My seat was one of the
stones that were scattered about, my head rested on my hand, and my eyes
were sadly fixed on the _tree and the well_, the scene of that false
miracle. I knew not how long I sat thus. I was aroused by a slight noise
near me, and perceived a paper, which some one was thrusting under the
door, where a slight inequality in the ground rendered the attempt just
practicable. I stooped and attempted to seize it. It was withdrawn; but
a moment after a voice, whose tones my agitation did not permit me to
distinguish, whispered, “Alonzo.”--“Yes,--yes,” I answered eagerly. The
paper was instantly thrust into my hands, and I heard a sound of steps
retreating rapidly. I lost not a moment in reading the few words it
contained. “Be here to-morrow evening at the same hour. I have suffered
much on your account,--destroy this.” It was the hand of my brother
Juan, that hand so well remembered from our late eventful
correspondence,--that hand whose traces I never beheld without feeling
corresponding characters of hope and confidence retraced in my soul, as
lines before invisible appear on exposure to the heat that seems to
vivify them. I am surprised that between this and the following evening
my agitation did not betray me to the community. But perhaps it is only
agitation arising from frivolous causes, that vents itself in external
indications,--I was absorbed in mine. It is certain, at least, that my
mind was all that day vacillating like a clock that struck every minute
the alternate sounds, “_There is hope,--there is no hope._” The
day,--the eternal day, was at last over. Evening came on; how I watched
the advancing shades! At vespers, with what delight did I trace the
gradual mellowing of the gold and purple tinges that gleamed through the
great eastern window, and calculated that their western decline, though
slower, must come at last!--It came. Never was a more propitious
evening. It was calm and dark--the garden deserted, not a form to be
seen, not a step to be heard in the walks.--I hurried on. Suddenly I
thought I heard the sound of something pursuing me. I paused,--it was
but the beating of my own heart, audible in the deep stillness of that
eventful moment. I pressed my hand on my breast, as a mother would on an
infant whom she tried to pacify;--it did not cease to throb, however. I
entered the passage. I approached the door, of which hope and despair
seemed to stand the alternate portresses. The words still rung in my
ears, “Be here to-morrow evening at the same hour.” I stooped, and saw,
with eyes that devoured the sight, a piece of paper appear under the
door. I seized and buried it in my habit. I trembled with such ecstacy,
that I thought I never should be able to carry it undiscovered to my
cell. I succeeded, however; and the contents, when I read them,
justified my emotion. To my unspeakable uneasiness, great part of it was
illegible, from being crushed amid the stones and damp clay contiguous
to the door, and from the first page I could hardly extract that he had
been kept in the country almost a prisoner, through the influence of the
Director; that one day, while shooting with only one attendant, the hope
of liberation suddenly filled him with the idea of terrifying this man
into submission. Presenting his loaded fowling piece at the terrified
wretch, he threatened him with instant death, if he made the least
opposition. The man suffered himself to be bound to a tree; and the next
page, though much defaced, gave me to understand he had reached Madrid
in safety, and heard for the first time the event of my ill-fated
appeal. The effect of this intelligence on the impetuous, sanguine, and
affectionate Juan, could be easily traced in the broken and irregular
lines in which he vainly attempted to describe it. The letter then
proceeded. “I am now in Madrid, pledged body and soul never to quit it
till you are liberated. If you possess resolution, this is not
impossible,--the doors even of convents are not inaccessible to a silver
key. My first object, that of obtaining a communication with you,
appeared as impracticable as your escape, yet it has been accomplished. I understood that repairs were going on in the garden, and stationed
myself at the door evening after evening, whispering your name, but it
was not till the sixth that you were there.”

“In another part he detailed his plans more fully. “Money and secrecy
are the primary objects,--the latter I can insure by the disguises I
wear, but the former I scarce know how to obtain. My escape was so
sudden, that I was wholly unprovided, and have been obliged to dispose
of my watch and rings since I reached Madrid, to purchase disguises and
procure subsistence. I could command what sums I pleased by disclosing
my name, but this would be fatal. The report of my being in Madrid would
immediately reach my father’s ears. My resource must be a Jew; and when
I have obtained money, I have little doubt of effecting your liberation. I have already heard of a person in the convent under very extraordinary
circumstances, who would probably not be disinclined to * * * * * * *

“Here a long interval occurred in the letter, which appeared to be
written at different times. The next lines that I could trace, expressed
all the light-heartedness of this most fiery, volatile, and generous of
created beings. * * * * * *

“Be not under the least uneasiness about me, it is impossible that I
should be discovered. At school I was remarkable for a dramatic talent,
a power of personation almost incredible, and which I now find of
infinite service. Sometimes I strut as a _Majo_(4), with enormous
whiskers. Sometimes I assume the accent of a Biscayan, and, like the
husband of Donna Rodriguez, “am as good a gentleman as the king, because
I came from the mountains.” But my favourite disguise is that of a
mendicant or a fortune-teller,--the former procures me access to the
convent, the other money and intelligence. Thus I am paid, while I
appear to be the buyer. When the wanderings and stratagems of the day
are over, you would smile to see the loft and pallet to which the heir
of Monçada retires. This masquerade amuses _me_ more than the
spectators. A consciousness of our superiority is often more delightful
when confined to our own breasts, than when expressed by others. Besides, I feel as if the squalid bed, the tottering seat, the cobwebbed
rafters, the rancid oil, and all the other _agremens_ of my new abode,
were a kind of atonement for the wrongs I have done you, Alonzo. My
spirits sometimes sink under privations so new to me, but still a kind
of playful and wild energy, peculiar to my character, supports me.