“It was said that some vessel in distress arrived at the isle,--that the
captain had rescued this lovely lonely being from the brutality of the
sailors,--and, discovering from some remains of the Spanish tongue which
she still spoke, and which he supposed must have been cultivated during
the visits of some other wanderer to the isle, he undertook, like a man
of honour, to conduct her to her parents, whose names she could tell,
though not their residence, so acute and tenacious is the memory of
infancy. He fulfilled his promise, and the pure and innocent being was
restored to her family, who were then residing in the city of Benares.”
Aliaga, at these words, stared with a look of intelligence somewhat
ghastly. He could not interrupt the stranger--he drew in his breath, and
closed his teeth. “I have since heard,” said the stranger, “that the family has returned
to Spain,--that the beautiful inhabitant of the foreign isle is become
the idol of your cavaliers of Madrid,--your loungers of the Prado,--your
_sacravienses_,--your--by what other name of contempt shall I call them? But listen to me,--there is an eye fixed on her, and its fascination is
more deadly than that fabled of the snake!--There is an arm extended to
seize her, in whose grasp humanity withers!--That arm even now relaxes
for a moment,--its fibres thrill with pity and horror,--it releases the
victim for a moment,--it even beckons her father to her aid!--Don
Francisco, do you understand me now?--Has this tale interest or
application for you?”

“He paused, but Aliaga, chilled with horror, was unable to answer him
but by a feeble exclamation. “If it has,” resumed the stranger, “lose
not a moment to save your daughter!” and, clapping spurs to his mule, he
disappeared through a narrow passage among the rocks, apparently never
intended to be trod by earthly traveller. Aliaga was not a man
susceptible of strong impressions from nature; but, if he had been, the
scene amid which this mysterious warning was uttered would have
powerfully ministered to its effect. The time was evening,--a grey and
misty twilight hung over every object;--the way lay through a rocky
road, that wound among mountains, or rather stony hills, bleak and bare
as those which the weary traveller through the (11)western isle sees
rising amid the moors, to which they form a contrast without giving a
relief. Heavy rains had made deep gullies amid the hills, and here and
there a mountain-stream brawled amid its stony channel, like a proud and
noisy upstart, while the vast chasms that had been the beds of torrents
which once swept through them in thunder, now stood gaping and ghastly
like the deserted abodes of ruined nobility. Not a sound broke on the
stillness, except the monotonous echo of the hoofs of the mules answered
from the hollows of the hill, and the screams of the birds, which, after
a few short circles in the damp and cloudy air, fled back to their
retreats amid the cliffs. * * * * * * * * *

  (11) Ireland,--forsan. “It is almost incredible, that after this warning, enforced as it was by
the perfect acquaintance which the stranger displayed of Aliaga’s former
life and family-circumstances, it should not have had the effect of
making him hurry homewards immediately, particularly as it seems he
thought it of sufficient importance to make it the subject of
correspondence with his wife. So it was however. “At the moment of the stranger’s departure, it was his resolution not to
lose a moment in hastening homewards; but at the next stage he arrived
at, there were letters of business awaiting him. A mercantile
correspondent gave him the information of the probable failure of a
house in a distant part of Spain, where his speedy presence might be of
vital consequence. There were also letters from Montilla, his intended
son-in-law, informing him that the state of his father’s health was so
precarious, it was impossible to leave him till his fate was decided. As
the decisions of fate involved equally the wealth of the son, and the
life of the father, Aliaga could not help thinking there was as much
prudence as affection in this resolution. “After reading these letters, Aliaga’s mind began to flow in its usual
channel. There is no breaking through the inveterate habitudes of a
thorough-paced mercantile mind, “though one rose from the dead.”
Besides, by this time the mysterious image of the stranger’s presence
and communications were fading fast from a mind not at all habituated to
visionary impressions. He shook off the terrors of this visitation by
the aid of time, and gave his courage the credit due to that aid. Thus
we all deal with the illusions of the imagination,--with this difference
only, that the impassioned recal them with the tear of regret, and the
unimaginative with the blush of shame. Aliaga set out for the distant
part of Spain where his presence was to save this tottering house in
which he had an extensive concern, and wrote to Donna Clara, that it
might be some months before he returned to the neighbourhood of Madrid. CHAPTER XXXIV. Husband, husband, I’ve the ring
      Thou gavest to-day to me;
    And thou to me art ever wed,
      As I am wed to thee! LITTLE’S POEMS. “The remainder of that dreadful night when Isidora disappeared, had been
passed almost in despair by Donna Clara, who, amid all her rigour and
chilling mediocrity, had still the feelings of a mother--and by Fra
Jose, who, with all his selfish luxury and love of domination, had a
heart where distress never knocked for admittance, that she did not find
pity ready to open the door. “The distress of Donna Clara was aggravated by her fear of her husband,
of whom she stood in great awe, and who, she dreaded, might reproach her
with unpardonable negligence of her maternal authority. “In this night of distress, she was often tempted to call on her son for
advice and assistance; but the recollection of his violent passions
deterred her, and she sat in passive despair till day. Then, with an
unaccountable impulse, she rose from her seat, and hurried to her
daughter’s apartment, as if she imagined that the events of the
preceding night were only a fearful and false illusion that would be
dispersed by the approach of day. “It seemed, indeed, as if they were, for on the bed lay Isidora in a
profound sleep, with the same pure and placid smile as when she was
lulled into slumber by the melodies of nature, and the sound was
prolonged in her dream by the whispered songs of the spirits of the
Indian Ocean. Donna Clara uttered a shriek of surprise, that had the
singular effect of rousing Fra Jose from a deep sleep into which he had
fallen at the approach of day. Starting at the sound, the good-natured,
pampered priest, tottered into the room, and saw, with incredulity that
slowly yielded to frequent application to his obstinate and adhesive
eye-lids, the form of Isidora extended in profound slumber.