He past on scowling at them like a lion on a pack of
bayed hounds, and departed unmolested--unassayed--no weapon was
drawn--no arm was lifted--the mark was on his brow,--and those who could
read it knew that all human power was alike forceless and needless,--and
those who could not succumbed in passive horror. Every sword was in its
sheath as Melmoth quitted the garden. “Leave him to God!”--was the
universal exclamation. “You could not leave him in worse hands,”
exclaimed Fra Jose--“He will certainly be damned--and--that is some
comfort to this afflicted family.”




CHAPTER XXXVI. Nunc animum pietas, et materna nomina frangunt. “In less than half an hour, the superb apartments, the illuminated
gardens of Aliaga, did not echo a footstep; all were gone, except a few
who lingered, some from curiosity, some from humanity, to witness or
condole with the sufferings of the wretched parents. The sumptuously
decorated garden now presented a sight horrid from the contrasted
figures and scenery. The domestics stood like statues, holding the
torches still in their hands--Isidora lay beside the bloody corse of her
brother, till an attempt was made to remove it, and then she clung to it
with a strength that required strength to tear her from it--Aliaga, who
had not uttered a word, and scarcely drawn a breath, sunk on his knees
to curse his half-lifeless daughter--Donna Clara, who still retained a
woman’s heart, lost all fear of her husband in this dreadful emergency,
and, kneeling beside him, held his uplifted hands, and struggled hard
for the suspension of the malediction--Fra Jose, the only one of the
groupe who appeared to possess any power of recollection or of mental
sanity, addressed repeatedly to Isidora the question, “Are you
married,--and married to that fearful being?”--“I am married!” answered
the victim, rising from beside the corse of her brother. “I am married!”
she added, glancing a look at her splendid habit, and displaying it with
a frantic laugh. A loud knocking at the garden gate was heard at this
moment. “I _am_ married!” shrieked Isidora, “and here comes the witness
of my nuptials!”

“As she spoke, some peasants from the neighbourhood, assisted by the
domestics of Don Aliaga, brought in a corse, so altered from the fearful
change that passes on the mortal frame, that the nearest relative could
not have known it. Isidora recognized it in a moment for the body of the
old domestic who had disappeared so mysteriously on the night of her
frightful nuptials. The body had been discovered but that evening by the
peasants; it was lacerated as by a fall from rocks, and so disfigured
and decayed as to retain no resemblance to humanity. It was recognizable
only by the livery of Aliaga, which, though much defaced, was still
distinguishable by some peculiarities in the dress, that announced that
those defaced garments covered the mortal remains of the old domestic. “There!” cried Isidora with delirious energy--“There is the witness of
my fatal marriage!”

“Fra Jose hung over the illegible fragments of that whereon nature had
once written--‘This is a human being,’ and, turning his eyes on Isidora,
with involuntary horror he exclaimed, “Your witness is dumb!” As the
wretched Isidora was dragged away by those who surrounded her, she felt
the first throes of maternal suffering, and exclaimed, “Oh! there will
be a living witness--if you permit it to live!” Her words were soon
realized; she was conveyed to her apartment, and in a few hours after,
scarcely assisted and wholly unpitied by her attendants, gave birth to a
daughter. “This event excited a sentiment in the family at once ludicrous and
horrible. Aliaga, who had remained in a state of stupefaction since his
son’s death, uttered but one exclamation--“Let the wife of the sorcerer,
and their accursed offspring, be delivered into the hands of the
merciful and holy tribunal, the Inquisition.” He afterwards muttered
something about his property being confiscated, but to this nobody paid
attention. Donna Clara was almost distracted between compassion for her
wretched daughter, and being grandmother to an infant demon, for such
she deemed the child of “Melmoth the Wanderer” must be--and Fra Jose,
while he baptized the infant with trembling hands, almost expected a
fearful sponsor to appear and blast the rite with his horrible negative
to the appeal made in the name of all that is holy among Christians. The
baptismal ceremony was performed, however, with an omission which the
good-natured priest overlooked--there was no sponsor--the lowest
domestic in the house declined with horror the proposal of being sponsor
for the child of that terrible union. The wretched mother heard them
from her bed of pain, and loved her infant better for its utter
destitution. * * * * * *

“A few hours put an end to the consternation of the family, on the score
of religion at least. The officers of the Inquisition arrived, armed
with all the powers of their tribunal, and strongly excited by the
report, that the Wanderer of whom they had been long in search, had
lately perpetrated an act that brought him within the sphere of their
jurisdiction, by involving the life of the only being his solitary
existence held alliance with. “We hold him by the cords of a man,” said
the chief inquisitor, speaking more from what he read than what he
felt--“if he burst these cords he is more than man. He has a wife and
child, and if there be human elements in him, if there be any thing
mortal clinging to his heart, we shall wind round the roots of it, and
extract it.” * * * * *

“It was not till after some weeks, that Isidora recovered her perfect
recollection. When she did, she was in a prison, a pallet of straw was
her bed, a crucifix and a death’s head the only furniture of her cell;
the light struggled through a narrow grate, and struggled in vain, to
cast one gleam on the squalid apartment that it visited and shrunk from. Isidora looked round her--she had light enough to see her child--she
clasped it to her bosom, from which it had unconsciously drawn its
feverish nourishment, and wept in extasy. “It is my own,” she sobbed,
“and only mine! It has no father--he is at the ends of the earth--he has
left me alone--but I am not alone while you are left to me!”

“She was left in solitary confinement for many days, undisturbed and
unvisited. The persons in whose hands she was had strong reasons for
this mode of treatment. They were desirous that she should recover
perfect sanity of intellect previous to her examination, and they also
wished to give her time to form that profound attachment to the innocent
companion of her solitude, that might be a powerful engine in their
hands in discovering those circumstances relative to Melmoth that had
hitherto baffled all the power and penetration of the Inquisition
itself.