That sterility of the heart that forbids the growth of divine feeling,
must be hostile also to every tender and generous sentiment. _He who is
without a God must be without a heart!_ Oh, my love, will you not, as
you bend over my grave, wish my last slumbers to have been soothed by
sounds like these,--wish that they may whisper peace to your own? Promise me, at least, that you will lead your child to my
tomb-stone,--that you will suffer it to read the inscription that tells
I died in the faith of Christ, and the hope of immortality. Its tears
will be powerful pleaders to you not to deny it the consolation that
faith has given me in hours of suffering, and the hopes with which it
will illuminate my parting hour. Oh promise me this at least, that you
will suffer your child to visit my grave--that is all. Do not interrupt
or distract the impression by sophistry or levity, or by that wild and
withering eloquence that flashes from your lips, not to enlighten but to
blast. You will not weep, but you will be silent,--leave Heaven and
nature free to their work. The voice of God will speak to its heart, and
my spirit, as it witnesses the conflict, will tremble though in
paradise,--and, even in heaven, will feel an added joy, when it beholds
the victory won. Promise me, then,--swear to me!” she added, with
agonizing energy of tone and gesture. “Your child shall be a Christian!”
said Melmoth. CHAPTER XXXV. --------------Oh, spare me, Grimbald! I will tempt hermits for thee in their cells,
    And virgins in their dreams. DRYDEN’S KING ARTHUR. It is a singular, but well-attested fact, that women who are compelled
to undergo all the inconveniences and uneasiness of clandestine
pregnancy, often fare better than those whose situation is watched over
by tender and anxious relatives; and that concealed or illegitimate
births are actually attended with less danger and suffering than those
which have all the aid that skill and affection can give. So it appeared
likely to fare with Isidora. The retirement in which her family
lived--the temper of Donna Clara, as slow to suspect from want of
penetration, as she was eager in pursuing an object once discovered,
from the natural cupidity of a vacant mind--these circumstances,
combined with the dress of the day, the enormous and enveloping
fardingale, gave safety to her secret, at least till the arrival of its
crisis. As this crisis approached, one may easily imagine the secret and
trembling preparation--the important nurse, proud of the trust reposed
in her--the confidential maid--the faithful and discreet medical
attendant--to obtain all these Melmoth supplied her amply with money--a
circumstance that would have surprised Isidora, as his appearance was
always remarkably plain and private, if, at this moment of anxiety, any
thought but that of _the hour_ could have found room in her mind. * * *
* * * *

“On the evening supposed to be that preceding the dreaded event, Melmoth
had thrown an unusual degree of tenderness into his manner--he gazed on
her frequently with anxious and silent fondness--he seemed to have
something to communicate which he had not courage to disclose. Isidora,
well versed in the language of the countenance, which is often, more
than that of words, the language of the heart, intreated him to tell her
what he _looked_. “Your father is returning,” said Melmoth reluctantly. “He will certainly be here in a few days, perhaps in a few hours.”
Isidora heard him in silent horror. “My father!” she cried--“I have
never seen my father.--Oh, how shall I meet him now! And is my mother
ignorant of this?--would she not have apprized me?”--“She is ignorant at
present; but she will not long be so.”--“And from whence could _you_
have obtained intelligence that she is ignorant of?” Melmoth paused some
time,--his features assumed a more contracted and gloomy character than
they had done laterally--he answered with slow and stern
reluctance--“Never again ask me that question--the intelligence that I
can give you must be of more importance to you than the means by which I
obtain it--enough for you that it is true.”--“Pardon me, love,” said
Isidora; “it is probable that I may never again offend you--will you
not, then, forgive my _last_ offence?”

“Melmoth seemed too intently occupied with his own thoughts to answer
even her tears. He added, after a short and sullen pause, “Your
betrothed bridegroom is coming with your father--Montilla’s father is
dead--the arrangements are all concluded for your nuptials--your
bridegroom is coming to wed the wife of another--with him comes your
fiery, foolish brother, who has set out to meet his father and his
future relative. There will be a feast prepared in the house on the
occasion of your future nuptials--you may hear of a strange guest
appearing at your festival--I will be there!”

“Isidora stood stupified with horror. “Festival!” she repeated--“a
bridal festival!--and I already wedded to you, and about to become a
mother!”

* * * * *

“At this moment the trampling of many horsemen was heard as they
approached the villa--the tumult of the domestics hurrying to admit and
receive them, resounded through the apartments--and Melmoth, with a
gesture that seemed to Isidora rather like a menace than a farewell,
instantly disappeared; and within an hour, Isidora knelt to the father
she had never till then beheld--suffered herself to be saluted by
Montilla--and accepted the embrace of her brother, who, in the petulance
of his spirit, half rejected the chill and altered form that advanced to
greet him. * * * * *

“Every thing at the family meeting was conducted in true Spanish
formality. Aliaga kissed the cold hand of his withered wife--the
numerous domestics exhibited a grave joy at the return of their
master--Fra Jose assumed increased importance, and called for dinner in
a louder tone. Montilla, the lover, a cold and quiet character, took
things as they occurred. “Every thing lay hushed under a brief and treacherous calm. Isidora, who
trembled at the approaching danger, felt her terrors on a sudden
suspended. It was not so very near as she apprehended--and she bore with
tolerable patience the daily mention of her approaching nuptials, while
she was momently harassed by her confidential servants with hints of the
impossibility of the event of which they were in expectation, being much
longer delayed. Isidora heard, felt, endured all with courage--the grave
congratulation of her father and mother--the self-complacent attentions
of Montilla, sure of the bride and of her dower--the sullen compliance
of the brother, who, unable to refuse his consent, was for ever hinting
that _his_ sister might have formed a higher connection.