaintance ; when, he beheld with
 
 CECIL. 9 
 
 surprise a perfect stranger. Yet her 
 abordement was distinguished by all 
 the winning attraction of one de- 
 hghted at unexpectedly meeting in a 
 foreign country, a long, absent, and 
 esteemed intimate. 
 
 Cecil, distressed at not being able 
 to answer her civilities with a coun- 
 tenance of recognition, anxiously 
 sought to recall to his memory one 
 lineament of her face, which should 
 prove his claim to this flattering wel- 
 come. No ; not one trait came home 
 to his recollection. 
 
 Donna Celerica seemed to penetrate 
 his thoughts, and for some time en- 
 joyed his embarrassment ; but at 
 length put at end to it, by informing 
 him, in very tolerable English, that 
 she had no other pretensions to his 
 acquaintance, than that of being a 
 great admirer of the English in ge- 
 neral, and of the Altringham family 
 B 5
 
 10 CECIL. 
 
 in particular, whose high consider- 
 ation was known to her, during some 
 months of residence in that country. 
 
 Colonel Barrowby now advanced 
 his claim as a countryman to Cecil's 
 acquaintance ; when after his general 
 introduction had taken place, Donna 
 Celerica gave him her hand, and lead- 
 ing the way to the top of the set, in 
 a few minutes the young traveller felt 
 «o much at home, as to enter heart 
 and soul into the amusement. This 
 amusement continued with unfailing 
 spirit, till the springing up of a breeze 
 once more gave motion to the vessel, 
 and rendered their flying steps on the 
 sloping deck no longer safe. 
 
 An elegant repast succeeded the 
 ball ; and soon after, taking advantage 
 of the light gale, which swelled her 
 sails, the captain of the packet bore 
 along side the Portuguese ship, to 
 learn if it were Cecil's intention to
 
 CECIL. ll 
 
 proceed with him to Lisbon? A mea- 
 sure which he resolved on pursuing, 
 in preference to waiting the arrival of 
 the boats which were to convey back 
 the dancers. 
 
 On hearing this decision, Donna 
 Celerica capriciously took it into her 
 head that she would disappoint the 
 cavaliers who had expected the h®nor 
 of attending her back, by returning 
 with Colonel Barrowby, (who was at 
 that time her visitant) in the packet 
 also. To the packet, then, it was de- 
 cided they were to remove ; and 
 Cecil, pleased with a resolution cal- 
 culated to flatter his youthful vanity, 
 preceded the lady, that he might be in 
 readiness to receive her on her descent 
 into the packet. 
 
 The sportive humour which Donna 
 
 Celerica had infused into the whole 
 
 company, at this moment, guiding 
 
 more immediately her own wild spirits, 
 
 b6
 
 12 CECIL. 
 
 she conceived the whimsical idea of 
 putting Cecil's English bravery to the 
 test, by expressing a wish of jumping 
 from the deck into his arms ; provided 
 he believed himself possessed of suf- 
 ficient strength and skill to catch her. 
 
 " Upon my word/' thought Cecil, 
 " these Portuguese ladies are kind, 
 good souls, thus to save a man the 
 trouble of making the first advances ; 
 and this pretty woman is well worthy 
 some risk, so to enfold,'* 
 
 Yet, though he believed this pro- 
 posal to be made in mere sport, he 
 affected to take it seriously ; and 
 hailed the challenge in a tone of gal- 
 lantry, as one highly acceptable t9 
 him ; till he saw the lady apparently 
 preparing herself to take the leap. 
 
 Then sensible of the risk she must 
 incur, he declared aloud that his 
 English bravery bad deserted him, on 
 considering that the safety of one so
 
 CFXIL, 13 
 
 lovely was likely to be endangered by 
 the feat ; and he earnestly entreated 
 that she would not attempt it. 
 
 But Donna Celerica affected to per- 
 sist, and Cecil, now persuaded she was 
 serious, prepared with a firm step and 
 extended arms, to abide the conse- 
 quences of so mad a prank. 
 
 The lady, however, meant no more 
 than to play upon his fears and ex- 
 pectations ; nothing could be further 
 from her intentions, than to risk her 
 precious limbs or life in such a frolic, 
 though, by seizing a rope, which was 
 well secured, and holding it fast, she 
 was enabled to keep him in anxiety, 
 by making repeated feints, as if on 
 the point of throwing herself off. 
 
 Now would she recoil back, as if 
 terrified at the daring attempt. Then, 
 ridiculing her own fears, again step 
 forward; and in the next moment, 
 again recede from the vessel's edge.
 
 14 CECIL. 
 
 " This time I will positively take 
 the spring/^ cried the laughing Celeri- 
 es ; once more advancing to the brink. 
 
 " Now I am absolutely coming ; 
 now be ready ?'' and once more she 
 swung herself forward; and now in- 
 deed she did, involuntarily perform 
 the daring act; growing careless from 
 the repetition of this swinging ma- 
 noeuvre, the rope had slipt through 
 her fingers, and CeciTs arms actually 
 received the beautiful stranger ; but 
 in the shock he sustained in thus 
 breaking the force of her fall, one of 
 his shoulders was dislocated, and the 
 moment after catching her, he fell. 
 
 A surgeon on board the Portuguese 
 frigate, perceiving that some accident 
 had happened, immediately descended; 
 and having performed the necessary 
 operation, returned to his ship, loaded 
 with the thanks and heavy purse of 
 Donna Celerica, which she privately
 
 CECIL. 15 
 
 added to the remuneration Cecil had 
 presented him. 
 
 That young man was on his return 
 from the cabin to which he had retired 
 with the surgeon, met by Donna Ce- 
 lerica, Avith an air so full of regret for 
 the consequences of her thoughtless 
 frolic, that he felt called upon to make 
 light of what had happened. Strug- 
 gling, therefore, against the feeling of 
 languor which depressed him, he ex- 
 erted all his powers of conversation for 
 the purpose of directing her thoughts 
 into some more agreeable channel. 
 
 While they were together admiring 
 the beautiful river, down which they 
 were now gliding, illuminated by the 
 rays of the declining sun, a splendid 
 barge of ten oars caught the attention 
 of Cecil. At each oar, were stationed 
 three men, and the singularity given 
 to their manner of plying them, by 
 their rising and re-seating themselves
 
 1^ CECIL. 
 
 at every stroke, excited, at first, curio- 
 sity in the inexperienced traveller ; 
 but, as the barge drew nearer to the 
 packet, the superb awning of scarlet 
 silk, with its gold fringed curtains, 
 nearly touching the reflected stream— 
 the number, and gay uniform of the 
 rowers, with the fine band of music, 
 which on reaching them played with 
 grace and spirit a Spanish Tonadilla, 
 shared the attention of Cecil, and pre- 
 pared him to hear that the prince of 
 Portugal himself was in it.* 
 
 But on his observing to Donna Ce- 
 lerica, that it must certainly be a royal 
 barge, she assured him it belonged to 
 no greater personage than herself; 
 then, with an insinuating smile, she 
 added an entreaty that he would do 
 her the favor of accompanying her into 
 it; observing that music might per- 
 
 * A true description of a barge belonging to 
 St Portvigviese of rank.
 
 CECIL. 17 
 
 haps soothe the pain she had been the 
 unfortunate cause of his suffering, and 
 in doing so, would soften the deep 
 sense she entertained of the injury she 
 had done him. 
 
 Cecil gallantly replied, that the suf- 
 fering in her cause was rather a sub- 
 ject of triumph than regret ; then send- 
 ing a message to Clarendon, informing 
 him that he would join him the next 
 day at the hotel, in Lisbon, already cho- 
 sen by him, he cheerfully accompa- 
 nied Donna Celerica and Colonel Bar- 
 rowby into her barge. 
 
 The music now again struck up ; 
 every oar was instantly in motion ; 
 and this modern Cleopatra, with all 
 the witcheries of the Egyptian queen, 
 was borne in state, on the glowing bo- 
 som of the meandering Tagus. 
 
 These meanderings, atone time tak- 
 ing their course close to the hills 
 which crowned the left ; then, by im-
 
 18 CECtL, 
 
 perceptible windings, bearing the uti-* 
 suspicious Cecil ihrough the exten-^ 
 sive and fertile plains which embel* 
 lished the right, completely concealed 
 from him that they were making for 
 the side of the river quite opposite to 
 Lisbon; nor was his attention roused y. 
 to the circumstance, till he observed 
 the bargemen pulling directly for a 
 landing place on the shore, exactly in 
 front of an elegant Qainta^^ which had^ 
 for sometime, been the object of his 
 admiration. 
 
 Cecil soon began to suspect what 
 was really true, that his free and easy 
 partner had taken advantage of his 
 ignorance in the navigation of the 
 Tagus, to secure him as her guest, till 
 his recovery should absolve her to 
 herself, for having made him pay, by 
 so severe a penalty, for the honor of 
 her acquaintance. 
 
 * Portuguese name of a country villa.
 
 CECIL. 19 
 
 Though sensible of considerable pain 
 from his late accident, Cecil followed 
 Donna Celerica, with an air of gal- 
 lantry, to her Quinta. On entering 
 which, he felt as if he had been sud-- 
 dealy transported into fairy-land, and 
 that this was the palace of some fa- 
 vorite, on whom its sovereign show- 
 ered its choicest favors. 
 
 The number r.nd construction of 
 the rooms ; the variety and richness 
 of their furniture; the singularity, 
 taste, and whim, displayed jn the na- 
 tural and artificial ornaments which 
 enlivened them ; all caught the passing 
 attention of Cecil, as his lovely hostess 
 led him, accompanied by Colonel Bar- 
 rowby, to the saloon, in which they 
 found an elegant supper prepared for 
 them. 
 
 Here Donna Celerica, w^ith a grace 
 peculiar to herself, welcomed the tra- 
 veller to Las DeliciK^. placed him on
 
 20 CECIL. 
 
 her right hand at table, and was ex- 
 pressing the earnest wish that he 
 would consider himself perfectly at 
 home at her Quinta, and regard her 
 as one particularly desirous of render- 
 ing Portugal agreeable to him, when 
 suddenl^^the colour forsook her cheeks 
 —her lips trembled— and sinking back 
 in her chair, she complained of be- 
 coming painfully sensible, for the first 
 time, that she had not herself entirely 
 escaped the punishment due to her 
 unlucky frolic. 
 
 After a vain attempt to rally her 
 spirits, or conceal that she was really 
 unwell. Donna Celerica arose, and hav- 
 ing exacted a promise from Cecil that 
 he would not depart from Las Delicias 
 without again seeing her, she retired, 
 commending her new guest to the care 
 of Colonel Barrowby, who had been for 
 some time a resident at the Quinta, 
 
 On the disappearance of the ladvv
 
 CECIL. 21 
 
 Cecil candidly owned to his compa- 
 nion, with a smile, that finding it dif- 
 ficult any longer to play the hero, no 
 service coidd be so acceptable to him, 
 as that of allowing him to be con- 
 ducted to his chamber, as he was 
 really in considerable pain. This wish 
 was immediately complied with. 
 
 A restless feverish night succeeded 
 to this day of dissipation and adven- 
 ture; during which, Cecil revolved, 
 with encreasing surprise, the singular 
 chance which had thus made him the 
 inmate of a perfect stranger. One 
 too, whose pretensions were such as 
 to render not a little soothing to his 
 self-love, the distinctions with which 
 she had already honored him. 
 
 Who Donna Celerica was, or in 
 what relation Colonel Barrow by stood 
 with her, he was utterly at a loss to 
 guess. Nothing could be more evident 
 than that, that gentleman felt himself
 
 22 CECIL. 
 
 perfectly at home at Las Deliclas: 
 yet Cecil could not believe he was the 
 lover of the lady ; otherwise he would 
 not, with such indifference, have no- 
 ticed the marked attentions she had 
 lavished on himself. 
 
 With a mind full of doubt, per- 
 plexity, and curiosity, and a frame by 
 no means recruited by the sleepless 
 night he had passed, Cecil repaired, on 
 the following morning, to the saloon ; 
 in which he was informed he should 
 find Colonel Barrowby. Donna Cele- 
 rica was not yet visible, but had sent 
 a message, importing her reliance on 
 the promise he had pledged on the 
 preceding evening, not to depart till 
 he had again seen her. 
 
 The colonel was on the point of 
 taking a trip to Lisbon, and politely 
 offered to bear any letter or message 
 to his friend Clarendon ; an offer of 
 which Cecil availed himself to ac-
 
 CECIL, 25 
 
 quaint that young man with his pre- 
 sent situation, and to promise, in the 
 course of a day or two, to join him at 
 his hotel. Colonel Barrowby then 
 took his leave, and Cecil sat down to 
 refresh himself with the luxuries that 
 courted his senses, in an apartment, 
 which, like all those in this elegant 
 Qidnta^ was on the ground floor. 
 
 Folding windows reaching to the 
 surf, opened on a shaded terrace, de- 
 corated with groups of orange and 
 lemon trees. A profusion of the finest 
 fruit, in three ditFerent stages of matu- 
 rity, weighed down the branches of 
 some, while others, still only in flo'vver, 
 waved lightly under their riches, 
 forming together, natural festoons as 
 delightful to the eye as to the taste 
 and smell. 
 
 His repast finished, Cecil threw 
 himself on a Turkish sofa, and while 
 he listened to the melodious notes of
 
 24 CECIL. 
 
 various birds, which, unmolested, filled 
 a neighbouring grove with harmony ; 
 and inhaled the perfumed sweets, 
 wafted by the breeze from the exten- 
 sive gardens' that surrounded the 
 Qifinta, a voluptuous languor stole 
 over his senses, which, aided by the 
 serenity and stillness of the scene, 
 gradually lulled him into that soft re- 
 pose he had so vainly courted during 
 the night. 
 
 For some hours he continued buried 
 in profound and refreshing slumber; 
 but, by degrees, his sleep became dis- 
 turbed with frightful dreams. Again 
 the occurrences of the day before re- 
 turned on his memory, in harassing 
 confusion. At one time. Donna Ce- 
 lerica fell a victim to her rashness; his 
 arms were vainly stretched forth to 
 save her, when some unseen hand ar- 
 rested them, and she dropt lifeless at 
 his feet. Then, with the inconsisten-
 
 CECIL. 95 
 
 cy of dreams, she was, in the next 
 minute, once more standing on the 
 frigate's deck, full of mirth and glee; 
 trifling with his fears, with all the 
 playful witcheries she had on that oc^ 
 casion practised. Again he saw her 
 take the frightful leap. Now his arms 
 actually saved her; but, at the same 
 moment, they encircled her form, a 
 mask fell from her face, and instead 
 of the beautiful Celerica, he found he 
 had grasped a hideous monster, whose 
 countenance was so appalling, that 
 from the very horror it inspired, he 
 awoke— awoke to behold the living 
 subject of his fantasies standing in 
 fixed contemplation at his side. 
 
 To Cecil, whose senses were com- 
 pletely under the dominion of the fe- 
 verish tremor in which his dreams had 
 originated, at the first moment of 
 opening his eyes, the lovely features 
 of Donna Celerica seemed to have 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 f6 CECIL. 
 
 taken the same malignant expression 
 which had so shocked him, in the 
 phantom of his disturbed imagination ; 
 and he again closed them with a pain- 
 ful shuddering. But her charming 
 voice at once dispersed the distressing 
 visions which had harassed him ; and 
 roused him to the enjoyment of her 
 society, by enquiring in a tone of in- 
 terest how he found himself ? 
 
 The sprightly conversation to which 
 the relation of Cecil's dream gave rise 
 {for the lady, sportively, yet peremp- 
 torily, insisted on knowing what had 
 so greatly agitated him on his awaken- 
 ing) was not long after interrupted by 
 the return of colonel Barrowby, who 
 had brought his countryman a letter 
 from Clarendon, informing him that as 
 he was desirous of giving his first at- 
 tention to an affair of some conse- 
 quence, v/ith the transaction of which 
 his father had charged him, it was hi«
 
 CECIL. 97 
 
 intention to set out, that very after- 
 noon, on his way to the parties con- 
 cerned. 
 
 He then congratulated Cecil in a 
 tone of raillery on his good fortune^ 
 and told him that on his return from 
 his intended excursion, he should cer- 
 tainly seek him at Las Delicias,''^ 
 
 While he was running over thi« 
 letter, half vexed that his friend had 
 not offered him the option of bearing 
 him company, and half pleased that 
 his omitting to do so, had furnished 
 him with an excellent excuse to him- 
 self for remaining some time longer 
 the guest of a lady, whose beauty and 
 singularity had excited in him both 
 interest and curiosity, colonel Bar- 
 rowby was detailing to the lady the 
 conversation which had taken place 
 between himself and Clarendon, with 
 
 * The delights named after walks so called 
 near Madrid. 
 
 c 2
 
 28 CECIL. 
 
 the promise that young man had mad« 
 of paying his comphments to her at 
 the Quinta^ on his return to Lisbon, 
 With this assurance, the lady declared 
 herself much pleased; adding, that 
 she now without scruple should put 
 her knight under arrest^ till his entire 
 recovery from the accident^ of which 
 she had been the cause.
 
 CECIL, 99 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 A FEW days restored health to Cecil, 
 but still Donna Celerica opposed his 
 departure. She wished to celebrate 
 his recovery by a fete, and with an 
 earnestness which the recollection of 
 her unremitting kindness rendered it 
 impossible for him to disappoint, she 
 pressed him to stay and do the honors. 
 He consented ; yet Celerica, as if 
 doubtful of her own power to detain 
 him, adopted in aid of her hospitable 
 invitation, the principle of a comic 
 writer among the Greeks, who hu- 
 mourously assured his countryman, 
 that the most effectual way of securing 
 a prisoner, was the placing him under 
 c 3
 
 so CECIL. 
 
 the guardianship of pleasure, Cele- 
 rica therefore summoned that goddess 
 to take charge of her captive, Cecil. 
 
 Pleasure, obedient to her call, soon 
 appeared attended by her whole wily 
 train ; all armed with the different 
 weapons which the important task of 
 keeping the prisoners senses in cap- 
 tivity required ; and were instantly 
 ordered to enter on their several du- 
 ties. Pleasure herself took possession 
 ot his bosom— mirth seized his spi- 
 rits—novelty his taste— flattery his 
 ear— beauty his eye— wit caught his 
 fancy— conviviality his reason — and 
 play his passions. 
 
 Day after day, barges filled with the 
 gay, the luxurious, the zealous devo- 
 tees of Cecil's smiling guard, made 
 the golden Tagus roll its waves, in 
 concert with the songs which in her 
 honor echoed from shore to shore ; 
 and the change of day to night, and
 
 CECIL. Si 
 
 night to day, was only marked by 
 those seasonable variations in their 
 pursiHts, which Pleasure ordained for 
 the varying hours. 
 
 Obedient to her creative wand, they 
 each day took a national character. 
 vSometimes Italian music breathed its 
 melting cadence on the air— Italian 
 scenery lined the rooms— -Italian man- 
 ners threw a seducing softness ovei 
 every object around. Then Avould 
 the proteus mistress of Pleasure's 
 court assume the impassioned tone, 
 the haughty air ; or, sing with thrilling 
 harmony and languid eye, the love- 
 breathing numbers of the despairing 
 Petrarca, hiding her insidious smiles 
 beneath the tender look of sensibility. 
 
 When the gay scenes and frolic 
 freedom of Gallia's ever-smiling land 
 were to rule the day, Celerica's eye 
 instantly sparkled with the wit her 
 tongue fearlessly uttered ; her sonS 
 c 4
 
 J2 CECIL. 
 
 became light and gay, her manner* 
 free and careless ; coquetry gave 
 caprice to her humour— caprice, 
 variety to her look, her voice, her 
 gesture. 
 
 As each nation took the lead, Ce- 
 lerica, with fascinating skill, made 
 just her claim to the being considered 
 as its presiding genius. 
 
 Even the uncongenial British cha- 
 racter, of blushing timidity, modest 
 reserve, and refined sentiment, was 
 sustained with impressive grace and 
 power by this versatile lady. 
 
 Admirably, however, as she made 
 these foreign characters her own, she 
 was perhaps more truly attractive in 
 the one she claimed by nature. The 
 day on which the manners, character, 
 ^nd amusements of her native coun- 
 try were to be exhibited, {first dis- 
 covering to Cecil that she was a Spa- 
 niard) a ball, in compliance with it*
 
 CECIL. 3S 
 
 known passion for dancing, formed 
 part of the entertainment. 
 
 " What an enchantress/' thought 
 Cecil ; as quitting him for a partner 
 better skilled to support her in the 
 exhibition she meditated, he saw Ce- 
 lerica perform to perfection, the na- 
 tional dance of the Spaniards, called 
 a seguidilla ; one calculated by dis- 
 playing her personal charms to the 
 greatest advantage, at once to surprise 
 and fascinate him. 
 
 The delicate proportions of her 
 figure, in height scarcely reaching the 
 middle size, by throwing over it a fairy 
 lightness, softened into airiness, the 
 vivacity of her movements. Her 
 large black eyes now languishing — 
 now all animation— appeared equally 
 to possess the power of seducing by 
 their softness, or subduing by their 
 spirit, their expressive glances, cha- 
 racteristically, according with the 
 c 6
 
 34* CECIL. 
 
 grave or gay attitudes, alternately 
 displayed by her flexile form, as she 
 at one moment reluctantly fled ; the 
 next fleetly pursued, with answering 
 caprice, the receding or approaching 
 steps of her partner. These move- 
 ments were all enlivened by her grace- 
 ful fingering of the fanciful castanets; 
 and by the incomparable precision 
 with which her "heel beat time to the 
 tuneful measure. 
 
 *' What an enchantress !" again 
 repeated Cecil ; as she retired from 
 the room to seek repose; but though 
 his lips said this, his heart answered 
 it not ; and in a few minutes he had 
 forgotten that such a being as Donna 
 Celerica was in existence.
 
 CECIL, $i 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Cecil rose on the following morning, 
 with the resolution of that day taking 
 leave of Donna Celerica, and setting 
 out in quest of his friend, Clarendon, 
 
 The lady, fatigued with her exer- 
 tions of the preceding evenins^, was 
 not visible ; but colonel Barrowby was 
 already in the breakfast room when he 
 entered it, and to him Cecil immedi- 
 ately made known his intentions of 
 proceeding to Lisbon, as soon as the 
 appearance of Celerica had given him 
 an opportunity of making his adieus 
 and acknowledgments. 
 
 *' This cannot surely be your deter- 
 mination :'* remarked his surprised 
 companion. 
 
 c 6
 
 S6 CECIL. 
 
 " Serious and fixed as fate/^ was 
 the reply. 
 
 " What break so abruptly from 
 that power, to which I believed you 
 gloried in paying homage ?'* 
 
 " I do not understand you,'' said 
 Cecil ; *' to what power do you al- 
 lude ?*' 
 
 ** The power which earth and sea obey. 
 The pow*r which rules in heaven above. 
 
 That pow'r which bears such mighty sway, * 
 Extending over all — is love," 
 
 Was the gay answer of colonel Bar- 
 rowby. 
 
 " No, Sir ; were my inclinations so 
 disposed, I have too much honor to 
 encroach upon your prior rights ;'* 
 said Cecil, colouring. 
 
 " I willingly resign them to you ;'* 
 returned Barrowby, with affected care- 
 lessness. 
 
 *' My pride rejects them ;'' Cecil 
 replied with quickness.
 
 CECIL, 37 
 
 *' Nay, do not be serious on a sub- 
 ject, which, if your heart is free ne 
 avut pas lapeine^ and allow me without 
 offence to say, that I really thought it 
 the captive of our fair hostess/^ 
 
 "I certainly greatly admire the 
 person and abilities of Donna Cele- 
 rica,** said Cecil; " and feel the ut- 
 most gratitude for her kind attentions 
 to me ; but these sensations want 
 the ardour and tenderness which I 
 conceive characterise the passion of 
 love.'* 
 
 " Surely you must wear a breast- 
 plate of steel, if with so much grati- 
 tude and admiration on your part— 
 with si?ich kindness and fascination on , 
 her's, your heart is still invulnerable 
 to Celerica's various graces." 
 
 " I repeat,*' returned the ingenuous 
 Cecil, after a few moments given to 
 reflection ; " that I am perfectly alive 
 to the powerful and varying graces
 
 3S CECIL. 
 
 which distinguish Donna Celerica ; 
 nor can I exactly account for my 
 having escaped the consequences 
 which such graces are naturally cal- 
 culated to produce. Perhaps they 
 affect my mind as strong rays affect 
 the eye ; they make it ache with the 
 very brightness which first caught and 
 pleased it ; Vvhile the mild and steady 
 beams of a less animated and versatile 
 mind is to the heart, the soft green of 
 nature which exercises the fibres of 
 the visual orb without weakening it. 
 Such a character my mind has of late 
 taken pleasure in picturing to itself; 
 and though it at the same time des- 
 pairs of ever finding an original which 
 may realize its conceptions, it urges 
 me to deserve to be so rewarded. I 
 will, therefore, immediately break 
 through the enervating life I at pre- 
 sent lead, by first pursuing my travels 
 in search of wisdom; and thea en-
 
 CECIL, 39 
 
 listing under the banners of my sove- 
 reign, in search of glory/' 
 
 " Celerica entered as he pronounced 
 the last sentence, but was anticipated 
 in the observation it was about to 
 call from her, by colonel Barrowby 
 exclaiming : 
 
 " Here is a gentleman who is sud- 
 denly seized with the ambitious wish 
 of setting himself up as a pattern for 
 all travelled youths, who may in future 
 quit their native shores ! To entitle his 
 example to this renown, he means 
 henceforth to forswear the flowing 
 bowl— the animating dice, to turn his 
 eyes from the bright beams of beauty, 
 and to deny himself the dance, the 
 song, the feast of wit, the laugh of 
 joUity.- 
 
 " Away,^' interrupted Celerica, 
 summoning to her aid those sprightly 
 arguments and bewitching graces, so 
 calculated, when siding with the in-
 
 40 CECIL. 
 
 clinations, to bewilder the judgment 
 of youth. ' " Away with such cold 
 doctrines. Cecil, you were never 
 formed by nature for a stoic ! No, not 
 even to assume the outward form and 
 semblance of one. Shall those fea- 
 tures,^^ she added, with an insinuating 
 smile ; " which now express every 
 rising thought, be disciplined to move 
 by rule ? Shall that tongue, which has 
 hitherto charmed, because it has 
 spoken the dictates of your heart, 
 learn a language foreign to its feelings ? 
 Shall those senses, which are just 
 opening to the pleasures of existence, 
 close upon them, and leave the bosom- 
 empty of enjo3^ment ? Oh, no ! throw 
 not then away the delights which 
 court your inclinations ; the voice of 
 nature is the voice of wisdom ; obey 
 it— it warns you against the false blaze 
 of glory, which, by " seducing you 
 with your own praises/^ will lead you
 
 CECIL* 41 
 
 through perils to death. Obey it ; for 
 it adds, to this warning, an invitation 
 to follow her through the paths, which 
 pleasure strews, for the delicious sea- 
 son of youth, with thornless flowers/^ 
 As Celerica said this, she seized 
 her harp, and strengthened the influ- 
 ence of her wily doctrine, by singing 
 with a vivacity of spirit which gave ef- 
 fect to every word. 
 
 ** How I love the festive boy. 
 
 Tripping wild the dance of joy I 
 
 How I love the mellow sage. 
 
 Smiling thro' the veil of age ! 
 
 And whene'er this man of years. 
 
 In the dance of Joy appears. 
 
 Age is on his temples hung, 
 
 But his heart — his heart is young. 
 
 While Cecil, in spite of his late 
 sage reflections, was contemplating the 
 animated enchantress with newly- 
 awakened pleasure, four milk-white 
 mules, led by as many grooms, passed 
 the windows ^ Their appearaace was^
 
 42 CECIL, 
 
 strikingly beautiful, and instantly at- 
 tracted the attention of the versatile 
 Donna Celerica ; who, starting from 
 her harp, took the arm of the now de- 
 lighted youth and drew him to the 
 portico, before which they stopped. 
 
 As he -was examining, with admira- 
 tion, the various beauties and excel- 
 lencies of these animals (which proved 
 to be a new purchase of the lady, and 
 just arrived from Spain) she insinu- 
 ated, with flattering courtesy, that she 
 v^as particularly desirous he should 
 undertake to render them sufficiently 
 docile for her owm management. 
 
 " May I hope,^' said Celerica, with 
 a tone and look of arch simplicity, 
 *' that before you submit your own 
 high spirit, to the heavy yoke of Hole 
 philosophy, you will permit me to see 
 it exercised, in subduing the high met- 
 tle of these vakiable creatures.'' 
 
 Cecil, pleased and flattered, replied
 
 CECIL. 45 
 
 in a strain equally gay and gallant, 
 that he had not the power to disobey 
 any commands with which she might 
 chuse to honor him. 
 
 " Not if I commanded you to fol- 
 low me on a weary pilgrimage ?" said 
 the lady with an air, irresistibly insi- 
 nuating. 
 
 " By heavens, no !" exclaimed Ce- 
 cil, totally forgetting his late resolu- 
 tions, now that he was immediately 
 within the sphere of C clericals fasci- 
 nating allurements. " By heavens ! 
 no : were it to Mecca— to the world's 
 end'/' 
 
 " Nay/' interrupted the lady smil- 
 ing in conscious power; " I will not 
 put your fealty to quite so severe a 
 proof. The pilgrimage through which 
 I shall conduct you, will extend no 
 further than the forest of Nicesira Se- 
 nora del Rocio, in Spain, which is not 
 very far from Seville. Thither then
 
 44 CECIL. 
 
 most gallant Knight of the Happy 
 Isle; you swear to follow me ?*' 
 
 " I swear by this fair hand/* said 
 Cecil, drawing it within his own, with 
 playful familiarity, and detaining it 
 there, after he had carried it to his lips. 
 
 " Know then,*' observed Donna 
 Celerica, as they were returning to the 
 saloon, " that the period approaches 
 for performing on that spot, (wher€ 
 stands a church dedicated to the Vir* 
 gin Mary del Rocio) an annual cere- 
 mony ; the only religious part of which 
 is, the solemn procession to the cha- 
 pel, at whose head is carried the image 
 of The Ladi/ of the Deiv, In other re- 
 spects it is no more than an amusing 
 fete, where the great variety of national 
 charaQters, you will find assembled 
 from all parts of the world, must afford 
 a person like yourself travelling in 
 search of philosophy ^ fine subjects for 
 study.
 
 CECIL. 45 
 
 As tliey re-entered the apartment 
 they had lately quitted, a servant deli- 
 vered to Donna Celerica a letter, in- 
 forming her at tlie same time that it 
 came by the English packet. 
 
 As she took it from the salver on 
 which it was presented, the eyes of 
 Cecil, who was still standing by her 
 side, naturally glancing over the di» 
 rection, he thought he recognized the 
 hand in which it was written ; but re* 
 ceiving from Stephano a negative to 
 his question, of " whether there were 
 any letters for him,'' he retired to a 
 distant window, to leave Donna Cele- 
 rica to the undisturbed perusal of her 
 letter. 
 
 In this interval the thoughts of Ce- 
 cil took flight to that dear native land, 
 from whence he hoped for news ; till 
 they were suddenly recalled by the ab* 
 rupt exclamation of 
 
 ** Perish even the very name,"
 
 46 CECIL. 
 
 The surprized and startled Cecil 
 turned abruptly towards Celerica as she 
 vehemently uttered these words, and 
 perceived that her eyes were blazing 
 with an unnatural fire, that gave to her 
 whole countenance an expression 
 which shocked him. His enquiring 
 looks, however, instantly brought back 
 her habitual smiles ; but they had now 
 lost the charm they had a few mi- 
 nutes before possessed over him, and 
 without the power of accounting 
 for so feeling, his mind recoiled from 
 her. 
 
 *' An act of villany, the relation of 
 which forms the subject of this letter;" 
 said Celerica, recovering from the dis- 
 agreeable consciousness that she had an 
 observing witness of her unguarded 
 exclamation, " has roused my indigna- 
 tion; but as the parties concerned are 
 personally unknown to me, it is being 
 too quixotic,"" she added, affecting to
 
 CECIL. 47 
 
 laugh at herself; " to make their 
 wrongs my own/' 
 
 Cecil would have asked the parti- 
 culars of this atrocious deed ; but Ce- 
 lerica immediately folding and con- 
 signing, the letter to her pocket, evi- 
 dently shewed, (by enquiring as she 
 did so, whether he had been disap- 
 pointed of his expected letters) that 
 she meant not to pursue the subject. 
 
 Little disposed to enter on any 
 other, Cecil soon after passed through 
 the glass door which opened on the 
 arcade, and turned his steps in a very 
 meditative mood towards the grove. 
 Before reaching it, he was overtaken 
 by Owens, who was bearing a packet 
 of letters which had been received by 
 him at Lisbon, whither his master had 
 sent him on business the preceding 
 evening. 
 
 For a few moments, Cecil dwelt on 
 their superscriptions with that inex-
 
 48 CECIL. 
 
 plicable feeling which so frequently 
 influences the anxious mincl to delay 
 breaking the seal, even of a letter from 
 which it expects nothing but pleasure, 
 till it has paid the tribute of remem- 
 brance to its outward characters, by 
 identifying the hand that formed them. 
 
 Those Cecil now examined, told 
 him that they came from the several 
 members of his family. Yet he found 
 that they all treated of the same sub- 
 ject, and called upon him to share 
 their general joy— -a joy founded on 
 the happiness of one dear to himself; 
 who had accomplished a long desired 
 marriage with a lady, Cecil had from 
 his boyish days loved with the fond 
 affection of a brother. 
 
 The ^oul of the young traveller 
 could not open to a participation of 
 the pleasure this delightful union was 
 calculated to inspire, without being 
 roused to a lively sense of the dignity,
 
 \ 
 
 CECIL. 49 
 
 the delicacy, the tenderness, which 
 animate and cherish, through all the 
 successive ties of husband, friend, and 
 father— such an union of which his 
 letters treated. 
 
 There are sentiments too sublime to 
 be communicated by language, and 
 sensations so nice as to elude the power 
 of expression. Those which now ex- 
 alted the mind, and warmed the bo- 
 som of Cecil, taking their stamp from 
 the elevated character of that love 
 which had long attached to each other 
 the friends in whose happiness he felt 
 such joyful interest, rendered him pe- 
 culiarly alive to the want of some 
 kindred mind, which would instantly 
 comprehend his thoughts, and without 
 the aid of words, enter into his feelings. 
 Conscious that among the inmates of 
 the Quinta, he should in vain seek 
 the sympathy he desired — utterly dis- 
 inclined to the company of Donna 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 dO CECIL. 
 
 Celerica, and vexed at the promise 
 he had recently given her, he ordered 
 his horse to be brought, and mounting 
 him without having any particular 
 object in the choice, he, unattended, 
 took the road to C intra. 
 
 On reaching that celebrated place, 
 styled, by the ancients, the Promontory 
 of the Moon, from a temple built by 
 them on its highest pinnacle, and de^ 
 dicated to that planet ; Cecirs atten- 
 tion was at times won from the sub- 
 ject which had engrossed it, by the 
 noble prospect the promontary ^com- 
 manded from its tovv^ering height. 
 
 To the west, the great atlantic 
 ocean rolled its mighty waves beyond 
 theboiands of space, in majestic pride; 
 while fine rural habitations appeared 
 scattered by the tasteful hand of nature, 
 over the mountain's side to the north. 
 After traversing with curiosity and 
 delight, the stupendous rocHs, inter-
 
 CfiCIL. 31 
 
 spersed with wood and water, which 
 gave a wild and sublime beauty to the 
 near scene of the extensive view, 
 Cecil was tempted, by the shade of a 
 thicket, to direct his course through 
 it, in search of a new road by which 
 to return. A brisk air springing up 
 soon after he had entered, rendered it 
 so deliciously cool, that, invited by its 
 refreshing effects, Cecil dismounted 
 and sought to enjoy, beneath the shel- 
 ter of some myrtle and olive trees, the 
 liberty of indulging in those medita- 
 tions which the novelty and variety of 
 the landscape had interrupted. 
 
 He had not, however, long reposed 
 under this delightful shade, when his 
 attention was attracted by a small ob- 
 ject, perfectly white, flitting by him. 
 As his eye followed it with more ob- 
 servation, he perceived that it moved 
 not of itself, but was borne on the 
 wings of the wind. 
 
 D 9
 
 52 CECIL. 
 
 " We will have a smart race for it, 
 Zephyrus/' said Cecil, starting from 
 his recumbent posture, and swiftly- 
 pursuing it. 
 
 His speed soon won the prize, which 
 proved to be a written paper, and he 
 returned to his flowery arbour to gra- 
 tify his curiosity by the investigation 
 of its contents. 
 
 From the hand and style, Cecil a 
 6nce decided it to be the artless effu- 
 sions of some young female, proceed- 
 ing from a heart full of sensibility, and 
 a mind embued with strong reasoning 
 faculties. 
 
 " Blessings on the thief!'^ exclaim- 
 ed he, suspecting that Zephyrus had 
 stolen it—'' blessings on the thiefl" 
 —in warmer accents Cecil repeated, as 
 he proceeded in the perusal of charac- 
 ters, which, by beautifully describing 
 the simplicity, delicacy, and gentle- 
 ness of the writer's soul, made his ow;[i
 
 CECIL. ,J5 
 
 throb with an ardent desire of seeking 
 acquaintance with it. 
 It thus began:— 
 
 *' Happiness!— what is happiness? 
 —I scarcely know the meaning of that 
 heaven-born good, called happiness.— 
 My mother, benign and good, and 
 worthy the enjoyment of its influence, 
 is too sorrowfully pensive to give a 
 perfect idea of that coveted blessing; 
 and my father, less— dare I whisper it^ 
 although to myself, alone— less inter- 
 estingly sad— so far from communi- 
 cating, even by contrast, some faint 
 knowledge of that animated sensation, 
 which mv mother's natient suffering 
 presents, damps the sympathy which 
 should give charms to grief. 
 
 " I wonder whether all who experi- 
 ence disappointments and misfortunes, 
 become as mournful, and wear a cheek 
 of such pale sorrow as my mother, 
 p 3
 
 M CECIL 
 
 or grow as discontented — I mean- 
 as severely grave and reserved as my 
 father ! Both have suffered, cruelly 
 suffered I know; for have I not suf- 
 fered with them ? Yet when we reach- 
 ed these shores, where they told me 
 that storms, and shipwrecks, and sa- 
 vages, could harm me no more, I ex- 
 pected that the joyous delights of a 
 terrestrial paradise would bring meac» 
 quainted with happiness. Yet hap- 
 piness comes not to me— visits not my 
 home; within .whose circle (I have 
 read) every endearing feeling that com- 
 pose the attributes of happiness, ought 
 to be found— but I seek them in vain. 
 This then must be the theory of happi- 
 ness—the poet*s dream— how different 
 from the reality ! 
 
 " 1 think— yet am I right in giving a 
 visible expression to such reflections.— 
 Surely not wrong— since no eye but 
 mine will see them— no bosom but
 
 CECIL. 6S 
 
 inine grieve over them.—- 1 think 
 then by all I have seen— by all that 
 has met my knowledge on this land of 
 promise, that the ever-industrious bee 
 has more real enjoyment of happiness 
 than those beings who are gifted by 
 reason to direct them in search of it. 
 Sorrow and sickness—painful or unpro- 
 fitable labour, seem to be the misera- 
 ble lot of mortals, and from these 
 happiness hastily flies! But the earth, 
 the air, the breath of morn, the rising 
 and the setting sun, awake the insect 
 world to enjoyment, or soothe them to 
 repose. To the bee, the labour of the 
 day is sport— its fruits luxury. She 
 sucks fearlessly, and with busy plea- 
 sure, the fragrant sweets which open 
 with the dawn, and steals the bal- 
 samic riches of the closing flower.— 
 She basks in the glowing beams of the 
 orb of day, and bathes in the refreshing 
 dews of evening.— Envied insect ! teach 
 D 4
 
 56 CECIL, 
 
 me where to find that perfect good, 
 called happiness." 
 
 " This precious emblem of a cha* 
 racter, blending in its nature the beau- 
 ties of the soul and the imagination/' 
 said Cecil, as he carefully folded and 
 safely deposited it in his bosom, •' this 
 interesting fragment points to vie, at 
 least, the road to happiness !— I will 
 pursue it with unshaken faith. Heaven 
 prosper my search, and bless me wi th the 
 power of introducing it to the bosom 
 which has unconsciously taueht me to 
 comprehend its true sphere of action. 
 Would too that I could learn from 
 whence Zephyrus could have stolen 
 this endearing picture of beauty and 
 innocence— wasting youth amidst 
 scenes of solitary sadness. Beaut}^ ? 
 —how know I that the writer of this 
 is beautiful ? Well ! suppose her fea- 
 tures w^nt the perfection, and her
 
 CECIL, 57 
 
 form the symmetry of Celerica^s — her 
 mind must, without a question, be 
 beautiful ; for ever must 
 
 -beauty dwell. 
 
 There most conspicuous, e*en in outward shapt. 
 Where dawns the high expression of the soul.'* 
 
 While Cecil mentally held this di- 
 alogue with himself, he was slowly pe- 
 netrating through thi ckets of myrtles, to 
 a sort of copse. On reaching it, his 
 further progress was for a time check- 
 ed by the tones of a sweet voice 
 which (accompanied by an instrument 
 so exquisitely touched, he scarcely 
 could believe it to be a guitar) was 
 giving harmony to some words of the 
 sense of which distance robbed him. 
 
 Cecil stood motionless; till a pause 
 in the singing induced him to take 
 the symphony which succeeded as a 
 guide to proceed in the sanguine hope 
 of discovering the songstress; yet 
 D 6
 
 6S CECIL. 
 
 again his steps were checked— for 
 again the same soft tones rose on the 
 air— and now they distinctly conveyed 
 to him lines plaintive as the voice 
 which gave them their touching me- 
 lody. 
 
 L*ambition, I'honneur, Timposture, 
 
 Qui font tant des maux parmi nous, 
 Ne se rencontrent point chez vous ; 
 
 Cependant nous avons raison pour partage, 
 Et vous en ignorez I'usage, i 
 
 Innocens animause,n'en soyez point- jalouse 
 Ce n*est pas un grand avantage. 
 
 While repeating the last line, the 
 voice suddenly ceased — abruptly 
 ceased, as if interrupted ; and Cecil, 
 convinced that words so perfectly in 
 character with the pensive sentiments 
 which had dictated the effusions, must 
 proceed from the same sensitive being 
 who had penned them, now with im- 
 patient and agitated ardour, hurried on*
 
 CECIL. ^ 69 
 
 After passing througli several short 
 winding paths, he unexpectedly turned 
 out of a close walk immediately upon 
 a small, but very pretty Qimifa, the 
 front of which was rendered both cool 
 and picturesque, by an elegant veranda, 
 that extended its whole length. The 
 two extremities could be enclosed at 
 pleasure with lattices, and over the 
 trellissed arches, and around the pillars 
 which supported the roof, the vine, 
 nwrtle, and jessamine, wound their 
 luxuriant branches. 
 
 Cecil made these observations from 
 the thicket, to which he had hastily 
 retired in the moment of surprise, at 
 fmding himself so near a habitation ; 
 but neither seeing nor hearing any hu- 
 man being, he again advanced to that 
 end of the veranda nearest to him; 
 and gained, through an open lattice, a 
 partial view of the interior. It ap- 
 peared to be unoccupied ; yet a book;, 
 D 6
 
 60 cEcir.. 
 
 en inkstand, some loose sheets of pa- 
 per, and other articles, which lay on 
 the table standing before a recess that 
 formed a seat, proved that some person 
 had very lately been employed in it 
 
 Emboldened, however, by its pre- 
 sent deserted appearance, he ventured 
 to approach for the purpose of taking 
 a still nearer survey ; and without any 
 premeditated intention of intruding 
 into it, his increasing curiosity uncon- 
 sciously led him on step by step, till 
 he found himself fairly introduced into 
 this retreat, and surrounded by ob- 
 jects, which in his opinion indispu- 
 tably confirmed the conjectures that 
 had made him anxious to reach it. 
 
 On a Moorish cushion rested a Spa- 
 nish guitar. This vv^as, no doubt, the 
 one whose simple chords, awakened 
 by the hand of native taste and feeling, 
 had been his guide through the wood. 
 —Above it hung a curious picture.
 
 CECIt. 61 
 
 which fixed him in admiration of its 
 effect, and in surprise at its compo- 
 sition. 
 
 To Cecil, though no mean judge of 
 painting, the nature of its execution 
 was v/holly incomprehensible. No- 
 thing could exceed, in his opinion, 
 the delicacy and vividness of its co^ 
 louring; yet that colouring was not 
 composed of paint. Hopeless of dis- 
 covering what had been substituted in 
 its lieu, he at length turned his obser- 
 vation on other objects ; in doing so, 
 he perceived a quantity of beautiful 
 feathers, arranged according to their 
 gradation of shade, on the table. 
 
 The variety and dazzling brilliancy 
 of their hues, exceeding every thing 
 he had ever before beheld, (except 
 those he had just been admiring as 
 giving a mellow richness to the pic- 
 ture) induced him to compare them 
 with it, and blended as they were in
 
 62 CECIL. 
 
 t\e landscape, he instPiitly discovered 
 them to be the materials with which 
 the beaiitifal imitation of nature, that 
 had so greatly attracted him, had been 
 performed. Cecil was right ; it was 
 indeed executed by the judicious dis- 
 posal of feathers, supplied by the rare 
 and choice birds of New Spain, placed 
 w i h such judgment— mingled with a 
 skill so wonderful— the several tints so 
 exquisitely blended, and the light 
 and shade disposed with such admira- 
 ble correctness as to exhibit, with- 
 out the aid of artificial colours, or the 
 masterly strokes of the pencil, a 
 highly finished view of some foreign 
 country.* 
 
 As he was taking a last look at it, 
 his eye fell upon some writing in the 
 margin, whose characters resembled 
 
 * Some Indians, says Acosta, copy whatever is 
 painted with a pencil, so perfectly with plumage, 
 that they rival the best painters of Spain.
 
 CECIL. 63 
 
 those of the effusions, and he had just 
 caught the two words Azora and 
 Mexico^ when the irritating curiosity 
 these names had excited to make him- 
 self master of those which followed, 
 was most provokingly disappointed by 
 a noise, which under the prevailing 
 fear of being detected so unduly inqui- 
 sitive, caused him to spring through 
 the jalousie^ and regain without an 
 enquiring look, the thicket. 
 
 From this hiding place he perceived 
 that he had been alarmed by servants, 
 who were now busily employed in re- 
 moving the several articles which had 
 been so agreeably engaging his at- 
 tention. 
 
 He was half tempted to advance 
 and accost them, but while he was 
 debating this subject with himself, the 
 domestics disappeared ; and Cecil di- 
 rected his steps in search of the road 
 from whence he had deviatefrdeter*
 
 64 CECIL. 
 
 mined to visit the wood every day till 
 he could gain sight or knovs^ledge of 
 her who had given it so decided an in- 
 terest. 
 
 As he journeyed on, he repeatedly 
 pronounced to himself the two names, 
 ^^ Azora^ Mexico.'' The first he con» 
 eluded to be the name of the artist ; 
 but whether the second denoted the 
 scene executed, or the native country 
 of the designer of the picture, became 
 a question of doubt. Yet how ob« 
 tain a satisfactory solution ? unless in- 
 deed he should fortunately meet with 
 some person in his visit on the mor- 
 row, possessed of power and inclina- 
 tion to satisfy his curiosity. 
 
 The morrow— and the morrow, how- 
 ever, continued to shine on the foot- 
 steps of Cecil as he re-trod his way 
 through the wood, to that spot which 
 he believed to be the residence of her, 
 who pressed in her mental quahties
 
 CECIL. 65 
 
 and accomplishments such irresisti- 
 ble attractions. He re-trod them 
 full of glowing sensibilities, and 
 wrought to the highest degree of ro- 
 mantic expectation by the mystery 
 which appeared to hang over the se- 
 cluded inhabitants of this retired, but 
 peculiarly elegant habitation. 
 
 Still the veranda offered vacancy 
 alone to his eager gaze. Yet did 
 these repeated disappointments, so far 
 from damping the ardour of his pur- 
 suit, add, on the contrary, fuel to the 
 enthusiasm which fired his soul. 
 
 Through the powers of recollection 
 the sweet notes (to which Cecil had 
 listened with a degree of interest, mu- 
 sic never before inspired in him) asso- 
 ciated themselves with what now be- 
 came his daily study-—*' the effu- 
 sions—'' and rendered the wood the 
 favourite scene of his meditations- 
 meditations, that by raising his mind
 
 66 CECIL. 
 
 above its natural tone, and warming 
 his imagination, gave birth to senti- 
 ments which made him feel, as if there 
 alone he could be said to exist. 
 
 To Cecil, the society of Donna Ce- 
 lerica, now really became irksome ; 
 dissipation lost all power over his 
 senses, and he bore with impatience and 
 discontent, any obstacle to his visiting 
 the Vv ood, which bienseance threatened 
 to throw in the way. For in the 
 wood only could he give free scope 
 to his imagination, and paint in its 
 own vivid tints, the form and grace of 
 her, whose mind and sentiments had 
 received many nam.eless charms 
 from the solitude which concealed 
 them, and the sadness which im- 
 pressed them on his tenderness and 
 pity. 
 
 The time, however, when the en- 
 gagement he had made with Donna 
 Celerica, to accompany her into Spain,
 
 CECIL. 67 
 
 on an excursion with united gaiety 
 and devotion, was now arrived ; and 
 for the last time, previous to their set- 
 ting off on this journey, he entered the 
 wood. His eyes -— his ears — his 
 thoughts had been, as usual, for some 
 time wholly engaged on the only subject 
 which could interest him, when they 
 were suddenly roused to the keenest 
 intenseness by the sound of voices in 
 conversation ; and presently from the 
 place of his concealment he saw, with 
 an emotion he could with difficulty 
 controul, a female issue through a 
 glass door into the veranda, and ad- 
 vance, languidly supporting herself on 
 the arm of a servant, towards the 
 alcoved end, the objects in which had 
 tempted Cecil to his first intrusion. 
 
 The form of the stranger was tall, 
 slight, and drooping ; but he was not 
 near enough to judge if her coun- 
 tenance and features bore any resem-
 
 68 CECIL. 
 
 blance to the image with which he 
 had in idea clothed the various senti- 
 ments, the qualifications, and the vir- 
 tues of Azora. 
 
 The stranger seated herself, and re- 
 newed the conversation with her atten- 
 dant, in a voice that Cecil might well 
 have supposed to be the gentle one, 
 whose plaintive tones had made their 
 way to his heart: struck with thi» 
 convictici], he could no longer com- 
 mand the variety of sensations which 
 assailed it; and, heedless of appear- 
 ances, he quitted the enclosure with 
 the intention of pleading in excuse 
 for addressing the lady, the having 
 lost his way in the intricacies of the 
 wood, when the noise of his ap-* 
 proach occasioned her.^ before he could 
 introduce himself, to turn round ; and 
 to the regards of Cecil was presented 
 a face, interesting indeed, and most 
 delicate in feature and complexion;
 
 CECIL. 69 
 
 but from which the bloom of youth 
 and health had wholly faded. 
 
 A sense of disappointment for the 
 moment so entirely disconcerted him, as 
 to deprive him of the power of speak- 
 ing. With difficulty he rallied his 
 presence of mind ; when he did how- 
 ever recover its powers, and he had, 
 by changing his bad Portuguese for ele- 
 gant French, rendered his reasons and 
 excuses for accosting the stranger 
 more intelligible, they were most gra- 
 ciously attended to by the noble lady, 
 (for such her demeanor proclaimed 
 her) and she immediately ordered her 
 attendant to summon a servant for 
 the purpose of conducting Cecil into 
 the high road. 
 
 While she was absent on this er- 
 rand, the lady with easy grace dis- 
 coursed with Cecil on the solemn 
 beauty of the country around— on the 
 intricacies of the wood — on the bealthi-
 
 70 CECIL. 
 
 ness of its situation, which had made 
 it her choice ; and thus gave him an 
 opportunity of more perfectly examine 
 ingher countenance. As he did so, he 
 felt convinced that in the elegant but 
 faded form before him— faded, as his 
 perception told him, more by the 
 withering hand of sorrow than by time, 
 he beheld that mother so pathetically 
 mentioned in his treasured effusions ; 
 as this idea seized upon his belief, it 
 instantly rendered her an object of sin- 
 gular and deep interest. 
 
 The delicacy, the grace, the gentle- 
 ness, the expressive sense from which 
 her features took their character,wan ted 
 youth alone to realize to his eye the 
 picture of that being who had pos- 
 sessed herself of a place in his mind- 
 in his heart— under the most facinat- 
 ing form, that the fancy of a youthful 
 lover ever painted. 
 
 The appearance of the servant whp
 
 CECIL. 71 
 
 was to act for him as a guide, was the 
 signal for breaking off the conversa- 
 tion ; when, with grateful obeisances 
 to the lady of this solitary Qiiinfa, he 
 took his leave and followed the con- 
 ducting steps of the attendant. The 
 taciturnity of this domestic, however, 
 was not to be conquered, even by the 
 prepossessing and pleasing ingenuous- 
 ness of Cecil, andthey parted at the ex- 
 tremity of the wood where he had left 
 his horse, without his having gained the 
 slightest knowledge concerning those 
 who had so singularly excited his in- 
 terest and curiosity.
 
 75 CECIL. 
 
 CHAP. IV, 
 
 The morning after Cecil's last visit 
 to the wood, according to appoint- 
 ment, Donna Celerica, attended by 
 hJmself and Colonel Barrowby, com- 
 menced her projected journey into 
 Spain. 
 
 It proved in its progress infinitely 
 more interesting to Cecil than thestate 
 of mind in which it was undertaken, had 
 promised. Novelty soon asserted its 
 usual power over the unhackneyed 
 ideas of youth ; and Donna Celerica, 
 laying aside her [coquetry to perform 
 the part of Cicerona^ acquitted herself 
 with a taste and judgment, equally 
 pleasing and instructive to her compa- 
 nion. Added to which, the pleasure
 
 CECIL. 7^ 
 
 (if the doubtful expression of her coun- 
 tenance on first entering her native 
 country could be thus construed) ap^ 
 pear.ed so tempered by some forcible 
 recollection of a mixed nature, as to 
 give an air of genuine sensibility to her 
 manner, and a sober gravity to her dis- 
 course. 
 
 Could Cecil have banished from his 
 remembrance the various .humours 
 which she had, according to the ruling 
 caprice of the moment, exhibited to 
 his observation during their short ac- 
 quaintance, this change would have led 
 him to believe that he now, for the first 
 time, saw her in her real character. 
 Yet, though he could not subdue his 
 doubts as to the sincerity or stability of 
 this unexpected change, he hailed it as 
 more congenial with his present feel- 
 ings than the vivacity, wit, humour, 
 and spirit, which had hitherto pre- 
 sented her under every form, but that 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 74i CECIL. 
 
 she had now iassumed the rational com- 
 panion. 
 
 At Piiebla, Cecil enjoyed, in his 
 friend Clarendon, a most happy acquisi- 
 tion to their party. He was on his return 
 to Lisbon, with the intention of joining 
 him according to his promise ; a pro- 
 mise, he had been enabled to fulfil in 
 much less time than he had expected. 
 
 Edward Clarendon, was a young 
 man in whose friendship for a son, a 
 judicious parent would have rejoiced. 
 He was steady, wise, full of reflection, 
 and fond of study. His fair com- 
 plexion, rendered extremely delicate by 
 the hectic colour with which ill- 
 health had painted his cheeks, created 
 an unusual interest in his favor, by 
 subduing the strong effect of the sense 
 and pride, which in health marked his 
 features, and gave a coldness to his - 
 manners that seemed to forbid all ap- 
 proach to intimacy*
 
 CECIL. 75 
 
 Against such a character, our young 
 traveller expected to see the vivacious 
 and self-sufficient Celerica, level the 
 whole artillery of her wit and beauty; 
 no such consequence however ensued. 
 The apparently unaffected gravity, 
 which had surprised Cecil, when 
 awakening from the reverie into which 
 she had sunk, after the unfinished 
 sentence; " am I once more in the 
 land of my nativity !— would to God 
 
 that I never *' still maintained 
 
 its empire over her deportment, and 
 frequently caused a silence, never be- 
 fore experienced in her society. 
 
 In one of these intervals, Cecil, 
 whose spirits were greatly exhilarated 
 by the presence of his friend, taking 
 advantage of Clarendon's supposition 
 that Donna Celerica was a Portuguese, 
 tempted him by various enquiries to 
 give his free opinion of the Spanish 
 nation; for he flattered himself that 
 E 2
 
 76 CECIL, 
 
 characters so opposite as those of hi 9 
 friend and hostess would, in the argu- 
 aneiits each might bring forward in 
 -support pf their several sentiments on 
 tUe subject^ give a turn to the con- 
 versation 5 at once amusing and spi- 
 rited. 
 
 *' Conversing, the morning before 
 we left England, with a neighbour of 
 my father's. Major General Bardzleigh, 
 on my intended journey to Spain,*' 
 said Cecil, addressing himself to Cla- 
 rendoi^; *' I was checked while ex- 
 pressing my rapturous anticipation of 
 all I was to hear, see, and enjoy, in 
 the native country of romance, by his 
 interrupting me with the assurance, 
 that Cervantes, in correcting, through 
 the medium of his satyric pen^ the 
 predominant passion for extravagant 
 adventure and chivalrous achievement 
 which once cherished in his country- 
 men, the enthusiasm of their nature.
 
 CECIL. 77 
 
 had not only enervated those exalted 
 sentiments that glowing energy of cha- 
 racter, and heroic sense of honor, 
 which had distinguished the Spaniard 
 of ancient times, but had also caused 
 a complete revolution in his amuse- 
 ments. The gay and martial tour- 
 nament, on which I perceive/^ said he, 
 *' that you, my young friend, have fixed 
 your youthful fancy, and which for 
 centuries formed so interesting an en- 
 tertainment to the youth of both sexes, 
 no longer gives the spirit of pride— -of 
 mystery-— of romance, to their inter- 
 course. No longer tlo poetry and 
 music, those favorite arts of the Moors, 
 unite in gifting the Spanish fair one 
 with the enchanting power of cele- 
 brating the faith, honor, and gal- 
 lantry of her favored lover. No 
 more do they inspire in that lover 
 those plantive numbers ; in which, 
 to render love more seductive, the vo- 
 E 3
 
 7S CECIL. 
 
 luptuous Arab first taught him to 
 breathe in melancholy strains, the sor- 
 rows of absence— the pangs of doubt. 
 Coldness, haughtiness, and reserve, 
 haye supplanted those chivalric qua- 
 lities, ^hich then peculiarly distin- 
 guished the Spaniards. 
 
 *' Although there is much truth," 
 replied Clarendon, " in the receivedv 
 opinion that the indelible ridicule 
 thrown on the quixotism of the 
 Spaniards, by the works of Cervantes, 
 has operated in effecting a change in 
 their national character, my own expe- 
 rience will not allow of my giving to 
 that opinion, the degree of latitude, to 
 which your friend has extended it. 
 In the provinces, which still retain 
 traces of the manners, ideas, and cul- 
 tivated taste for the arts and sciences, 
 which were communicated to them by 
 the Arabians, while masters of the 
 country, 1 have found men, with
 
 CECIL. 79 
 
 Moorish passions, grafted upon Spanish 
 honor ; and women, possessed of 
 natural wit and sense, which no want 
 of education could prevent from 
 shining forth as proofs that they 
 inherited those powers of mind, which, 
 in the days of Abdah'ahman fre- 
 quently gained them the palm of 
 honor in the public lectures, given on 
 poetry and philosophy. 
 
 Still, in the lofty mien, and digni- 
 fied gesture of the modern Spaniard, 
 are, in my opinion, to be traced marks 
 of his ancient greatness.— Still does a 
 noble pride elevate his mind ; ignoble 
 deeds— insult or treachery, fire his 
 passions, and inflame his resentment. 
 When warmed by love or friendship, 
 he finds a language in which to ex- 
 press the enthusiasm of his feelings— at 
 once bold, rich, and full of that orien- 
 tal tenderness and sublimity which 
 the Arabians introduced into Spain.''*
 
 to CECIL, 
 
 ** Pardon me for interrupting you/^ 
 said Cecil, casting a significant glance 
 at Donna Celerica, (who, perfectly 
 satisfied with the warm champion, en- 
 listed on the side of Spain, had forborne 
 from taking part in the conversation) 
 " pardon my interruption, but I have 
 somewhere read,'' he continued, as 
 he smilingly turned from the trium- 
 phant looks of Celerica to Clarendon, 
 " that if the Egyptian, the Greek, 
 the Arab, the Moor, the Jew, the 
 Roman, the Vandal, the Hun, the 
 Goth, the French, and the Italian, 
 were to oblige the Spaniard to make 
 restitution of all the words he has 
 stolen from them, he wouM have 
 none left, with which to dispute the 
 justice of their claim. 
 
 " I do not qr.estion your authority," 
 returned Clarendon ; " nor the wisdom 
 of the Spaniard for having enriched 
 his own language, (taking the medium
 
 CECIL. 81 
 
 of your author's ace ipation) by bor- 
 rowing from others, tho e word which 
 have enabled him to express, with 
 such energy and spirit, the brilliant 
 conceptions of his lively imagination— 
 the strong passions of ambition, anger 
 and jealousy, which compose his cha- 
 racter. Blended as these several thefts 
 are with his own tongue, they form 
 together a language, noble, sonorous, 
 and impressive/' 
 
 " Pray,'' said Cecil, still hoping to 
 start some subject that would cause a 
 little innocent sparring, " inform me, 
 for I am very impatient to learn for 
 the comfort of such simple-minded 
 persons as myself, whether the ladies 
 of Spain possess a superiority in per- 
 sonal charms^ to compen^^ate for the 
 diminution of those philosophic ones 
 you mention, with a degree of vene- 
 ration, which I have no desire of feel- 
 e6
 
 82 CECIL. 
 
 ing for any woman, but my grand- 
 mother/' 
 
 Clarendon, unconscious of what 
 was passing in the minds of Cecil 
 and Celerica, was beginning, in the 
 same aroused energy, to expatiate on 
 the spirit and intelligence, which, in- 
 dependent of beauty, gave a fasci- 
 nating grace to the countenance of 
 the subjects of his enquiries. When 
 he was, this time, interrupted by 
 Donna Celerica's exclaiming: 
 
 " Behold in that young passer-by, 
 a model from which you may yourself 
 draw a picture of the personal en- 
 dowments of my countrywomen.'' 
 
 Here Clarendon gave Cecil a re- 
 proachful look, and his cheek glowed 
 for a moment v/ith the colour of 
 health ; but recollecting that his high 
 estimation of the nation on which he 
 had been descanting with so much 
 freedom, must have been a safe-guard
 
 CECIL, 83 
 
 against his having- advanced any opi- 
 nion likely to offend Donna Celerica, 
 he recovered himself, and the lady 
 giving him a smile of approbation, 
 resumed her discourse, by thus ad- 
 dressing Cecil. 
 
 *' Observe that lovely girl well, and 
 1 think, even you, with all your 
 English prejudices in favor of the 
 lilies and the roses, must become a 
 convert to the superiority of Spanish 
 beauty/' 
 
 The attention of both gentlemen 
 were immediately fixed on a female of 
 about sixteen years of age. A fine 
 oval face-— auburn hair parted On the 
 forehead, and simply bound with a 
 silken net— large dark eyes, whose in- 
 telligence tears could not dim— and a 
 mouth, the graces of which grief 
 could not destroy— distinguished the 
 person of her to whom Celerica drew 
 their admiration.
 
 S4 CECIL. 
 
 She was habited in a neat black 
 serge, fitting exactly her form, which, 
 as she walked slowly and pensively 
 on, bearing in one hand a vessel of 
 water, in the other, a basket of flow- 
 ers, gave to her whole appearance, that 
 softness, beauty, and simplicity, for 
 which the elegant models handed down 
 to us of the females of Greece, are so 
 justly admired. 
 
 *' She is beautiful indeed!'' ex- 
 claimed Cecil ; as his eyes followed 
 her into a church yard, till losing sight 
 of her, he turned them on Celerica ; 
 who answered the expression which 
 told the enquiry he would have made, 
 by saying : 
 
 " She is going to strew with flowers, 
 and to bless with holy water, the grave 
 of some departed friend ; it is the 
 custom of my country so to honor 
 the dead ; let us alight and observe 
 her. Alas!'^ she added, in an altered
 
 CECIL. S5 
 
 tone. " Perhaps it is a lover's tomb 
 which claims from her this sad tribute 
 of love and sorrow.' ' 
 
 .The gentlemen, with much feeling 
 and delicacy, shrank from this invi- 
 tation to intrude upon the sacred in- 
 dulgence of grief. And the long si- 
 lence which succeeded, proved that 
 the hearts of the company had been 
 softened by the reflections to which 
 the sight of sorrow, under so young 
 and interesting a form, had given rise. 
 
 Donna Celerica was the first to break 
 through this pause of thought and feel- 
 ing, by complimenting Clarendon in 
 the name of the Spanish nation, on his 
 liberal support of its many characte- 
 ristic excellencies; and taunting Cecil, 
 with the disappointment of his mali- 
 cious endeavours to cause a broullerie 
 between his friend and herself. Cecil 
 defended himself from this accusa- 
 tion, by affirming that he had been
 
 86 CECIL. 
 
 entirely guided by a love of imparti- 
 ality in concealing from Clarendon 
 that Spain had the honor of giving 
 her birth. 
 
 " For had my friend known its 
 claim to this honor," he added, with 
 an air of unusual gallantry, " what- 
 ever prejudices, well or ill founded^ 
 he might have entertained against this 
 nation, must have been annihilated by 
 the beams of your bright eyes, or -the 
 flashes of your sparkling wit/' 
 
 " I really congratulate you with no 
 small pride upon your improvement, 
 since you breathed the air of Spain,'* 
 said Donna Celerica, in a tone of 
 satisfaction ; "but let that' pass in 
 order that I too may prove myself a 
 lover of impartial justice, by giving 
 you the character of my countrywo- 
 men, which is still wanting to com- 
 plete the picture of this nation. That, 
 your friend had so ably begun, you
 
 CECIL. 87 
 
 have, I perceive, disabled him from 
 finishing ; I will therefore take upon 
 myself to fill up his outline. 
 
 Ke has already told you that the 
 e3^es of my countrywomen vouch for 
 their possessing no common share of 
 sense. Learn from me, that highly 
 as they have reason to be satisfied 
 with both their minds and persons, 
 even the greatest beauties receive 
 marks of admiration and affection, not 
 as their due, but as a voluntary ho- 
 mage which seldom fails of winning 
 their favor. On this account, it is said, 
 that they are fond of flattery and court. 
 They are also said to be voluble, and 
 rapid in conversation. It would I 
 think be more just to assert that their 
 natural ingenuousness, rarely checked 
 by timidity, gives a seducing fluency 
 to their language ; by some called 
 eloquence. I subscribe to the opinion 
 that they are impatient, opiniatedj.^nd
 
 88 CECIL. 
 
 passionate; but win their attention 
 by kindnes's, and heir excellent dis- 
 positions will impel them to yield at 
 once to reason and conviction. They 
 are also accused of being capricious to 
 excess ; it may be so ; yet if obedient 
 to the impulse of their ardent imagi- 
 nations, their fancies are eternally 
 varying ; their hearts at least remain 
 with unshaken con^- ancy, attached to 
 the objects of their first choice, even 
 through age to death; unless that ob- 
 ject ceases to be worthy of it!— then 
 
 indeed '^ 
 
 The eyes of Celerica flashed fire, 
 and her countenance and voice were 
 equally bitter as she pronounced these 
 words, but she fiaished not a sen- 
 tence which Cecil could not help 
 thinking must have had Colonel Bar- 
 rowby for its object. However that 
 might be, the spirit of the conversa- 
 tion was damped, and the young men
 
 CECIL. . S9 
 
 were very glad to come in sight of the 
 Venta^ where they were to rest that 
 night on reaching which, they found 
 that Colonel Barrowby had admirably 
 performed the only office for which 
 Cecil thought him fit—that of avant- 
 courier and caterer to the party.
 
 90 CECIL. 
 
 CHAP. V, 
 
 On the follotving morning the tra- 
 vellers ascended their carriage, and 
 continued their journey towards the 
 forest of Senora delRocio, 
 
 As they were passing through the 
 city of Seville, they found their pro- 
 gress impeded by a vast concourse of 
 people, assembled in the principal 
 street, to see and welcome above one 
 hundred captives, redeemed from the 
 Moors, by public subscription, and 
 just arrived from Barbary, 
 
 The countenances of some of these 
 men, were to Donna Celerica and her 
 fellow travellers, subjects of contem- 
 plation at the time ; and of deep re- 
 flection afterwards.
 
 CECIL. 91 
 
 Among those who principally at- 
 tracted their observation, were two 
 Irish Roman Catholic youths, whose 
 eyes sparkling with joy— and hope— 
 and sanguine expectation— bespoke 
 their honest bosoms open to receive 
 and bless, as the friend to whom they 
 owed their redeemed happiness, every 
 one who accosted them with civility. 
 
 Those of a young Moor on the con- 
 trary, who had been persuaded to es- 
 cape from his native country for the 
 purpose or embracing Christianity ex- 
 pressed surprise, curiosity, and a 
 doubtful kind of pleasure, at having 
 accomplished in safety his hazardous 
 flight -— doubtful it was — because 
 mixed with foreboding suspicions, that 
 in a strange land, and among a new 
 people, he should seek in vain for con- 
 nections Vv'hich could compensate for 
 the sacrifice of his natural ties. These 
 sensations seemed depressingly to
 
 95 CECIL. 
 
 force themselves upon his recollection, 
 when he observed friends or relations 
 cheering with their kind greetings, 
 the hearts of most of his long-suffer* 
 ing companions; and as they were, 
 at these moments, more forcibly ex- 
 pressed by his intelligent countenance, 
 they brightened its sable hue with 
 peculiar interest. Yet this interest 
 soon gave way in the travellers, to 
 the attention irresistibly seized by an 
 object of a totally different character. 
 
 Aloof from all the rest, and strongly 
 bearing the marks of many years sla- 
 very, stood alone, un welcomed, un- 
 cheered, by friend or countryman, a 
 man of savage aspect ! Like all the 
 other emancipated slaves, this Re- 
 deemed Captive was clad in the Moor- 
 ish garb ; and wore a broad white 
 mantle, charged with the badge of his 
 redemption. An immense beard flow- 
 ed to his girdle, a.d strengthened the
 
 CECIL. 95 
 
 repulsive pride and fierceness of his 
 features, as with a look, that seemed 
 to proclaim him the enemy of all 
 human ties ; he ferociously watched * 
 one group after another shrink ap- 
 palled from his terrific glance, and 
 pass on to offer the congratulations of . 
 friendship or humanity to his fellow 
 sufferers. 
 
 Donna Celenca, shuddering as she 
 gazed on him, exclaimed to Claren- 
 don, whose eyes, she observed were 
 fixed on the same person : 
 
 '• There is something so revolting to 
 my feelings, in the countenance of 
 that man, that if I were to believe in 
 their suggestions^ I should pronounce 
 him to be a reprieved malefactor^ rather 
 than a Redeemed Captive ; one who 
 has rather caused the innocent to 
 suffer, than been himself a guiltless 
 sufferer ! 
 
 ''- He has been both, I should sus-
 
 94 CECIL. 
 
 pect," replied Clarendon — partici- 
 pating in her sensations of revolt, ''tor 
 his countenance certainly betrays that 
 v/hether from revenge, from hatred, or 
 from malice, his heart has divested it- 
 self of all the endearing charities of 
 life/' . 
 
 " If so," said Celerica, whose eves 
 were still fixed on him, '' he ou^ht to 
 excite in us the same species of com- 
 passion, as that which impelled St. 
 Catharine of Geneva to exclaim in 
 speaking of the damned, ' how I pity 
 them, for they are incapable of loving/ 
 But do tell the drivers to make, if pos- 
 sible, their way through the crovv'd," 
 impatiently, added she; " I see that it 
 is dispersing to the left." 
 - With some difficulty this was ef- 
 fected, and the hum of the multitude 
 was soon lost in distance. 
 
 In due time they reached Villa Man- 
 riques, where they found in waitings
 
 CECIL. 95 
 
 or in preparation, fifty carts, destined 
 for tiie conveyance of many a gay^and 
 happy heart, on the same expedition. 
 
 Some of these holyday children, who 
 were to occupy them, were collecting 
 together their companions by the 
 sound of their guitars, which, accom- 
 panied by tambarines and castanets, 
 they gaily played as they traversed the 
 different streets to give notice that the 
 hour of departure was arrived. 
 
 With this joyous caravan, our tra- 
 vellers again set forward ; but tiring of 
 ^he slowness of their progress, they 
 passed— soon left them behind ; and 
 were not again joined by them, till 
 they reached the forest, in the middle 
 of which stands the church that en- 
 'shrines the image of the Virgin Mary 
 del Rocio, 
 
 Here was opened to the Englishman 
 a scene entirely new, presenting a 
 living picture of those poetic des-
 
 96 CECIL. 
 
 criptions of Arcadia, which fancy 
 painted— and fancy still loves to che- 
 rish—although the pen of truth has 
 long since divested that pastoral para- 
 dise of all its fabulous beauties. In 
 the forest of Nuestra Senora del Rocio^ 
 hov^ever, all was nature in her love- 
 liest garb— in her utmost perfection. 
 Poetic imagery could add nothing to 
 the reality, to render it more romantic 
 in appearance ; more exhilarating and 
 joyous in effect. Arbours were the 
 only accommodation, but they were 
 formed with such taste, such skill, 
 and the climate required so little 
 shelter at night, that each person re- 
 posed beneath their trellissed branches 
 m healthful slumber, and exhaled with 
 equal safety the perfume spread around 
 them by their blossoms.* 
 
 * There is no fiction in the description ibf this 
 singular festival annually celebrated in the forest 
 of Senora del Kocio in Spain.
 
 CECIL. 97 
 
 Before, however, the company re- 
 tired to them, fires were kindled un- 
 derneath the adjacent trees, when the 
 servants of the different communities 
 commenced preparations for their res- 
 pective suppers. While this was ef- 
 fected, of the many thousands present, 
 groups were formed into dancers, 
 singers, players, and again the guitar 
 and other instruments, expressed, in 
 exhilarating notes, the gaiety of their 
 hearts— gave sweetness to their song, 
 or spirit to the dance. 
 
 Such is the transparency of the at- 
 mosphere of Spain, that it frequently 
 gives to the eye, sun, moon, and stars, 
 at noon day, and renders the outline of 
 every object clearly discernible at 
 jiight ; our travellers were conse- 
 quently enabled to enjoy a complete 
 view of these shepherds and shep- 
 herdesses, For as such, the simple 
 attire of the women, and the short 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 9S CECIL. 
 
 picturesque jacket with hanging sleeves 
 of the men, presented them to their 
 ideas, as they passed and re-passed 
 with quick elastic step, between the 
 trees of this beautiful forest, animating 
 every bush and thicket with their airy 
 motions and playful gambols. 
 
 *' Fleet through the shades, in parted rout they 
 
 glide ; 
 If winding path the chosen pairs divide. 
 Another path by sweet mistake betrays, 
 An(J throws the lover on the lover's gaze. 
 If dark-browed bower conceal the lovely fair. 
 The laugh, the shriek, confess the charmer near," 
 
 Repeated Donna Celerica, in the 
 native language of Camoens, after 
 they had some time watched the 
 moving scene ; to these gay and 
 spcrtive amusem_ents, now succeeded 
 the convivial repast of evening. This 
 supper, pastorally spread upon the 
 turf, and partaken of with happy 
 Cv^iiality^ still preserved in the forest
 
 CECIL. 99 
 
 the same air of novelty and freedom 
 which had before given it so much in- 
 terest to the romantic dispositions of 
 Clarendon and Cecil. 
 
 Presently the groups began to sepa- 
 rate and disperse themselves different 
 ways, in search of the arbours allotted 
 for their repose. The glowing fires 
 gradually died away to embers ; and 
 silence stole over the scene, as one 
 reveller after another sank under the 
 dominion of sleep. At length, of all 
 this so late gay and busy multitude, 
 ?ione appeared to v/ake but our travel- 
 lers; Donna Celerica then wished her 
 friends good night, and stationing her 
 servants as guards at the entrance of 
 the arbour, retired with her women to 
 her. flowery dormitory. Colonel Bar- 
 rowby sought his in the carriage which 
 had brought the attendants of Cele- 
 rica; and Cecil, but little disposed 
 for sleep, proposed to Clarendon the 
 F 2
 
 100 CECIL. 
 
 penetrating into the centre of the 
 forest, and taking a view of the chapel 
 it embosomed. 
 
 As they pursued this plan, the dis- 
 course at first naturally fell on Donna 
 Celerica; which, leading to the rela- 
 tion of Cecil's adventure in the wood, 
 he openly acknowledged to Clarendon 
 so much of the romance, to which it 
 had given birth, as to draw from him 
 in reply, " How can you possibly tell 
 that the unknown deserves the pre- 
 ference you give her over Celerica, 
 who by your own confession possesses, 
 in the same kind of accomplishments 
 on which you dwell as so interestingly 
 characterising the syren of the wood, 
 equal powers of charming. 
 
 For instance; you allow that Cele- 
 rica sings enchantingly— dances ex- 
 quisitely—writes elegantly : I will 
 not enumerate all the other acquire- 
 ments for which you once praised her;
 
 CECIL. 101 
 
 these three, against the three you have 
 brought forward in favor of your sud- 
 den and singular predilection for the 
 unknown.' And now inform me, why 
 you should on these accounts give to 
 a lady you have never seen, credit for 
 those virtues which you deny to 
 Gelerica ?'* 
 
 " I will answer you my friend," re- 
 turned Cecil, in the words of a cele- 
 brated author, who says.* ' The 
 mind, which is spectator or auditor of 
 other minds, cannot be without its 
 eye and c«r, so as to discern pro- 
 portion, distinguish sound, and scan 
 each sentiment and thought which 
 comes before it. It feeis the soft and 
 harsh— the agreeable and disagreeable, 
 in the affections; and finds a harmo- 
 nious and a dissonant, as really and 
 truly here, as in any musical numbers, 
 or in the outward forms and representa- 
 * Lord Shaftesbury. 
 F 3
 
 lOS CECIL. 
 
 tions of sensible things/ Now trie eye 
 and £'arofmy mind tells me/' continued 
 Cecil, " that Celerica does not sing with 
 an expression of soul— does not dance 
 with the grace of delicacy- —does not 
 write v/ith the luirmonij of a correct 
 mind/' 
 
 *' Though I admire your philosophy, 
 I cannot do the same by your severity/' 
 remarked Clarendon, " which nothing 
 I have hitherto seen in the lady's be- 
 haviour justifies. I therefore suspect 
 that you despise a conquest that is so 
 easily to be won." 
 
 " How greatly you misunderstand 
 the lady's sentiments in respect tome. 
 I am perfectly convinced I have never 
 to her been an object of the slightest 
 partiality; by what motives she has 
 been actuated in retaining me as her 
 guest, I know not ; perhaps some se- 
 cret obligations to my family." 
 
 *' But you say," observed Claren-
 
 CECIL. 103 
 
 don, '' that your father assured you in 
 one of his letters, that he knew of no 
 foreigner answering your description 
 of Donna Celerica. 
 
 " True,'* rejoined Cecil; " yet 
 she appears to take no other pleasure 
 in conversing with me, than as it 
 forms a medium through which she 
 may learn every new particular res- 
 pecting those most nearly connected 
 with me, transmitted to me in their 
 letters/' 
 
 " That may be owing to her be- 
 lieving the subject so interesting to 
 you, that if she can but associate her- 
 self with the feelings it creates, she 
 may win her way to your heart at 
 once/' 
 
 " And would you wish," asked 
 Cecil, seriously ; " that she should suc- 
 ceed in making me the rival of Colonel 
 Barrowby?" 
 
 '^ She will never marry him, T will 
 F 4
 
 104 CECIL. 
 
 affirm, slight as may be my acquaint- 
 ance with her character/' replied 
 Clarendon. 
 
 " Marry him !''— exclaimed Cecil, 
 in surprise—" Marry him '.—decidedly 
 not— that is wholly contrary to her 
 system. The fetters of love are the 
 only fetters she will ever submit to 
 wear; and those, formed with the 
 flowers of the varying year, bind but 
 for their season. — Your evident 
 astonishment proves that my guarded 
 manner of speaking of her has misled 
 your judgment. Know, that rich- 
 young— independent— and beautiful, 
 she considers the enjoying all the plea- 
 sures these advantages may command, 
 as living a life of reason. Thus much 
 as a w^arning to you; and now let us 
 drop the ungrateful subject, for such / 
 feel it to be on my part.'' 
 
 Clarendon paused in reflection on 
 the concluding words of Cecil's
 
 CECIL, 105 
 
 speech ; during which the friends gra- 
 dually yielded to those sensations 
 which the] still evening, throwing its 
 soft shade over the grove, and the pen- 
 sive moon silvering with its placid 
 light the silent stream, cherish in 
 minds of sensibility. Soon a higher 
 tone w^as unexpectedly given to these 
 feelins^s bv the fme, full swell of an 
 organ, which suddenly burst forth in 
 a grand and solemn symphony. 
 
 The sublime effect of these rich 
 tones, resounding in the solitude and 
 silence of the forest, fixed the surprised 
 listeners in an attitude of devout 
 attention, till with the hymn, to which 
 they formed a prelude, arose a voice, 
 chosen, it should seem, by heaven 
 itself, to chant these saintly orisons. 
 
 Clarendon would have spoken his 
 
 admiration; but Cecil turning upon 
 
 him, eyes animated with the most 
 
 lively feelings of delight, prevented him 
 
 F 5
 
 106 CECIL. 
 
 by exclaiming—" 'Tis she!"— -and 
 instantly darted forward with a velo- 
 city which soon carried him out of 
 sight. This lightning speed deter- 
 mined Clarendon on awaiting where 
 he then was, the result of his friend's 
 enquiring search; and giving himself 
 up to the enjoyment of tones, which, 
 as he listened, filled his bosom w^ith 
 the most elevating emotions. 
 
 These tones, however, had long 
 ceased before Cecil returned, with an 
 air of deep disappointment. He had; 
 he said, discovered the chapel from 
 whence they had proceeded ; but no 
 access into its interior could be ob- 
 tained, and he had in consequence 
 been wandering about in the hope of 
 finding in its vicinity, some habita- 
 tion where it might be supposed that 
 the keys were deposited ; but the same 
 ill-success had attended his second 
 enquiry.
 
 CECIL, 107 
 
 Yet it was most unwillingly that 
 Cecil gave it up, and at the request of 
 his friend, turned his steps toward the 
 arbours of repose. 
 
 They had not proceeded far, when a 
 new hope was inspired in Cecil by 
 his friend, saying : 
 
 " Can that be a star which shines 
 so brightly ; or is it a lamp whose 
 beams break through that ^ thick 
 fbliage ?*' 
 
 " A lamp, certainly,'' was the reply; 
 *' let us make towards it. We may, 
 from its owner, gain some information 
 on the subject which so greatly inte- 
 rests me.'' 
 
 They approached, and found that its 
 rays beamed from the jessamine-covered 
 window of a hermitage ; the residence, 
 it was of the holy man, who officiated 
 at the chapel of the Virgin Mary del 
 Rocio^ Its open latch invited them to 
 enter; and as they did so, two persons;, 
 f6
 
 108 CECIL. 
 
 in the garb of real pilgrims^ from Saint 
 John de Compostella^ issued from it, 
 and passed into the forest. 
 
 The delicate and interesting counte- 
 nance of the first, persuaded Cecil it 
 was that of a female, and he turned 
 eagerly towards the hermit, with the 
 question of whether they were known 
 to him. The holy man declared thenj 
 to be utter strangers. 
 
 *' Had they been in the chapel ?'* 
 was the next question. .^^ 
 
 The holy man replied they had just 
 returned from doing homage to our 
 lady del Rocio ; since which, the father 
 had confessed himself, but not the son. 
 
 Father and son!— thoug Cecil— 
 of this the confession must have in- 
 formed him!— and the trembling kind 
 of pleasure he had been indulging, fled. 
 
 No further intelligence could be 
 procured from the hermit, than that 
 the doors of the holy sanctuary were
 
 CECIL. 109 
 
 always left open ; that, at all hours, 
 pilgrims and wandering devotees, 
 might resort to it as convenience or 
 zeal dictated. Amidst the numbers 
 who had that evening offered up, 
 anthems to the Virgin Mary del Rocio, 
 it was impossible, the hermit said, to 
 ascertain who might have secured 
 themselves from intrusion, by fasten- 
 ing the doors of the chapel, while 
 paying their devotions at its shrine. 
 They had most likely succeeded the 
 pilgrims just departed; and were 
 themselves now succeeded by other 
 votaries. 
 
 With this unsatisfactory answer 
 Cecil and Clarendon took their leave, 
 bearing with them the fatherly bene- 
 dictions of the venerable recluse, 
 whose mild voice, as it uttered the last 
 farewell blessing, seemed once more 
 to resign the forest to the empire of 
 silence-"a silence, which continued
 
 110' CECIL. 
 
 unbroken, till on turning out of a 
 thickly wooded path, into a wild and 
 gloomy part of the forest, they beheld 
 —again alone— -eagerly— and impa- 
 tiently feeding, the greedy flame of a 
 large fire, with fuel, hacked from the 
 over-hanging branches by the strong 
 strokes of his Moorish scymitar— the 
 Redeemed Captive, 
 
 *' His haggard beard flovv'd quivering to the wind. 
 Revenge and horror in his mien combin'd ; 
 His clouded front, by withering lightnings 
 
 scared. 
 The inward anguish of his soul declared." 
 
 Thus appeared that very Redeemed 
 Captive, whose eyes to the imagination 
 of Celerica became, as her's dwelt on 
 them, pregnant with malice against 
 herself. 
 
 From the fierce flame which partly 
 arose between him and the friends, 
 his coarse athletic figure received a 
 character which could not be con-
 
 CECIL. Ill 
 
 templated without creating in the 
 bravest bosom, sensations more fearful 
 than awe— more painful than diseust ! 
 For the deathy pallidness which over* 
 spread his haggard features, so little 
 corresponded with the muscular 
 strength of his gigantic form, as in- 
 stantly to raise the suspicion that the 
 lieart, whose office it is to circulate- 
 the vital current, had poisoned his at 
 its source, and changed its healthful 
 hue into the lividness of black brood- 
 ing hate. 
 
 Cecil turned to observe what effect 
 the infernal appearance of this object 
 of their mutual contemplation had 
 produced on his friend ; and reading 
 in his countenance the reflection of 
 his own feelings — passed his arm 
 through his, and they by tacit con- 
 sent moved forward without a word 
 of communication passing between 
 them.
 
 112 CECIL. 
 
 Yet, as they approached the Re- 
 deemed Captive, both actuated by the 
 same motive, paid him in a friendly 
 manner, the compliment of " good 
 night/' 
 
 Scarcely is it possible to find words, 
 expressive of the sensations which 
 thrill' d through the bosoms of Cecil 
 and Clarendon as the words " good 
 night,"" were returned on their startled 
 senses, in a voice of thunder ; and re- 
 peated by a distant echo, in the same 
 scornful accents with which this 
 mockery of their civility had been 
 first breathed from the strangely con- 
 vulsed bosom of the stern captive.
 
 ^ CECIL. lis 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 '• YoLR heated imagination, my 
 friend/' said Clarendon, in reply to 
 Cecil, who still persisted in the asser- 
 tion that the female voice he had 
 lately heard in the chapel of our ' Lady 
 of the Dew,' was the same that had 
 so greatly charmed him in the wood ; 
 '' your heated imagination, my friend, 
 misleads your judgment. How im- 
 probable that you should meet her 
 hr-e!'' 
 
 '' No matter,'' cried Cecil ; "I 
 must see the gentle creature, who, 
 without personally knowing her, is 
 become to me an object of interest. 
 Hark ! that is surely a woman speak- 
 ing in the adjoining avenue— by hea-
 
 IH CECIL. 
 
 vens, Clarendon, I will endeavour to 
 get a view of her if- --if it should be 
 herself!" 
 
 " And as you have never seen the 
 syren of the wood, the sight of this 
 iady (if lady she be) must at once as- 
 certain the truth oi your conjecture,'' 
 returned Clarendon, sniiling ironically^ 
 while, through an opening between 
 the trees, and guided by the sound of 
 footsteps, they entered a path, which 
 ran parallel with that they had been 
 treading. 
 
 In this path they perceived— not, a» 
 by the voice Cecil expected, a fe- 
 male, but the same young pilgrim and 
 hisfatherwho had quitted the hermitage 
 just as he and hfs friend had entered it. 
 
 The first appeared to be scarcely 
 past boyhood— -the latter was a mid- 
 dle aged man, of a most dignified and 
 commanding figure. It might indeed 
 have been called forbidding ; yet, tlie
 
 CECIL. 11»5 
 
 youths ventured once more to offer the 
 salutations of the night. They v^'i^^e 
 gracefully returned by the elder pil- 
 grim. On the younger, this sudden 
 address had created an alarm which 
 made him catch the arm of his compa- 
 nion ; but a second glance caused this 
 alarm to subside. Encouraged by the 
 reception their civility had experi- 
 enced, the friends made an effort to 
 draw the strangers into conversation ; 
 but here they failed, monosyllables 
 being the only answer given, either 
 to their questions or observations. 
 The party continued, however, to bear 
 each other company till they came 
 within view of the arcadian dormito- 
 ries, that contained the sleeping vota- 
 ries of Senora del Rocio^s shrine, and 
 had reached and passed several of 
 them, when the pilgrim's exchanging 
 with the travellers the benedictions of 
 the night, passed into one. The friends
 
 116 CECIL. 
 
 then proceeded, towards that Avhich 
 they had secured for themselves, next 
 to Celerica's, and had nearly reached 
 it, when they descried the huge form 
 and turbaned head of the Redeemed 
 Captive^ entering that of the lady, ap- 
 parently unopposed by the servants 
 placed around. Alarmed at this spec- 
 tacle, the youths, with the impatience 
 of irritated feelings, hurried forward, 
 and, regardless of ceremony, passed 
 into the recess of Donna Celerica. 
 
 There they indeed beheld, immove- 
 ably fixed, in silent and stern contem- 
 plation of her features, the man so un- 
 accountably dreaded by the sleeping 
 Celerica, who, first awakened by the 
 rushing in of her young protectors, 
 opened her eyes upon the tremendous 
 figure of the Redeemed Captive ! but 
 it was to close them again in an agony 
 of terror. In the meantime, the com- 
 mand to *' begone,'' which each youth
 
 CECIL. 117 
 
 was about to pronounce, was antici- 
 pated by the daring intruder, who vo- 
 ciferated, without deigning to notice 
 the friends, " I am satisfied— z^ is 
 herself/'* 
 
 And, as he instantly stalked out of 
 the arbour, his passion, roused by this 
 identification ofCelerica, vented itself 
 in akiugh so loud— -so full of insulting 
 triumph, that it seemed to shatter the 
 very air, and to make the soul recoil as 
 from a sound 
 
 " Not of this earth/' 
 
 The senses of Donna Celerica had 
 been too much bewildered by fear, 
 while this scene was passing, to receive 
 the sense conveyed in the Redeemed 
 Captive's manner of pronouncing the 
 emphatic words " 1 am satisjled—it is 
 herself ;'* but they had been clearly 
 heard by Cecil and Clarendon ; and a 
 meaning ascribed to the malicious
 
 lis CECIL. 
 
 triumph, which heightened the red glare 
 of his blood^shot eyes as he uttered 
 them, fraught with some danger to 
 their hostess. This impression deter- 
 mined them on not again quitting her 
 till she was arrived within her own dis- 
 trict, and immediately under the go- 
 vernment and protection of the police. 
 
 The morning, therefore, found them 
 still w^atching o^/er her safety, and 
 equally, with herself, impatient to quit 
 ?i scene of so much terror to her. 
 
 They accordingly, without waiting; 
 to witness the procession v/hich was 
 on the next day to take place, bade a 
 final adieu to the forest del Rocio, with 
 the firm resolution, on Celerica's part, 
 of reaching Portugal with all possible 
 ^expedition. * 
 
 On their arrival, however, at Villa 
 Manriques, her spirits and strength^ 
 refused any longer to comply with her 
 eager desire of pushing forwards ; and
 
 CECIL. 119 
 
 she was under the necessity of recruit- 
 ing both by some da3^s rest ; during* 
 which, nothing happening to renew 
 these agitations, they had recovered 
 much of their original tone, when the 
 party again recommenced theirjourney . 
 
 On the fourth day, Cecil Altring- 
 ham, in answer to what was passing in 
 his own thoughts, broke a long medi- 
 tative silence into w^hicii he had fallen, 
 bv exclaiiTiins^-— 
 
 "I wonder whether they are rich f^ 
 
 " Of whom are you thinking?" 
 asked Celerica. 
 
 " Of the pilgrims,"' he replied. 
 
 " What pilgrims ?" enquired Donna 
 Celerica, who had not seen in their 
 whole excursion any person of that 
 description. Cecil, on being reminded 
 of this circumstance, was entering very 
 earnestly into the detail of their meet- 
 ing two in the forest del Rocio, when 
 he was unexpectedly interrupted by
 
 120 CECIL. 
 
 the very persons who formed its sub- 
 ject, suddenly presenting themselves 
 to the observation of the travellers, at 
 the entrance of a vast cavern, created 
 by the hand of nature near the bridge 
 Iisl piiente de Pajazo^ in the side of the 
 Sierra Morena mountains. 
 
 As they drew nearer, they disco- 
 vered that they were employed in gi- 
 ving assistance to an aged person, 
 whose groans bespoke his sufferingsj 
 
 The twoyoungmen instantly quitted 
 tbe carriage to offer their services also, 
 and found among the group, w^hich had 
 first caught their attention, a fine boy, 
 scarcely arrived at his seventh year, 
 who was expressing, by one of the 
 most intelligent countenances infancy 
 ever w^ore, the deep distress of his little 
 heart, as he intently watched the clo- 
 sing eyes of his expiring friend. 
 
 No words eased his laboring bosom, 
 ©f the fear and sorrow by which it was
 
 CECIL. ISl 
 
 oppressed ; but the writhing agitation 
 of his infantine frame—the various at- 
 titudes into which a new-born sense 
 of inexpressible misery threw it, on 
 every access given to his grief by the 
 encreasing ghasthness of the old man's 
 appearance, painted more forcibly than 
 w^ords could possibly have done his 
 agonized feelings. 
 
 At length the sufferer breathed his 
 last, and every one alike became mute 
 from that awe and reverence which the 
 parting struggle, between soul and 
 Dody, ne^er fails to inspire in the wit- 
 nesses of that awful moment. 
 
 This silent bending of the startled 
 soul to the judgment, power, and 
 mercy of the Omnipotent, thus im- 
 pressively made by each awe-struck 
 spectator ; words of consolation flov/ed 
 from the lips of the young pilgrim 
 to soothe the sorrows of the infant 
 mourner ; but they reached not his 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 l52 CECIl. 
 
 bosom. The pilgrim then, with con- 
 siderate tenderness, endeavoured to 
 divert his thoughts and hopes to other 
 friends, by questioning him of his 
 name— his home— his relatives. Still 
 the child appeared to lose, in his har- 
 rowed feelings, all interest in the 
 speaker's words— sullen he looked not. 
 The youthful pilgrim, therefore, re- 
 laxed not from his charitable office, 
 but enfolding the friendless wanderer 
 in his arms, sought by his caresses to 
 court him to speak his sorrows. 
 
 To these caresses the child was no 
 longer insensible ; they seemed to pos* 
 sess ov6r him the power of words, for 
 they drew from him the only vocal 
 sound which had yet, in all his emo- 
 tions, escaped him. A soft murmur, 
 somewhat resembling the gentle coo- 
 ing of a dove, accompanied by various 
 actions, to which sensibility gave elo* 
 quence, confirmed a doubt, which at
 
 CECIL. isr 
 
 once opened to him the kindness of 
 every heart. It was that nature, libe- 
 ral as she appeared to have been to him 
 in intellectual endowments, had de- 
 nied to this poor boy the power of 
 giving utterable expression to the feel- 
 ings by which she had ennobled him, 
 or receiving, through the same me- 
 dium, the comfort and sympathy with 
 which the converse of the wise and 
 good soothes the afflicted heart, or 
 opens to sense and pleasure the un- 
 tutored mind. 
 
 How immediate was the claim this 
 discovery gave the boy, on the pity of 
 the young pilgrim. 
 
 " Deaf !— dumb !*' exclaimed the 
 gentle youth ; '' cut off alike from the 
 cheering intercourse of soul — of mind ! 
 Guilty, indeed, are the more favored 
 ^of Heaver, if they mitigate not the less 
 fortunate lot of their fellow beings ! 
 Be it then my care to counteract the 
 g2
 
 154 CECIL. 
 
 cruelty of nature, and give, through 
 tlie means of art, a language to his 
 tongue, by first teaching his eye to 
 read that which proceeds from the lips 
 of his companions. Thus will I at- 
 tach him to society, by enabling him to 
 enjoy its strongest tie— the power of re- 
 ceiving, and communicating thoughts, 
 sentiments, and feelings, with the cor- 
 rectness, tenderness, and variety of 
 discourse. 
 
 With these sentiments of benevo- 
 lence dilating his bosom, he sought 
 his father, who, while Cecil had been 
 uniting his endeavours with those of 
 the young pilgrim, to soothe the un- 
 happy foundling, had come to the re- 
 solution with Clarendon of deposing 
 the remains of the traveller within the 
 cavern, near which the former had 
 found him past the power of giving 
 any information respecting his illness, 
 or the circumstances which could have
 
 CECIL. 1S5 
 
 reduced one of his respectable appear- 
 ance to a situation so destitute. 
 
 On approaching his father, the pil- 
 grim, with a confidence which ex- 
 pressed his dependance on the liberal 
 humanity of his parent, urged him to 
 allow of his taking under his care the 
 deserted child whom Providence had 
 peculiarly thrown upon their guardian- 
 ship, by leading them to his assistance, 
 at the moment it deprived him of his 
 former protector. 
 
 All the father, spoke in every feature 
 of the elder pilgrim, as with a look of 
 proud approbation, he gave his ready, 
 his cordial consent, blessing as he did 
 so, the charitable petitioner. 
 
 To the cavern of the mountain was 
 consigned the remains of the unfortu- 
 nate traveller ; and to Cecil and Cla- 
 rendon was assigned the task of giving 
 to the Alcade of the next town, notice 
 of the event, with orders to direct all 
 G 3
 
 126 CECIL. 
 
 enquirers after the child (if any such 
 should appear) to Father Algamesi of 
 the Carthusian convent at Xeres, who 
 was well acquainted with the address 
 . and situation of the pilgrims. 
 
 These instructions concluded, he, 
 with his son and young charge, was 
 about to proceed, when Donna Cele- 
 rica, who had been hitherto unnoticed 
 by him, though by no means an unin- 
 terested spectator of the real tragedy 
 which had passed before her eyes, now 
 advanced, and with feeling and polite- 
 ness offered both himself and compa- 
 nions seats in her carriage, should they 
 fortunately be travelling the same road» 
 As the pilgrim turned his attention 
 from her carriage to herself, the gra- 
 cious look with which he was going 
 to decline her invitation, was suddenly 
 changed to an intent examination of 
 her features ; while his own strongly 
 betrayed an unexpected and an unde*
 
 CECILr \27 
 
 sired acquaintance with them. Cele- 
 rica was at first surprised, but after- 
 wards offended, when, with a grave 
 bow, he silently departed, and followed 
 by his companions, directed his course 
 into an opposite road. 
 
 The ei/es of Celerica pursued the 
 strangers with looks of offended pride, 
 and the steps of Cecil, with the 
 promptness of sudden emotion. On 
 overtaking them, he extended his hand 
 to the youthful pilgrim, saying, while 
 his face glowed with the good will 
 which dictated the action : 
 
 '' One token before we part, of the 
 sympathy, which must, for a few mo- 
 ments, at least, have united our minds 
 by the same feelings— that I may 
 sometimes remember with pleasure, 
 although a melancholy one, the cavern 
 of the mountain/' 
 
 The brown, but transparent com- 
 plexion of the stripling instantly ex- 
 
 G 4
 
 128 CECIL. 
 
 hibited, on receiving within his own 
 the offered hand of Cecil, that colour 
 which the refined taste of a lady of 
 Greece, long since, affirmed to be the 
 lovliest in nature—'' The blush of an 
 ingenuous and beautiful youth, which, 
 diffusing itself over the countenance as 
 emanations of a pure and delicate mind, 
 gives to it a tinge ofthe angelic nature.'* 
 
 " Stranger!*'— said he, as the vary- 
 ing of these clear and animated tints 
 threw a grace over his diffidence, " I 
 will daily remember thee in my 
 prayers, when I tell my beads at our 
 Lady of Sorrow's altar." 
 
 While this short farewell was pas- 
 sing, the elder pilgrim with regards, 
 from which ungraciousness was fled, 
 appeared a well-pleased observer of the 
 open, manly, feeling behaviour of 
 Cecil ; and in pledge of the favorable 
 impression he had received of him, he 
 advanced towards our young traveller,
 
 CECIL. 129 
 
 offering, to his great surprise, the same 
 mark of courtesy he had just bestowed 
 on his son ; and once more silently de- 
 parted. 
 
 Various sensations rendered Cecil a 
 fixed gazer after them, till they were 
 out of sight: he then turned his course 
 towards the spot where the carriages 
 awaited him, mentally observing, 
 
 '' It is very true that the heart 
 has its understanding independent of 
 words ! Those benevolent pilgrims 
 feel as perfectly convinced as I do, by 
 a kind of secret relation, which the 
 nature of our sentiments have with 
 each other, that we were formed to be 
 associated together in the bonds of 
 friendship^ 
 
 The undeserved rudeness, as it ap- 
 peared to Celerica, offered her by one, 
 who, unlike the Redeemed Captive, 
 evidently retained under his humble 
 garb much of the polish of rank, was 
 
 G S
 
 ISO CECIL. 
 
 a subject which filled her with indig- 
 nation ; and Clarendon, who was a dis- 
 engaged witness of it, with surprise. 
 It consequently became the theme of 
 general discourse for many hours after 
 they had lost all traces of the road, 
 through which the author of this sup- 
 posed insult had disappeared. 
 
 Cecil, on whose generous kindness 
 Celericahad considerably gained, since 
 she had appeared to stand in need of 
 a protector, now perceiving that from 
 indignation she was fast sinking into 
 depression, in the hope of restoring to 
 her that vivacity and spirit, (deprived 
 of which ihey knew her not) endea- 
 voured to provoke her raillery. This 
 philosophy from him never failed to 
 call forth ; and thus he challenged it. 
 
 " Place this insult, if you are re- 
 solved to consider it as such, among the 
 daily changes and unavoidable trials 
 of life ; that impose upon a thinking
 
 CECIL. 131 
 
 mind like your's, the necessity of bear- 
 ing them with that equanimity of tem- 
 per, which disarms them of half their 
 power of wounding. To human events 
 —human weakness must bend. The 
 winter brings cold, and w^e must freeze. 
 The summer brings heat, and.we must 
 melt. The inclemency of the air dis- 
 orders the health, and we must be 
 sick ; and if we escape the inconveni- 
 ences of the air, and the earth, there 
 are evils by water, and evils by fire!" 
 '' Stones are hard ; and cakes of ice 
 are cold, and all who feel them, feel 
 them alike. But the good or bad 
 events, which fortune brings upon us, 
 are felt according to what qualities we^ 
 not tkey^ possess \' returned Celerica, 
 smiling satirically, as by imitating the 
 voice and tone of Cecil she gave to her 
 speech, the appearance of being a con- 
 tinuation of his own. " Thus,'^ she 
 added,'' amifromthe same philosophic 
 G 6
 
 1S2 CECIL. 
 
 source,* enabled to give you a philoso- 
 phic answer; and prove by wiser max- 
 ims than I can frame, that it cannot be 
 expected ofaquick feeling Spanish lady, 
 that she should affect to laugh herself 
 out of the sensations wliich have the 
 power of disturbing her mind with the 
 assumed gaiety of Cecil Altringham— 
 subdue those emotions by the power of 
 reason, like Edward Clarendon— or 
 drown them in wine like Philip Bar- 
 rowby. No! true to the wa^20/?a/ cha- 
 racter, in her heart, one passion can 
 only be conquered by another of supe- 
 rior force.'' 
 
 On reaching the brow of a hill, 
 which commanded a view of the plan- 
 tations surrounding her Quinta, Ce- 
 lerica's spirits rose to a degree of 
 hilarity that proved how much more 
 deeply had sunk into her bosom the 
 threatening manner of the Redeemed 
 * Bolingbroket
 
 CECIL. 133 
 
 Captive, than her friends had sus- 
 pected. 
 
 At the first glimpse she caught of it, 
 she exclaimed— 
 
 " There is Las Delicias ! See how in- 
 vitingly it looks ; it has adorned itself 
 in all its charms to welcome home its 
 mistress ! A few more turns, and we 
 shall see the beneficent and fertilizing 
 river to which vegetation owes its 
 luxuriant appearance. Ah! there it 
 is— that beautiful Tagus! Look 
 Cecil— observe Clarendon,'^ she re- 
 peated with an inoffensive spirit, 
 which greatly pleased the latter, " ob- 
 serve the beautiful trees which line 
 the borders of that arm of the river ; 
 and admire the capricious effect nature 
 has in a sportful humour given them ! 
 There you see the green tops drink the 
 flowing current, and double them- 
 selves in its waves— there the knotted 
 trunks threaten to forsake their earthy
 
 134 CECIL. 
 
 station, to lave their roots in the same 
 refreshing stream. You must not," 
 turning towards Clarendon with one of 
 those smiles few could resist, ^' you 
 miast not refuse me a few days of your 
 company. Do not answer me; I like 
 not the preparatory expression of 3'our 
 mouth, therefore be silent, and attend 
 to me, while I assure you that my Quintet 
 favors all rational amusements. Turn 
 your eyes to the right, those beautiful 
 groves will, while siiading you from the 
 noon-tide heat, court you to medita- 
 tion, or lead you through meandering 
 walks, where as their native poet sings,. 
 
 ** Zephyr and Flora emulous conspire 
 To breathe their graces o'er the fields attire ; 
 The one gives healthful freshness, one the hue- 
 Fairer than e'er creative pencil drew.'* 
 
 As she was concluding these lines, 
 the Quinta itself appeared at no great 
 distance, rising froni the bosom of the
 
 CECIL. • 13i 
 
 orange and olive groves she had been 
 with so much taste describing. At 
 this sight, unable longer to bridle her 
 impatience, she suddenly gave orders 
 for the carriage to stop. 
 
 " TiU I am once more safely within 
 the enclosui^e of Las Delicias^" cried 
 she, " I shall not feel myself abso- 
 lutely beyond the reach of that terrific 
 Captive." 
 
 Then springing with airy lightness 
 from her carriage, and saying, " Those 
 follow who have most gallantry, or 
 are most emulous of first reaching my 
 favorite saloon." 
 
 She with a speed Atalanta*s self 
 could scarcely have outstripped, fled 
 towards the Quinta. The youths ac- 
 cepted the challenge ; but before they 
 started, allowed her so completely to 
 get a-head as to make the contest par- 
 ticularly favorable to her. 
 
 The notice of the lady's approach
 
 136 CECIL. 
 
 soon spread itself through Celerica'a 
 househoIJ, and instantly the ready 
 doors flew open to admit and welcome 
 her. The servants, each in turn, assi- 
 duously pressed forward with the in- 
 tent, as she supposed, of testifying 
 their pleasure at the return of their 
 kind and generous, though gay and 
 capricious mistress ; but good hu- 
 mouredly nodding them from her, she, 
 with an accelerated pace^ passed on ; 
 fearful lest the joyous length of tri- 
 umph, in which she felt disposed to 
 indulge, should check her speed, by 
 breaking forth before she had actually 
 reached the goal.— It now, however, 
 presented itself. 
 
 " But one more of the suite which 
 leads to the saloon/' thought she, 
 ^* that passed, and I win the race."' 
 
 Now she is within a few paces of 
 the door of the anti-room-— now she 
 reaches it— and now, as she hears
 
 CECIL. 137 
 
 closely gaining upon her steps, her 
 panting competitors- —she prepares to 
 dart through the entrance with an 
 elastic spring.— She is now in the very 
 
 act of making it Heavens! what 
 
 but the lightning's stroke could have 
 transfixed, within the welcome thres* 
 hold, the lightning step of tlie flying 
 Celerica ?— What, but the lightning's 
 stroke, could, in such a moment, have 
 turned to marble the so late joyous 
 features and glowing form of the spor- 
 tive Spaniard!— It was the gaze— the 
 ferocious— the triumph gaze — of the 
 Redeemed Captive—'^s he reared his 
 huge height from the sofa on which, 
 wrapped in the broad mantle of re- 
 demption, he had been, with presump- 
 tuous freedom, for some time awaiting 
 her arrival ! 
 
 Donna Celerica, aghast with horror 
 and amazement, caught the arm ot 
 Cecil, and earnestly besought him to
 
 138 CECIL. 
 
 protect her, while Clarendon' prepared 
 to obey, what he concewed, a signal 
 for summoning her domestics. 
 
 But the daring intruder kept thein 
 both suspended^ by exclaiming in a 
 voice of thunder : 
 
 ** Senora— by one means only can you 
 escape my power. Submi t to a private 
 audience— start not Donna Celerica,'^ 
 added he, with an appalling look ; "you 
 are within my (oii6\ Senora, you may 
 purchase merci/^ but should you resis; 
 — ^cannot escape veyigeance.** 
 
 As he uttered these words, he drew 
 near the petrified lady, and whispering 
 something in her ear, she in an in- 
 stant loosened her hold from Cecil, 
 and by the imploring look she cast on 
 him, seemed to pray that he would net 
 quit the anti-room, during the dreaded 
 interview so imperiously demanded by 
 the savage captive. 
 
 Celerica followed him with trem*
 
 CECIL. 139 
 
 bling steps into the saloon. As she en- 
 tered it, the Redeemed Captive turning 
 suddenly, closed the door, which se- 
 parated them from her young friends 
 with violence, and shot the bolt be- 
 tween tham. 
 
 The minds of Clarandon and Cecil 
 were filled w^ith wonder, at this most 
 extraordinary scene I--- a scene for 
 which it was so impossible to account. 
 In obedience to the wishes of their 
 terrified hostess, they remained sta- 
 tioned at the door, listening for any 
 signal she might give, to force the bar- 
 rier in case she wished it. But after 
 waiting a considerable time in a kind 
 of awful expectation, the door again 
 opened. Donna Celerica— pale— dis- 
 ordered— nearly fainting— passed them, 
 making a sign that they were not to 
 interfere. She then went to her cabi- 
 net, and without having attempted to 
 alarm, or summon the domestics, re-
 
 140 CECIL. 
 
 turned to the saloon, laden with all the 
 treasure she at that time possessed in 
 her Quinta, 
 
 On her rejoining the dreadful 
 stranger, the door was again closed 
 upon her protectors, and once more the 
 thundering voice of the mysterious 
 intruder was heard in discordant con- 
 verse. Presently all became still as 
 death. When Cecil and Clarendon, 
 unable longer to support the anxiety 
 under which they were sufFering^ 
 united their strength to force the door. 
 
 Yielding to these efforts, it at length 
 flew open and discovered Donna Ce- 
 lerica alone— one hand supportmg her 
 head, the other hanging lifeless at her 
 side. 
 
 " Question me not,'' cried she, im« 
 patiently rising to quit the room, as 
 they approached her ; " neither of you 
 have power to serve me. To-morrow 
 I must away from Las Delicias^ but I
 
 CECIL. 141 
 
 shall again return ere long. Let me 
 find you both here— then i shall once 
 more enjoy— but now—'' 
 
 Celerica paused— made an effort to 
 suppress some sentiment which seemed 
 to hover on her lips— presented a hand 
 to each, and then in a subdued voice 
 uttering," Adieu till my return;" she 
 hurried from the saloon and appeared 
 no more that evening. 
 
 It was not long after the disappear- 
 ance of Donna Celerica, that Claren- 
 don (who had agreed to meet the par- 
 ties once more with whom he was 
 transacting the affair his father had 
 entrusted to him) proposed to Cecil 
 their repairing together that same after- 
 noon to Lisbon, preparatory to their 
 setting out on the following day for 
 the place appointed. 
 
 This proposal was however rejected 
 by Cecil, who was secretly resolved to 
 pass the period of his absence, and
 
 U2 CECIL. 
 
 that of Donna Celerica, in exploring 
 still farther the retired Quinlu of the 
 wood. Nor could he feel satisfied to 
 leave Zas Delicias, after the late oc- 
 currences, till its mistress had actually 
 departed on her intended journey. 
 
 The evening w^as one perfect solitude 
 to Cecil. Colonel Barrowby had not 
 accompanied them hack, having been 
 detained on the road '?.t the mansion of 
 an old friend, with whom he had en- 
 gaged to spend some days, little sus- 
 pecting the guest which awaited the 
 party on their arrival at Las Delicias. 
 Clarendon persisted in executing his 
 intention, and Cecil with a mind full 
 of perplexity and surmise, retired at 
 an early hour to his chamber. 
 
 He found it impossible however to 
 obtain the sleep he sought. This 
 ni^ht was one of oreater restlesness than 
 the first he had ever passed beneath 
 the roof of Donna Celerica ; for if then
 
 CECIL. 14S 
 
 •there was a mystery about her, which 
 had excited his curiosity, how greatly 
 had that mystery been increased by all 
 he had since seen and heard respecting 
 her. Above all, how inexplicable was 
 that which seemed to place her within 
 the power of the Redeemed Captive! 
 a savage who having passed the last 
 eighteen years x>i his life among the 
 Moors, could never have known her 
 but as an infant How then had he 
 obtained control over her will and 
 actions? 
 
 The beams of the rising sun, as they 
 stole through the shutters, found Cecil 
 still wakeful— still meditating— still 
 curious— and impatient to quit his 
 restless couch. 
 
 No one of the family was stirring, 
 when he traversed a light gallery, 
 which led from his chamber to the 
 principal staircase. In his way 
 hrough it, a door leading to a small
 
 144 CECIL. 
 
 library, which he had never before ob- 
 served, stood open, and tempted him 
 to enter. 
 
 He found it stored with a well cho- 
 sen collection of books, which proved 
 that Donna Celerica, amongst her va- 
 rious pretensions, omitted not to im- 
 prove her taste for literature ; and for 
 some time he amused himself by exa- 
 mining the titles of the volumes. 
 
 At length, taking down an untitled 
 book, he discovered it to be a manu- 
 script written in his native tongue, and 
 in a hand which electrified him with 
 a thrill of painful surprise! It was 
 the translation of an extract given by 
 Sextus Empiricus, from a work of 
 Grantor, a disciple of Plato. 
 
 This celebrated philosopher imitat- 
 ing the fable of the goddesses who had 
 submitted their individual claims to 
 superiority in beauty, to the judgment 
 of Paris, feigned that the deities who
 
 CECIL. 145 
 
 presided over Riches — Pleasure -— 
 Health ""^wd F/r^MC— appeared toge- 
 ther before the whole nation of the 
 Greeks, when they were assembled to 
 celebrate the Olympic games ; and peti- 
 tioned that the rank which each should 
 in future hold, might be regulated by 
 the degree of influence, that they could 
 individually prove they possessed over 
 the happiness of man. 
 
 The first who engaged the attention 
 of the multitude, y^?^s Riches. He 
 sought rather to dazzle the eyes of his 
 judges, by a display of his shining 
 treasures, than through his eloquence 
 to win their suffrage. 
 
 Pleasure, her face dimpled with 
 smiles, next impatiently stepped for- 
 ward, and drawing the general atten- 
 tion from the tempting splendor of his 
 magnificence, confidently dempmded 
 for herself the first rank, alleging that 
 the only use to which the highly va- 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 CECIL. 
 
 lued ore of Riches could be applied, 
 was in purchasing her favors. 
 
 Scarcely could she finish her speech, 
 ere Healthy with an elastic bound, 
 advanced, and shaking the morning 
 dew from her flowing hair, simply 
 asked, " if any kind of happiness could 
 exist without her ?** 
 
 The whole assembly were about 
 hastily to give to her the pre-eminent 
 rank, when they were awed into silence 
 by the sublime address of Virtue, She 
 in her own pure language demon- 
 strated to their perfect conviction, that 
 however they might overflow with 
 Riches^ revel with Pleasure^ or bloom 
 with Healthy unless the controling 
 power were given to her, Pleasure 
 would insidiously destroy Healthy and 
 Riches purchase the destruction of 
 Virtue. Then would the bands of so- 
 cial life be dissolved— the public weal 
 corrupted— and the state, under the
 
 CECIL. ,47 
 
 government of the slaves of Pleasure 
 and Amrice, be rendered the sport of 
 .ts enemies. She paused; conviction 
 followed her words; and the pre-emi- 
 nence of Virtue was proclaimed with 
 loud and general acclamations. Under 
 her directing counsel, Health was as- 
 signed the second rank, Pleasure the 
 third, and Riches the last of all. 
 
 In the same hand whose characters 
 had roused in Cecil an anxious curio- 
 sity, was written beneath : 
 
 " Grantor, thou hast weighed this 
 matter well, and may'st enrol amidst 
 the admirers of thine excellent moral 
 the name of " 
 
 The book dropped from the hand of 
 the agitated Cecil, as his eye glanced 
 on this name, a name which at once 
 confirmed his suspicion, that the 
 writer was nearly allied to himself. ' 
 Jn a moment, the cloud of mystery in 
 which Donna Celerica had hitherto so 
 II g
 
 us CECIL. 
 
 cautiously enveloped herself, became 
 dissipated, and he recognized her- for 
 one with part of whose history he. was 
 intimately acquainted. 
 
 Her motive for alluring him to her 
 Quinta, which he had long known 
 was never that of preference-the arts 
 by which she had detained him ahalf- 
 reluct-.nt votary of- unbounded dissi- 
 pation— the ridicule by which she had 
 silenced his better intentions— her 
 curiosity, whenever he received letters 
 from England— the bitter imprecation 
 which had escaped her on reading 
 that, which, (from' its having arrived 
 by the same packet that brought him 
 inters sling intelligence from his friends) 
 
 he doubted not h.ul conveyed to her 
 the suae information— the malice 
 ppi:,ted oil her features, when his eye, 
 on that occasion, turned on them, so 
 exactly similir to that expression, 
 with which he had discovered her
 
 CECIL. 149 
 
 contemplating him the morning after 
 his arrival at Las Delicias ;— these, and 
 a thousand other circumstances, as 
 tliey flitted successively across his 
 memory, became perfectly comprehen- 
 sible to him, and convinced him that 
 he had met, in the (seemingly) gay, 
 the giddy, the capricious Celerica, a 
 vindictive and persecuting spirit, 
 who had once nearly destroyed the 
 happiness of those most dear to him*- 
 self. 
 
 The thoughts of Cecil were still 
 thus employed, when the sound of 
 the lady's voice struck on his ear, as 
 if giving some orders to a domestic 
 respecting her intended departure. 
 Little disposed at such a moment to 
 meet her, he suffered her a short time 
 after to enter her carriage without inti- 
 mating by his appearance that he was 
 already risen; for he had resolved, im- 
 mediately after she was gone, on 
 H 3
 
 150 CECIL. 
 
 taking his leave of the Quintet^ never 
 more to become a resident in it. 
 
 The recent influence he had wit- 
 nessed of the Redeemed Captive, over 
 the till now despotic will of Donna 
 Celerica, led him to fear that other cir- 
 cumstances, still less capable of bear- 
 ing scrutiny, than those he already 
 knew had subjected her to his tyrann3^ 
 Whatever they might be, he blessed 
 the chance w^hich had revealed to him 
 her real character ; and as soon as she 
 had quitted the mansion, summoned 
 Owens, to whom he gave directions to 
 proceed v»'ith his baggage to Lisbon, 
 and there await his joining hjm. 
 Then putting into his pocket the ma- 
 nuscript volume which had led to 
 his late fortunate discovery of his hos- 
 tess, he bent his own course towards 
 the wood, wherein he had found those 
 effusions of an innocent mind which 
 had so greatly interested him.
 
 CECIL. 161 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 Alternately governed by curiosity, 
 doubt, and eager expectation, Cecil 
 had once more entered the wood, when 
 every sense concentrated its powers in 
 those of ^ight and hearing, to catch 
 the faintest sound— the slightest ob- 
 ject, that might relieve him from the 
 irritating apprehension of again meet- 
 ing disappointment in the vacant ve- 
 randa. Regardless of the land marks 
 by which, in his former visits, he had 
 been guided, his increasing impatience 
 led him wide of his course, and ere he 
 became sensible of his deviation from 
 it, a slight figure, with a step as hur- 
 ried as his own, checked and crossed 
 his path. The start of surprise this 
 
 H 4
 
 152 CECIL. 
 
 caused, attracted its attention, and in 
 the same moment it turned its eyes 
 full on Cecil— gave a wild cry— and 
 springing towards him, seized on the 
 skirts of his coat. 
 
 It was the speechless foundling of 
 the Sierra Morena Mountain! wdio, 
 now fearlessly hanging on his arm 
 with all the eloquence of action, aided 
 by a countenance full of fearful mean- 
 ing, urged him to accompany him 
 along the path to which his anxious 
 looks w^ere directed !— That disaster 
 impended over the yoi^thful pilgrim of 
 Senora del Rocios^s forest, flashed on 
 the mind of Cecil with the recognition 
 of the foundling, and impetuously 
 motioning the boy to accelerate his 
 pace, they pushed forward together 
 till the near sound of screams, by pro* 
 claiming the imminence of danger, 
 seemed to call on him to avert it. 
 Expeditiously clearing the thicket, he
 
 CECIL. 153 
 
 leaped the gate which formed part of 
 the confines, and beheld a countryman 
 fleeing in dismay from a female pea- 
 sant, who was increasing both her 
 agony and danger by her intemperate 
 ravings and rash contention against a 
 swarm of bees, that in anger and af- 
 fright were resenting the destruction 
 of their hive, which lay near her over- 
 turned, and all its treasure scattered on 
 the earth. 
 
 Before he could administer to the 
 poor woman the aid she required, his 
 regards were suddenly withdrawn from 
 her to fix themselves on a breathing 
 statue of youthful fortitude, moulded 
 by the hand of nature, to exhibit in 
 the most delicate of female forms, a 
 living emblem of resolution. 
 
 This young creature, who was an 
 
 accidental sharer in the threatened 
 
 consequences of this daring invasion 
 
 of their little republic, was covered with 
 
 H 5
 
 Ii4 CECIL. 
 
 the disturbed insects ; but strength of 
 mind gave a motionless firmness to 
 her bending attitude ; and but for her 
 relaxed brow and quivering respiration, 
 her consciousness of danger would not 
 have betrayed itself. To Cecil it was 
 betrayed only to heighten his entliu- 
 siasm at the proof of magnanimity she 
 gave, when, on his instantly directing 
 his attention to her distress, she said 
 in a tremulous, but earnest voice— 
 *' Englishman— courage is safety to 
 
 me— assist the poor " 
 
 A bee at that instant perching on her 
 lips, closed them against the benevo- 
 lent charge they would have uttered, 
 and wrought powerfully on the feelings 
 of Cecil, who, in spite of her prohibi- 
 tion, eagerly, though cautiously, ap- 
 proached the young stranger, and after 
 for some moments surveying her in 
 silence, gently stretched forth his 
 hand as if with the design to touch
 
 CECIL. 1^5 
 
 her— again he quietly withdrew it— 
 w^lieii soon— as by miracle— the clus- 
 tering insects, which had covered the 
 self-collected stranger, gathered on 
 himself ! 
 
 Gratitude, surprise, and lively cu- 
 riosity, at a phenomenon so unac- 
 countable, for a short time fixed the re- 
 lieved girl in motionless admiration of 
 an effect which to her was wholly in- 
 comprehensible ; for she knew not that 
 this miracle had been produced by the 
 simple actof CeciTs having taken cap- 
 tive the queen bee, which he had dis- 
 covered on her robe. This unplea- 
 sant accident misrht now have termi- 
 
 o 
 
 nated well to all, (but the poor woman 
 who had severely suffered from impa- 
 tience) for Cecil, by judicious manage- 
 ment, might have been extricated from 
 the peril \fhich environed him, with- 
 out serious injury, had not the offi- 
 cious zeal of the orphan boy pro- 
 h6
 
 156 CECIL. 
 
 diiced the very mischief he wished to 
 avert. 
 
 Unhickily he had returned laden 
 with boughs, which he had been 
 gathering as proper weapons to attack 
 the enemy ; and now hastening, as he 
 fancied, to the assistance of Cecil, he 
 began with unceremonious dihgence 
 to brush the swarming insects from 
 his face. The enraged bees revenged 
 this rude assault, and ere long the 
 closing eyes of Cecil spoke at once 
 the agony and injury they had inflicted 
 on him. 
 
 This disagreeable affair, had origi- 
 nated in the brutality of the very coun- 
 tryman whom Cecil had seen fleeing, 
 coward-like, from him. 
 
 The man, in a fit of sudden passion 
 with his wife, had flung at her the hive 
 of bees ;* but the moment before 
 
 * This is not the first instance in which hives 
 have been made weapocs of warfare, It is upon
 
 CECIL. 157 
 
 the youthful stranger and the speech- 
 less foundling had been unfortunately 
 led by chance that way in their daily 
 walk. Thus had they been involved 
 in all the peril of the poor woman. 
 
 The cries and entreaties of the young 
 lady who had hastened to a neighbour- 
 ing hut, on perceiving the mischief the 
 orphan of the mountain had occa- 
 sioned, now brought to the assist- 
 ance of the helpless Cecil, the repen- 
 tant Boor, with several of his comrades. 
 They arrived armed with several 
 buckets of water, with which they de- 
 luged the enemy, till in the end they 
 became an easy conquest. 
 
 Cecil, who had been a dreadful suf- 
 ferer, was then conducted to a habita- 
 tion which was not very far distant ; 
 where he was received by its benevo- 
 
 record that the progress of the enemy while 
 scaling the walls of a besieged city, was once 
 checked by dropping hives of bees on their heads.
 
 158 CECIL. 
 
 lent owners with all those hospitable 
 attentions which the situation, to 
 which he was reduced, inspired. A 
 very severe fever, brought on by pain, 
 followed, which confined him for 
 some days to his room ; during that 
 period he experienced from the family, 
 into which he had been so singularly 
 introduced, all the soothing care of 
 friends deeply concerned in his suffer- 
 ings and recovery. 
 
 These days were, notwithstanding,, 
 passed by Cecil in extreme anxiety 
 and restlessness; for the inflammation, 
 brought on by the evenomed stings of 
 -the offended insects, had not yet suffi- 
 ciently subsided to enable him to un- 
 close his eyehds, and thus was he 
 reduced to a constant state of uncer- 
 tainty and conjecture as to the per- 
 sons by whom he was surrounded. 
 
 There were moments when he 
 doubted the evidence of his senses,
 
 CECIL. lo9 
 
 ■which again and again assured him 
 that in the voices by which he had been 
 first welcomed, and since humanely 
 soothed, he recognized tones, inti- 
 mately connected with former sensa- 
 tions of an interesting nature. 
 
 There was one speaker in parti- 
 cular to whom he could never listen 
 without a thrill of pov/erful pleasure; 
 whenever he had endeavoured to trace 
 these feelings to their source, the effort 
 had alternately conjured up visionary 
 images of the chorister of the wood : 
 
 " Untwisting all the chains that tie> 
 The hidden soul of harmony." 
 
 Of the youthful pilgrim, ministering 
 with angel charity to the sorrows of 
 the orphan boy; and the humane 
 stranger, who had in timid accents 
 endeavoured to direct his cares to the 
 poor woman, in preference to herself. 
 
 All three, at times, became united
 
 I60 CECIL. 
 
 by some bond in the harassed imagi- 
 nation of Cecil ; for all by some strong, 
 attractive, yet incomprehensible tie, 
 were associated together in his me- 
 mory. Was it the effect of delirium, 
 or was it reality ? 
 
 Such were the questions which 
 Cecil frequently and impatiently asked 
 himself, when with the velocity of a 
 dancing sun-beam, reflected from the 
 playful motion of a polished mirror, 
 these ideas passed and repassed through 
 his restless mind. 
 
 With all the native candour of his 
 disposition, he had taken an early op- 
 portunity, to make known to Don 
 Juan the name and condition of his 
 family, and also his own personal views 
 and pursuits. But this ingenuous 
 communication had been answered by 
 no return of confidence on the part of 
 his attentive host. Cecil, vexed and 
 disappointed at this invincible reserve.
 
 CECIL. 161 
 
 as soon as his fever was siifticiently 
 subsided to permit him to leave his 
 room, expressed his wish of being con- 
 veyed to Lisbon, though he w^as still 
 deprived of sight. 
 
 Of this Don Juan v/ould not hear, 
 alleging that now the time was ar- 
 rived when Donna Ilerena and their 
 Azora would be happy more particu- 
 larly to unite their efforts, to evince 
 the gratitude with which his rescuing 
 their girl from so perilous a situation 
 had inspired them. 
 
 His girl l—^^or^/-— what a confir- 
 mation was this short sentence of 
 those dreams of hope which had since 
 his illness, from time to time, broken 
 on the now rejoicing Cecil. 
 
 He had been ten days longer a so- 
 journer at the Quinta of Don Juan, 
 when he addressed to Clarendon the 
 following
 
 162 CECIL. 
 
 LETTER. 
 
 *' M}^ friend, I have found her !— this 
 exquisite moralist-"this syren of the 
 wood— this Mexican Azora!— I have 
 for days inhabited the same house- 
 breathed the same air— seen her de- 
 vote her time, her thoughts, her ta- 
 lents to my amusement ? I have seen 
 her, Clarendon, yet she suspects it not. 
 
 " Do not blame me for the decep- 
 tion ; it insures a continuance of these 
 fascinating attentions which owe their 
 origin to my temporary loss of sight, 
 by an accident incurred in her service. 
 It insures to me the hourly enjoyment 
 of contemplating her innocent and 
 beautiful countenance ; of delighting 
 in the careless ease, the unaffected 
 grace which accompanies her every 
 motion, unconscious as she is of my 
 observance. 
 
 " Yet ami pardonable ? now that I no 
 longer require the device which her
 
 CECIL. 168 
 
 benevolence invented to protect my 
 late injured eyes—am I pardonable for 
 making it the screen for my dupHcity ? 
 Say not no, my friend. I must teach 
 x\zora to be more indulgent. 
 
 '' Clarendon let me converse with 
 you on the theme which fills my heart. 
 The family of Don Juan is retired 
 to rest : I cannot sleep. I must speak 
 of this creature, whose irresistible at- 
 tractions, all who approach her must 
 feel. 
 
 " Yet think not I can infuse into my 
 language the enthusiasm necessary to 
 give you an idea of Azora ! Think 
 not I can paint her mind, her look, her 
 voice; and without having seen her, 
 who can comprehend the union of 
 goodness and of charms which charac- 
 terize her ! 
 
 '' Aly friend, I sit whole days near 
 her— I abandon myself to the pleasures 
 €>f her society-— J listen to her melo-
 
 164 CECIL. 
 
 dioiis voice, sometimes employed in 
 describing to me the arts and manners 
 of her native country— (for though of 
 Spanish parents she is a JMexican ;) 
 sometimes in enquiringthoseof mine— 
 at others she reads— slic plays— she 
 sings to me. You should hear her, 
 Clarendon, breathing the charming 
 Id3ds of Madame Deshouliers, harmo- 
 nized by her v/ith the same refined 
 simplicity of taste v/hich inspired the 
 poetess. But above all, you should 
 hear her, Clarendon, pronounce the 
 word, Cecilio, It is by that name, she 
 distinguishes me. 
 
 " Did I not tell you she was born of 
 Spanish pai-ents ? Azora owes entirely 
 to them the cultivation of her talents. 
 From Don Juan she acquired lan- 
 guages and general history-— from her 
 mother, the fine arts. 
 
 " Some impenetrable mystery, which 
 for eighteen years rendered this noble
 
 CECIL, 165 
 
 pair unhappy exi](*s from their coun- 
 try, still hangs over them, and gives a 
 gloomy colour to their lives. 1 have 
 reason to believe, from an expression 
 which yesterday escaped Donna 
 Ilerena, that lliey have incessantly de- 
 plored the circumstances which re- 
 duced them to the necessity of aban- 
 doning their native land. The pains 
 nlso which have been taken to cultf- 
 vate in Azora a predilection for the 
 Spanish tongue, evinces the partiality 
 which they have ever themselves retain- 
 edforit. The wholefamily speak French 
 to me, yet I have remarked that Azora 
 scarcely ever addresses her parents but 
 in their fiivorite language, particularly 
 v/hen she makes use of more than 
 commonly affectionate expressions. 
 
 "She to]d me one day, with exqui- 
 site naivete^ that she always distin- 
 guishes those objects, which rea II i/ in- 
 terest her, by some Spanish name. ' Do
 
 166 CECIL. 
 
 you know,' asked she^ ' that your*s, 
 in that language, is Cecilio P^ 
 
 " Henceforth, then,'" said I, with an 
 eagernesswhich startled her— " hence- 
 forth Azora, I will own no other/* 
 
 " Congratulate me. Clarendon, T have 
 discovered a new bond of amity which 
 unites me to Don Juan and his Ilerena. 
 St. Ormond, the most intimate friend 
 of my family"-the universal philantro- 
 pist— St. Ormond happily performed 
 for them some very essential service 
 before they quitted Spain. 
 
 " It was by mere accident I spoke of 
 him ; but our conversation led to ex- 
 planations which have identified him 
 to be the same. Since this discovery, 
 Don Juan has treated me with greater 
 frankness. He mentioned his having 
 lately taken Azora with him, disguised 
 as a young pilgrim, into Spain, and 
 that they had on that occasion paid 
 their homage at the shrine of our Lady
 
 CECIL. 167 
 
 of the Dew ; yet he did not explain 
 the object of their journey. 
 
 '' Belario, the orphan foundling, is 
 the inmate of this Quinta, I should 
 pity him, but that he shares with me 
 the gentle offices of Azora, and this 
 happiness I grudge him. I was yes- 
 terday, from very impatience at the 
 length of time she dedicated to his in- 
 struction, on the point of betraying 
 myself. Do you believe, Clarendon, 
 she will pardon this deception ?— If 
 she make sincere repentance the con- 
 dition of her forgiveness, I am afraid 
 my case is hopeless ! 
 
 '' Clarendon— the deserved conse- 
 quence of my fraud has overtaken me. 
 I have deeply, perhaps, irreconcilably 
 offended Azora— and if so 
 
 " Yet, who would have believed that 
 a creature made up of gentleness— 
 of patient meekness— of indulgence- 
 could be capable of such persevering
 
 168 CECIL. 
 
 resentment ?— She avoids me— no 
 where can I find .her— I have spent 
 hours in fruitless wanderings around 
 her haunts. 
 
 "Do you remember, Clarendon, my 
 having mentioned to you a landscape 
 which excited my curiosity the first 
 time I intruded into the veranda ? 
 Azora has since explained to me the 
 art by which the I\Iexicans thus imi- 
 tate nature with the plumage of their 
 birds. She is herself an adept in this 
 kind of painting, and promised to exe- 
 cute a specimen for me to present to 
 my family. This morning Donna Ile- 
 rena happened to leave us alone for 
 an hour. I had for some time before 
 she quitted the room been an admi- 
 ring observer (from the obscure corner 
 in which I generally station myself) 
 of thedelicate fingers of Azora, as they 
 were^ employed in placing seme of 
 these rare feathers with a pair of small
 
 CECIL. \63 
 
 pincers in a piece of this Mosaic 
 work, which has for some days occu- 
 pied her, intended as a present for my 
 unworthy self. 
 
 " The weather was unusually sultry. 
 Azora had been long endeavouring, 
 with unremitting patience, to arrange 
 one obstinate feather which seemed to 
 take pleasure in mocking her repeated 
 efforts to blend it with the rest.* Her 
 cheek was flushed with a bright and 
 beautiful glow ; but it was evidently 
 the flush of fatigue. Her dark ring- 
 iets fell gracefully over her brows ; 
 yet while they added the finishing 
 touches to her countenance, they ap- 
 peared to incommode her, for raising 
 her charming face, (unsuspicious of 
 my observance) she carelessly shook 
 them back, and a sigh, the eflfect of 
 
 ♦ Acosta mentions, that it is not uncommon 
 for the placing one feather, to cost the Mexicaa 
 artist u whole day's labour* 
 
 VOL. J, i
 
 170 CECIL. 
 
 weariness, escaped her. Still she gave 
 not over the attempt ; but again bent 
 over her work, with the design of re- 
 suming her efforts to conquer the dif- 
 ficulty. 
 
 " Clarendon, be notsurprised that at 
 this moment my recollection wholly 
 forsook me :— be not surprised, that 
 with a mind so occupied with Azora, 
 and unchecked by her mother's pre- 
 sence, I forgot myself— -I forgot the 
 part I had assumed ! Starting from 
 my seat, I unguardedly entreated that 
 she would oblige me by no longer per- 
 severing in a task which often so into- 
 lerably tried her charming temper. 
 
 " My friend, I forgot at the moment 
 that in saying this, I was proving 1 
 had been often an eye witness of hej: 
 employments ; but I was quickly re- .| 
 called to a sense of my imprudence by 
 Azora' s sudden change of counte- 
 nance. Her receding colour and sted»
 
 CECIL. 171 
 
 fast look at first exhibited the chilled 
 confidence of her bosom ; but gradually 
 offended dignity conquered her sur- 
 prise. She arose, and surveying me 
 with a look of cold displeasure, said, 
 
 " How incredible to a mind of 
 honor is the discovery of deception 
 under the form of Mr. Altringham. 
 
 ' ' Mr. Altringham ! C 1 arendon ; and 
 pronounced in a tone of petrifying 
 severity. 
 
 '' I suppose, I looked the culprit I 
 felt, when in the next moment, as I 
 leaned against the lattice, vexed, and 
 to say truth, abashed^ at this deserved 
 reproof, the malicious shade unac- 
 countably fell from my eyes, and exhi- 
 bited them, such as they have for 
 many days been, perfectly recovered. 
 
 " I cannot tell you how long it was, 
 but it must have been some minutes 
 that Azora continued earnestly to exa- 
 mine them, while I was considering 
 I 2
 
 172 CECIL. 
 
 in what way I could deprecate the tod 
 just displeasure her lovely features 
 were exhibiting ; when perceiving I 
 was on the point of addressing her, she 
 abruptly turned from me and quitted 
 the apartment. 
 
 " I have since been every where in 
 search of her in vain. In my rambles 
 I encountered Don Juan, who, sur- 
 prised at my so sudden recovery, drew 
 me by his observations into a confes- 
 sion of the truth. Clarendon, I frankly 
 confessed to him my passion for Azora, 
 and the duplicity into which that pas- 
 sion had betrayed me, and have ob- 
 tained his permission to win her, if I 
 can— to transplant her to a land of 
 safety— to engraft her on a family 
 which will appreciate, will love, wili 
 cherish her, and those to whom she 
 owes her being. 
 
 *' Yet Azbra flees me— she owns no 
 sentiments congenial with mine.
 
 CECIL. 173 
 
 *' At dinner I shall again see her. 
 Clarendon, I am summoned thither. 
 
 *' My first regards on entering the 
 saloon/* related Cecil to his friend, 
 "passed apprehensively over the down- 
 cast looks of Azora to rest their anx- 
 ious glances on the cordial expression 
 which graced her mother's face ; for I 
 knew that Don Juan had left me to 
 communicate to her the confidence I 
 had recently reposed in him. 
 
 *' Never before had! seen that mother 
 to such advantage— never before had 
 she appeared so completely the parent 
 of the sentiment, the tenderness, the 
 thought, which informs and beautifies 
 the countenance of Azora ! This fa- 
 ding, but interesting matron, personi- 
 fies through her virtues, the decaying 
 charms and virtues of the rose, which 
 
 y " when at length in pale decline 
 Its ilorid bt^auties fade and pine. 
 Sweet as in youth its balmy breath 
 
 Diftuses odours e'en in death," 
 13
 
 IT-l- CECIL. 
 
 Thus far wrote Cecil, but some in- 
 terruption prevented him from adding, 
 that peculiar interest and life were 
 given to these attractions by tender- 
 ness of manner, on the part of Donna 
 Ilerena, which his heart construed into 
 an avowal that her own joyfully 
 opened to receive him as a son. Nor 
 was he insensible to the delicate con- 
 sideration which made her forbear 
 from offering her congratulations on 
 his restored sight ; and induced her to 
 adopt, without comment, attentions 
 more suited to his entire recovery 
 than those she had hitherto offered. 
 
 The whole time at dinner Azora had 
 not favored him with one smile or one 
 word; and Cecil, forgetful of the new- 
 character which his restored self-de- 
 pendance gave him, contrasting her 
 conduct with that of her parents, felt 
 disposed to resent, as an injustice, the 
 cessation of that endearing attention
 
 CECIt. 175 
 
 by which she had been accustomed to 
 render tliat meal so dear to him. 
 
 Vainly did reason remind him, that 
 even supposing her no longer offended, 
 his presenf situation neither required 
 nor warranted a continuance of these 
 tenaciously regretted cares. Deaf alike 
 to these cold precepts and wise remon- 
 strances, he resigned himself to all the 
 painful, pleasing, folly of love— that 
 delightful folly which sometimes im- 
 pels the lover to joy in a sigh, and 
 mourn at a smile— that delightful folly 
 which sometimes swells the bo^om 
 with the envious wish of purchasing a 
 tear shed for another, with the brightest 
 look— the kindest word, ever bestowed 
 on himself. 
 
 Full of these growing fantasies, 
 Cecil saw in Azora's altered manners, 
 a confirmation of the apprehensions 
 with which he had tormented himself 
 during the morning, that it was per* 
 I 4
 
 176 CECIL. 
 
 sonal dislike rather than extreme re- 
 sentment which had rendered fruitless 
 his anxious endeavours to find her. 
 This persuasion made him now impa- 
 tiently wish— now as sensibly dread, 
 the signal for rising from table, least 
 on doing so, Azora should again evade 
 the conference he so ardently desired. 
 At length this signal was given by the 
 retiring of Don Juan. Donna Ilerena 
 soon after prepared to follow this exam- 
 ple ; and the haste with which Azora, 
 ia the same instant, arose, evinced the 
 very intention Cecil feared. 
 
 A moment more, and she might 
 escape— no time was left for conside- 
 ration ; he therefore risked, in despe- 
 ration, heightening her displeasure, by 
 openly requesting permission to attend 
 her, on their usual walk from the 
 veranda to an arbour in the wood. This 
 arbour had been formed under the 
 directing taste of Azora, in imitation of
 
 CECIL, 177 
 
 that oeneath which she had reposed in 
 the forest of Nuestra Senora del Rocio. 
 Azora, ignorant of what had passed 
 between her father and Cecil, was at a 
 loss to conjecture in what way the 
 latter had satisfied the surprise his so 
 suddenly acquiring the power of bear- 
 ing the strong light of day must have 
 occasioned her parents. She conse- 
 quently felt that she might, by refusing 
 this unassuming and hitherto antici- 
 pated request, appear to her mother as 
 acting with rudeness and caprice—^a 
 conduct so inconsistent with her cha- 
 racter, as to endanger the rousing in 
 that mother a curiosity which she felt 
 (she knew not why) wholly unequaji 
 to the task of gratifying. 
 
 An acquiescing, bat silent bow, was 
 ^consequently her answer to the now 
 delighted Cecil ; and Doni;ia Ilerejia 
 parted from them with a smile that 
 shone atfectingly through the habitual 
 1 6
 
 178 CECIL. 
 
 pensiveness of her features. On reach- 
 ing the veranda, Cecil finding fliat his 
 companion did not of herself take his 
 arm as she had hitherto been accus- 
 tomed to do, when acting as his guide, 
 offered it. 
 
 It was declined, and they proceeded 
 on their walk, in a kind of sullen taci- 
 turnity, to that chosen spot in which 
 they had regularly passed their after- 
 noons—sometimes in delightful con- 
 verse together— at others, Azora read- 
 ing to her companion, till they were 
 joined by Don Juan and his lady, who 
 were in the habit of taking their even* 
 ing collation with them beneath its 
 cool refreshing shade. 
 
 On arriving at the entrance of the 
 bower, Cecil stopped, and tacitly ex- 
 pressed his expectation of Azora's 
 entering it as usual ; but without no- 
 ticing this hint, she passed on. 
 
 Contending passions agitated tjie
 
 CECIL. 179 
 
 bosom of the lover— that bosom which 
 had so lately glowed with the belief 
 that this desired interview, by ena- 
 bling him to plead his cause, would 
 confirm his better hopes, and open to 
 his aspiring views what he considered 
 as the summit of earthly happiness. 
 
 Grievously disappointed, yet strug- 
 gling to speak with the calmness of one 
 who felt that he had justice on his 
 side, he at length exclaimed, 
 
 '' Your too severe resentment. Ma- 
 dam, acquits me, to myself, of all guilt 
 in the deception I have practised. 
 These averted looks— this persevering 
 reserve— these constrained manners, 
 which have taken place of gentle re- 
 gards — ingenuous converse and bene- 
 volent attentions, leave me only regret 
 at having been betrayed into 
 
 And the cheeks of Cecil burnt with 
 mingled emotions as this reproach 
 escaped him. 
 
 I 6
 
 180 CECIL. 
 
 '' I am incapable of harboring anger 
 for an acknowledged fault/' at length 
 returned Azora, with an embarrass- 
 ment, which, by offering a perfect con- 
 trast to the cold dignity of proud re- 
 sentment, that she had lately exhibited, 
 might have re-assured a less passionate 
 lover. — " Yet, surely,'* added she, 
 " it is very natural for one who has 
 never seen you, except under a mask; 
 nor known you, but as a claimant on 
 our sensibility, and gratitude— it is, 
 surely, very natural that now the mask 
 is removed, and you are again restored 
 to self-dependance, you should appear 
 to me in a totally new character, and 
 that as such I should regard you as a 
 stranger, and change my manners with 
 the change of circumstances/' 
 
 " My mind has never worn a mask, 
 Azora!" said Cecil, in a tone'deeply 
 expressive of wounded pride and mor- 
 tified self-love.
 
 CECIL. 181 
 
 Azora was sensibly touched at the 
 effect her last words had produced, to 
 which Cecil had given a reproachful 
 meaning, which she was wholly inno- 
 cent of intending to convey. 
 
 Though undeviating in the path of 
 duty, no one could by nature be more 
 conciliating than Azora— more indul- 
 gent where that duty allowed feeling 
 to take the lead. On this occasion, 
 after a little hesitation between the 
 justice of removing this wounding 
 impression, and the new-born reserve 
 his yet unsanctioned passion created, 
 she passed her arm through that of 
 Cecil. 
 
 A thrill of delight agitated for a mo- 
 ment, the lover's heart ; yet by re- 
 ceiving this simple courtesy with the 
 air of one, who considered it as a 
 right, rather than as the pledge of re- 
 turning amity, he evinced that no 
 second vibration of that heart had re-
 
 189 CECIL. 
 
 moved from it, the impression which 
 had so cruelly affected it. 
 
 Azora, hurt in her turn, was about 
 to withdraw a favor she felt to be so 
 ungraciously received, when detaining 
 it, he said : *' I am to understand, I 
 believe, that in removing my mask, as 
 you q.re severe enough to call it, you 
 have been disgusted, not with the 
 strangeness, but the homeliness of my 
 features ?'' 
 
 A servant, at this instant approach- 
 ing, with a request that Cecil would 
 attend Don Juan, Azora was relieved 
 from the necessity of returning any 
 answer to this qitestioning assertion. 
 What answer, indeed, could she have 
 given? Inexplicable even to herself, 
 was the stranofeness which had sud- 
 denly sprung up between two persons 
 whose minds had so long held inter- 
 course with each other ; but far was 
 that change from being attributable
 
 CECIL. isa 
 
 to the cause Cecil apprehended. Had 
 Azora allowed personal beauty to 
 blind her to that of the soul, whose 
 beams shed on the countenance a pure 
 and lasting lustre, Cecil naust have 
 doubled his pretensions to her favor, 
 by appearing undisguised ; for her 
 judgment acknowledged that his face 
 was faultless— that it was even less 
 homely than that of the traveller from 
 Senora del Rocws forest ; since, in 
 consequence of the regular and tem- 
 perate life, which, at Don Juan's, had 
 succeeded that dissipated one pur- 
 sued at Donna Celerica's, the me- 
 mory of Azora did not immediately 
 suggest to her the suspicion of his 
 being the same traveller, who had on 
 his journey from thence, attracted 
 their attention at the foot of the Sierra 
 Morena^ Yet handsome as she granted 
 Cecil to be, it was in a different style 
 from that first painted on her ideas,
 
 184 CECIL. 
 
 by the pencil of pity. It came not 
 home to her, as characteristic of the 
 suffering gentleness of nature-— the 
 delicacy of imagination, which had 
 tempered the playful felicities of his 
 fancy, when they had been called 
 forth by the benevolent wish of cheer- 
 ing the saddened spirits of her parents. 
 From these ^'* featured thoughts' ' she 
 had composed lineaments, not less 
 homely^ but of a totally different ex- 
 pression ; such as by their pensive 
 cast, gave interest to his society, from 
 inspiring in Azora the belief, that 
 through her alone, Cecil saw, felt, 
 and thought. 
 
 This illusion of her imagination 
 vanished, as the conviction was forced 
 upon her by the more perfect deve- 
 lopement of his views and sentiments, 
 that this ingenuous, high-minded 
 youth, felt with impassioned warmth, 
 that he possessed the power of ex-
 
 CECIL. 185 
 
 pressing both by looks and words, with 
 equal fire and energy— every impatient 
 thought— every roused emotion, which 
 love, in its various transports of hope 
 and doubt, jealousy and fear, might 
 inspire in his bosom— and the bosom 
 of CeciJ was much disposed to tena- 
 ciousness, easily fired to extravagance. 
 
 While Azora was endeavouring to 
 analize her feelings, she unconsciously 
 turned her steps towards the arbour ; 
 where she remained absorbed in re- 
 flection, till she was re-called to a 
 sense of the passing time, by the ap« 
 proach of Cecil, to whom Don Juan 
 had been imparting a partial outline of 
 the recent sufferings of his family. 
 
 Touched to the soul, at the misery 
 and dangers which Azora had en- 
 countered—his heart overflowing with 
 gratitude, at the remembrance of the 
 kind attentions he had himself re- 
 ceived at her hands— and eagerly de-
 
 1S6 CECIL. 
 
 sirous of a perfect reconciliation, Cecil 
 returned not, the Mr, Altringham 
 who had an hour before quitted her, 
 with displeasure in his looks, and 
 offended pride in his air ? No ! it was 
 not Mr. Altrinoham who had returned, 
 but the living original of the Cecilio, 
 her mind had imaged to itself, seemed 
 suddenly as by magic to appear before 
 her. 
 
 The speaking looks of Cecil wer« 
 now softened by pity— tenderness— - 
 and unassuming love ; his address, full 
 of apprehensive gentleness, as if he 
 feared by too warm a display of the 
 feelings, with which his soul was pe- 
 netrated, that he should again scare 
 their object from the protecting bosom, 
 that panted to guard her future days, 
 from a repetition of those keen and 
 heavy trials, the recital only of which 
 had excited his passionate commis- 
 seration.
 
 CECIL. 187 
 
 Seating himself by her side, he 
 said in a tone, kind as his aspect 
 
 " A parent's wishes sanction my 
 devoting the rest of my life to the dear 
 delight of watching over Azora's 
 peace— the tender duty of courting 
 back to -her bosom the cheerfulness of 
 youth— of forcing happiness^ to pay 
 her long arrears to innocence and 
 virtue. Confirm the blissful privilege 
 of a father's judgment,*' he con- 
 tinued, with tender earnestness " or 
 let me again, and for ever, close my 
 eyes on the light of day, if in its garish 
 glare, is to be lost the mild beams of 
 that favoring star, which first pointed 
 out to my view the temple of happiness. 
 See, Azora, how its rays first directed 
 me to seek it, in a communion of soul 
 with her, whose pure heart and re- 
 fined sensibility, dictated these trea- 
 sured effusions, happily borne to me by 
 the propitious winds of heaven/'
 
 188 CECIL. 
 
 As he said this, he took from his 
 bosom the paper found in the wood. 
 
 The returning confidence— the con- 
 genial feelings, expressed by ihe no 
 longer averted looks of Azbra, had 
 insensibly encouraged Cecil to proceed 
 less apprehensively, till he arrived at 
 the disclosure of his having, with such 
 fond admiration, embosomed the talis- 
 manic effusions which had operated iu 
 giving so new a course to all his youth- 
 ful passions. Then did surprise and 
 diffidence bend to the ground Azora's 
 eyes, while secret joy stole its trea- 
 sures from her heart, and mantling up- 
 wards, suflused her cheek with blushes. 
 Still, however, she lent a pleased at- 
 tentive ear to his narrative, which 
 every instant grew^ in interest— for 
 every instant it displayed new traits of 
 character, not more highly honorable 
 to her lover, who thus ingenuously 
 addressed her, than gratifying to all
 
 CECIL. 189 
 
 those sentiments which ought to guide 
 and ennoble the choice of a virtuous 
 woman. 
 
 The tenderness of his feelings, in- 
 creasing with the retrospection in 
 which he was indulging them, caused 
 Cecil suddenly to break the thread of 
 his recapitulation, and with emotions 
 no longer to be controled, he begged 
 that she would decide his fate. 
 
 Love alone knows to feel— to ap- 
 preciate that pure and tender language 
 of the heart which breathes over its 
 own vows the grace of delicacy. This 
 fourth grace, born of the refined ima- 
 gination of Petrarch,* lent all her ex- 
 pressions to thewordsof Azora,aswith 
 *' assuring love and confidence'' she 
 dispersed the doubts— the fears— the 
 jealous fantasies of her lover. 
 
 Don Juan, who had been much af- 
 fected by the partial communication 
 
 * So say the Italians.
 
 190 CECIL. 
 
 of his eventful history to his young 
 friend, appeared no more that night ; 
 and Donna Ilerena merely joined them 
 to unite Cecil in the maternal blessing 
 and embrace she bestowed on her 
 daughter. The remainder of the even-- 
 ing was delightfully passed by the lo- 
 vers in forming plans of future happi- 
 ness, which they hoped to realize when 
 once safely harboured in Cecil's native 
 isle. On their separating, he sat 
 down to acquaint his parents with his 
 new views and hopes ; and to inform 
 them that he awaited only their sanc- 
 tion to complete his union with Azora. 
 
 4f^
 
 CECIL. 191 
 
 CHAP. VIII, 
 
 It was while Cecil was awaiting these 
 letters, that he addressed to Clarendon 
 the following fragment. 
 
 " The mother's features become less 
 sad-"the father's brow less stern.— 
 Azora's cheek assumes new blooming 
 tints of colours dipped in heaven— 
 for heaven alone can mix the matchless 
 variety that gives a hue to every 
 thought, and paints the delicate emo- 
 tions of a young ingenuous heart. 
 
 It is with proud pleasure that I 
 witness a change in this family, which 
 makes me more and more rejoice in 
 my claim on her\ to whom I owe the 
 thousand new sensations, which daily 
 50 delightfully unfold themselves.
 
 192 CECIL. 
 
 Yet Don Juan will not, till I have re- 
 ceived the consent of my family, ap- 
 point the period which shall unite me 
 to the object of my affection. He will 
 not, till then, confer a parent's blessing 
 on our union— a union which will be 
 hallowed by virtue. Clarendon, I am 
 impatient to convince you of the 
 wisdom of my choice. Wise I may 
 call it, since from the moment my 
 mind received and sanctioned it— 
 that mind has become aspiring— am* 
 bitious of greater powers— -of superior 
 functions that may exalt my path of 
 life, and throw not only the bright 
 beams of happiness, but those of 
 glory also over the fate of my Azora. 
 Her noble parents too ! they shall re- 
 turn to the society they were born to 
 grace, till their powers withered be- 
 neath the blasts of adverse fortune. I 
 will this very day press them to fix 
 this desired period.
 
 CECIL. 19S 
 
 This was written in pencil beneath 
 an arbour on the borders of the wood, 
 to which Cecil had repaired while 
 awaiting the assembling of the family. 
 
 Love and nature are inseparably 
 united---their charms ever associate 
 and strengthen each other. It was un- 
 der their combined powers that Cecil, 
 while he contemplated the sunny pro- 
 montory of 'Cintra, rising sublimely 
 from behind the dark-brown wood, 
 listened' to the impetuous dashing of 
 an adjacent water- fall, and inhaled the 
 breathing sweetness of the morning 
 gale-— experienced an elevation of soul 
 which roused all the enthusiasm of his 
 nature, and filling it with joy— with 
 hope— with visions decked in fancj^'s 
 gayest colours, carried him to thebreak- 
 fast table, glowing with the pure spirits 
 of one whose heart and mind ar^ per- 
 fectly in harmony with each other. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 19* CECIL. 
 
 But no congenial feelings were that 
 morning to be traced in the features of 
 those he joined. Heavy gloom once 
 more strengthened the harsh lines of 
 Don Juan's countenance ; the same de- 
 pressive thoughts had again spread their 
 pallid expression over that of Donna 
 Ilerena, which Cecil had observed to 
 cloud them, before he had won them 
 from themselves, by gaining on their es- 
 teem and confidence. His bright and 
 humorous sallies — his gay and artless 
 converse, were qualities so tempered by 
 feeling and sj^mpathy towards this de- 
 jected pair, as never to obtrude or offend. 
 
 On some occasions he had kindled 
 a spark of cheerfulness in Don Juan 
 and his lady, which had thrown over 
 the mansion a mild and gentle light— 
 a light which promised, as it strength- 
 ened, to disperse the dark vapours 
 which had gathered around it. 
 
 Most sensibly did Cecil, on this
 
 CECIL. 195 
 
 day, feel a change which at once dis- 
 solved the gay visions he had been in- 
 dulging—most anxiously did he seek 
 for its cause in reflection— in observa- 
 tion—in the languid sweetness of 
 Azora's regards, as they dv/elt tenderly 
 on the" faded cheek of her mother. 
 Vain alike were all his endeavours to 
 dive into their secret hoard of grief. 
 
 The salutations of the morning paid, 
 Don Juan became abstracted, and soon 
 retired. The mother, whose greetings 
 were conveyed in a transient smile, 
 which melancholy rendered more than 
 usually kind, was equally silent ; but 
 still she was attentively considerate of 
 Cecil, and departed not till the cere- 
 monies of the breakfast were finished. 
 Azora then became the sole object of 
 his thoughts and feelings, and he thus 
 described to Clarendon those new and 
 complicated ones to which this em- 
 ployment gave rise. 
 k2
 
 196 CECIL. 
 
 LETTER. 
 
 " An unusual restlessness in Azora— 
 the earnest but diffident expression of 
 her eye when bent towards me— the 
 flying blushes of her cheek— and on 
 
 her lips that speaking air. 
 
 As if a word was hov'ring there,'* 
 
 Heightened, to painful intenseness, the 
 anxiety roused in me by the scene at 
 our morning repast. 
 
 *' I was considering in what manner 
 1 should open inquiiies, which could 
 no longer be suppressed, when Azora 
 making, as it appeared, an effort over 
 some opposing feeling, said — 
 
 " Cecilio, you must to-morrow de- 
 part ; and ten mournful days must roll 
 their heavy hours over this mansion 
 ere you return to it.'* 
 
 " A live only to the sense conveyed in 
 these unexpected words, tenaciousness 
 gave to their expression a coldness
 
 CECIL. 197 
 
 that froze the warm hopes which had 
 so lately filled my bosom. 
 
 " Quit you, Azora!* said I, impa- 
 tiently, ' and for ten days ! Impossible ! 
 Quit you ! when I am in daily expec- 
 tation of letters, on the arrival of which 
 your father has consented to our union 
 —quit you ! But you are only trifling 
 with my anxiety/ 
 
 '* Yet, Clarendon, there was no ap- 
 pearance of trifling in her countenance ; 
 and tears were standing in her eyes, 
 as she said : ' Hark ! my father's step ! 
 Cecilio, I will leave to him the task 
 of confirming the necessity of your 
 departure/ 
 
 " Don Juan entered the room the 
 moment after, and Azora fled. 
 
 " Clarendon, there is a mystery about 
 this man that I do not comprehend. 
 He has told me much of his severe 
 misfortunes, but observed an impene- 
 trable silence on their origin. He has
 
 198 CECIL. 
 
 told me he was compelled to abandon 
 his country; but on the cause he pre- 
 serves the strictest secrecy. If no 
 guilthe attachable to this, why should 
 he conceal from me, circumstances 
 which must be peculiarly interesting 
 to one who is so soon to become a 
 member of his family ? Why did he 
 not explain to me the motive of those 
 penances and self-inflictions to which 
 Donna Ilerena and himself are about 
 to devote the period of the next ten 
 days ? This I now understand to be the 
 cause of my threatened banishment. 
 
 " Why has he not made me acquaint- 
 ed with the nature of the persecutions, to 
 which he has hinted he is still liable, 
 should he be identified in his native 
 country ? 
 
 '' You know, my friend, that suspi- 
 cion is foreign to my nature, yet I have 
 discovered many traits in Don Juan 
 which impress me with the alarming
 
 CECIL. 199 
 
 apprehension that his misfortunes owe 
 their origin to some offences of his 
 youth, which have unpardonably vio- 
 lated the laws of Spain. 
 
 *' In his precipitate flight from that 
 country, he has just now told me, he 
 irrevocably lost an infant child. His 
 late pilgrimage thither was in search 
 of its grave, and he found (iaterred 
 near the spot at which he left it) its 
 baby-bones. This is an event of which 
 he did not, till last night, inform Donna 
 Ilerena. It is the recollections which 
 this discovery has revived in this ill- 
 fated pair, that occasions the renewed 
 gloom which overspread the family at 
 the breakfast table. 
 
 " Azora, though like myself, ignorant 
 of the cause, shares all the sorrows of 
 her parents. I entreated Don Juan 
 to-morrow to confirm her mine, and to 
 allow her to be the partner of my ton 
 day's banishment from the Quiiita; but 
 K 4
 
 SOO CECIL. 
 
 to this he replied, in a concentrated 
 tone— - 
 
 " This is no season for plans of hap- 
 piness ; let them await your return/' 
 
 The remainder of the night, after 
 Cecil had laid down his pen, was one 
 of restlessness. 
 
 On the following morning he quitted 
 his room, full of vague fears that Azora 
 and himself should meet no more-— 
 that fate threatened them with some 
 tmknown calamity which would for 
 ever separate them. This painful pre- 
 sentiment was founded on the convic- 
 tion that a disposition, naturally cheer- 
 ful and sanguine as his own had ever 
 been, could not feel so overwhelming 
 a depression, unless some impending 
 ruin of his hopes hung over him. 
 
 The tempered sensibility of Azora, 
 on the contrary, taught her to bear her 
 own far less supportable cause of grief
 
 CECIL. sol 
 
 with apparent fortitude, that she might 
 calm and reconcile Cecil to an absence 
 which was unavoidable. 
 
 Yet, in spite of the example she set 
 him, he still lingered near her— lin- 
 gered to re-iterate those thousand no- 
 things, uttered by the full heart of the 
 parting lover, and so dear to the me- 
 mory of her to w^iom they are ad- 
 dressed. At length he tore himself 
 away, and accompanied the servant, 
 appointed to attend him to Cintra, 
 where Owens had been previously 
 ordered by the same confidential do- 
 mestic, to await his master's joining 
 him. From thence they immediately 
 proceeded to Lisbon, Cecil learning 
 with satisfaction that the continued 
 absence of Donna Celerica saved him 
 from the chance of encountering her. 
 
 A packet which arrived soon after he 
 had reached that city, brought the de- 
 sired letters from his family; but to 
 k6
 
 '909 CECIL. 
 
 his disappointment, none from Cla- 
 rendon. 
 
 The first few days, however, were 
 passed by him with less of sorrow than 
 he had anticipated, by the pleasure he 
 found in being able to answer the let- 
 ters of his family, with the confidence 
 of one reclaimed from all his follies, 
 and with all the gratitude their's were 
 calculated to inspire. 
 
 These letters concluded and dis- 
 patched, Cecil, for the remaining pe- 
 riod of his absence, became a very 
 lover in sadness and impatience.
 
 CECIL. 205 
 
 CHAP. IX 
 
 The day preceding that on which he 
 was permitted to return to Azora, he 
 repaired to Cintra, where in wakeful 
 impatience he passed the night. 
 
 " But now the silver star of love appeared. 
 Bright in her east her radiant front she reared ; 
 Fair on the rear of night the gentle ray. 
 Announced the coming of the cheerful day." 
 
 When Cecil, springing from his rest- 
 less couch, soon reached the entrance 
 of the guardian wood, whose intricate 
 and winding paths (till some friendly 
 Dryad guided him through their mazes) 
 h^d, no doubt, led many an idle ram- 
 blmg youth wide of Don Juan's re- 
 treat, and thus preserved this new- 
 K 6
 
 S04 CECIL. 
 
 found treasure to make I'im taste the 
 extremes of joy and sorrow. 
 
 As nothing now occurred to impede 
 his progress, his flying step brought 
 him, ere he could be expected, within 
 sight of the veranda. Cecil, darting 
 towards that favorite haunt a keen 
 and anxious glance, beheld the expect- 
 ing figure of the kind, the indulgent 
 Azora, awaiting to anticipate by her 
 presence the agitating enquiries which 
 she knew would chill his bosom, till 
 answered by assurances of her safety. 
 
 Where now was to be found the 
 confirmation of those gloomy presen- 
 timents, which had so greatly affected 
 him on his departure? Where now 
 could rest the foreboding fears, which 
 in the sadness of his heart, Cecil had 
 conjured up to heighten the pain of 
 their short separation ? Where ! In 
 the tearful eye— the nervous tremor— 
 the pallid cheek of Azora ; which, as
 
 CECIL. ^05 
 
 the blushing joy of meeting him, sub- 
 sided, betrayed these symptoms of 
 spirits, subdued beyond the power of 
 concealment by some experienced or 
 expected evil. 
 
 The singular events which had hap- 
 pened during the absence of her lover, 
 were but the forerunners of still more 
 serious evils. In the following nar- 
 ration, they will be found interwoven 
 with those after occurrences, which 
 soon became too complicated to be 
 separately described. 
 
 Some events, which pressed heavily 
 on the mind of Don Juan and his 
 lady, rendered the period of Cecil's 
 banishment, not only one of penitence, 
 but of peculiar sorrow to them both. 
 During this time, they occupied apart- 
 ments adjoining a small chapel, in 
 which, attended by a priest, from the 
 Cork convent, on the rocky mountain 
 of Cintra, they passed the greatest
 
 206 CECIL. 
 
 part of the day and the night in 
 strictly performing those religious du- 
 ties, prescribed by their faith, for ob- 
 taining a remission of their sins. 
 
 Their innocent daughter, now only 
 a sufferer by a consciousness of those 
 afflictions of her parents, which they 
 believed to be visited upon them in 
 consequence of the occurrences of 
 their youth, was not allowed either 
 to be a sharer or witness of the mor- 
 tification and penance to which they 
 submitted. They considered the de- 
 barring themselves of her society, as 
 the most acceptable sacrifice which 
 they could offer up in mitigation of 
 their offences, since it was the severest 
 of all their self-inflicted punishments. 
 
 Azora was consequently left in a 
 state of comparative abandonment, 
 which, if Cecil could have suspected 
 would have fixed him wjthin the pre- 
 cincts of the wood; evea though the
 
 CECIL^. 207 
 
 canopy of heaven had been his only 
 shelter. 
 
 On the very day following that of 
 his departure, under the idea of at 
 once improving herself in the native 
 language of Cecil, and becoming in 
 some degree acquainted with the mind 
 of one so nearly related, and so much 
 esteemed by him as the translator of 
 Grantor, whose manuscript had been 
 left with her, Azora had seated herself 
 in the veranda, with the design to 
 trace some features of a character 
 which her lover had so eloquently 
 described. 
 
 From this employment Bernardo 
 soon diverted his young lady, by deli- 
 vering to her the broken rosary of 
 Donna Ilerena, with a request from her 
 mother that she would new string it. 
 
 This rosary was considered as an 
 heir-loom in the family ; it was very 
 curious, of great value, and never
 
 203 * CECIL. 
 
 intrusted to any servant but the one who 
 now gave it into the hands of Azora, 
 and Transisia, the attendant of Donna 
 Ilerena. The ave-marias of this pre- 
 cious chaplet were fine large topazes, 
 cut in the form of a dodecagon— the 
 pater-nosters, oriental pearls of extra- 
 ordinary size ; and from it was sus- 
 pended a sparkling cross, composed of 
 diamonds of the first waters** 
 
 Azora had just completed her little 
 task, and was about to summon Ber- 
 nardo for the purpose of conveying the 
 rosary safely back to her mother, when 
 a pigeon, fiercely pursued by a hawk, 
 rushed into the veranda, and drew to- 
 wards it her pitying attention. While 
 endeavouring to frighten away the 
 savage bird from its prey, a gentleman 
 hastily entered without ceremony, and 
 was soon after followed by a lady. 
 
 * A lady of quality, in Portugal, possessed a 
 chaplet exactly answering this description*
 
 CECIL. 209 
 
 The former having first removed from 
 the sight of the agitated Azora, the 
 pigeon which had died beneath the 
 talons of its furious enemy, returned 
 to apologize for their intrusion, by in^ 
 forming her that they had been enjoy- 
 ins: the amusement of hawkins: in the 
 environs of Cintra, when from the game 
 having taken across the wood, they 
 had been led, in the eagerness of the 
 pursuit, inconsiderately to trespass on 
 her solitude, a liberty for which they 
 entreated her pardon. He would then 
 have taken his leave, but his compa- 
 nion, so far from evincing a similar 
 intention, after a few compliments of 
 the same kind, composedly seated 
 herself; and, by entering with ease 
 and freedom into conversation with 
 Azora, shewed a disposition to improve 
 this chance introduction into an ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 When, on the return of Cecil, Azora
 
 210 CECIL. 
 
 stated this incident to him, she stopped 
 here to remark, that although she had 
 only seen the lady through a veil, she 
 was greatly struck with the brilliancy 
 of her eyes ; yet their penetrating 
 glances had inspired her with dismay 
 rather than admiration, since they 
 seemed to speak a language foreign to 
 thatutteredby her mouth. She added, 
 that wherefore she knew not, but she 
 had felt confused and uneasy, at per- 
 ceiving that the confident intruder had, 
 with piercing curiosity, shot inquisi- 
 torial glances round at the slightest 
 sound— then turned her scrutinizing 
 looks on her face as if to learn whether 
 she alone inhabited the mansion. 
 
 At length, attracted by the book of 
 extracts, (into which, in the disturb- 
 ance of the moment, Azora had uncon- 
 sciously slipped her mother's rosary) 
 the thoughts and attention of the lady 
 seemed fixed upon it, and the volume
 
 CECIL. 211 
 
 became the object of her keen and ex- 
 clusive examination. While this con- 
 tinued, the stranger's eyes took a new 
 character, which, Azora said, she 
 wanted skill to describe. It was very- 
 repulsive, and, but that she knew 
 there could have been no provocation 
 on her part, she would have said it 
 expressed indignant malice against 
 herself. The young man, who had 
 several times motioned for their de- 
 parture, now testified, by repeating his 
 apologies, and wishing Azora " good 
 morning,^' his determination of reliev- 
 ing her, at least, from one intruder. 
 
 This example was (as she then 
 thought) happily followed by the lad}^ 
 who, while her companion was address- 
 ing to Azora some farewell compli- 
 ments, passed from the veranda into 
 the wood. The servants, as soon as 
 they perceived their mistress, led up 
 the horses, when, to the great surprise
 
 219 CECIL. 
 
 of Azora, who had never before seen 
 that English feat performed, the lady 
 put her foot into the hand of one 
 of the attendants, and lightly spring- 
 ing up was seated sideways on her 
 saddle quick as thought ; then grace- 
 fully bowing to the admiring girl, 
 she disappeared, followed by the gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 Short lived was the relief Azora re- 
 ceived from their departure. The sur- 
 prise and confusion, mingled with 
 something of dread, which had during 
 their stay bewildered her, had no 
 sooner subsided, than she recollected 
 the rosary of Donna Ilerena. It was 
 gone ! and with it the book, within the 
 leaves of which, it had been placed. 
 
 Fruitless had been Azora's search 
 after this precious relique, and the 
 impossibility of explaining to her mo- 
 ther all the circumstances of the case, 
 till she was again admitted to her pre-
 
 CECIL. 213 
 
 sence, lay heavily on her mind during 
 that interval. 
 
 Five more days, by bringing her 
 nearer to the period which would re- 
 store to her the attentions of her lover, 
 and the society of her parents, had 
 given comparative cheerfulness to 
 Azora's spirits, and she determined, 
 on the sixth morning, to have her 
 breakfast carried to the arbour, and, 
 attended by Belario, to spend some 
 hours in that cool retreat. To the 
 arbour, therefore, she repaired, fol- 
 lowed by the orphan boy, who carried 
 under one arm his books— under the 
 other his lady's guitar. 
 
 As soon as they had finished their 
 repast, Azora turned her whole atten- 
 tion towards her little protege, whose 
 enquiring looks and frt^quent appear- 
 ance before her, with his book in his 
 hand, had of late tacitly reprehended 
 her for allowing a growing passion to
 
 S14 CECIL. 
 
 divert her from the important task she 
 had undertaken of counteracting the 
 cruelty of nature, as far as lay within 
 her limited power, by opening his 
 mind to knowlege and virtue. 
 
 Deeply engrossed by the eagerness 
 with which the grateful Belario was 
 listening, with the ears of his heart, to 
 her instructions, she knew not that 
 there was a witness of her charitable 
 employment, till these words in Por- 
 tuguese caused her to raise her eyes 
 to the singularly attired figure who 
 addressed them to her. 
 
 " That you should teach the frozen 
 heart of a phlegmatic foreigner to love> 
 ceases to create my wonder, seeing 
 that you can give language to the 
 dumb, and information to the deaf!" 
 
 New to Europe, Azora, was yet to 
 learn, that the hair tied in a club with 
 a bunch of scarlet ribbons— large drops 
 pending from the ears— a profusion of
 
 ) 
 
 CECIL. 515 
 
 reliques, and hallowed medals encirc- 
 ling the neck, and sleeves tied behind 
 with a long blue ribbon, of secret 
 virtue, that reached the ground, were 
 the insignia of those Spanish females 
 who belong to that singular class of 
 people, known by the name of Gkanos, 
 
 While, with silent surprise, Azora 
 was taking a hasty survey of the per- 
 son who had so abruptly addressed 
 her, the Gitana said— 
 
 " I ought to have accosted you in 
 Spanish, for I read in your counte- 
 nance, Senora, that you are of my 
 country/' 
 
 " Spanish and Portuguese,'' re- 
 turned Azora, checking her rising fear 
 at this unceremonious treatment, " are 
 equally familiar to me ; but you are 
 mistaken in supposing me a native of 
 Spain ; I have scarcely yet seen that 
 country." 
 
 *' Of that, as well as of your profi-
 
 ^16 CECIL. 
 
 ciency in more languages than those 
 you mention, my art has already in- 
 formed me/' replied the Gitana^ em- 
 phatically. " Still, Senora, your fea- 
 tures inherit a Spanish character from 
 your parents ; and your mind is acqui- 
 ring an English one from your lover.'* 
 
 Azora was no less startled at the 
 purport of this sentence than at the 
 language in which it was spoken : it 
 was the native tongue of Cecil. — The 
 Gitana continued to ohserve, with a 
 scrutinizing and satisfied look, the 
 varying colour which on her cheek bore 
 testimony to th^ truth of her discern- 
 ing art, as again changing her language, 
 she repeated with great propriety of 
 expression, 
 
 " Et cette foi si pure — et ces doux 
 souvenirs et cette longue familiarite,'* 
 Shall 1 give you a further specimen of 
 my professional skill, by shewing you 
 what will be their result ?"
 
 •ECIL. 21T 
 
 " If," said Azora, vainly endeavouring 
 to suppress the agitation and terror 
 whicli every new address of the Ge- 
 tana increased—" If, by opening to 
 me the future, you can at the same 
 time teach me to avoid the evils with 
 which it may be fraught, my attention 
 and gratitude shall be your's; but if 
 they be unavoidable by human wis- 
 dom, spare me the anticipated misery 
 their disclosure must inflict." 
 
 " Behold !" said the Gitana^ regard- 
 less of this observation, and raising, 
 as she spoke, a shew-box (which she 
 had borne beneath her arm) to the eye 
 of Azora.— -" Behold 1" she repeatedt 
 in a tone of impelling power. 
 
 From the objects thus forced upon 
 the fearful vision of Azora, the heart- 
 struck girl shrunk back aghast ! 
 During many minutes, earth, sea, and 
 sky appeared, to her dizzy sight, to 
 have changed places, and every suc- 
 
 VOL. I. • L
 
 flS CECIL. 
 
 ceeding one threatened to reduce her 
 to a st5^te of total insensibility. 
 
 The magic, by which the spectacle 
 exhi'^ited by the Gitana box had been 
 produced, was as incomprehensible 
 to Azora as that spectacle was apal- 
 ling ! It represented her living 
 parents, led captives at the head of a 
 procession of pitiable victims, con- 
 demned to swell the catalogue of 
 human sacrifices, offered up at an 
 Auto defef 
 
 As she gazed at this horrible vision, 
 it was with difficulty she preserved 
 herself from fainting. The struggle 
 was severe; but when at length her 
 bosom gave the labouring sigh of 
 "hardly acquired resolution, and, with 
 clasped hands she turned an eye of 
 accusing anguish on the Gifana^ 
 Azora beheved, but had since doubted 
 she VivY^weA^ s\\e saw her dash a tear 
 from her cheek. The ascertaining
 
 CECIL. ?19 
 
 this sign of softened feeling was im- 
 possible, as the Gitana's face was in- 
 stantly hidden from her, by her stoop- 
 ing to take from the bench, on which 
 it lay, the guitar of Azora, with which, 
 without prelude, she accompanied her 
 voice as she sung the following words 
 of the Portuguese poet :* 
 
 Just like love is yonder rose, 
 Heav'nly fragrance round it throws. 
 Yet tears its dewy leaves disclose. 
 And in the midst of briars it grows. 
 
 Cuird to bloom upon the breast, 
 Sitice rough thorns the stem invest, 
 Tht-y must be gather*d with the rest> 
 And with it to the heart be prest. 
 
 A nd when rude hands the twin-buds sercr. 
 They die, and they shall blossom never; 
 Yet the thorns be sharp as ever- 
 Just like love 
 
 *Thu» elet^antly rendered iatt English Uy 
 Lord Strangford, 
 
 L 2
 
 tiO CECIt. 
 
 While the Gitana was repeating the 
 last stanza, in strains calculated to 
 make the tender sorrows preferred to 
 the blithe joys of love, she suddenly 
 ceased— the instrum^^nt dropped from 
 her hand— she cast a glance of bitter- 
 ness on Azora, and snatching up the 
 magic box, disappeared. 
 
 This bitter glance had since fre- 
 quently employed the memory of the 
 unhappy girl, as one which gave the 
 intruder a former place in it ; but 
 where, and how she had gained it, 
 baffled its powers. 
 
 The sudden change of the Gitana s 
 gentle aspect, for one of anger, and 
 her hasty evasion, Azora attn'"»uted to 
 tlie approach, now^ noticed%y her, of 
 ^elarlo, followed by severaf- Servants. 
 The poor boy, observing the increasing 
 alarm in hisyouns: patroness's counte- 
 nance, and having early imbibed a 
 terror of the community to which the
 
 CECIL. 521 
 
 intruder belonged, had slipped unper- 
 ceived away, to summons the pro- 
 te( ting attendance of the servants pjf 
 the family. 
 
 Azora, on finding herself once more 
 safe beneath the shelter of the veranda, 
 (on which every window in front of 
 the Quinta opened) formed the reso^ 
 lution never more to wander beyoncj 
 its confines, unaccompanied by her 
 father or her lover; but the personal 
 safety this determination promised, 
 brought not its usual sobriety and 
 peace to the disordered imagination 
 of the solitary girl. Alas ! what could 
 save her mind from the horrible in- 
 truders, forced on it by the visionary 
 scene ejdiibited to her in the magic 
 box or' the cru^l GiUmaP V^ainly did 
 she struggle to enforce in herself the 
 principle that heaven allows not to 
 mortals— tho power of unclosing the 
 book of fate — vainly did it urge her 
 L 3
 
 222 CECIL. 
 
 ** rising senses to chase the ignorant 
 fumes that mantled her clearer reason/' 
 and view the whole event as the jug- 
 gling trick of one who wished to ex- 
 tort money from her, by throwing her 
 under the bewildering dominion of 
 terror. The scene mimiced life with 
 such harrowing truth— the anguished 
 look— the quivering lip— the throb- 
 bing bosom, gave to forms (so per- 
 fectly resembling those most dear to 
 her) such a breathing agony, as could 
 not fail to '' startle and afl'right consi- 
 deration—make sound opinion sick— 
 and truth suspected." 
 
 These impressions pursued her to 
 her pillow ; and day appeared only to 
 add to their weight, by discovering 
 that Belario was no where to be found. 
 That he should voluntarily abscond, 
 she knew to be impossible; her sus- 
 picions, therefore, fell on the Gitana^ 
 m the author of this new affliction ;
 
 CECIL. 223 
 
 and as they rested there, she felt a 
 painful sense of being still within 
 reach of her wily arts. 
 
 In this state of mind Cecil found 
 her— in this state of mind she detailed 
 to him most of the circumstances 
 which had arisen during his absence^ 
 and though, from some feeling un- 
 known to herself, an unconquerable 
 averseness to the disclosing the scene 
 depicted in the Gitanas box, m? le 
 her suppress it; yet the dictates of 
 that mind, under the influence of a 
 disturbed imagination, were so forcibly 
 expressed by her language and U^oks, 
 that Cecil found, for a time, the dis- 
 criminating powers of the man of sense 
 and courage overpowered by the sen- 
 sitiveness of the lover. These once 
 again, however, brought into exertion, 
 Cecil could not fail to discover in 
 the lady, with bright piercing eyes, 
 full of grace, ease, and curiosity, 
 L 4
 
 •§94 CECIL. 
 
 mounting her horse, a Vangloise ; 
 Donna Celerica, in her own character ; 
 arid in her companion, the tall, fair 
 gentleman, Colonel Barrowby I But 
 from whence sprang the idea, which, 
 in the same instant, tenaciously seized 
 upon him, that the Gitana was 
 Celerica in the character of another, 
 was not so easily decided ; and still 
 If ss possible was it to determine (sup- 
 posing his suspicions w^ell-founded) 
 whether the capricious Celerica had 
 been incited to this metamorphosis by- 
 malice, curiosity, or sportiveness. 
 
 The strens^thening reflections of 
 Cecil confirmed him in the belief 
 that the whole was a wanton trick of 
 the gay unfeeling Celerica. • His 
 opinion, founded (as Azora knew it to 
 be) on an intimacy of intercourse, 
 which must have rendered him perfect 
 master of that lady's character, soothed 
 her fears, and enabled her to enter in
 
 CECIL. 225 
 
 some degree into the playful con- 
 jectures and surmises, in which he 
 afterwards indulged, as to the manner 
 in which she would restore the rosary, 
 and return the orphan boy, so as tQ 
 keep up that fearful belief in her 
 mysterious powers, in which she no 
 doubt enjoyed the idea of having 
 wrapt them. 
 
 From these topics, they naturally 
 fell into those clesv and interesting 
 ones which so delightfully form the 
 discourse of lovers on the eve of 
 uniting their fates for ever ; till a sum- 
 mons to dinner ac>ain introduced Cecil 
 to Don Juan and his lady. His re- 
 ception from them was all he could 
 have wished ; yet he saw with regret, 
 that the habitual gloom that hung on 
 the brow of the fonner, had received 
 a darker shade since th^y last met. 
 
 During a conference, to which he 
 was invited by his host after dinner, 
 
 L 6
 
 S56 CECTT-. 
 
 he thought he discovered the cause of 
 this deepened gloom, in the alarm and 
 Sntrusioo which Azora had suffered ; 
 that, from the Gitana in particular; 
 of which, unknown to his daughter, 
 (who wished it concealed from him) 
 Bernardo had informed his lord. This 
 idea led Cecil to enter on the subject, 
 in the hope of calming his apprehen- 
 sions, as he hud already done those of 
 Azora; but an irritability of voice and 
 inaTiner, and a strangeness of discourse 
 on the part of Don Juan, evinced the 
 sensations of one touched to the 
 quick by the subject. 
 
 Cecil therefore soon drew his atten- 
 tion to one immediately connected 
 with his promised happiness ; and at 
 length succeeded, (by his assurances 
 that the air of Penzance frequently- 
 pi oved as beneficial to complaints of 
 the nature of Donna llerena, as that 
 of Pjortugai) in persuading Don Juan
 
 CECIL, 227 
 
 to consent, that as soon as Owens 
 could procure a vessel, he should re- 
 ceive the hand of Azora, according to 
 the rites of her own church, in their 
 private chapel, and immediately after 
 embark with the whole family for 
 England, where the ceremony should 
 again be performed, according to his 
 own, in the presence and with the 
 sanction of his parents. 
 
 With this blissful consent, Cecil 
 first hastened to claim from Azora 
 her participation in the new joy to 
 which it gave birth ; and then re- 
 paired to his desk to commit to 
 writins:, for the instruction of Owens, 
 the mysteriously cautious orders which 
 had been dictated by Don Juan. The 
 principle of these orders were, that 
 the orreatest secrecy should be ob- 
 served respecting the purpose for 
 which the vessel was to be hired, and 
 tiie manner in which it was to be 
 l6
 
 S^S CECIL. 
 
 brotight to that part of the river, which 
 wound within a short distance of the 
 Quinta^ from whence it was only 
 divided and hid by the wood. To 
 these orders the humane and thought- 
 ful Cecil added, that 
 
 Owens should seek, at Las Delicias^ 
 for the speechless orphan of the Sierra 
 Morena Mountain, and if there, entice 
 him from it, and conceal him in the 
 vessel till he should again be under 
 his former protectors. 
 
 These momentous points settled, 
 comparative cheerfulness was restored 
 to trie mansion. A tender placidity 
 composed the features of Donna 
 Ilerena; and though the gloom of 
 Don Juan still <;ontinued, the lovers 
 allowed ii not to damp the pleasures of 
 anti ipated hnp;iiness ; confident, that 
 when once removed from a country, 
 which he ha J declared, in his partial 
 com^nunicatic/ii to Cecil, to be his
 
 CECIL. ftt§ 
 
 aversion, and merely inhabited by him 
 for the recovery of his lady's health, 
 he would, like her, regain a calmness 
 of mind, which must in the end lead 
 to cheerfulness.
 
 530 CECIL. 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 Love and hope shed a lustre oi^er the 
 hours of Cecil and Azora, brighter 
 than summer noon, and pure as their 
 own hearts, till they brought with 
 them, the morning- of that day on the 
 close of V. hi eh he was to receive, and 
 bear from the shores of Portugal, her, 
 in whom he was confident he should 
 possess the treasure of his future 
 existence. 
 
 So near the completion of his every 
 wish, Cecil couid find no other means 
 of stealing away the hours which 
 intervened between expectation and 
 certainty, but in gazing on the new- 
 born gructs kiudled on the cheeks of 
 Azora, by the mingled sensations with
 
 ^hich she contemplated the near ap- 
 proac:: of that period, which was ton It 
 her to a new country— s^ive to her new 
 ties— -new fhities— new views of life. 
 
 At length the sun wnthdrew its ar- 
 dent beams— night threw her grey 
 mantle over the sky, and the mild rays 
 of myriads of stars broke forth to end 
 the suspense of the lovers, by lighting 
 them to the holy fane, in which they 
 were to consecrate their vows. 
 
 Donna llerena, on reaching the end 
 of the veranda, in their way to the 
 altar, finding her trembling steps un- 
 equal to the keepino: the hurried and 
 agitated measure of Don Juan's, 
 quitted his arm to support her fragile 
 form ou that of Cecil, and with Azora 
 they followed at some distance the 
 lead of her impatient father, who, as 
 he continued to push forward, gained 
 the chapel sometime before them, and 
 was sooa lost to their sight. Cecil,
 
 53f CECIL. 
 
 on his disappearing, quickened his 
 own pace, and rather bearing than 
 leading his com[)anions, hastened with 
 throbbing eagerness to join him within 
 the hallowed walls. 
 
 The welcome portal was now withia 
 his view, and as he led Azora towards 
 it, he cast a look of transport on her 
 —a look which said, with fond pride— 
 a few minutes more, and you are all 
 my own— wnth this emotion of pleased 
 confidence, Cecil entered. 
 
 Heavens ! what a dreary void pre- 
 sented its aching contrast to the bright 
 sr-en e his eyes were prepared to meet ! — 
 No hnllower! ^opers illumined, with a 
 mild and holy li^fjt, the sacred shrine 
 from •.'^. hi chiiie pledged henrt expects its 
 sumofiirippincss!— No ofRciatingpriest 
 appeareii to kn>t^ in holy bands hearts 
 formed by the Great Creator, to become 
 to ea' h '• s^^corid s.'lf! D ark iif^^ss— soli* 
 tuae— an ominous aiul detith-like still*
 
 CECIL. iS35 
 
 ness-— froze in the bosom of Cecil the 
 ardent hope which had before elated it 
 with all the enthusiasm of love, tri- 
 umphing in its success and choice. 
 
 These hopes— these fond and glow- 
 ing sensations were robbed of all their 
 fire by the overwhelming blaze of con- 
 flicting passions, kindled by a disap- 
 pointment, so irritating— an outrage oa 
 his feelings, so cruel— yet, ere he gave 
 them language, his eyes questioned 
 those of the strangely taciturn Don 
 Juan ; but no answering regard giving 
 him reason to believe he was a sympa- 
 thizing sufferer, Cecil's self-controul 
 deserted him, and, with no tempo- 
 rizing aspect, he gave to the Spaniard 
 an insight into the vague suspicions 
 which had long found harbour in his 
 mind, by peremptorily demanding an 
 explanation of the unlighted chapel— 
 of the undecorated altar— of the ab- 
 sent priest.
 
 234 CECIL. 
 
 Senor !'^ continued Cecil, (as guided 
 by the dim light thrown on the pave- 
 ment through the blue glass of the 
 painted window, he led his trembling 
 companions before the altar) 
 
 " Senor ! at the foot of this sanc- 
 tified shrine I solemnly invoke you as 
 afather— a man of honor— and a friend, 
 to throw aside this ill-omened mys- 
 tery. I love Azora, and were 1 ten 
 thousand times more great— -more no- 
 ble—more worthy, 1 would make her 
 mine in the face of heaven and of 
 earth, and glory in the union ; but 
 this secrecy— this shrinking from the- 
 world's eye, throws so dark an aspect 
 over the gift designed me, as seems to 
 evince a fear that heaven will frown 
 upon the act that makes it mine. 
 Speak then, Don Juan— relieve me 
 from the painful thoughts which 
 crowd ' ' 
 
 He paused on the sudden appear-
 
 CECIL. f35 - 
 
 ance of a stream of light issuing from 
 the door of the s?irristy. Its beams 
 were welcomed with pleasure— each 
 heart beat with the revived expec^;- 
 tion of seeing the tardy priest appear— 
 each eye, with pleased impatience, 
 turned on the slowly opening door. 
 
 A trying change in these gladdening 
 emotions followed the stepping forth 
 of a gigantic form, clad in white, and 
 lighting his own heavy, imperious, 
 steps with the blazing flame of a large 
 torch ! 
 
 His first glances flew wildly around ; 
 but as the steadied beams of the broad 
 flame threw a fixed and certain light 
 on his livid countenance, even the 
 firm nerves of Cecil acknowledged, by 
 a recoiling thrill, the presence of the 
 Redeemed Captive / 
 
 The second glance of this ruffian's 
 searching eye fell upon Don Juan— 
 f€ll — like the bolt of heaven, and
 
 S36 CECIL. 
 
 rooted him to the earth !— for, as he 
 raised the flamino" torch on hish with 
 one hand, and with the other folded 
 the broad raantle of his redemption 
 over his flowing beard, he threw a 
 light on his own and Don Juan's li- 
 neaments, which shortened the lapse 
 of years, and made the past— present, 
 
 '' Father of Mercies \" exclaimed 
 Don Juan, involuntarily bending be- 
 neath the scowling front of the un» 
 known.-—" Father of Mercies ! p(>r- 
 niittest thou the grave to give up their 
 dead, that they may war against my 
 peace V^ 
 
 " Aye,*' sl.outed the dreaful stran* 
 ger, the red glare of his rolling orbs ga- 
 thering fierceness from the horrid me<- 
 naces with which they became charged. 
 " Aye!'* he again repeated— yet again 
 he paused ; and his trembling lips 
 blackened with collected ire, as they 
 writhed to give it a voice which should
 
 CECIL. 237 
 
 carry torture to the bosom of him who 
 was its object.— At length he thun- 
 dered forth— 
 
 '' Now— let your appalled soul 
 awaken memory to the stinging recog- 
 nition of Zandodara ! —Now — let every 
 wrung sense throb horror through each 
 quivering pulse, and echo to your con- 
 science that I am Zandodara V 
 
 At this insulting language—this 
 overbearing treatment, Cecil would 
 have stepped forward to shew himself 
 the friend ; and if necessary, the de- 
 fender of Don Juan ; but the terror 
 with which Donna Ilerena and her 
 daughter clung to him, precluded his 
 disengaging himself without violence 
 —he was therefore about to make his 
 presence noticed by the Redeemed 
 Captive, through his voice, when he 
 was deterred by the overpowering sur- 
 prise caused in him, on observing the 
 generally unrelaxing features of Don
 
 258 CECIL. 
 
 Jnan to become distorted with emo- 
 tions, which, to the eye of Cecil, ren- 
 dered them strange and terrific— his 
 beading form, rise to an awful and 
 imposing dignity—an eye of fire, 
 throw a burning glow over his pallid 
 countenance— -and an attitude which 
 appeared, at the same time, to dare 
 and threaten danger, elevate his form 
 to a degree of sublime desperation—- 
 second only in terror to the satanic 
 grandeur of the vengeful Captive. 
 
 *' Mock me no more,'* exclaimed 
 Don Juan, in proud indignation^ 
 ** ^vitb th:s idle mummery— know I 
 Hot that Zt^ndodara sleeps in the bosom 
 ol the earth ? From that let him rise,"' 
 he *^r*offingly added ; '' and if he wish 
 it, we wdl together revisit its dark 
 and laurky confines/' 
 
 At these words, the loud— terrific — 
 taunting laugh of conscious power 
 aiid cruelty, burst from the bosom and
 
 CECTLi $39 
 
 «onvulser! the mHlii»;nant features of 
 ZindodnM, witli a n ^w ch-^racter of 
 viniictive horror. Well mi^ht this 
 lau;.;h he. called Sard>>n'<\ for never did 
 the pofsonous h^^-rb of Sardinia, in iis 
 physic il effects, rbioe uom the muscle s, 
 agonized hy its baleiu! juice, a laugh 
 more de;uily than th it which now 
 broke on the ear, kjaded with the ire 
 —the contempt— "ihe maiicc wf the 
 Redeemed Captive ! 
 
 ** The conscious air, 
 
 Quivered — and awful honor raised th« hair 
 On every head," 
 
 save that of Cecil— as at the m oinent 
 the furious Zandodara forced from his 
 bald forehead the monstrous turban 
 which enveloped his head— and point- 
 ing to the scnr of a large deep wound, 
 given with a strength that had furrowed 
 the skull from the crown to • the 
 bending of his rugged brows— voti" 
 fe rated m l
 
 240 CECIL, 
 
 " Agreed, Juan Silveiru J^^Iriarte; 
 and this^ which was our parting pledge 
 of eternal amity^ shall now be the 
 bond of our present faith— Ma^ we part 
 
 no 7nore»** 
 
 Don Juan staggered, but found 
 swpport against a pillar of the akar. 
 Courage, dignity, and pride appeared 
 to have deserted him- --half impelling 
 Cecil to admit to his own mind the 
 contempt with which the ferocious 
 Captive turned from him. 
 
 As he did so, Zandodara again 
 raised the flaming brand, and brought 
 more perfectly within his ken the 
 person of Donna llerena. 
 
 " If I mistake not,'' he tauntinglj 
 ■said, " another friend of my youth 
 awaits to give and to receive a wel- 
 come ! You, Saint Juaiia '* 
 
 He would have proceeded, but at 
 this dread address the unnatural 
 strength of terror nerved the weak
 
 CECIL. 341 
 
 frame of Donna Ilerena, with power 
 to spring from the arm of her sup- 
 porter, and dare the Captive's insults 
 by offering herself as a mediatrix in 
 her husband's cause. 
 
 As in the native " heart-sprung" 
 eloquence of woe, aided by the pathetic 
 expression of her upraised eyes, she 
 deprecated the stubborn vengeance cf 
 his soul, the half relenting looks of 
 Zandodarafor some minutes continued 
 bent in silence on her suppliant form, 
 till Don Juan suddenly recovering his 
 palsied faculties— darted forward- 
 seized the arm of the Redeemed Cap- 
 tive, and challenged his attention by 
 the repetition of his own threat. — 
 *' Remember, we sink together^ to the 
 dread confines of eternal night." 
 
 Ilerena, in the same instant, made 
 one more effort to move him to com- 
 passion; but shaking Don Juan from 
 him, and resuming all hig terrors, Zau- 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 S42. CECIL. 
 
 dodara again addressing Ilerena by the 
 nanne of Saint Jwa«a"-repeated in 
 tones, which marked his purpose un- 
 shakeable as fate. 
 
 " The bow is bent and drawn, make 
 from tlie shaft \' waving from him, as 
 he emphatically pronounced this sen- 
 tence, both mother and daughter. 
 
 Unfortunate mother! what future 
 misery wouldst thou have.been spared, 
 had death assisted thee in obeying the 
 advice, which an expiring spark of pity, 
 that outlived not this warning, dictated. 
 But alas ! the senseless state into which 
 exhausted nature threw thee, was but 
 the semblance of that impartial power, 
 which offers hope to the afflicted- 
 refuge to the oppressed— which ar- 
 rests the arm of cruelty— palsies the 
 strength of vengeance-^— silences, the 
 scoffer— and levels pride with the dust. 
 
 Cecil, who was supporting in his 
 arms the faintmg Ilerena, took ad^
 
 CECIL, 245 
 
 vantage of the awful pause which had 
 foilowed the last words of Zaridodara— 
 thus to address the father of Azora— - 
 
 " You best know, Don Juan, whe- 
 ther I can with honor interfere in this 
 strange contention. My heart and 
 sword are in a just cause, yours- " 
 
 " To me they are useless/' returneol 
 Don Juan, impatiently ; " b^aroff inv 
 wife, and let them be employed m 
 guarding those ." 
 
 There was in the emphatic tone of 
 the Spaniard, and the glance of his^ 
 haggard eyes, as turning them on his 
 wife and daughter, he abruptly broke 
 off his charge— that which convinced 
 Cecil some inexplicable danger me- 
 naced them. His determination, there- 
 fore, was first to place these unhappy 
 females within the safety of the Quintan 
 and then return to act as mediator be- 
 tween these mysterious and furioug 
 «nemie6. 
 
 M 9
 
 f44 CECIL. 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 As Cecil, foHowecl by Azora, bore her 
 lifeless mother to the Quinta, through 
 passages which they had but a short 
 time before traversed with feelings so 
 different, he believed that death had 
 already placed beyond the reach of 
 Zandodara's vengeance, one of its me- 
 naced victims. 
 
 But that friend to the unhappy had 
 not yet come to the relief of llerena, 
 who again opened her eyes on life and 
 misery, only to convince Cecil that 
 •ome evil still greater than a bloody 
 encounter between her husband and 
 the Redeemed Caj>tive, certainly im- 
 pended over her family. 
 
 Yet it was by broken, and but half
 
 CECIL. 24i 
 
 intelligible sentences alone, that these 
 dreadful suggestions escaped her, as 
 she wildly intreated that Cecil wonld 
 not think of her, but hasten back to 
 her husband, and urge him to offer any 
 terms to purchase the silence of th« 
 vindictive Zandodara. 
 
 Cecil, who at each moment became 
 more alarmed and agitated, addressing 
 the unhappy mother, said— 
 
 " Ignorant as I am of the dark affair, 
 I am ill qualified to act the pirt of 
 mediator; yet will I go in the cha- 
 racter of your missionary of peace.'* 
 
 As he then made towards the door, 
 Azora rose and accompanied him. He 
 stopped to receive her offered hand, 
 and as he tenderly pressed it within 
 his own, the diHrenrit ex;>ectation3 
 which had ushered in the dax^ to those 
 that now closed it, made their cirii.a 
 on his mind ^hh a poignancy o< efc V;l, 
 tlidt by threatening to un.iiuu iuiii.
 
 24t5 CECIL. 
 
 hurried him impatiently from heir 
 presence. 
 
 The chapel, though at no great 
 distance from the Quinta, penetrated 
 the wood, and was so entirely con- 
 cealed b}^ it, as never to have been dis- 
 covered by Cecil till he became do- 
 mesticated in the familv. 
 
 «/ 
 
 He knew there v/as a private pas- 
 sage that united it to the apartments, 
 which had been occupied by Don 
 Juan and his larly, during their reli- 
 gious retreat, aud that they were never 
 entered by any but themselves ; yet, 
 as he passed under the dark shade of 
 the spreading trees, the voice of 
 Azora, which he distinguished near 
 him, calling on " Ceciiio,'* led him 
 to think that she had chosen this 
 way to enable her to overtake him, 
 with some after instruction from her 
 mother. 
 
 Before he could satisfy himself by
 
 CECIL. 917 
 
 the inquiry of where she was, the 
 same voice again called *' Cecilio,'* as 
 with the design that he might be 
 euided to her by the sound. 
 
 Cecil obeyed that involuntary im- 
 pulse which, even when darkness pre- 
 cludes the possibility of discerning 
 the person who speaks, impels the 
 listener to turn towards the place from 
 whence the voice proceeds. To his 
 senses, the first call came from the 
 right; but the repetition of the name 
 *' Cecilia,** sounded on his ear as 
 arising from the left. While he was 
 endeavouring to penetrate the gloom 
 on that side, he fancied he suddenly 
 caught a glimpse of Azora's white 
 robe, through a break, and instantly 
 directed his steps the same way. 
 
 A faint cry for help, with a sudden 
 rustling of the leaves, now gave his 
 steps an impetuosity which bore him 
 against a succession of impediments ; 
 
 M 4f
 
 24$ CECIL. 
 
 and maddening at the belief that dan- 
 ger, under the form of some lurking 
 foe, was pursuing Azora, he wildly 
 took the unknown paths chance of- 
 fered him. 
 
 Thus, guided aloneby the fleeingsteps 
 —the labouring respiration of fear and 
 haste, sometimes distant, sometimes 
 near; at others, these lost sounds 
 fearfully supplied by a piteous re-itera- 
 tion of the name " Cecilio," he, in 
 an agony of mind, which equally defied 
 fatigue, consideration, and danger, 
 continued his luckless chace, vainly 
 seeking to arrest Azora's flight, by 
 assuring her that it was the lover on 
 whom she so deploringly called, who 
 was following with extended arms to 
 encircle her with safety. 
 
 Time, distance, place, were alike 
 unthought of by Cecil, till the sound 
 of steps— the quick respiration of fear 
 —the voice of distress, was heard no
 
 CECIL. 249 
 
 more; and he emerged from the dark 
 umbrage of the wood into the bright 
 atmosphere of the open country, 
 whi^'h g'lve to his sight the towering 
 pro Tiontory of Cintra, illumined by its 
 own mi hi planet. 
 
 Here all was still ; and as far as h*s 
 eye could reach, nothing living gave 
 animation to the scene. While con^- 
 templating its silent serenity, Cecil 
 anxiously listened to catch some lead- 
 ing sound ; but none arose to awaken 
 nature from her deep repose. 
 
 Pres ntly, with a harassed mind 
 and body, he asain entered, the wood, 
 to renew asearrh still made at random, 
 and he continued there a despairing 
 wanderer till the day appeared to as- 
 sist the resolutions he at length carried 
 inro effect, of repairing to the Quinta 
 for advice and information. 
 
 As Cecil entered the veranda, the 
 door of the saloon buist o^^en, and ia 
 M 6
 
 15150 CECJL. 
 
 the next moment he held in hrs 
 arms, and pressed to his agitated 
 heart, Azora! 
 
 The trembling girl, hastily disen- 
 paging herself from the embrace, 
 within which the emotions caused by 
 the sudden transition from despair to 
 hope had unconscionsiy thrown her» 
 exclaimed— ' 
 
 " Where, Cm/eo— where have you 
 left my father ?" but the altered ap- 
 pearance of her lover ri vetting her at- 
 tention as she spoke, her transient sa- 
 tisfactron at the first sight of him fled, 
 and she added in a tone of com.mis- 
 seration and fear: *' Merciful heaven ! 
 what can have reduced you to this 
 «tate?'' 
 
 This question first made Cecil sen- 
 sible of the etFects of those impedi- 
 ments, which in his mad career he had 
 encountered and surmounted, (he 
 how discovered) at tli€ expeftce gf
 
 CECIL. 951 
 
 m'ch personal injury. Instead, how- 
 ever, of answering the observation of 
 Azora, he siid--- 
 
 " Mind not me, but tell nie to whom 
 I owe, more than life, your preserva- 
 tion? tf^ 1 me wha delegate of heaven 
 has, under its immediate protection, 
 saved you from the like fatigue— tae 
 like injury ? I followed but as you 
 led; (he continued in the hurried 
 lansiUige of one suddenly bewil- 
 dered by a confused crowd of sugges- 
 tions.) " 1 follovved-- but as you led, 
 Azora; nur did 1 wholly lose the 
 sound of your steps, nor the tones of 
 your voice, till 1 had nearly reached 
 the out-skirts oithe wood ; and I have 
 ever since been incessantly toiling to 
 regain the Qduta; yec 1 fiuj you n )t 
 only arrived before me, but unhurt 
 and untired.'^ 
 
 "You had better walk in and take 
 rest aixd refreshment,'' said Azora, 
 M o
 
 24S CECIL* 
 
 turning pale, and regarding Cecil wrtb 
 apprehensive pity." 
 
 *' No/* he answered, " I can take 
 neither till I hear from you the super- 
 natural means through which you 
 have been enabled to escape your pur- 
 suers, and regain your home in safety.*' 
 '^^ I have never quitted it,** she re- 
 plied. Cecil started, and for a few 
 minutes he was lost in reflections, 
 which reflections aided him in pene- 
 trating the cause of the strange alarm 
 he saw gathering on the countenance 
 of Azora* 
 
 At length he said, " Neither fatigue 
 nor bruises, nor the state of mind ii> 
 which I have been traversing the 
 wood, have deranged my senses* 
 Listen to me, Azora, and judge.** 
 
 Here he entered into a detail which 
 included every particular of the voice 
 he had heard calling on him by her 
 own tender epithet— the suggestions
 
 CECIL. S55 
 
 ISO which it had given, rise— the scream 
 of distress thithad h«o ailed him into 
 a belief of her dansoF— the steps whioh 
 had misle 1 him, and the occasion d 
 gliirpsps of a white robe th-U had 
 uri^^ed on his fruitless and headlong 
 chvise, with the drstraetini: fears that 
 hid sliiiiiiltt d hill: to eontinue the 
 P'^.rs'iit lonjj after h«^ h :d lost the sig- 
 dtIs which had given, him (as he fan- 
 cied) some cine, though a dangerous 
 one, for treidiir^ the mazes of the 
 wood. To all these circumstanf^es 
 Azora liste ned with an in tenseness of 
 anxi<=^ty, and a terrifying foreboding, 
 which deprived her awhile of the 
 powers of speech. Nor was it till 
 some time after that Cecil learnt the 
 following particulars from her lips. 
 He had no sooner left the presence of 
 Donna Ilerena^ on the precediug even- 
 ing, to go in pursuit of the mysterious 
 foes, than she had been struck with
 
 254 CECIL. 
 
 the alarming idea, that any inter- 
 ference on his part, would probably 
 increase the danger he meant to avert, 
 by still more exasperating the vengeful 
 Zandodara. lender his new terror, 
 she had sent her daughter to endea- 
 vour (as Cecil had suspected) to over- 
 take hin, by going through the pri- 
 vate passage, one door of which 
 opened on the wood, the other into 
 the chapeL 
 
 On reaching the first, Azora had 
 heard afoot-step, and called" Cecilio^^ 
 but was surpri*?<yd to find her voice 
 an^vveied ( is she thought) by an echo 
 of ^vhich she was till then ignorant. 
 Receiving no other reply, and soon 
 after alarmed by the cry of sudden 
 fear, she precipitately closed th« door 
 against the wood, and hastened back 
 to her mother, tliat assistance might 
 be sent to the disticssed pc'^son. Im- 
 mediately orders had beea given
 
 CECIL. 2iJ 
 
 through Francisca, for Bernardo to 
 search the envj/ons; but that faithful 
 domestic had never returned since he 
 had quitted the chapel to learn the 
 cause of the priest's delay in attend- 
 ing it. 
 
 As the night adv^inced, the pro- 
 longed absence of Cecil had increased 
 the terrors of Donna Uerena to so 
 great a degree, that Azora, frotii an 
 earnest wish of relieving her agony, 
 had been again induced to venture 
 through the private passage, and this 
 time into the chapel. Before she had 
 entered it, she stopped to listen a few 
 minutes; when the stillness which 
 prevailed, caused her to seek informa- 
 tion at the door of the sacrist}'. For 
 this purpose she had advanceil into 
 the chapel. A soleinn calm, a reli- 
 gious silence, gave her hopes that the 
 turbulent spirits which h id so lately 
 violated its sacred peace by the voice
 
 1^56 CECIL. 
 
 cf discord, the language of ra^e and 
 defi uice, h^d been ap;)eased that 
 the terrible Z^ndodara was departed— 
 that her fatlier was as usual retired to 
 his room— ^nd that Cecil had acco'n- 
 panied hiai to assist in soothing his 
 agitated mind. 
 
 These cheering sunpositions (found- 
 ed on the stdte of quietness, in which 
 every thin^' a})peared) Azora had im- 
 patiently borne to hen mother.. But 
 D^t so e<s ly had thoy found faith from 
 Donna llerena ; whg, influeiiced by 
 private reasons which she dareil not 
 utter, had clothed in- a character 
 equally prophetic of the direst conse- 
 quences, either the continued, presence 
 or the sudden departure of Don Juan's 
 enemy. 
 
 The despairing light, in w^hich 
 Donna llerrna had viewed all tha^ 
 Azora brou'^ht forward to calm her 
 apprehensiOiiS, had revived her owkv;
 
 CECIL. 2,57 
 
 and with an anxiety, which, though it 
 arose from fear, was nearly allied to 
 hope, she had fled to her father's room 
 to entreat that both himself and Cecil 
 would, by their presence, end the 
 dreadful suspense, which by rapidly 
 gaining upon her mother's fortitude, 
 threatened to destroy her. 
 
 The shock she had received on finding 
 the chamber vacant— the fe^iriul search 
 which had immediately taken place-— 
 the anxious enquiries throughout the 
 household— and among the remote and 
 scattered hovels— all ending in hope- 
 less uncertainty, had rendered the night 
 one of exquisite dread and misery to 
 both mother and daus^hter. At length 
 superstition had cast it fetters over the 
 mind of Azora, and compelled it to 
 consider the mysterious disappearance 
 of her father and Cecil— the equally 
 mysterious effect of the Redeemed 
 Captive's presence on her parents, as
 
 $dS CECIL. 
 
 bU introductory acts of that tragedy 
 which had been exhibited to her eyes 
 by the cruel Gitana, as the closing 
 iscene of all the miseries in which her 
 love for Cecil would involve those for 
 whose happiness slie would sacrifice 
 her own. 
 
 While enduring these unmitigated 
 suiGPeriiigs— -V'l'.iia weighing the pro- 
 bable consequences, to her mother, of 
 disclosing the socret divination wliich 
 had been made by tlie Gltana of the 
 horrors she now feared awaited her 
 parents, unless averted by her offering 
 herself a voluntary victim for their pre- 
 servation, notice of Cecil's approcah 
 had been brought her. 
 
 Before this re-animating news, su- 
 perstition— danger— fear— despond- 
 ence— had fled, and hop^-, with her 
 train of soothing promises, hrid ral!i«^d 
 around her heart as she felt herself 
 within the protecting arms Oi her lover;
 
 CECIL. 259 
 
 but as rapidly had they again deserted 
 it, when, b}^ his relation, she became 
 assured that he knew nothinsf of the 
 disputants. On first recoveriuG^ the 
 powers of speech, she had wildly ut- 
 tered the question and exclamation, 
 *• Oh God ! where then is my father ?*' 
 This exclamation had filled Cecil with 
 renewed grief and alarm, but he con- 
 cealed his own feelings that he might 
 be enabled to support Azora through 
 the task of witnessing his interview 
 with her mother, whose shock, at find- 
 ing him unaccompanied by her hus- 
 band, he knew must be still more 
 poignantly severe than that which had 
 been experienced by her daughter. 
 
 Trying, indeed, at this interview, 
 were the sensations which fl)l!owed 
 every new surmise respecting the cause 
 of Don Juan's absence ; for llerena, 
 as if incapable of giving breath to her 
 jftgonized feelings, preserved a chilling
 
 HGO CECIL. 
 
 silence. A further examination of his 
 chamber was now resorted to by the 
 distressed lovers, and the consequence 
 was the discovery of tv,o notes, one 
 addressed by him to Cecil, the other 
 to his daughter. The first contained 
 these words— 
 
 " Depart for England.** 
 
 The second — 
 
 " I forbid your marriage.*' 
 
 These proved to the a2;itated pair« 
 that Don Juan must have been al- 
 lowed, by his powerful enemy, to visit 
 his chambei before he had quitted his 
 home ; and on this proof new doubts 
 arose of whether he went willingly, or 
 by compu- ion— whether alone to 
 escape from tde terrible Zan^todara, or 
 with him to settle their dreadful en- 
 mity by death. 
 
 At each moment, after the return af 
 Cecil and Azora to the chamber of 
 Donna Ilerena, the ideas v,hich gave
 
 CECIL. 216 
 
 these questions birth, assumed a darker 
 and more bewildering chaiacter; and 
 were rendered still more insupportable 
 to the lovers, by perceiving that the 
 enfeebled powers of the unfortunate 
 mother, disqualified her for acquainting 
 them wnth her worst cause for fear. 
 It was at this crisis that the vigorous 
 and active mind of Cecil promptly 
 formed a plan which he as quickly 
 adapted to the peculiar sentiments and 
 prejudices of Ilerena; who, as she 
 listened to it in mute attention, seem- 
 ed suddenly to be struck with some 
 new thought, which revived her powers 
 and inclined her to consent to his 
 proposal. " Allow me, dear Madam,** 
 said Cecil eagerly, " to give you a 
 faithful interpretation of these notes, 
 Don Juan knows me too well to be- 
 lieve me capable of forsaking any 
 being breathing in distress, much 
 less those who are no less dear to me
 
 t69 CECIL. 
 
 than to himself. Over my actions he 
 can have no authority but what he de- 
 rives from the equal interest and af- 
 fection vv hich he is certain binds me 
 to his vi^ife and daughter. In ordering 
 me- to depart for England, therefore I 
 consider him as giving me an: indirect 
 command, to convey you both to a 
 country where you can alone find 
 safety, 
 
 '* Pardon my checking the objectiou 
 I see you. are j)reparing tO; make/^ (he 
 continued, addressing Azora, from 
 w^hom he dreaded an interruption, 
 which might possibly cause her mother 
 to see the affair in a different point ot 
 view ; " and give me your attention 
 till you have heard, what I trust will 
 remove it. In entreating to be allowed 
 to convey you to England, I mean not 
 to take advantage, of the generous con- 
 fidence you will evince, by infringing 
 the injunctiou addressed to you. I
 
 CECIL. 565 
 
 pledge my honor that I will not uroe 
 the claim so solemnly given me, till I 
 know the grounds on which your 
 father'^ pert iiiptory retraction has been 
 raised. No! let: me but deliver you 
 to the protect. on of my country and 
 my fcuriily, and I will instantly return 
 to Portugal, nor rest till 1 have found 
 Don Juan, and re-united him to you. 
 Then indeed I will demand, as my re- 
 ward, therepealof a prohibition, which 
 I never will believe his own heart 
 dictated, or ever would sanction. The 
 vessel wliich was prepared for us still 
 waits at anchor to perform its destined 
 course, though under far different 
 auspices.— Far difl'erent auspices, sadd 
 I ?*' he repeated, endeavouring to give 
 his earnestness a cheering effect. 
 *' I will not call them so, for 1 feel 
 that they are again becoming fa- 
 vorable r—ao^ain, I see halcyon days 
 in perspective, charged with a rich
 
 S6ij CECIL. 
 
 reward for all our sufferings. Consent, 
 dear and inestimable mother of my af- 
 fections, to take immediate advantage 
 of the prosperous wind, now pointing 
 towards the haven which opens its sea- 
 defended bosom to receive you/* 
 
 *' Son of my adoption, protector of 
 my Azora, and her helpless mother," 
 rephed the reviving Donna llerena; 
 *' you have most happily assisted me 
 to comprehend the wishes of my lord. 
 I yield to your suggestions ; for know, 
 that by effecting my escape, you enable 
 my husband to elude the malice of 
 the savage Zandodara. Impotent in- 
 deed, will then be all his furious 
 hate.'' 
 
 Cecil, though doubtful if these ob- 
 servations proceeded not from the 
 wanderings of a disturbed imagination, 
 gladly availed himself of them, to 
 conquer every scruple on the part of 
 Azora, to the embarking oa the fol-
 
 CECIL. ^66 
 
 lowing day in the vessel, still lying eit 
 anchor in waiting to receive them. 
 
 Bernardo returned the same evening 
 to the Quinta, but without any infor- 
 mation respecting his lord. The ac- 
 count he gave of his protracted ab- 
 sence, was, that by a similar deceit to 
 that practised on Cecil, he had been 
 led through the wood, under the belief 
 that he was following the steps of 
 Don Juan. This account armed the 
 impatient lover with a new argument 
 in favor of an immediate embarkation; 
 by representing this circumstance as 
 strongly supporting the presumption, 
 that Don Juan had not left them vor 
 luntarily ; but that Bernardo and him- 
 self had been purposely decoyed away 
 to facilitate his enforced departure. To 
 this remark he added," that the sooner 
 Donna Ilerena and Azora were in 
 safety, the sooner he should be at 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 CECIL. 
 
 liberty to devote all his thoughts and 
 exertions to the rescuing Don Juan 
 from his secret enemies. These argu- 
 ments removed every lingering scruple, 
 and it was settled that Bernardo should 
 be left in charge of the Quinta till 
 certain news from his lord rendered 
 some other plan more eligible— that 
 Francisca only should attend her la- 
 dies, who, without a moment's unne- 
 cessary delay, should accompany Cecil 
 to the vessel, guarded by the male 
 servants, till they should be actually 
 safe on board. 
 
 A dread of night, which they be- 
 lieved had favored all the dark con- 
 spiracies that had been formed against 
 them, created an earnest desire to set 
 off before its approach; but so many 
 unforeseen incidents occurred to retard 
 them, that the day drew near its close 
 ere they could be all conquered, and 
 the evening had overtaken them before
 
 CECIL. ^67 
 
 they had absolutely reached the shore. 
 They reached it, however, unmolested, 
 soon after entered the boat, which, on 
 a signal from Cecil, immediately put 
 off, and quickly gaining the vessel's 
 side, climbed it with strong emotions 
 of pain and pleasure— emotions which 
 caused Donna Ilerena, as she alighted 
 on the deck, to press her hands on her 
 bosom to check its throbs, while 
 uniting the languid smile of faintly 
 reviving hope, with the tear of anxious 
 tenderness she prayed; that in once 
 more trusting to the winds and the 
 waves, they might compensate for their 
 past cruelty, by conveying her children 
 to their promised happiness— herself 
 to a peaceful grave. 
 
 Wholly taken up with the agitated 
 stale into which Donna Ilerena was 
 thrown, Cecil observed not till she 
 expressed a wish of retiring to her 
 birth, that Owens had not yet made 
 ^' 2
 
 S63 CECIL, 
 
 his appearance. On inquiring* into 
 the cause, h^ learned that early in the 
 morning he had gone on board a vessel 
 which had hailed him; and shortly 
 after sending from it a message, that 
 his absence would not exceed a few 
 hours, thestrange vessel, which, during 
 that time, had lain to, hoisted all her 
 sails, and bore away for Lisbon. 
 
 It was with difficulty that Cecil 
 concealed from his friends the effect 
 this information produced on him ; 
 nor would the effort have been suc- 
 cessful, had not the undivided attention 
 he Si'ave to the establishing Donna 
 Ilev€na, in all the comforts and con- 
 veniences the ship afforded, called off 
 their' s from himself. 
 
 Azora, after seeing her mother's 
 over-exerted spirits lulled in sleep, 
 joined Cecil on the deck. By this 
 time nio'nt hi>d summoned all her 
 
 o 
 
 gentle, quiet graces round her, as if
 
 CECIL. 26f 
 
 to Gfuard her sober reion from the tur- 
 bulence of huaian passions. Its 
 soothing silence— its tempered light- 
 si 1 veri ng the u adulating wav"e— its grey 
 sky giving a mild effulgence* to the 
 stars ot heaven— the saintly sounds of 
 the midnight chant, borne on the gale 
 from some holy convent on the shore, 
 all combined to soothe the harassed 
 mind of Azora ; and blend with the 
 joy of Cecil a degree of devout pen- 
 siveness, which elevated them both to 
 contemplate the " pluralities of worlds' ' 
 which rolled above them, with chast- 
 ened expectation of the happiness to 
 be found in this. 
 
 From these solemn meditations 
 Azora was first recalled— -recalled by a 
 sight which shot a thrill of horror 
 through her frame ; then fixed her in 
 motionless gaze on the gang- way. 
 From v/hence, directed by her petrified 
 looks, Cecil beheld slowly rising from
 
 270 CECIL, 
 
 beneath the Moorish turban of the 
 savage Zandodara. 
 
 " Intrusion on me/' vehemently 
 exclaimed Cecil, " / am not com- 
 pelled to bear/' 
 
 And as he spoke, he attempted by 
 a sudden spring to seize the daring in- 
 truder, that he might instantly consign 
 him to the sailors to be conveyed on 
 shore, and thus relieve Azora from her 
 terror. But this well-aimed spring, 
 irresistibly checked in its force, threw 
 him powerless into the arms of the 
 myrmidon who had arrested it. At 
 the same time, the horribly triumphant 
 laugh of the Redeemed Captive, 
 claimed and doubled the offensive 
 insult. 
 
 But who shall attempt to describe 
 the contending passions which were 
 roused to rage in the proud and noble 
 breast of Cecil !— passions, whose 
 effects were not controled by reason,
 
 CECIL. S71 
 
 but fettered in their action, through a 
 superiority of power acquired over him 
 by the degrading art^ of the malignant 
 foe ? Who shall dare the task of giving 
 to language the strength and variety 
 of expression necessary to describe the 
 agonizing shame— the rage— the grief, 
 which fired the bosom— wrung the 
 heart— and maddened the mind of 
 Cecil, when he found his manly arms 
 deprived of power to execute the dic- 
 tates of his courage, by disgraceful 
 bonds ? Yet his high spirit was sub- 
 jected to bear, unchastised, the deri- 
 sion of his conqueror— -with powerless 
 anguish was compelled to be a tor- 
 tured witness of the bearing off Azora 
 and her almost expiring mother to a 
 covered barge, which seemed, at the 
 ruffian's bidding, to rise from the 
 bosom of the waters, so sudden was 
 its appearance. Not less quickly did 
 it then make from the vessel, and 
 
 N 4t
 
 572 CECIL. 
 
 every stroke of its dashing oars struck 
 a dairger to the heart of the powerless 
 Cecil, as they gave speed to the boat 
 which bore from him the soul of his 
 life— -his love---his j)ity. A few more 
 minutes, and he felt that the distance 
 between them would be eternal. 
 
 Tears then forced their bitter course 
 down his burning cheek, and quenched 
 the fever of that indignation which 
 had lately raged in every pulse. The 
 pride that had hitherto been its sup- 
 port, yielded to the overwhelming 
 terror of losing all traces of Azora, and 
 sank him into the himible suppliant-— 
 to the despicable abettors of Zando- 
 dara's unlicensed tyranny. Every 
 prayer— every entreaty, which the 
 human voice, under the influence of 
 the extretn^. of huitiau suffering, could 
 endow with eloquence, were with 
 princely gifts ofteved to the sailors to 
 induce them to release hi in ---to induce
 
 CECIL. S73 
 
 tbem to turn him alone into the boat, 
 that he mighl coniiimd the chance of 
 overtaking that which now every 
 itioment lessened to his view. 
 
 It was to marble ears that he con- 
 tinued urging these petitions ; mean^ 
 while the distant barge becarae a speck 
 scarcely visible by the moon-beams., 
 a-nd that speck was in th-e turn of the 
 river lost to sight. 
 
 The vessel soon after put about, and 
 by dint of tacking, measured back the 
 way it had made ; then the boat, 
 lately so energeticariy petitioned for by 
 Cecil, was slowly hoisted overboard, 
 he was loosened from his bonds, an4 
 lowered into it. 
 
 This accomplished, the vessel spread 
 all her sails to the wind, and quickly 
 'bore away, leaving him to his lonely 
 fate, and to measure back his way, as 
 he could, to the port of Lisbon. 
 
 The dawn, when it appeared, was 
 N 5
 
 274 CECIL. 
 
 noliarbinger of hope to the wretched 
 and forlorn Cecil, on whose heart re- 
 flections pressed (with an insupport- 
 able weight) on the delays and diffi- 
 culties to which his situation, as a 
 stranger, a foreigner, and one regarded 
 by the Portuguese as a heretic, would 
 subject him in prosecuting his eager 
 search for Azora.— -Of the probable 
 impediments these cruel circumstances 
 would oppose to his speedily wresting 
 her, and her declining mother from the 
 power of that terrific and mysterious 
 being, on whom he could not think 
 without a shuddering horror. 
 
 Yet, who was this Zandodara — 
 this Captive ? glorying in the display as 
 in scornful triumph of his badge of 
 slavery and redemption ! How ac- 
 quired he a power over the will of 
 those whom fate had placed so infi-_ 
 nitely above him ? The haughty — the 
 unbending — the selfish Celerica, had
 
 CECIL. 976 
 
 proved herself but the puppet of his 
 pleasure. Zandodara had daringly in- 
 vaded her retreat, and at his bidding, 
 her riches— her obedience, had been 
 freely given, as if to purchase a remis- 
 sion of some threatened vengeance. 
 Don Juan too, his Ilerena, to what 
 dark deeds of former times did those 
 allusions point, which bleached with 
 coward fear his manly cheek— which 
 chilled the life-blood of his fainting 
 wife ! 
 
 Thosevague,buthorrible suspicions, 
 which had of late crept into the tor- 
 tured mind of Cecil, now gathered 
 strength, as he recalled the mysterious 
 gloom— the cautious fear— the secret 
 penances, which had ever character- 
 ised that unhappy pair— character- 
 istics which he now more than appre- 
 hended to have been the offspring of 
 conscious guilt. 
 
 But Azora?— 5^6 was innocent!— 
 N 6
 
 575 ttci^r.. 
 
 she trembled for tier pni-fents, not her- 
 self, while her stedfast eye supported 
 the interrogating search of Zaiidodara's 
 baleful gaze, in the chapel of the wood. 
 Yes, she was innocent. The spell 
 by which the ruffian had unnerved 
 Don Juan, had deprived of life the 
 heart-struck Ilerena, possessed no 
 power over her. Yet the fiend-like 
 Captive had entrapped her in his toils; 
 perhaps to drag her before that dfeacl 
 inquisitorial tribunal of woe and 
 death, whose vengeance he had thun- 
 dered in the ear of Juan-— a tribunal 
 from whose tremendous inflictions 
 Cecil feared no innocence could shield 
 —no art elude— no force resist. 
 
 Such was the state of iifiind iti xvhicll 
 he landed at the port of Lisbon— such 
 were the feelings with which he threw 
 a hasty and scrutinizing glance around 
 the croud ot busy faces which there 
 saluted him.
 
 But not one presented itself witli 
 which he could claim acquaintance— 
 not one, ill w'hose lineaments he could 
 flatter himself he had found a fnend, 
 fiom whom he might receive assist- 
 ance or advice. 
 
 An Eni^Tish packet lay in the har- 
 bour, and was on the point of weighing 
 anchor for the happy shores"of Britain- 
 shores to which he had so lately 
 hoped he should be at this time has-^ 
 tening with Azora and her family- 
 shores, perhaps, now never to be hailed 
 by them ! 
 
 Cecil employed the short time the 
 packet still remained in port in writing 
 to his father a hasty sketch of his pre- 
 sent afflicting apprehensions; urging 
 him by every possible exertion to in- 
 terest the Portuguese ambassador, and 
 procure letters from the English one 
 then at Lisbon, to assist his own en- 
 deavors for the discovery and libera-
 
 578 CECIL. 
 
 tion of the objects of his interest. 
 He then solely devoted himself to 
 incessant search for the victims of 
 Zandodara's vengeance.
 
 CECIL. 979 
 
 CHAP. XL 
 
 Already had three weeks, employed 
 in fruitless search, wasted away with 
 Cecil, during which time Bernardo 
 and Owens, (whom he had found at 
 an hotel in Lisbon) with himself, had, 
 in various ways and different direc- 
 tions, prosecuted their eager inquiries. 
 In the progress of these labours, 
 each party had been occasionally en- 
 livened by faint gleams of hope, that 
 he had discovered some traces of 
 Azora and Donna Ilerena— sometimes 
 of Don Juan ; but these hopes had 
 uniformly vanished into deeper gloom, 
 on their ultimately proving to have 
 been delusive.
 
 §t>G CECIL. 
 
 Cecil, whose mind had been inces- 
 santly haunted with a vague suspi- 
 cion that Donna Celerica was the 
 league associate of the Redeemed Cap- 
 tive, had twice secretly visited her 
 Quinta, and endeavoured by every 
 .possible means to confirm or dissipate 
 the su2"gestions of his fears. But he 
 liad each time ascertained (without 
 seeing the lady) that she was sur- 
 rounded by gaiety and dissipation; 
 and that on the evening of his em- 
 barking with the family of Don Juan, 
 she had been the soul of a splendid 
 entertainment given by her at Las 
 Delicias^ to the principal nobi'lity of 
 Lisbon, some of whom still continued 
 her guests. 
 
 Every chance at length appeared to 
 the wretched Cecil to be cut off, of 
 penetrating the veil of mystery, in 
 which this dark transaction had been 
 enveloped ; till, by his obtaining the
 
 CECIL. 281 
 
 support of superior authority to any 
 he had as yet been able to procure, he 
 might find himself empowered to pro- 
 secute his search into abodes which 
 were now imraoveably barred against 
 him. The return of the packet, there- 
 fore, which had carried his details to 
 his family, was expected by him, with 
 an impatience bordering on frenzy; 
 and from the day that in its usual 
 course it became due, his hours were 
 spent in wandering, like a perturbed 
 spirit, on the banks of the Tagus, and 
 watching every approaching sail, with 
 the eager hope of discovering that ic 
 sought. 
 
 He was one evening, after many 
 hours thus wasted, returning to his 
 tiotel, in a state of such misery and 
 absence of mind as rendered him un- 
 -con scions of surrounding objects, 
 when he found his stefjs suddenly \m- 
 p^led by a child, who, throwing him-
 
 282 CECIL. 
 
 self in his way, had passionately era- 
 braced his knees. 
 
 Recalled to recollection by this in- 
 cident, Cecil stooped to raise the 
 youthful suppliant and relieve its 
 wants; when, with a strong emotion 
 of surprise, he recognized^ on exami- 
 ning the little fellow, Belario, the once 
 favored and happy protege of his 
 Azora; him, whose unaccountable dis- 
 appearance he had found her mourn- 
 ing on his last return to the Quinta of 
 Don Juan. 
 
 Kindly taking the boy by the hand, 
 he now led him to his hotel, feeling on 
 his way thither his heart become un- 
 accountably lightened, as if by the 
 recovery of Belario, he had found the 
 clue that might conduct him to his 
 mistress. 
 
 Yet, however entirely Cecil had 
 allowed himself to be engrossed by 
 hope, during his walk home beside his
 
 CECIL. 283 
 
 speechless companion, he no sooner 
 viewed the altered countenance of the 
 boy, pale and meagre from want and 
 suffering, than pity and revived appre- 
 hension took place of pleasure. 
 
 " Poor Belario!— Thou too, hast 
 suffered,^' said the compassionating 
 Cecil, forgetful that 
 
 •not to him return'd 
 
 The sound of voice responsive, nor feast divine 
 Of reason, nor the * flow of soul,* nor sports 
 Of wit fantastic ; from the cheerful speech 
 Of men cut off, and intercourse of thought 
 And wisdom."* 
 
 Now began Cecil most bitterly to 
 repent that he had never given to the 
 amiable child that patient observation, 
 in the Quinta of Don Juan, which 
 might have enabled him to compre- 
 
 * An imitation of Milton, from the pen of a 
 venerated lady, turned of eighty, (while labour- 
 ing under a temporary deafness) living when thii 
 tale was written, but now no more.
 
 284- CECIL. 
 
 hend what his animated gestures were 
 intended to convey ; but at that period 
 he had been generally more disposed 
 to quarrel with Belario, as one who 
 often divided with him those atten- 
 tions of Azora which he wished ex- 
 clusively to appropriate to himself, 
 than to set about studying his pan- 
 tomimic language, or aiding her in 
 the task of instructing him. 
 
 While wrapt in brooding contem- 
 plation, his looks continued fixed 
 upon the animated Belario, the boy 
 went on with impassioned gestures to 
 describe some long history which his 
 deeply interested companion vainly 
 sought to comprehend. 
 
 Sometimes lightly passing his finger 
 across his brow, Cecil imagined he 
 meant to paint the beautifully pensive 
 one of his lost Azora; then, assuming 
 an air of languor, the boy reminded 
 him of Donna ilerena; the character-
 
 CECIL. S85 
 
 isticbend of Juan could not be mis- 
 taken. Presently, the story of Belario 
 lost its interest, for he had lost sight 
 of these regretted objects. 
 
 Cecil, with a sigh of despondence, 
 had sniik into a chair, when the little 
 historian drew on himself his redou- 
 bled attention, by suddenly encom- 
 passing his head with a cloak wbick 
 lay near him, in a turban form, erect- 
 ing his pigmy stature, iniinitely above 
 its usual height, and with mock ma- 
 jesty measuring the apartment with 
 t-lie lofty air of Zandodara. 
 
 All now became rapidly confused in 
 the gesticulations of Belario, till pau- 
 sing, he cautiously drew from beneath 
 his garb a curious box, and with eyes 
 sparkling with triumphant joy, pre- 
 sented it to Cecil, urging him, by his 
 actions and entreating looks, to force 
 it open. 
 
 Almost goaded to madness by the
 
 586 CECIL. 
 
 curiosity roused, not satisfied by the 
 attempted explanation of Belario, Cecil 
 did not hesitate to comply with his 
 desire, hoping it might contain some 
 elucidation of the mysterious Captive's 
 actions ; but his patience was put to a 
 severe proof before he could succeed, 
 so singularly was the box constructed 
 for safety. 
 
 At length the fastenings yielded to 
 the repeated effort made to burst them 
 asunder, and the valuable rosary of 
 Donna Ilerena, which had been so 
 wonderfully purloined from the ve- 
 randa, fell at his feet ! 
 
 Belario clapped his hands with 
 strong demonstrations of pleasure, 
 while Cecil recovered and examined 
 it. But this was not the whole con- 
 tents of the box— a parchment, of re- 
 markable form and tenor, lay at the 
 bottom, which at first derived its 
 chief interest with Cecil from seeming'
 
 CECIL. 287 
 
 to have been carefully preserved by the 
 purloiner of the rosary. Yet in vi^hat 
 vray Zandodara had been instrumental 
 in the theft of this valuable string of 
 gerns— how Belario had been decoyed 
 from the Qtiinta of Don Juan— or by 
 what means he had been enabled to 
 recover the rosary, and find out Cecil, 
 were points which he was utterly at a 
 loss to guess ; nor was the now ex- 
 hausted boy capable of further attempts 
 to explain himself. 
 
 His faint and languid appearance 
 caused Cecil to summon Owens 
 with immediate refreshments, which 
 Belario devoured with the voracity 
 of one who had long pined for 
 food. He was then conveyed to bed, 
 while his friend sat down to exa- 
 mine the instrument which had so 
 singularly found its way to him, and 
 to ponder on the use he might make 
 of it.
 
 288 CECIL. 
 
 Cecil had not long been thus em- 
 ployed, when the door of his apart- 
 ment was thrown open, and the long- 
 respected friend of his^famiiy, the uni- 
 versal philanthropist, St. Ormond, met 
 him with cordial greetings. 
 
 That gentleman, he soon learnt, was 
 just arrived in the packet from Eng- 
 land, which country he had precipi- 
 tately quitted., in the belief that he 
 could serve Cecil ; for Sir Godfrey 
 Altringham, at v. hose castle he was, 
 visiting, on the receipt or his son's last 
 letter, had acquainted him with its 
 contents, in the hope of profiting from 
 his advice on the best course to be 
 pursued. 
 
 Ever ready to enlist under the ban- 
 ners of humanity, and certain that his 
 own knov^dedge and exj)erience of the 
 Portuguese, from a long residence ia 
 their country, might greatly assist a 
 cause of so much interest to his young
 
 CECIL. S89 
 
 friend. St. Ormond had actually em- 
 barked for the sole purpose of aiding 
 the exertions of Cecil, with whom he 
 now passed a great part of the night,' 
 in rendering himself master of every 
 particular which had transpired. 
 
 The document, which had in so re- 
 markable a manner fallen into his 
 hands, St. Ormond cautioned him to 
 preserve with jealous care ; since 
 coupled and compared with certain 
 circumstances, which had occurred 
 respecting the family of Don Juan, he 
 strongly suspected it to refer to Donna 
 Ilerena; and if so, might ultimately 
 prove of far more inestimable value 
 than her rosary of precious gems. 
 
 Yet, with all St. Ormondes cpmmis- 
 seration for his young friend's state of 
 suspense, he positively declined en* 
 teriig into any explanation of his in- 
 • tended proceedings to Cecil, on the 
 ground, that any interference on his 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 CECIL. 
 
 part, would too probably render them 
 abortive ; and on their separation, he 
 told him he should not see him again 
 for many days, as he was particularly 
 desirous of concealing from those who, 
 no doubt, had their spies on Cecil, that 
 it was in his cause his zeal was roused. 
 
 It was with warm and reiterated pro- 
 mises of indefatigable exertions in his 
 service, and cautious tokeep the young 
 Belario concealed, that St. Ormond 
 finally took his leave, after placing in 
 his hands a parcel of letters with which 
 he had been charged by his family. 
 
 The remainder of the night was pass- 
 ed by Cecil in perusing these letters, 
 each ofwhich strongly urged his implicit 
 confidence in the temperate and expe- 
 rienced instructions of St. Ormond, 
 From these he was drawn back to re- 
 examine, with increasing interest, the 
 document which that friend had advised 
 him to preserve with so much care.
 
 CECIL. 291 
 
 During the following week, a cir- 
 cumstance occurred which seconded 
 the plan of secrecy St. Ormond had 
 recommended. Belario was by severe 
 illness confined to his bed, on which 
 occasion * his only attendants were 
 Cecil and the faithful Owens. Ber- 
 nardo still continued absent on a 
 fruitless search, into which he had 
 been led by fallacious reports ; and 
 the Quinta of Don Juan had been 
 abandoned by the few remaining ser- 
 vants under the superstitious belief, 
 that some evil power was exerting its 
 malignant influence there. 
 
 Nine days were already past since 
 the arrival of St. Ormond, without his 
 re-appearance— without any kind of 
 information imparted to Cecil, who, 
 unable any longer to support the state 
 of incertitude and inactivity to which 
 he had been condemned, resolved at 
 least to indulge himself in the melan- 
 o 2
 
 29f «ECIL, 
 
 choly gratification of once more visit- 
 ing the deserted Qainta, so lately to 
 him the abode of happiness. 
 
 Leaving a letter for St. Ormond, in 
 case of his inquiring for him during 
 Lis absence ; and strictly charging 
 Owens to keep Belario (who was on 
 the recovery) concealed, he set out 
 unattended, on the noon of the tenth 
 day, after the arrival of the packet, to 
 explore again the well-remembered 
 wood, within whose sheltering bosom 
 he had first discovered the habitation 
 of Azora.
 
 CECIL, .^S 
 
 CHAP. XIL 
 
 The *sun was fast on the decliiai'e, 
 when Cecil arrived within sight of 
 the picturesque Quinta of Don Juan ; 
 but how different an aspect did it 
 present to that which had saluted him 
 on his first approach to it. When an 
 accidental careless wanderer, in the 
 surrounding v/oods, chance had one 
 morning conducted his uncertain steps 
 that way. 
 
 The vine, the myrtle, and the jes- 
 samine, which had then with such tasty 
 elegance crept around the pillars of 
 the veranda, and depended in graceful 
 festoons from the arches of the trelisse, 
 now neglected and luxuriously rude, 
 hung in profuse wildness, and gave an 
 o 3
 
 f94 CECIL. 
 
 air of desolation to the exterior of tfie 
 edifice, but too faithfully representing 
 that which he was prepared to find 
 within. 
 
 It was through the same avenue by 
 which he had first entered it, that 
 Cecil now gained access to the Quintan 
 within whose enclosure, objects on all 
 sides met his eager looks that planted 
 new daggers in his bosom. 
 
 The Moorish cushion, on which the 
 guitar of Azora had then been resting 
 —the highly finished landscape, exe- 
 cuted by her hands, after the manner 
 of the Mexican artists, with the rich 
 plumage of their birds— her books— 
 her pencils— every where some ves- 
 tiges of her whom he had hoped would 
 long since have been his— of her who 
 had been torn from him at the very 
 foot of the altar, where she would have 
 plighted to him her willing vows, who 
 was now lost to him, perhaps for even
 
 CECIL. fS5 
 
 suffering under the persecutions of the 
 savage Zandodara ! all these harrowing 
 recollections rushed impetuously on 
 the heart of Cecil, and urged him, 
 with a frenzied step, towards the 
 chapel in which that monster had 
 burst in thunder on them. 
 
 But there the tremendous voice of 
 the accusing Captive, which then had 
 made it echo to his shouts, was now 
 no longer heard; all within those hal- 
 lowed walls was silent— dark and de- 
 solate—desolate as were the hopes and 
 prospects of the unhappy lover. 
 
 As he advanced towards the door of 
 the sacristy, he trod on some slight 
 substance— it was a shpper which had 
 fallen from the slender foot of Donna 
 Ilerena, as he had borne her senseless 
 from the sacred building-— smitten by 
 the baleful scowl of Zandodara. 
 
 Cecil stooped to take it up, and 
 while he afterwards stood brooding on 
 
 O 4;
 
 296 CECIL. 
 
 the events of that fataJ evening, some 
 powerful recollections made him sud- 
 denly resolve on retracing those pas- 
 sages through which Azora had fol- 
 lowed him and her lifeless mother. 
 
 The thick shades of evening had 
 BOW gathered on the scene ; Cecil 
 found it difficult in some places to 
 explore his way, while the solemn 
 sliUness which reigned around, but 
 increased the gloominess of the spot. 
 He was aware that the Quinta had 
 been wholly uninhabited since the de- 
 parture of Bernardo ; but he also 
 knew, that by exploring his way to 
 the apartment which had been the 
 study of Don Juan, he could find 
 conveniences for /kindling a light. 
 That way therefore he was bending 
 his uncertain steps, when the shutting 
 of a door, at no great distance from 
 him, excited his attention. Was it 
 some strong current of air, sweeping
 
 CECIL. 297 
 
 through an open window, that occa- 
 sioned the startling sound ? or had 
 some repenting domestic returned in 
 the hope of gaining inteUigence res- 
 pecting his unhappy lord ? 
 
 While these thoughts rapidly passed 
 through the mind of Cecil, impatient at 
 once to ascertain the truth, he laid his 
 hand on the lock of a door at which 
 he stopped, impressed with the belief, 
 from some rays of light which, stream- 
 ing through the key-hole, fell on the 
 opposite wall, that that was the one 
 which had been lately entered. But 
 he was baffled in his attempt to open 
 it ; it was fastened within, and no an- 
 swer was for some time returned to 
 his repeated calls for admission. At 
 length he distinguished footsteps tra- 
 versing the study ; they advanced to- 
 wards the door, the bolt was shot 
 back, and Cecil, entering the apart- 
 ment, discovered by the glimmering of 
 o 6
 
 298 CECIL. 
 
 a lamp he held, the bending form and 
 haggard features of the unfortunate 
 Don Juan ! 
 
 Surprise and complicated emotions 
 for some moments rooted each to the 
 spot whereon he stood; till Don Juan, 
 by addressing a passionate apostrophe 
 of gratitude to heaven, gave Cecil to 
 understand that he had construed his 
 re-appearance in that country into a 
 certain proof that he had first depo- 
 sited Donna Ilerena and Azora safely 
 in his own.- 
 
 It is impossible to describe the 
 thrill of agony which, in the next 
 moment, Cecil felt, as he regarded the 
 wild triumph which animated the 
 sunken features of the Spaniard, while 
 he exclaimed— 
 
 *' Now, Zandodara, I defy thee! 
 My Ilerena, placed beyond thy venge- 
 ful power, where cans' t thou seek the 
 proofs of D'lriarte's sacrilege ?— How
 
 ciciL. 299 
 
 offer on the altar of revenge our inno- 
 cent, unconscious child ?— How iden- 
 tity the sister saint, Juana, in her 
 mother ? 
 
 Incapable of any attempt to dissi- 
 pate the illusive dream of hope, in 
 which Don Juan now was wholly 
 wrapt, Cecil, speechless and motion- 
 less as the marble pillar against which 
 he supported himself, continued to 
 survey him. Presently the temporary 
 transport, which had lighted up the 
 usually stern visage of Don Juan, 
 vanished; he turned abruptly from 
 him, as influenced by some dreadful 
 recollections, sighed deeply, passed his 
 hand across his brow, then for some 
 time paced the study with eyes fixed 
 on vacancy, his whole air evincing a 
 mind revolving some question of 
 serious import. 
 
 ' At length, he seemed to have de- 
 cided it, by placing himself opposite 
 o 6
 
 300 CECIL, 
 
 to Cecil; yet there was nothing in the 
 appearance of Don Juan which be- 
 spoke a hope of deriving or imparting 
 comfort from the communication he 
 now testified a disposition to make ; 
 on the contrary, the blue light of the 
 lamp that stood between them, while 
 it added a deathy hue to his com- 
 plexion, marked every line which sor- 
 row had furrowed— every lineament 
 which passion had graven on his face, 
 as considerably increased in strength, 
 since he had been separated from his 
 family. 
 
 Moving the lamp aside, that he 
 might more clearly command the ex- 
 pression of Cecil's countenance, with 
 a composed sternness evidently as- 
 sumed to keep in subjection emotions 
 which he feared to trust, the hitherto 
 taciturn Don Juan thus addressed 
 to his youthful friend his bitter re- 
 irospectiori"-
 
 CECIL. 301 
 
 *' You have thought aloud, and 
 those thoughts have condemned me— 
 you have /<f/^ aloud, and those feelings 
 have absolved me. The fair confes- 
 sion of my life shall justify you in both. 
 
 Such as Azora at this day appears 
 to you, Ilerena, nineteen years ago, 
 appeared to me. The period is of 
 older date; for in childhood com- 
 menced our partiality, and from child- 
 hood it was cherished, by an inter- 
 course between our families of no 
 common interest. Friends, fortune, 
 elevated rank, and high consideration, 
 were equally the birth-right of us 
 both ; for each was sole heir to the 
 honors and wealth of our ancestors. 
 To fill to the brim this cup of happi- 
 ness, love lighted in our hearts a mu- 
 tual flame, which won the consent of 
 our friends ; yet, though they ap- 
 proved, they wisely controled it, and 
 by withholding their sanction of an
 
 303 CECIL. 
 
 immediate union, reserved something 
 to hope-— something to look forward to. 
 In thus tempering the excess of for- 
 tune's favors, they secured us from 
 satiety, and prolonged the season of 
 youth's happiness, its gay seducing 
 dreams t 
 
 To the completion of my twentieth 
 year, and of Ilerend's eighteenth, 
 was the consummation of all that re- 
 mained for earthly happiness to be- 
 stow, deferred. To this period there 
 wanted three years. 
 
 Oh God! how roiled away the 
 first! strengthening in its progress 
 through some new virtue —some new 
 acquirement— some perfected grace of 
 mind— -love— friendship— and esteem! 
 Days of ineffable delight ! it was ne* 
 cessary that ye should have been 
 tasted, to give a ten-fold misery to the 
 rig'd doom I— 1 myself armed justice 
 with the power of inflicting !
 
 CECIL. 303 
 
 ** Death, in the second year. I can 
 now, you perceive, mention it with 
 calmness/* (Yet, Don Juan grasped 
 the arm of his chair with a nervous 
 affection as he spoke.) " Death, in 
 the second year, deprived me— 
 Have you ever lost a mother ?— know 
 you what it is to lose a mother ?— to 
 lose the disinterested zeiil— the direct- 
 ing council— the unerring influence of 
 a virtuous mother, winning on the soul 
 of her son by tenderness, and esta- 
 blishing her sovereignity by reason ? 
 But you have never lost a mother. I 
 have ; and the affliction it first taught 
 me, came loaded with a thousand pro- 
 phetic threats, which have been but 
 too fully realized. 
 
 *' The grief experienced by my 
 father and myself, on this event, 
 threw a gloom over our home, which 
 even love could not disperse ; and 
 my father, under the pretext of sooth*
 
 304 CECIL, 
 
 ing sorrow that exceeded his own, 
 gave me to understand that he should 
 introduce to me a companion of nearly 
 my own age, who would divert the 
 melancholy thoughts of each. 
 
 " Curiosity made me impatient to 
 behold him— -an impatience which the 
 appearance of Zandodara punished. 
 This Zandodara is '* 
 
 Don Juan^s lip quivered ; he rose in 
 agitation from his seat, but instantly 
 resuming it, he fixed his eyes with 
 defensive steadiness on Cecil, as if he 
 would have said, '' Judge not lest ye 
 be judged,^' and again he digressed 
 into the question. 
 
 *' Were you, young man, ever ele- 
 vated to that pinnacle of happiness, 
 which seems authorised to take the 
 first heaven* for its canopy ? Were you 
 ever spoilt by such unbounded favors 
 as prosperity in her blind extrava* 
 % Don Juan was a Roman Catholic.
 
 CECIL. 305 
 
 gance, with malicious bounty, ghow- 
 ered upon the head of D'lriarte, to 
 nurse his passions, and blind the 
 eyes of reason, which might otherwise 
 have saved his erring steps from the 
 dread gulph to which they led ?— No 
 —that you have not experienced. 
 Pause then on the difference between 
 D'lriarte, and the common herd of 
 sinners— pause on-— but what have I 
 to dp with moralizing— to the point— 
 Zandodara is— my brother !'' 
 
 Cecil started, and from the eyes of 
 Don Juan shot flashes of that transient 
 fire which had inflamed his look, 
 when, stung to the quick, he braved 
 the Redeemed Captive, in the chapel 
 of the wood, by questioning his iden- 
 tity. Cecil recovered from his sur- 
 prise, and Juan, shaking off the effect 
 of the involuntary reproof, which his 
 auditor's change of countenance had 
 given, was thus enabled to proceed— «
 
 306 CECIL. 
 
 '* Zandodara, the bastard son of my 
 father, who was encouraged in preten- 
 sions to which he was not entitled, 
 and enjoyed indulgences he never 
 merited, became my companion— the 
 inmate of my paternal home— the ac- 
 knowledged son of his Excellency 
 Don Almanzor D'Iriarte. 
 
 Flis age exceeded mine only by a 
 year ; but his herculean stature trebled 
 the difference. An overbearing spirit 
 —a cruel heart— a ferocious courage, 
 early in his domestication, displayed 
 themselves to my observation. Zan- 
 dodara felt they had done so. I be- 
 came his detestation, and he mine ; 
 but not thus did my father view him--- 
 I will be just ; and though my parched 
 throat reluctantly gives it utterance, I 
 will acknowledge that there was a tow- 
 ering majesty in his height— a noble- 
 ness in his port— and when he pleased, 
 an elegance, blended with animation
 
 CECIL. 307 
 
 in his manners, before the long indul- 
 gence of wild impetuous passions, ren- 
 dered his person frightful as his mind, 
 which— but no more of that. My 
 father was not blind to these advan- 
 tages, nor Zandodara himself uncon- 
 scious of them. Where was I ?— well 
 may I wander. Before our father 
 Zandodara condescended to be the 
 very contrast of his real self; and the 
 partial parent saw in his roughness an 
 uprightness and sincerity which dis- 
 dained the mask of politeness— in his 
 presumption, a manly pride, asserting 
 the distinction to which the blood that 
 flowed in his veins, from the noble 
 house of D'Iriarte, gave h'lm a right. 
 
 My very soul recoils when I recall 
 to memory the offensive exultation, 
 with which the villain was accustomed 
 to regard me, when any proofs were 
 forced upon my belief of the success 
 of his wiles upqn my father.
 
 508 CECIL. 
 
 His triumphant features, on such 
 occasions, seemed to say, " Even you, 
 Juan, shall one day own, that sooner 
 or later, the minds of all I chuse to 
 subjugate, shall tamely receive my 
 fetters, and shake their chains in un- 
 cons< ious slavery/' 
 
 Yet, there v^^as one passion to which 
 he was himself a slave— -gaming. But 
 for that vice my fluher might have 
 died deceived ; and by his becoming 
 a nearly equal sharer in his fortune, 
 the hatred between Zandodara and my- 
 self™though hatred still, would not 
 have been of so deadly a nature. 
 
 The immense sums he squandered in 
 thegratificationoChis rulingpropensity, 
 could not, with all his art, be account- 
 ed for as spent in honorable pursuits* 
 Suspicions were raised in the mind of 
 my father, which observation strength- 
 ened and inquiries confirmed. He 
 became less liberal in his supplies, and
 
 CECTL. 309 
 
 ZanHodara soiio^bt them from n source 
 made known to me by chance, r^lat^^icl 
 to my father from a sen<§e of justice, 
 which forbade my conniving at the 
 disgrace which would have stained the 
 noble name of D'Iriarteby concealing 
 it. My father received my informa- 
 tion in silence; but I have reason to 
 believe that he strictly investigated its 
 truth, and that the result greatly 
 grieved and offended him. Sudden 
 must have been his consequent deter- 
 mination, since unexpected, as was his 
 death, his will had been altered so 
 strongly in my favor; and so much 
 power was given to me in the exercise 
 of restrictions to which he subjected 
 his devise to Zandodara, that except 
 the circumstance of his having named 
 him sole heir to his possessions,,in case 
 I left no issue, he might have been 
 deemed a dependant on my will. 
 I would instantly have emancipated
 
 310 CECIL. 
 
 him from this subjection, by sharinj^ 
 with him the property I inherited in 
 right of my mother. But envy and 
 malice " those fiends abhorred of 
 God/' took instant possession of his 
 soul. He tore the deed of gift before 
 my eyes, as he exclaimed : " When 
 the Hierarchs trump shall rend- the 
 air, and the awful judges of the dead 
 consign thy soul to weep its endless 
 doom, for this foul robbery of a bro- 
 ther's right— then, and not till then 
 shall Zandordara forgive thy poisoning 
 the ear of him, who, ere that iiend- 
 hke deed^ prided himself in a son, 
 formed to increase, not derogate from, 
 the glory of his name."" 
 
 Then, with a look of steadfast hate, 
 and horrible revenge, he left my pre- 
 sence-'-left it to become henceforth 
 the dark malignant spy— the unseen 
 foe, waiting in ambush to seize some 
 avenue to my heart, through which he
 
 CECIL. 311 
 
 might introduce the stings— the an- 
 guish—the bitter gall, which distem- 
 pered his own foul bosom. Dreadful 
 was the event which first discovered 
 to me, that to become the secret tor- 
 turer of my days was his fixed resolve 
 — Ilerena fated, as it should seem, to 
 share with her lover in the sudden 
 frowns of fate, was, like him, deprived 
 of her maternal friend; but her father, 
 less faithful than his own, soon replaced 
 the loss by a second marriage ; and a 
 year before the arrival of that period, 
 at which he had bound himself to give 
 his daughter to D*lriarte, he became 
 the father of a son. 
 
 On this occasion the family repaired 
 to his Arragonian territories, to which 
 it was agreed that I should follow, 
 when the arrangement of my father's 
 affairs permitted. At this period, 
 Ilerena thought not of the change in 
 |ier fate which these circumstances
 
 3lf CECIL. 
 
 threatened ; yet they were even then 
 operating to our destruction. What 
 was considered a princely fortune for 
 her, was thought insufficient for the 
 male heir of so noble a house. To 
 lessen it, therefore, by the promised 
 portion, she was to have brought her 
 husband, could not be thought of by 
 the new Countess de Zuniga Celerica, 
 and her opinion was decisive with the 
 estranged parent of Ilerena. Yet, 
 noi' wholly steeled against the shame 
 of throwing her penny less on a lover he 
 had once approved, she was secretly 
 conveyed to a convent in Upper 
 Navarre, and a melancholy detail sent 
 me of her having fallen a victim to a 
 contagious fever. 
 
 In this convent, while I was mourn- 
 ing her as dead, she was suffering 
 every persecution which the living 
 could inflict. Means of the most atro- 
 cious nature were put in practice to
 
 CECIL. $]$ 
 
 force upon her the vows from which 
 her soul recoiled. She endured all 
 with fortitude, for she was supported 
 in its exertion by the confidence with 
 which she rested on her lover's honor- 
 feeling— courage. 
 
 To him she daily wrote, through the 
 medium of one pitying nun, and 
 though her every line might have 
 melted the heart of any savage but a 
 Zandodara, D'Iriarte came not to 
 j'escue her from the living grave to 
 which she was condemned. At lengthy 
 worn down with grief, her heart broken 
 by the supposed perfidy of her lover — 
 friendless— hopeless- — powerless, she 
 5ank beneath the wretched successioD 
 of force, cruelty, and despair, which 
 urged her to the sacrifice, and be- 
 came '* 
 
 Here Don Juan's countenance as- 
 sumed a ghastly expression, as the 
 review of these past sufferings irri- 
 
 VOL. Ic p
 
 314 CECIL, 
 
 tated his mind with the strong and 
 mixed passions which were equally 
 roused by the remembrance of the per- 
 secutors and their victim. 
 
 " Yes/* he resumed, struggling to 
 be articulate—'' yes, she wrote a last 
 letter, gave it to her religious friend, 
 and proceeding to the altar, took the 
 fatal vows/' 
 
 *' What mean you ?" demanded 
 D'Iriarte, of Cecil, abruptly breaking 
 off his narrative, as he earnestly pe- 
 rused his features. '' The expression 
 of your face is strange— ^is indefi- 
 nable/' 
 
 *^ I pray you proceed," he with 
 difficulty replied; "my features, if 
 faithful to my feelings, express com- 
 misseration for your sufferings. I 
 pray you proceed.*' 
 
 " This letter," continued Don 
 Juan," this fatal letter, accompanied 
 by all those which should have saved
 
 CECIL. 315 
 
 llerena from her dreadful trials, waS 
 conveyed to me in a parcel soon after 
 her profession. On the envelope was 
 written, in the characters of Zando- ' 
 dara— 
 
 " A bridal present from the sister. 
 Saint Juana, to her faithful, watchful 
 lover, Don Juan Silveira D'Iriarte." 
 
 " Heavenly father! what was the 
 astonishment of my agonized mind, 
 when I discovered the contents of this 
 packet to be letters from llerena— 
 letters from llerena— llerena ! whom 
 I had believed to be no m6re ! 
 
 " I sought conviction in their sub- 
 jects, but my aching eyes for some 
 time closed on their office, and my 
 stunned senses promised to guard my 
 heart from future sorrow. But they 
 resumed their powers, deadened 
 awhile only that they might be awak- 
 ened to a keener consciousness of 
 the detestable atrocities by which we 
 P 2
 
 516 CECIL. 
 
 had been undone. The piercing lan- 
 guage of tender reproach— the distract- 
 ing reference to former letters, which 
 had told of her danger, and besought 
 my immediate aid in averting it, with 
 the wounding assurance that in pro- 
 nouncing her vowSj she had also pro- 
 nounced her forgiveness of my deser- 
 tion of her, formed the subject of her 
 last letter, and threatened to fever my 
 blood as it had alr,eady fevered my 
 mind. In this st-^te of feeling I in- 
 staVitly set off for Navarre, and hov^ied 
 in the environs of the convent of 
 Senora de la Misericardia till I had 
 procured an interview with Ilerena. 
 
 " C/n events, which rise to my 
 memory, clothed in endkss remorse,'' 
 said Don Juan, in a hurri^-.d accent, 
 *' I dare not dwell. She saw that my 
 life dep; nded on her escape, and in 
 her imf'ilirnce co execute a plan 
 which had been Iod r laid before it
 
 CECIL. S17 
 
 could be effected, Ilerena innocently 
 rendered what was to have been her 
 living tomb, the real grave of several 
 of the sisterhood, by setting fire to the 
 convent. During the height of the 
 conflagration, we passed unmolested 
 through the walls, but not unnoticed. 
 The furious flames gave to the night 
 the light of day, and exhibited to my 
 view a momentar}^ glimpse of Zando- 
 dara, in all the pre-eminent and fright- 
 ful grandeur of the enemy of man, 
 towering above the crowd. He was 
 at a considerable distance, when I 
 thought his eye flashed with a fire no 
 less destructive than that which raged 
 around us ; that distance was in- 
 creased by the falling beams and rafts 
 which filled the interval between us; 
 we were favored by this barrier, and 
 the ruffian, baffled in his immediate 
 pursuit. Yv^e gained the mountains of 
 Catalonia, and from a hermit of Mount 
 p 3
 
 318 CECIL. 
 
 Serrat, received the nuptial benedic- 
 tion. From thence we proceeded by 
 a devious course to Alto Fouilla, 
 tempted by the safety promised us 
 from its offering no road but what the 
 traveller, at the risk of being buried 
 by the rising waves, traces for himself 
 on the sands of the sea. At Alto 
 Fouilla, Ilerena's nurse, Leonardo, and 
 the trusty Bernardo, joined us. In its 
 neighbourhood we for months found 
 security, but peace embellished it not. 
 The growing prospect of a new pledge 
 of love, which would have enlarged in 
 a more fortunate lot our sphere of hap- 
 piness, enlarged only that of misery, 
 by giving to lierena a new object, 
 through which the dread power of the 
 church and the savage tyranny of 
 man might add ten-fold agony to the 
 punishment which hung threateningly 
 over us. These terrific fears-— these 
 ^arrowing suspicions, strengthened by
 
 CECIL. 319 
 
 conscientious scruples, sank the 
 weakened mind of Ilerena beneath the 
 empire of— 
 
 melancholy ! 
 
 Whose drossy thoughts, drying the feeble brain. 
 Corrupts the sense, deludes the intellect. 
 And in the soul's fair table falsely graves 
 Whole squadrons of fantastical chimeras." 
 
 *' To live the inactive witness of this 
 brooding evil, was to endanger the 
 sanity of her intellects. The torture 
 of this idea impelled to rashness, and 
 I resolved to brave whatever might 
 oppose our gaining a remote palace of 
 mine, long deserted by my family. 
 Within the protection of its feudal 
 rights, its solitude, and strength, I 
 hoped my child would draw its first 
 breath, and its mother regain the for- 
 titude which had so suddenly, so un- 
 happily forsaken her. Omnipotent 
 justice ! can the breach of vows, 
 P 4
 
 320 CECIL. 
 
 forced by torture from the helpless 
 victim of cruelty, draw such suffer- 
 ings on pure and innocent hearts as 
 those which, with increasing seve- 
 rity, marked each step of this fatal 
 journey ?'' 
 
 Don Juan smote his breast as he 
 uttered the— and an intenseness of 
 pain and impatience wrung that of 
 Cecil, while he thus continued-— 
 
 " Heavy sands we had to labour 
 through, as good or evil chance might 
 direct. Large forests of pines, where 
 rocks and gullies rendered expedition 
 impossible, and in which, during our 
 progress, fancy gave a human form to 
 many a tree— a human voice of savage 
 threat to every blast which howled 
 through their knotted branches ; yet 
 these v/ere but the preludes of the real 
 horrors prepared for us ! 
 
 " Our first night's fatigue, but not 
 its terrors, ended at a ruined towf^r, in
 
 CECIL. S91 
 
 a vast solitude covered with busb, and 
 tenninated by the wide ocean. There, 
 like savage beasts hunted from the 
 haunts Of" men, we remained till night 
 again encouraged us to renew our cold 
 and gloomy travels. We entered, ere 
 it was half consumed, an extensive 
 desart, still near the sea, and darkened 
 by groves of locust and olive trees. 
 
 Iicaiy not ideal figures, now ago- 
 nized the imagination of llereuct as 
 they, to her ajiprehension, at one in- 
 stant, broke from a dark covert, with 
 the intention of seizing us— at another, 
 rose suddenly on her sight, as if taking 
 the lead to intercept our progress to 
 shelter and protection, thus blasting 
 all hope of evasion, and darting keen 
 and frequent glances on our move- 
 ments. More than the agonies of 
 death were suffered by my wife- 
 more tiian the punic-hai.^nt of the in- 
 fernal world was endured by me, under 
 p 5
 
 52f CECIL. 
 
 the consciousness of having set her 
 life upon a cast so hazardous.'' 
 
 Don Juan paused, and folding his 
 arms with an iron grasp around him, 
 Jhis features exhibited a forced inflexi- 
 bility of muscle truly terrific, as he 
 
 " You see I possess fortitude.— 
 Mark, how my calmness increases 
 with the rising horrors of the events 
 which crowd in all their orioinal ter- 
 rors upon my recollection/* Don 
 Juan awaited not an answer, but thus 
 continued-— 
 
 *' In the dangerous paths and thick- 
 ening darkness, we lost sight of these 
 figures of dreadful portent ; and by the 
 coming on of a storm, pitiless as the 
 wrathful fate which pursued us, we 
 were driven to the shelter of a mise- 
 rable hovel. Mules, muleteers, and 
 wanderers, like ourselves, promis- 
 cuously associated together— gave pro-
 
 CECIL, 3S3 
 
 mise, that amidst the heterogeneous 
 group, we should escape observation. 
 
 " I quitted not the side of Ilerena, 
 and muffled in our cloaks, we listened 
 in silent dismay to the spontaneous 
 and varying subjects of discourse. 
 
 " Never from my soul will pass 
 away the unutterable pang which shot 
 its cold gliding horrors through it, as 
 it gradually received the sense of a 
 conversation between two travellers. 
 
 *' Mean you to attend the splendid 
 Auto de Fe, at Arragon ? was the open- 
 ing question— its reply, '*I like not 
 such spectacles. Besides, my blood 
 chills in my veins when I think of the 
 poor portress of the convent of Nues^ 
 ira Senora de la Misericordia, who is 
 to sutfer under the supposition that 
 she set fire to it, when all the neigh- 
 bourhood say the fire was kindled by 
 a nun of a far different character. 
 Poor St. Catherine ! to escape one 
 p6
 
 3?4 CECIL. 
 
 *confla,2:ration only to be sacrificed to 
 another of greater horror!" 
 
 " Will not every warm pulse of your 
 feeling heart throb iatremblinsr sympa- 
 thy with mire as I tell you, that at this 
 moaient— at this tremendous moment, 
 w hen discovery threatened worse, ten 
 thousand times worse sufferings th^n 
 <leath, my wife gave a piercing scream 
 -—a scream which, to my astounded 
 senses, seemed inevitably to betray her 
 ^knowledge-— her participation in the 
 fatal catistropbe, which brought an in- 
 nocent victim to the stake. Horror- 
 struck— -app^dled— hearing in the self- 
 accusing scream the sentence of my 
 ^^ic's torturingdoom,l madly took her 
 in my arms, and wildly rushing from the 
 hovel, gave to the rage of the thunder 
 ■which shook the earth, th(^ lightning 
 which blagied to their roots trees co- 
 eval wih the d^sart, arul torrents that 
 setnicd cO th.ea.cii a second deluge— a
 
 CECIL. S25 
 
 being, who from the hour of her birth, 
 till within a few short months, had 
 been equally cherished by nature and 
 by fortune, as their choicest favorite. 
 But the elements refused the offering 
 my madness made them, and amidst 
 their wildest fury, still cruelly spared 
 the victims, promised as sacrifices to 
 the bloody idol of superstition. 
 
 *' The trusty Bernardo overtaking us 
 with the carriage, we unhurt finished 
 our perilous course through the de- 
 sart, the fire of Heaven serving to 
 light our path. Oh God ! by thy 
 will— -to light also the ruffi uis wha 
 closely followed on our trak, like 
 famished wolves, thij sting to feast on 
 the torments of our ble^'ding hearts. 
 
 " Long ii id they, unknown to us, been 
 gaining upon our speed, till, on 
 emerging from the desart, their near 
 approach, and the terrific co.unand 
 to haiC, ma^le Bernardo give us the
 
 326 CECIL. 
 
 alarm by urginq^ the mules, with the 
 point of his Espadci^ to a headlong 
 pace that might either save us, or 
 inflict a milder d^ath than that which 
 must infallibly follow our capture. 
 Fired to rage by these goadings, the 
 bit no longer controled-— the rein no 
 longer guided their course. Yet, 
 madly as they pursued it, they turned 
 from the laboring hills— wound round 
 their mazy base— scoured along the 
 dizzy brink of the threatening preci- 
 pice, and made through rough un- 
 beaten tracks, as if they hoped to 
 place danger as a barrier between 
 their master and his enemies. 
 
 *' A turn to the west brought us 
 within sight of the Ebro. Now, for 
 the first time, my wife gave voice to 
 her wish for speedy annihilation, by 
 exclaiming ; '' Could we but once 
 reach it— could we together sink to 
 peace within its friendly bosom/'
 
 "It offers/* T hastily returned, *'not 
 death, but safety. Fly, Bernardo, fly— - 
 seize— bribe— purchase vessel, boat, or 
 raft, which ever first presents itself, 
 that we may launch for safety on the 
 last sad refuge that remains to us. 
 
 " Towards a bridge to the right, the 
 mules, with unslackened speed, di- 
 rected their ungovernable course; they 
 passed the entrance of its narrow 
 walls— hope beat tremblingly in our 
 bosoms— then suddenly expired in the 
 shivering horrors which congealed the 
 vital current that warmed them, on 
 beholding a gaping chasm at their feet, 
 within whose dark mouth the flood 
 rolled threateningly over the ruins of 
 the middle arch which formed it. 
 
 " The leading mules hung struggling 
 over the frightful gap ; the others, 
 checked by the locking of the carriage 
 wheels in the side wall, remained mo- 
 tionless, from the bewildering effects
 
 328 CECIL. 
 
 of this shock, we were quickly rou??'^ rj 
 to a sense of still dp.eper danger^ by 
 that horriuie ' foiivj.i.'iion, pcvrtifkiug 
 equally of a yeii aiiu a laugii, which 
 ever I i^^sts iVom tiie ranoorous bt e;ojn 
 of ZandocJara,- as th'/ signal oi success- 
 ful fr^ud and tiiaruphant malice/' 
 
 " iJid you speak?// ..fa;>stiiy de- 
 manded Don Juan, breaking oil his 
 narratis^e, while the rancour, with 
 w^hich he hrid just accused the Re- 
 de-e.ncd Captive, strongly mixed with 
 terror, (iisturbed his ha:<gard features. 
 
 '* I spoke not,"* replied Cecil, 
 wildly ; **' what mean you by the 
 question/' 
 
 Don Juan answered not ; he appear- 
 eO to he anxiously listening, while 
 his eyes, with a learful gaze, rolled 
 round the apartment. Ar length, sud- 
 denly restoring his aiieiition to his 
 comp uiion, he said— 
 
 ^' It is passed; but it was not the
 
 CECIL. 3§9 
 
 vapour of a wandering imagination 
 which takes the form of what it hates, 
 and then recoils affrighted from the 
 phantoms of its own creation/* 
 
 Cecil gazed in silence on Don Juan 
 as he continued in asuppressed voice— 
 
 **• Know you not, that there are an- 
 tipathies so strongly implanted in our 
 nature, as to be accompanied by an 
 intuitive knowledge which anticipates 
 the exercise of the senses, by warning 
 us that the secret object of our aver- 
 sion, though unseen— -unheard— ap- 
 proaches ? More than this— that men, 
 who have braved death in a thousand 
 forms, have been seen to tremble—- 
 sicken— faint at the conscious vici- 
 nity of an animal obnoxious to their 
 nature, though beneath them in strength 
 and reason? Such are the instinctive 
 sensations ever produced on me, by 
 €^/en the invisible approach of Zando- 
 dara ; and so unerring have been thei^'
 
 530 CECIL. 
 
 warnings, that his late appearance in 
 the chapel, when I knew not that he 
 could be numbered with the living, 
 was preceded by the belief, that his 
 disembodied spirit was still allowed to 
 haunt me as when living- --to hang on 
 my footsteps— to cross my path— and 
 lurk so immediately within my atmos- 
 phere, as to inhale a portion of the 
 very air I breathed. I just now 
 thought,*' said Don Juan, pausing, 
 *' that this intuitive sense was again 
 on the point of being called into ex- 
 ertion ; but it is passed/* From the 
 lop of the carriage I attempted to take 
 a review of the strength of our ene- 
 mies. The lightning's glare soon ren- 
 dered visible the strong lineaments of 
 successful vengeance, which marked 
 the dark visage, .'and animated the ad- 
 vancing form of Zandodara ; but of 
 his comrades, my view was too imper- 
 fect to ascertain their numbers. In-
 
 CECIL. 331 
 
 siiltingly he ordered the immediate 
 surrender of ourselves into his power, 
 or that we should prepare to receive 
 his greetings from the muzzles of his 
 carabines, through our carriage. We 
 were completely within his toils- 
 death lay ambushed in the *' yawning 
 depth'' before us— -death, armed with 
 tenfold terrors, awaited our receding 
 steps. To parley was to gain time-— 
 time ! so idly neglected by the happy 
 "-how invaluable is the smallest of 
 thy possible divisions to him, who 
 sees a sword suspended by a hair, like 
 that of Damocles, over the head of her, 
 on whose existence more than his own 
 depends ! to gain some precious por- 
 tion of these flying moments, I de- 
 manded of him, whom no authority 
 could bind, by what authority he pre- 
 sumed to arrest our progress and 
 molest our peace. Exulting vengeance 
 expressed itself in the prolonged—
 
 352 CECIL. 
 
 the deep articulation of this dread 
 answer— 
 
 " The inquisition/' 
 
 "Desperation at thisdirename urged 
 me to the dr^ fiance of its implacable 
 power. I dared it in the persons of 
 its officers, by vowing, that while life 
 nerved this arm, I would not yield to 
 the fell and treacherous villain who 
 headed tlie.m. 
 
 " While . I was speaking, a voice 
 struck on my ear, as challenging the 
 ruffian band either to suffer the tra- 
 vellers to pass unmolested, or turn 
 and receive the chastisement due to 
 their persecution. 
 
 " The clashing of swords and firing 
 of carabines, proclaimed the choice 
 which they had made, and i instantly 
 sprang from the carriage to assist the 
 brave defender Providence had sent 
 me. 
 
 " Long and bloody was the contest---
 
 CECIL. 535 
 
 over it the still raging elements rolled 
 the dread artillery of heaven, serving 
 at once, to drown in peals of thunder^ 
 the execrating cries of the comba- 
 tants, and by the quick succession of 
 its forked light to guide the strokes of 
 death. The forni of a brave and gal- 
 lant youth, emblazoned by those 
 flashes, led to his assault the ireful 
 Zandodara. Skill made St. Ormond 
 (for he was the stranger) more than a 
 match for his ojoponent's herculean 
 strength, and a well-aimed blovv^ in- 
 flicted the ghastly wound, the scar of 
 which has imprinted on Zandodara's 
 face the ferocity of his mind. He 
 fell !-— fell with a shock m-.^re tremen- 
 dous to my appalled senses, than that 
 w^ith which the angry heavens shook 
 the earth. 
 
 *' I would have given him aid, but 
 v/a^ checked in the a tempt by the 
 effort he made to raise his sword
 
 354 CECIL. 
 
 against me ; defeated of his vengeance, 
 in his own person, by his failing strength, 
 he gave me a look that spoke his unex- 
 tinguished hate, and groaned forth his 
 soul in half-formed execrations/' 
 
 " Died, mean you }" demanded 
 Cecil, wiih a countenance of horror ; 
 " implied you, that he diedP'* 
 
 Don Juan, as he finished the sen- 
 tence, had impetuously quitted his 
 seat^ and was with tumultuous emo- 
 tions measuring the gloomy apartment, 
 apparently inattentive to the eager 
 question of his auditor ; but at length 
 approaching him, with stern solem- 
 nity, he said— 
 
 " I witnessed his deaths— \ assisted 
 in laying him iii his grave,'* 
 
 Now firmly, though erroneously, 
 persuaded that the intelucts of the 
 sufferer were disordered, the sorrowing 
 Cecil forbore from further questions, 
 and Don Juaa thus proceeded—
 
 CECIL, 535 
 
 " Two of Zandodara's comrades had 
 already fallen; but when he fell, the 
 rest fled— fled, and with them our 
 drivers, for the purpose, as we believed^ 
 of rousing the bigot zeal of the neigh* 
 bourhood to assist them in the exe- 
 cution of their office. To await the 
 consequences of their returning with 
 overwhelming numbers, was more than 
 the firmest nerves of man could brave. 
 Yet where was the road to be found, 
 inscrutable to the dread tribunal, at 
 whose command a hundred thousand 
 searching eyes open at once, upon the 
 ill-fated fugitive, amenable to their 
 unsparing rigour ? While thus reflect- 
 ing, our plan was fixed by a servant of 
 St. Ormond, who recalled to his mind 
 an opening, somewhat resembling a 
 cave in the desart not far distant. 
 Scarcely would I allow the man to 
 (designate the place, so instantaneously 
 .did my mind seize upon his meaning.
 
 536 CECIL. 
 
 My suffering wife too, at the idea, 
 rallied her remaining strength, and 
 supported between St. Ormond and 
 myself, followed the lead of him who 
 had raised the hope which restorexl 
 her faculties. Bernardo led her at- 
 tendant, Leonarda, and the other ser- 
 vants, of the young stranger, bore after 
 us the dead witness of our mad oppo- 
 sition against the officers of a power, 
 to which even kings have bowed. 
 
 "Low and narrow, and covered with 
 bush, was the outward appearance 
 of this den ; but on entering, its 
 -size— its form-— its intricate wind- 
 ings, promised the concealment we 
 
 sought. 
 
 '' A ligh% kindled by striking our 
 swords against the huge stones which 
 projected from its sides, enabled us 
 to penetrate a kind of rude cham- 
 ber, where, leaving St. Ormond to 
 guard my wife, Bernardo and myself
 
 CECIL. 557 
 
 led his people into one of the many 
 passages which branched from it, and 
 pursued our way till we found a proper 
 cemetery for the remains of those, 
 who, even as enemies, claimed from 
 us the rites of burial. A shallow 
 grave received the comrades of Zando- 
 dara, and we had just raised the earth 
 of that designed for the gigantic form 
 of their superior, when our swords 
 struck against a broad stone. We re- 
 moved it, and found that it covered a 
 cavity, which we vainly tried to fa- 
 thom with our weapons, or by the aid 
 of our flaming brands to scan. .To this 
 abyss, deep and dark as his own 
 bosom, was consigned the iifely body 
 of Zandodara. The gaping grave re- 
 ceived it with a hollow rolling sound, 
 which was immediately answered by 
 the angry skies above with a peal of 
 thunder, which reverberated through 
 the vast prison-chambers of these 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 538 CECIL, 
 
 enormous caverns ; sounds prophetic 
 of the sad fact that his turbulent spi- 
 rit would re-embody itself again, to 
 haunt, again to torture, with presaging 
 horrors, the remaining days of 
 D'Iriarte. 
 
 " This'too hasty ceremony perform- 
 ed, we turned our whole thoughts to 
 the discovery of some outlet by which 
 to escape, less dangerous than the one 
 that had led into if;' but the night 
 was consumed in wandering through 
 the different windings, during which I 
 confided to St. Ormond the particu- 
 lars of our situation. 
 
 *'At length, the morning dawned 
 through an opening which commanded 
 the river Ebrd, and at the sam.e time, 
 by presenting to St. Ormond some 
 well-remembered objects, informed 
 him that we were in one of the 
 many subterranean caverns beneath 
 the ruins of the immense castle of
 
 CECIL. S59 
 
 Tortosa,* constructed by the Moors 
 for prisons of oblivion. 
 
 " From this opening St. Ormond 
 issued, and after an hour's absence^ 
 returned with the cheering infor- 
 mation that he had found a poor lone 
 fisherman's widow, living in solitude 
 on the banks of the river, in whose 
 hut, humble as it'was, my wife would 
 find comparative comfort, and, he 
 firmly hoped^,-? both fkih and secrecy. 
 To this place Il'erena, attended by Leo- 
 nardo, repaired^, St. Oimond keeping 
 sufficiently a-head to prevent the sup- 
 position of his belonging to their 
 party, and yet so completely in sight 
 as to guide their steps by his own. I 
 followed some time after, by a con- 
 trary route, made clear to me through 
 
 * The castle was upwards of a mile square, and 
 it is asserted, by a well known traveller, that the 
 caves beneath were prisons constructed bjr the 
 jVIoors, 
 
 Q ^
 
 340 CECIL. 
 
 the instructions of St. Ormond, who, 
 after seeing my wife safely lodged in 
 the hut, returned to give them. He 
 then proceeded in search of the only 
 means of delivering us from our perils, 
 that of procuring a vessel that should 
 privately await us at the nlouth of the 
 river, to which a boat, manned by his 
 own people, as if for pleasure/ could 
 conduct us. During his absence— 
 but why do I lengthen a tale of such 
 complicated misery, by dwelling upon 
 every new distress which arose with 
 every new day ? Let it suffice to say, 
 that in this poor, desolate hut, my 
 wife gave an infant to the noble house 
 of D'lriarte, Unfortunate babe!—- • 
 more unfortunate mother ! who, while 
 pressing it to her bosom withthe new- 
 born sensations of maternal love, was 
 condemned to take of it a last farewell. 
 That it might receive that nourish- 
 ment a mother's miseries denied, it
 
 CECIL. S4l 
 
 was found necessary to remove our 
 infant from the wretched hovel whose 
 poverty was our safe-guar^. Under 
 the protection of St. Ormond, Leo- 
 narda and her precious trust were con- 
 veyed to an adjacent village; this task 
 accomplished, he a'gain returned to 
 us— returned to fill my soul, by the 
 perturbation of his manners, and the 
 anxious pity of his looks, with a sad 
 presentiment of some new evil. St. 
 Ormond hastened to acquaint me that 
 he had too much cause to fear perse- 
 cution was again upon our tract ; for 
 as he went, and as he returned, men of 
 suspicious features appeared to watch 
 his steps, and lurk in his path. Huber 
 also, he said, had been followed, joked, 
 and questioned by these apparent 
 stragglers, with a daring species of 
 curiosity, which scarcely left a doubt 
 of the motives that had rendered us 
 the objects of their dangerous §crii- 
 Q 3
 
 54S CECIL. 
 
 tiny. My mind,^ instantly admitting 
 all the forebodings of his own, saw 
 again renewed the horrors of the de- 
 sart— again felt -escape impossible. 
 But nothing wasf impossible to the 
 calm courage— the active spirit— the 
 ardent mind of St. Ormond ; and 
 through his exertions we quitted (still 
 under his guardianship) the inauspi- 
 cious shores of Spain in safety. 
 
 "Not many days after we had entered 
 on the wide ocean, we descried a ship 
 which, on hailing, we found bound for 
 Mexico. By the advice of St. Or- 
 mond, we iminediateiy seen red our 
 passage on boar^l ; and that friend took 
 leave of u», with the promise of re- 
 turning to Spain^ in the vessel he had 
 hired for our escape,'' and placing our 
 infant in greater /safety till some favor- 
 able opportunity occurred for convey- 
 ing it and Leonardo to us. But this 
 little sharer of our misfortunes never
 
 CECIL. 345 
 
 lived to join its parents ; it died a 
 short time after it was taken from my 
 Avife, and Leonardo, good, faithful 
 creature ! like the poor portress of the 
 convent of Senora de la Misericordia, 
 was seized, and offered up another in- 
 nocent victim for our offence against 
 the church. The pretext— the abet- 
 ting our escape— -but no more of this 
 horrible retrospection,*^ said the shud- 
 dering Don Juan ; " yet think you not 
 these victims enviable, when com- 
 pared to the living sufferers ?— but to 
 my tale— 
 
 *'' We arrived in New Spain, and 
 believed, with the sanguineness of 
 youth, that happiness was synonymous 
 vv^ith safety. The \inh of Azora 
 dried up my wife's= tetrs for the loss of 
 her first-born, and-wi; h elited spirits 
 I speculated in the mines of Mexico. 
 Success bred rashness— I failed, and 
 tempted by the promised interest of a 
 Q 4
 
 344 GECIL. , 
 
 Portuguese, in friendship with the 
 governor of* Diu, I two years since 
 embarked for Asia. Vicissitudes, 
 now swallowed up in the after mi- 
 series which have racked my soul and 
 " murdered^* happiness, journalized 
 the remaining period of m.y exile. At 
 length, impelled by our evil genius. 
 w^e determined, after eighteen years 
 banishment, on seeking our native 
 shores. 
 
 For Europe we embarked ; and this 
 voyage, like that of our life, was full 
 of danger, horror, persecution. To us 
 the huge promontory of the Cape 
 arose not to view, adorned in the 
 cheering attributes of " Good Hope ;" 
 but armed, as when first proclaimed 
 the Cape of Tempests, in all the ter- 
 rors of its rocks and storms. Vain 
 was every effort to evade its threaten- 
 ing fury. Borne within its power by 
 the *' yelling blasts impetuous sway,'"*
 
 CECIL. S45 
 
 the shattered masts bent to the tem- 
 pest's rage, and the vessel instantly 
 becomin;^ the sport of the whirling 
 billows, was, with a tremendous crash, 
 hurled a wreck upon a barren, rugged 
 coast, 
 
 " To depict the effects of famine, 
 thirst, insult, and torture, which, 
 marked our wanderings through the 
 uncultivated desarts that led us to a 
 village of civilized Ethiopians, who 
 trade with merchants of the Red Sea, 
 would be to harrow your soul, and 
 frenzy my own intellects." 
 
 Don Juan paused, evincing by his 
 fixed and vacant eye, that the scenes 
 his tongue refused to describe, his 
 mind was but too faithfully pour- 
 traj'ing to itself. At length he re- 
 sumed, with a sigh which seemed to 
 rend his bosom-— 
 
 " My task is nearly finished. Not 
 many mouths since, trameiled in our 
 Q 5
 
 34-6 CECIL. 
 
 choice of a Portuguese ship, we 
 landed at Lisbon, within whose dan- 
 gerous neighbourhood my wife's debi- 
 litated state of health has hitherto 
 detained us. In the connection you 
 offered us, we caught gHmpses of 
 dawning peace and safety, when Zan- 
 dodara, that blaster of every hope— '^ 
 Abruptly breaking off, Don Juan 
 ejaculated— 
 
 "Unrelenting fate!— could not 
 years of suffering— suffering beyond 
 a parallel in the.history of man, soften 
 th}^ dire decree, but thou must raise, 
 even from the murky grave, a snake, 
 armed with the power to insinuate its 
 coils around my writhing soul-— to 
 palsy, by its fascinating gaze, my 
 powers of mind- --to breathe over my 
 existence the poisonous breath of 
 malice, and render life to D'Iriarte a 
 pestilential fever ! — 
 
 ** Yes/' he continued, recovering
 
 CECIL. S4f7 
 
 the thread of his narrative, " it was 
 that never-dying viper, envy, which 
 fired the bastard blood of Zandodara 
 
 to war against 
 
 Don Juan suddenly became silent- 
 cold fearful drops stood trembling on 
 his flesh, and his ghastly looks had 
 communicated an inquisitive horror to 
 the mind of his companion, when, in 
 the same moment, the words— 
 
 " Vile, pitiful traducer,'' broke on 
 his ear. 
 
 Cecil turned towards the sound, 
 and the tremendous Zandodara burst 
 upon hi<5 sight, foaming with rage, and 
 advancing in an attitude which seemed 
 to threaten the immediate anihilatiou 
 of D'iriarte, beneath his giant grasp; 
 but checking his furious step, he 
 thundered forth — 
 
 " Poor, paltry slave, d irestthou still 
 pride thyself upon a legitimacy wiiich 
 chance, not virtue gave, and which 
 Q 6
 
 34g 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 thy ignoble nature hath disgraced. 
 Sacrilegious, base, perfidious dastard; 
 take to thine own conscience the guilt 
 of envy, whose pale livery thy cheek 
 first taught me to know. Zandodara's 
 bosom owns not so mean an inmate— 
 nO"-a noble passion, vengeance! — 
 vengeance for unprecedented wrongs 
 fills all his mighty soul, and feeds the 
 current which circulates within his 
 veins. On the exquisite hope of 
 satiating its desires, he has lived— 
 lived in slavery, exile, abandonment. 
 But while he suffered, hope wiped 
 the dews of labour from his aching 
 brows, poured her healing balm into 
 the bleeding furrows of his galling 
 chains, and braced anew his toil- 
 strained sinews; for still she promised 
 that he should not die the debtor of 
 Juan D'iriarte, faithfully she pro- 
 mised. Nay, recoil not, coward,'^ 
 continued the Redeeiutd Captive^
 
 CECIL. 349 
 
 withdrawing his clenched hand from 
 above the head of Juan, and raising in 
 air the broad mantle of redemption ; 
 " witness, all ye powers of vengeance, 
 how dear to Zandodara is the exist- 
 ence of D'Iriarte— witness with What 
 greedy ears he drank in, from a sailor 
 in the ship which bore to him this 
 badge, the assurance that -the rocks of 
 the earth— -the wild winds of the- 
 Cape-— the boiling waves of the ocean 
 —the fire of the heavens, liad all be- 
 neficenilij spared thee and thine, that 
 w^e might once more meet-— meet to 
 settle my long, long dept of eighteen 
 years, lost to my country-— to health 
 —to libert}^— to youth !-— Irretriev- 
 able youth, which gives to these bless- 
 ings their first, their genuine zest ! 
 ** Aye," pursued he, with increasing 
 vehemence, *' it is a long, long debt, 
 and it-shall be cancelled with no nig- 
 gard hand. Blest be the power which
 
 330 CECIL. 
 
 thrown within my grasp the means of 
 fully remunerating the obligitions 
 which have lighted an eternal fire in 
 the soul of Zandodara. Aye ! listen 
 to the rich payment he in strict jus- 
 tice meciitates. On the altar which 
 demands for an oblation the tortures of 
 the sacrilegious prop'.aner of its holy 
 
 laws, shall lierena -'^ 
 
 Don Juan here goaded to madness 
 by the scorn, the triumph, and the 
 threats of Zandodara, recovered from 
 the appalling effects which the first 
 sight of this awe-inspiring Captive 
 seemed ever fated to produce on 
 him, and firmly believing that both 
 his wife and daughter were safely 
 lodged in Albion's -free and happy 
 land, he once more stood /Crect, and 
 once more a portion of that vindictive 
 spirit which had been kindled by- 
 mutual injuries, roused his fluctuating 
 courage to retort the insulting taunts
 
 CECIL. 551 
 
 of the imperious Zandodara; when 
 fixing on him an eye, brightened by 
 exultation, he exclaimed— 
 
 " Know, barbarian, that a friend, 
 by Heaven's direction, has for ever 
 placed my Ilerena beyond the reach of 
 thy invt^terate malice. '* 
 
 Cecil, unconscious of the prophetic 
 truth of this vaunt, checked its fuller 
 indulgence, by exclaiming, with impa- 
 tient warmth— 
 
 " Ilerena is guiltless of sacrilege — 
 she was absolved from her monastic 
 vows ere her elopement from the con- 
 vent of La Misericordia/^ 
 
 Don Juan clasped his hands in an 
 agony of joy, and while his eyes for a 
 moment closed on the objects its giddy 
 effects bewildered, the start of con- 
 scious fraud, Which transiently elec- 
 trified the hardened frame of the Re- 
 deemed Captive, escaped his notice^ 
 and on again opening them, he beheld
 
 35^ CECIL. 
 
 with shufklering doubt the regards of 
 Zandodara, fixed with a sardonic smile 
 on his young friend, as if he dared 
 him to the proof of his assertion. To 
 these questioning looks Cecil was 
 prevented from answering, by the un- 
 expected entrance of St. Ormond, fol- 
 lowed by his servants. 
 
 At this sight, the indignant Zando- 
 dara's form seemed to rise in terror, 
 and Spreading grandeur, a rancorous 
 fire flashed from his ey^s-— while the 
 " fixt rage fierce burning in his breast'* 
 seemed gathering all its s^trength to 
 burst in overwhelming transports on 
 those whom he believed were daringly 
 prepared to wrest from him the object 
 of his relentless vengeance, till St. 
 Ormond fixed his attention on himself, 
 by thus calmly addressing him— 
 
 " llerena D'lriarte, and Azora her 
 daughter, are not only beyond the 
 r^ach of your private tyranny, but are
 
 CECIL. S6S 
 
 for ever safe froai that public one to 
 which you had hoped to have delivered 
 them/' 
 
 Stern disdain swelled the features 
 of the savage Captive. Yet he gave 
 not utterance to tha jarring passions 
 which were warring in his breast, and 
 St. Ormond repeated- -- 
 
 " I again declare, that released from 
 her vows by the absolving power of 
 the Sovereign Pontiff, ere she accepted 
 the protection of Juan Silveira D'lri- 
 arte, llercna de Zuniga Celerica was 
 never amenable to the dread tribunal, 
 to which you, Zandodara, would have 
 sacrificed her/' 
 
 Thedistended nostrils and panting bo- 
 som of the Redeemed Captive strongly 
 evinced the conflict ofhis mind, which 
 for some time defeated the efforts made 
 by his quivering lips to utter.. 
 
 " 'Tis false— proofs— proofs— bring 
 forth the proofs of this imposing tale/'
 
 354 CECIL. 
 
 *' They lie returned, the temperate 
 St. Ormond concealed within a small 
 box/^ 
 
 Zandodara staggered ; his strong 
 athletic form became terrifically con- 
 vulsed, and his mighty strength ap- 
 peared sinking beneath the threatened 
 shock of blasted power ; but again 
 recovering energy, through the unna- 
 tural fire of his wild and raging pas- 
 sions, he sent forth one of those yel- 
 ling laughs, which ever carried horror 
 in the sound, and then exclaimed 
 with rising frenzy-— 
 
 '* Zandodara's power is not yet 
 blasted— -his rightful vengeance not 
 yet baffled— for his blood still flows in 
 a strong tide through his swelling veins 
 -—again his nerves are braced to act 
 the deeds his mind projects, and 
 death, conquered by the superior 
 power of Nemesis, has passed harm- 
 less over him, conscious, that till
 
 CECIL. S65 
 
 her sustaining power is withdrawn, 
 Zandodara cannot become his vic- 
 tim. Therefore he doubts— proofs- 
 proofs.** 
 
 *' They lie concealed within a box, 
 deposited in the hands of the Holy 
 Patriarch of Lisbon,** replied St. Or- 
 mond ; " its form is oval— its ma- 
 terials brass its contents a rich 
 
 chaplet, beneath which, when found, 
 lay the bull of dispensation that ab- 
 solved Ilerena from her forced vows— 
 the pontificial seal at the corner is 
 of ** 
 
 St. Ormond was prevented from pro- 
 ceeding, by the dreadful change which 
 suddenly displayed itself in the person 
 of Zandodara. This implacable Bar- 
 barian, so lately in power, loftiness, 
 and line nquered pride, " stately in 
 his stride on the heath,** trembled, 
 reeled, fell— fell prone, like a mighty 
 mountain shaken from its strong base--^
 
 36b CECIL. 
 
 his strength withered— his tongue 
 speechless. Yet the master passion 
 of his bosom was still in force, still 
 convulsed his distorted frame with 
 agonies, cruel as his own mind, and 
 frightful as the vices which deformed 
 it. Nature wrung through every fibre 
 by the concentrated struggles of bis 
 baffled malice, now released from the 
 black source of all these horrors, that 
 vital current which his baleful pas- 
 sions had poisoned, and instantly to 
 the appalled-— the terror-struck— the 
 recoiling spectators, Zandodara ex- 
 hibited a spectacle, whose harrowing 
 impression long tortured their memo- 
 ries, and made the bravest heart 
 amongst them tremble at the recol- 
 lection. 
 
 Let not description image to the 
 mind, that saw it not, the direful scene 
 —a scene which closed not on the 
 aching eyes of those present^ till the
 
 CECIL. 357 
 
 vindictive spirit of the Redeemed 
 Captive had for ever burst its earthly 
 bonds.* 
 
 * Zandodara is supposed to have died tli* 
 «J.ealli of Charles the Ninth, of France,
 
 55B CECIL, 
 
 EXPLANATORY CHAPTER. 
 
 Donna Ilerena, weak and exhaust- 
 ed, had home in silent anguish the vio- 
 lence which had been offered to Azora 
 and herself, in bearing them from the 
 protecting tenderness of Cecil ; till 
 having after their disembarkation tra- 
 versed many weary leagues, she ob- 
 served that they were approaching the 
 frowning walls of the convent of our 
 Lady of Judgment, and was tauntingly 
 informed by Zandodara, that within 
 its gloomy dungeons, ihe sister^ St, 
 Juana, was doomed at last to pay the 
 forfeit of her breach of the monastic 
 vow ; the living proof of her sacrile- 
 gious crime to be oftered at the out- 
 raged shrine of the virgin.
 
 CECIL. 36^ 
 
 Then it was that the unhappy lady, 
 with wild shrieks and supplicating 
 gestures, prayed for mercy, while it 
 was yet within the barbarian's power 
 to save her— then it was that the in- 
 flexible savageness of nature, which 
 marked the Redeemed Captive, be- 
 came fully manifest ! answering their 
 prayers, with insulting and triumphant 
 shouts of vengeance, retribution, he^ 
 with increasing speed, hurried the 
 wretched victims forward to the yawn- 
 ing gate. 
 
 As Donna Ilerena was borne be- 
 neath the frowning archway of the 
 convent, and the massy portal closed 
 on them, her voice, which had till then 
 pierced the air with harrowing cries, 
 for pity, was in a moment hushed. 
 Her eye then rolling in frantic agony, 
 became fixed ; and Zandodara, with 
 all his boasted power, delivered no 
 more than her breathless foim into the
 
 360 CECIL. 
 
 custody of the Lady Abbess ! for the 
 persecuted spirit of the long dying 
 Ilerena had, in that last struggle, de- 
 serted its frail tenement. 
 
 Zandodara, in the belief that she 
 had been merely attacked by the same 
 kind of insensibility as that which 
 had followed his appearance in the 
 chapel of the wood, now that he had 
 placed both wife and daughter beyond 
 the reach of rescue, quitted our Lady 
 of Judgment to prosecute his schemes 
 on the unfortunate Don Juan. 
 
 Zandodara, born with strong pas- 
 sions, and reared by a licentious mo- 
 ther in the lawless indulgence of them, 
 was nearly such as his brother had 
 described him, when first he was in- 
 troduced an inmate of their father^s 
 mansion. Till then, accustomed to 
 take the lead, and lord it over his mo- 
 ther's family, his ferocious spirit could 
 ill brook the feeling himself always
 
 CECIL, 36l 
 
 second to Juan in the estimation of 
 Don Almanzor, comparatively insig- 
 nificant in that of all besides ; but in 
 none so strikingly as in that of Juan 
 himself. In dwelling on his own in- 
 juries, that cavalier had forborne to 
 confess that his pride and asserted su- 
 periority had led to a succession of 
 galling incidents, which engendered 
 the inextinguishable hatred that cha- 
 racterised all the future actions of his 
 natural brother. Much as Zandodara 
 had coveted riches, as a means of gra- 
 tifying his ungovernable passions, he 
 had with scornful bitterness refused 
 the proposed participation of D'lri- 
 arte's, but he refused them with the 
 malignant resolution of wresting from 
 him that pelf which he disdained to 
 accept as a free gift. 
 
 The rash consequences of Ilerena^s 
 forced profession, to which his own 
 base interception of her letters had 
 
 VOL, I. R
 
 362 CECIL, 
 
 led, at once seemed to pave the way 
 for his plans of vengeance. Yet, an 
 event occurred, during D*Iriarte*s 
 abode in the vicinity of her convent, 
 which had nearly destroyed the web 
 of mischief, which Zandodara, with 
 so much art and industry, had been 
 weaving around the ill-fated pair. 
 
 The young Countess de Zuniga Ce- 
 Jerica, from imprudently over-heating 
 herself with dancing, while yet a nurse, 
 bad been within a few days after her 
 attack carried off by a malignant 
 fever, and the infant heir, either im- 
 bibing the disease from his mother, or 
 suffering from neglect, had been 
 shortly after consigned to the same 
 grave. 
 
 The grief of the Count, at this un- 
 expected stroke, became blended with 
 the superstitious persuasion, that these 
 deprivations were the immediate in- 
 flictions of heaven for his cruelty to-
 
 CECIL. 365 
 
 wards his deserted daughter. In the 
 height of his despair, believing that 
 no other atonement would be so ac- 
 ceptable as that of snatching her from 
 a life from Avhich he knew her soul 
 recoiled, he immediately took the ne- 
 cessary steps to procure a dispensatioij 
 from the vows she had unwillingly 
 pronounced. 
 
 With this fact Zandodara became 
 acquainted, while he was watching the 
 movements of Don Juan, who, un- 
 conscious of these events, continued 
 hovering near the convent of Miseri- 
 cordia, waiting till Ilerena could effect 
 the escape which, had been long plan- 
 ned between them. 
 
 Zandodara saw the danger which 
 menaced his darling scheme, and 
 dauntlessly defied it, while he was 
 liimself like an evil genius, haunting 
 his brother's paths, he had employed 
 a band _ of bravos to way-lay ^he 
 R 2
 
 36^ CECIL. 
 
 emissary of the Count de Zuniga, on 
 his return from Rome, and at ail 
 hazards daringly to possess themselves 
 of whatever he had about him. With 
 a fidelity, which would have been 
 honorable in a better cause, they 
 obeyed, to the very letter, the com« 
 mands of Zandodara, while fortune 
 seemed at work to favor all the dark 
 designs he had in view. 
 
 The conflagration of which Ilerena 
 had innocently been the cause in her 
 precipitate flight, by utterly demolish- 
 ing that part of the convent she had 
 inhabited, confirmed the belief that 
 she had either perished beneath the 
 ruins, or fallen a prey to the devouring 
 element.* 
 
 * A judgment, founded on an escape, in some 
 respects similar to that of Donna Ilerena, is on 
 record. A nun, to cover her flight with her 
 lover, from the convent in which she had taken 
 the vows, removed the body of a deceased sister.
 
 CECIL. 365 
 
 The Count de Zuniga had not long 
 survived this additional misfortune; 
 he died in the belief, that Heaven, in 
 permitting the Pope's bull of dispen- 
 sation to be wrested from his emissary, 
 while Ilerena was herself falling a 
 victim to the flames, had doubly 
 marked its refusal to restore to him a 
 daughter, against whom he had once 
 
 from the cemetery, to her own bed, and set fire 
 to the furniture before attempting her evasion. 
 ISo suspicion of this fact arose, and the nun was 
 believed to have perished. The fugitives re- 
 moving to a distance, married, and became the 
 parents of a family. The lady survived her 
 husband, and in her last moments, was urged 
 by remorse to confess the truth. On the place 
 of the consequent illegitimacy of her children, 
 tlie collateral relations, on both sides, disputed 
 with them the succession to the property df the 
 father and mother. But the judgment of the 
 court awarded it to the children, on the ground 
 that no proof could be brought forward to 
 establish the /acts on which they had founded 
 their claims, 
 
 R 3
 
 366 CECIL. 
 
 suffered his paternal bosom to be so 
 unjustly closed. His property had 
 descended to the infant daughter of 
 his deceased brother, Donna Celerica^ 
 who had grown up in the firm per- 
 suasion of her cousin Ilerena's death, 
 and consequently, that she was the 
 sole and indisputable heiress to the 
 family wealth. 
 
 Few situations could have been 
 more critical than that of Zandodara, 
 from the death of the young Countess 
 de Zuniga, to the escape of the lovers, 
 but every circumstance seemed to have 
 favored his schemes of villany. The 
 father of llerena, fearful of awakening 
 in her a hope, which it was possible 
 he might never be impowered to re- 
 alize, had resolved on keeping her ig- 
 norant of his intentions, till he should 
 have obtained the means which would 
 enable him to acquaint her, at the 
 same moment, that she was actually
 
 CECIL. 36/ 
 
 fiee. Thus had he unconsciously 
 aided the views of Zandodara, since 
 the slightest hint from her father, a 
 glimpse only of distant hope, would 
 have deterred the ill-starred pair from 
 that precipitate elopement which had 
 been followed by such a long train of 
 misery. 
 
 The appalling shout of their mer- 
 ciless enemy, at the moment of their 
 quitting the convent, had indelibly 
 impressed on the memory of the fugi- 
 gitives, the idea that they had left be- 
 hind them, a living witness of their 
 escape; but in that night of horrors, 
 this enemy had for awhile lost all trace . 
 of them. Yet the terrors of bis vic- 
 tims, from that period, abetted his re- 
 morseless vengeance. The bravos, in 
 his employ, soon after the conflagra- 
 tion, returned with the spoils taken 
 from the emissary of the Count de 
 
 Zuniga. The dispensation Zando- 
 K 4
 
 S68 CECIL. 
 
 dara seized with savage joy, and threw 
 the gold amongst his followers. His 
 first movement was to destroy this 
 precious paper, which proved that lle- 
 rena, though in intention guilty of the 
 breach of vows, had been in the eye of 
 the church actually absolved from them 
 before her abandonment of her con- 
 vent. This secret, however, wrested 
 with himself, for the emissary of the 
 Count de Zuniga never returned to 
 tell his tale, and the Count himself 
 soon after died. 
 
 Considerations of a verv selfish na- 
 ture ultimately induced Zandodara, 
 instead of destroying the dispensa- 
 tion, to bury it in a spot, so marked by 
 him, as to enable him to recover the 
 curious box in which it was deposited, 
 whenever the occasion, he anticipated, 
 should arise to render it of sordid use 
 to him. 
 
 From this time he had devoted him-
 
 cEcit. 36$ 
 
 self to the discovery of the objects of 
 his vengeance, whose retreat, near 
 Alta Fouilla^ he at length traced out, 
 and by hovering near them, found 
 means to rouse those vague alarms in 
 Ilerena, which drove them thence, to 
 seek a safer shelter. 
 
 The scope of Zandodara's vengeance, 
 however, had not been the actually de- 
 livering them into the hands of the in- 
 quisition, whose authority he had 
 daringly usurped for the purpose of 
 harassing his brother into the comple- 
 tion of a plan, the accomplishment of 
 which, had, from the first, been his sole 
 aim. It was that of reducing the le- 
 gitimate son to supplicate the mercy 
 of the bastard'—to accept his life, and 
 that of Ilerena, with humbled pride at 
 his hands; he meant to have demanded 
 that they should absolutely, and for 
 ever, resign ail right to the possessions 
 of the late Don Almanzor D'Iriarte, 
 R 6
 
 370 CECIL. 
 
 which they believed he might wrest 
 from them, by delivering them up to 
 suffer the penalty of the laws, should 
 they refuse to submit to these injurious 
 terms. 
 
 The timely interposition of St. Or- 
 mond had, however, foiled Zandodara 
 in the very moment he believed his 
 victory certain. The suspension of 
 life, from the tremendous wound he 
 had received in that encounter, had 
 impressed every beholder with the 
 belief that he had breathed his last ; 
 and in that persuasion lie had been 
 consigned to the sepulchral abyss, be- 
 neath the flagstone of the subterranean 
 prison chamber.* Amidst the war of 
 
 * In St. Mark's, and many other churches at? 
 Veriice, the sea is the grave of the dead — a flag 
 is tixk<iiu up — an artificial grave is made — a siiell, 
 artfully tumbles the body into the water, and 
 the bole is closed. From this, the above idea 
 arose*
 
 CECIL. 371 
 
 elements and of passions, not less 
 fearful, in which this unhallowed bu- 
 rial had been performed, Don Juan 
 perceived not that a stream, emptying 
 itself into the Ebro, rolled beneath its 
 current. This stream had rapidly 
 borne the unconscious Zandodara to- 
 wards a Barbary corsair, then daringly 
 infesting the river. The body, by the 
 subsiding of the storm, had been dis- 
 covered by the sailors and taken up 
 for the sake of its clothing. As the 
 still lifeless form of Zandodara lay 
 stretched on the deck, his herculean 
 limbs and gigantic height excited the 
 admiration of the crew, and their de- 
 sire, if possible, to re-animate a body, 
 which, if restored to strength, would, 
 as a slave, command so large a price. 
 Their consequent etforts were suc- 
 cessful, and Zandodara was recalled to 
 life— recalled to suffer an eighteen 
 years captivity among the Moors— to 
 R 6
 
 372 CECIL. 
 
 exist under the belief, that he had 
 been sold to them by D*Iriarte— -to 
 toil, day after day, in carrying huge 
 stones to build a mosque— to bear the 
 galling tyranny of his inexorable task- 
 masters. 
 
 Yet he supported all ; for the hope 
 of one day wreaking his revenge on 
 the supposed author of his sufferings,^ 
 rendered life still dear to him. 
 
 Zandodara was one amongst a hun- 
 dred christians who had been re- 
 deemed from slavery by a public sub- 
 scription of the Spaniards, eighteen 
 years after his first captivity; and by 
 a remarkable chance, during his 
 voyage home, he learnt from a sailor 
 on board some particulars which ulti- 
 mately guided him to the discovery of 
 his brother's retreat. This man had 
 been one of the crew that manned the 
 vessel in which Don Juan and Uerena 
 had reached Mexico, and by one
 
 CECIL. 37S 
 
 of those extraordinary coincidences, 
 which sometimes seems to determine 
 the fate of mortals, he had been also 
 of the company in the very ship in 
 which they had been wrecked eighteen 
 years after, on their return to Europe. 
 The man, with garrulity, one day de- 
 tailed, in the hearing of Zandod^ra, 
 these facts, describing the persons of 
 D'lriarte, Ilerena, Francisca, and 
 Bernardo, with that of the pretty 
 young lady who had been born since 
 their emigration. There was one 
 other circumstance also, on which he 
 dwelt with much minuteness; it v^ras 
 the valuable rosary of Donna Ilerena, 
 which he stated to have been one of 
 the very few things they had saved in 
 their shipwreck. All these descrip- 
 tions agreeing so exactly with those 
 persons who entirely filled the dark 
 mind of Zandodara, persuaded him 
 that (under the belief of his deaths
 
 571 CECIL. 
 
 or perpetual slavery, and that the 
 person of ilerena could be no longer 
 identified) the family were retu'-ned to 
 Spain to re-posses«^ themselves of his 
 fath* r's fortune— that fortune which 
 he had sworn they never should enjoy, 
 
 While with a countenance now 
 strongly expressing all the baleful 
 passions which had been so long pent 
 up in his breast, Zandodara stood, with 
 savage aspect, scowling on the curious 
 crowd w^hich choaked the streets of 
 Seville on their iirst lariding, the arms 
 of de Zuniga Celerica, emblazoned on 
 the carriage of a lady, (who was for 
 some minutes stopped near him by the 
 pressure of the multitude) and liveries 
 of that family worn by her attending 
 servants, made known to him that it 
 belonged to one of that noble house. 
 
 To ascertain if the fair stranger, 
 whom his terrific looks had so intui- 
 tively shocked, could be the infant
 
 CECIL, 375 
 
 to whom the fortunes of the Count 
 must have descended on the suppo- 
 sition of llerena's death, he followed 
 her to the forest of our Lady of the 
 Dew, and had intruded into her 
 flowery dormitory, unobserved by her 
 drowsy servants. Bracelets, encasing 
 miniatures of her well-remembered 
 parents, (which lay on the turf seat 
 that supported her head) with the 
 strong likeness her own features bore 
 to those of her mother, convinced him 
 that he had discovered one from whom 
 he might extort sums of money to fa- 
 cilitate his search aft^r his brother; 
 and it was this conviction which 
 caused him to indulge in that insulting 
 laugh of triumph which had appalled, 
 his hearers. 
 
 Celerica had found him at Las 
 Delicias^ awaiting her return, for the 
 purpose of acquainting her that he 
 could, at his pleasure, strip her of her
 
 376 CECIL. 
 
 wealtli— that Ilerena lived, and was? 
 the mother of a daughter— that the 
 bull of dispensation, which had been 
 obtained through the solicitations of 
 the Count de Zuniga f)revious to his 
 death, was in his possession, the pro- 
 duction of which would legalize his 
 daughter's marriage, and render the 
 illegal possessor of her wealth a 
 beggar. 
 
 It was to purchase the remission of 
 this threatened disclosure that Cele- 
 rica had thenceforth become his tool. 
 He had sent her into Spain to endea- 
 vour to aid his seareh after the unfor- 
 tunate Don Juan; and on his return 
 from a vain pursuit, he produced the 
 long concealed document which con- 
 vinced Celericaof his power. Scarcely 
 less a slave to her passions thaft Zan- 
 dodara himself, though young, she had 
 been already engaged in some adven- 
 tures which had carried her to Eng«
 
 CECIL. S77 
 
 land—adventures that terminated in dis- 
 appointment and mortification. Dur- 
 ing her residence in that country, the 
 same circumstances which had made 
 Cecil acquainted with her character, 
 had rendered his person an object of 
 curiosity to the lady, which accident 
 had enabled her to gratify unknown 
 to him. 
 
 The notoriety which had attended 
 Celerica's former imprudencies, and 
 the marked severities they had drawn 
 on her from her guardians, had rather 
 disposed her to enjoy perfect freedom 
 at her newly purchased seat near 
 Lisbon, than subject herself to their 
 animadversions by settling on her 
 estate in Spain. She was accompa- 
 nied to her Portuguese abode by 
 Colonel Barrow^b}^, whose animated 
 and amusing gallantry during her 
 voyage to that country, contrasted 
 with tlie cold and mortifying reserve
 
 37S CECIL. 
 
 she had lately experienced from the 
 object of her first preference, was pe- 
 culiarly acceptable to her at that 
 period; nor were the dissipations she 
 soon introduced at Las Delicias less 
 congenial to his temper. Colonel 
 Barrowby, therefore, had become its 
 inmate, and without any decided pre- 
 dilection for each other, they had 
 found their mutual good offices pro- 
 ductive of much mutual convenience. 
 Such was their situation when the 
 lady recognized Cecil Altringham in 
 the English youth who was rowing 
 round the becalmed vessel near the 
 mouth of the Tagus. A sudden im- 
 pulse of malice, roused by the recol- 
 lections the sight of him revived, 
 induced her to take the means al- 
 ready mentioned of luring him to her 
 Qidnta, where she hoped, by ren- 
 dering him the slave of pleasure, to 
 repay a debt she fancied she owed hi*
 
 CECIL. 579 
 
 family. The only check to the exul- 
 tation with which she contemplated 
 the growing success of her wiles, was 
 the intrusion of the mysterious Captive. 
 It was with regret she undertook his 
 mission, and on her return heard with 
 rage of CeciTs departure, without 
 having left any intimation of his in- 
 tention to revisit her mansion. 
 
 The accident which first led to in- 
 quiries and suspicions of his having 
 been the inmate of Don Juan's Qiiinta, 
 has been already explained. If the 
 youth and innocence of Azora, to 
 whom this accident . was Celerica's 
 introduction, had, at the first glance, 
 excited in her breast a confused idea 
 that she was the magnet which had 
 drawn Cecil from Las Delicias^ that 
 confusion became ten-fold increased 
 when, in the next minute, she recog- 
 nized on the table near her, the very* 
 }>ook of extracts which she had missed
 
 580 CECIL. 
 
 some days before from her own study. 
 This appeared to her a confirmation 
 that she was actually in the abode 
 which the truant Cecil now preferred 
 to hers ; and under this impression 
 she had cast her piercing eyes around, 
 expecting at each moment to see him 
 enter the veranda. In this re&pect 
 she had been disappointed, but resolv- 
 ing to re-possess herself of the book 
 which had been so strangely purloined 
 from her, she scrupled not, while 
 Colonel Barrowby was engagiiig 
 Azora's attention, with parting com- 
 pliments, to convey it from the ve- 
 randa into the hands of a servant ia 
 waiting. 
 
 On the return of Celerica to Las 
 Delicias, she had found a party of gay 
 young persons who were awaiting her 
 arrival ; but after their departure she 
 had unclasped it, from curiosity, to 
 exaiiaine if any notes or observations
 
 CECIL. 381 
 
 had been inserted there by the young 
 recluse. It was with infinite surprise 
 that she now discovered the rosary of 
 Donna Ilerena, and while still engaged 
 in admiration of it, the unwelcome 
 Zandodara abruptly intruded on her 
 privacy. 
 
 Malignant joy flashed from his 
 €ager eyes as they lighted on and re- 
 cognized this remarkable heir loom of 
 the maternal family of Donna Ilerena. 
 That string of gems, which had been 
 so minutely described by the sailor, as 
 having with its unfortunate wearer* 
 escaped the fury of the storm, near the 
 Gape of Good Hope. 
 
 Celerica^s explanation of the cir- 
 cumstances which had thrown the 
 relique into her possession, at once 
 
 * Few Spanish women go out of doors, walk, 
 play, or toy, without a rosary in their hand. 
 The men are never without one hung round their 
 Jiecks,
 
 382 CECIL* 
 
 made known to Zandodara the retreat 
 of those whom he had with so much 
 savage fury been pursuing; and he 
 speedily found means, in concert with 
 Celerica, to identify the luckless fa- 
 mily of DMriarte. This discovery af- 
 forded a pleasure to the lady, inferior 
 only to that which agitated, nearly to 
 frenzy, her malignant associate, since 
 she was fully sensible that the tyranny 
 of Zandodara could no longer be 
 maintained over herself, when he had 
 once stepped forward, as the open per- 
 secutor of Don Juan. Then the 
 rendering public his possession of the 
 formal release of Ilerena from her mo- 
 nastic vows, a threat by which he 
 now held her in subjection, would at 
 once defeat all those machinations 
 which he had so long laboured to ex- 
 ercise against his brother. As eager 
 therefore as himself to promote the 
 views of the Redeemed Captive, she
 
 CECIL. 383 
 
 had (by means of corrupting a domes- 
 tic at the Qninta of the wood) pro- 
 cured the introduction of a person, 
 skilled in modelling likenesses, to so 
 perfect a view of Don Juan and Ile- 
 rena, while at their devotions in the 
 chapel, as had enabled him to execute 
 the waxen figures which (greatly mag- 
 nified by means of glasses) she had 
 exhibited to Azora in the arbour of 
 the wood, concealing herself under 
 the disguise of a Giiana. The object 
 of this trick was to play on the cre- 
 dulity of the terrified girl, and dispose 
 her to become the puppet of their 
 convenience, by consenting to any 
 terms which they might chuse to 
 dictate to avert the menaced danger 
 from her parents. The enticing Be- 
 lario was but a part of the same 
 scheme of villany. Celerica, then 
 little suspected, that this poor, speech- 
 less orphan, though destitute of the
 
 384 CECIL. 
 
 sense of hearing, and the powers of 
 language, would prove, in the hands of 
 Providence, an instrument capable of 
 bringing to light their dark transac- 
 tions. By means of the corrupted 
 domestic, the evening fixed for the 
 marriao:e of Azora was made known to 
 these concealed enemies, and at that 
 moment Zandodara resolved to burst 
 in thunder on them. 
 
 The voices in the wood which had 
 on that night of horror decoyed both 
 Cecil and Bernardo from the Qidnta, 
 had proceeded from persons stationed 
 there, and instructed by Celerica, ex- 
 pressly for the purpose, in order that 
 by drawing them to a distance, Zando- 
 <iara might, with the greater ease, avail 
 himself of his power over the nervous 
 weakness of Don Juan. His plan 
 was that of at once separating him 
 from his famil}^ that he might after- 
 wards, with greater, certainty, piay
 
 CECIL. 38i 
 
 Upon the alarms of each for the safety 
 of the others. Don Juan had seconded 
 his wishes in proposing that they 
 should settle their long nourished ha- 
 tred by mortal combat, and Zandodara 
 under this pretence had drawn him 
 from the protection of his home only 
 to deliver him into the close custody 
 of a band of bravos, whom he had 
 hired for the purpose of detaining him 
 till he had extorted from him the re- 
 signation of his paternal property : a 
 property he had resolved that D'lriarte 
 should live to see his bastard brother 
 possess to the exclusion of his own 
 offspring. , 
 
 The notes found in Don Juan's 
 chamber had been written under the 
 sanction of Zandodara, who though 
 well aware of the construction to 
 which the second was liable, depended 
 upon the diligent exertions of .Celerica 
 4br frustrating the intended escape of 
 
 VQL. I_. «
 
 SS5 CECIL. 
 
 the lovers. That lady had, by a 
 plausible stratagem, deluded Owens 
 into the belief that he was acting in 
 obedience to the orders of his master 
 hy dismissing the vessel he had hired, 
 and awaiting his further commands at 
 his hotel in Lisbon. Another vessel, 
 manned by the creatures of Celerica, 
 had repaired the day after to the same 
 station, and had been mistaken by 
 Cecil for the one destined to convey 
 himself and the family of D'Iriarte to 
 England. 
 
 Had Ilerena and her daughter re- 
 mained quietly at the Qidnta, Zando- 
 dara would not have proceeded to the 
 extremity of delivering them up to the 
 abbess of our Lady of Judsfment; but 
 their attempt to foil his vengeance led 
 him to inflict on the ill-fated lady all 
 the agony which terror is capable of 
 exciting. He had not, however, pre- 
 ferred against Ilerena the accusation
 
 CECIL. 387 
 
 which he had threatened, but merely 
 framed some trifling excuse for their 
 detention in the convent a few weeks, 
 which he seconded by a magnificent 
 adv^ance of money for their temporary 
 expenses. Zandodara, little suspect- 
 ing that those of Donna Ilerena must 
 now be contracted to the laying her 
 quietly in the earth, left the convent, 
 exulting in the punishment he had 
 inflicted, both on the mother and 
 daughter. 
 
 On his return to the secret haunt of 
 the bravos, in whose custody he had 
 left D'Iriarte, he found him fast sink- 
 ing beneath an injury which he had 
 received in his first struggle to free 
 himself from their grasp. By the 
 death of his brother, and the possession 
 of Azora, Zandodara perceived that he 
 might possess himself of that paternal 
 property which had ever been the ob- 
 ject of his cupidity; but then he 
 s 9
 
 388 CECIL, 
 
 should be cheated of his triumpli— of 
 his vengeance on Don Juan— then he 
 should only enjoy his father's wealth, 
 after it could be no longer useful to his 
 brother! Such a termination of Ins 
 long meditated vengeance could not 
 satisfy a mind like his; to die was to 
 escape his power, and Zandodara was 
 determined that D'Iriarte should live 
 to feel it.'— to feel a slavery not less 
 galling than that under which he had 
 groaned for eighteen years; that he 
 should exist the pensioner of his 
 bounty— the creature who believedhis 
 life hung on his pleasure ! Such was 
 the resolve of the Redeemed Captive, 
 for no less a vengeance could satiate 
 his deadly rancour, and medical aid 
 was administered to the object of his 
 hatred with malignant zeal. Don 
 Juan was snatched from death, and 
 during his progress to restoration of 
 strength, an event, little foreseen by his
 
 CECIL. 389 
 
 savfige persecutor, had thrown into 
 the possession of Cecil the dispensa- 
 tion of Ilerena^'s vows. 
 
 While Belario was detained at Las 
 Delicias, he conceived the utmost hor- 
 ror of Zandodara, and one day descry- 
 ing his huge turban as he approached 
 one of the apartments, he hid himself 
 behind a curtain. As throuorh one of 
 its folds the eye of the orphan boy was 
 steadily fixed on him, Zandodara, 
 Opening a box, took out the rosary of 
 Donna Ilerena and examined it, w^itli 
 the design to ascertain the probable 
 value of the several gems, after which 
 he returned it to the casket, and quit- 
 ted the room. Belario, who had in- 
 stantly recognized the rosary, stoic 
 after him with cautious steps across 
 the terrace into the grove, till coming 
 to a locust tree, whose topmost branches 
 commanded the surrounding scenery, 
 the boy with instinctive sagacity 
 S S
 
 390 CECIL. 
 
 climbed its trunk, and from the 
 branches above, marked the move- 
 ments of the enemy. Zandodara soon 
 after paused, and looked carefully round 
 to observe if any curious eye marked 
 his actions. At length, persuaded he 
 was unnoticed, he removed a sod of 
 turf, and scooped beneath, with hands 
 for many years inured to hard labour, 
 a hole sufficiently large to receive the 
 box, which he there deposited, and re- 
 placing every thing as before, quitted 
 the grove. Belario then ventured on 
 the daring act on which he had deter- 
 mined : it was that of taking possession 
 of the box that contained the rosary he 
 knew to belong to Donna llerena, and 
 if possible to effect his escape, and re- 
 gain her mansion that he might restore 
 it. He was so fortunate as to succeed, 
 and reached in safety the Quinta in the 
 wood, which he discovered to be 
 wholly deserted. From thence he
 
 CECIL. 391 
 
 had rambled in great distress as far as 
 Lisbon, where chance threw Cecil in 
 his way. 
 
 The box which Zandodara had hur- 
 ried as a means of security, he was 
 equally afraid to carry about with him, 
 or to trust to the care of any other 
 person, as it contained the dispensa- 
 tion of Ilerena. The orphan boy, un- 
 able to force it open had, by taking 
 possession of the whole contents, and 
 placing them under the care of Cecily 
 brought to light this long concealed 
 release of Juan's wife, too late for her 
 security, but not so to baffle the ma- 
 lignant ends of Zandodara, with re* 
 spect to her unhappy family. 
 
 That implacable enemy had ever 
 since his last departure from Las De^ 
 licias, been preparing matters for 
 Juan's complete renunciation of all 
 claims to the estates of D'lriarte, to 
 which he had at length consented. It 
 s 4
 
 592 CECIL. 
 
 Was during one of the Redeemed Cap- 
 tive's temporary absences, on this 
 business that his brother had eluded 
 his guard, and found his way back 
 once more to the Qainta in the wood, 
 where he hoped to hear some tidings 
 of his wife and daughter; a few hours 
 after Zandodara had returned to the 
 haunt of his bravos, and followed him 
 to the deserted Quinta^ where the fra- 
 ternal enemies had once more, and for 
 the last time encountered. 
 
 The ten days which had elapsed 
 after St. Ormond's arrival in Portugal, 
 had been passed by him in the most 
 diligent search after the objects of 
 Cecil's interest. It was by means of 
 one of the very agents who had as- 
 sisted in conveying them to the con- 
 vent of our Lady of Judgment, that he 
 in the end traced them to that monas- 
 tery. This man, whom he had for- 
 merly rescued from a life of infamy,
 
 CECIL. 393 
 
 [jut who had again fallen into his 
 originally vicious habits, from grati- 
 tude to his generous benefactor, was 
 induced to betray the trust Zandodara 
 had reposed in him. The application 
 St. Ormond immediately made for ad- 
 mission to Azora and her mother, was 
 refused, and their having been received 
 into the convent, positively denied. 
 The interference, how^ever, of higher 
 powers, at length procured him an 
 interview with the unhappy Azora; 
 who having attended her mother to 
 the grave, was now plunged in the pro- 
 foundest melancholy. St. Ormond, 
 in the hope that the voice of love 
 would once more awaken her to hap- 
 piness, quitted the convent with a 
 promise of soon again seeing her, and 
 immediately returned to Lisbon to 
 procure an order for her release, and to 
 impart to Cecil the result of his exer- 
 tions. Finding, on his arrival at his
 
 39^ cficlL. 
 
 hotel, that he had set out for the 
 deserted Quinta, St. Ormond took 
 Owens as his guide, and followed him 
 thither/' 
 
 His conversation with Cecil on tlie 
 night of his first arrival, and the in- 
 strument releasing Donna Ilerena from 
 her vows, with the date, the names, 
 and some other corroborating circum- 
 stances, had awakened in St. Ormond 
 the suspicion that the persecuted 
 friends of Cecil, and the fugitive young 
 pair, whose history he had so many 
 years before learnt from themselves, 
 were the same, and the object of his 
 friend's choice their daughter : a sus- 
 picion afterwards confirmed by his 
 meeting with Don Juan. 
 
 The health of the unfortunate D'lri- 
 arte had, in his late complicated suffer- 
 ings, and the impetuous passions 
 which had assailed him, received so 
 rude a shock, that he dkl not live to
 
 CECIL. 395 
 
 quit a country rendered odious by the 
 miseries which had there been inflicted 
 on him by the remorseless Zandodara. 
 He had, nevertheless, received the 
 consolation of seeing Cecil and Azora 
 united before he joined his Ilerena m 
 her place of rest. 
 
 As if with the death of the Re- 
 demed Captive, the fatal spell was 
 broken which had so long obscured 
 the horizon of his life, he discovered 
 through the means of St. Ormond, that 
 one victim less than he had long ap- 
 prehended had fallen a sacrifice to his 
 youthful defiance of his country's 
 laws. Leonarda, whom he had been 
 led to believe had suffered death as an 
 abettor of their escape by the sentence 
 of the inquisition, had been found by 
 that benevolent Englishman languish- 
 ing in a prison, into which she had 
 been thrown on vaguesuspicion, where 
 she had been suffered to linger forgot*
 
 596 cficit. 
 
 ten and neglected. Into this abode 
 of misery St. Ormond had penetrated 
 in the progress of his search after 
 Azora and her mother ; and from the 
 enquiries to which the sight of her 
 condition led, he discovered that she 
 had been once the attendant of Donna 
 Ilerena. By his exertions she was 
 soon after set free, and had the melan- 
 choly satisfaction of uniting her cares 
 to those of his other friends in watch- 
 ing over the .last moments of her 
 former lord, Don Juan. While he, 
 in her restoration to freedom, and the 
 consequences resulting from it, found 
 his last da^^s illumined with a ray of 
 additional comfort. 
 
 It was with the most scrupulous 
 obedience that the dying injunctions 
 of Don Juan D'Iriarte were after his 
 decease fulfilled by those to whom 
 they were addressed ; the last of which 
 was the disposing of all the roperty
 
 CECIL, 397 
 
 to which his descendants were entitled 
 in right of himself and the ill-starred 
 Ilerena, and transporting the amount 
 to that country in which he wished 
 Azora should, after he was gone, seek 
 happiness with her husband, and teach 
 her children to regard as exclusively 
 their own. St. Ormond quitted them 
 not till these injunctions and every 
 other desire of the deceased Don Juan 
 had been performed; in the prosecu- 
 tion of which he was of infinite service 
 to his young friends. 
 
 Donna Celerica, to avoid the mor- 
 tification of losing that consequence 
 her wealth alone had generally secured 
 to her, on the certainty that no further 
 arts could detain it from the rightful 
 owners, suddenly disappeared, thereby 
 defeating the generous intentions of 
 Cecil and Azora in her,favor, who had 
 resolved on not entirejy depriving her 
 of that fortune whjch^she had so lon^
 
 398 CECIL. 
 
 believed to be justly her own ; but by 
 gratuitously presenting her with the 
 means of independence, furnish her 
 with the power of making her own 
 election in her future choice of life. 
 To join his expecting family, within 
 whose happy circle he was eager to 
 place his Azora, Cecil soon after (ac- 
 companied by St. Ormond, Belario, 
 and the venerable Leonarda) set sail 
 for the happy shores of that country 
 which he had quitted with so much 
 levity of heart, and so little sus- 
 picion of the scenes of real misery 
 into which he was rushing; quitted, 
 however, to be recalled by them 
 to the rational enjoyment of the 
 goods with which providence had 
 gifted him. 
 
 While he is on his voyage, it will 
 be necessary for us to take a retros- 
 pective view of the family of Al- 
 tringham, in order to introduce the
 
 CECIL. 599 
 
 reader to those members of his house 
 to whom Cecil was impatient to pre- 
 sent her who was now become one 
 of it. 
 
 END OF VOL. I 
 
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