"But has he given you any information that may be of service to us?"

interrupted Luis eagerly.

"That is to be proved," said Antonio calmly; "I know the man from whose power the Frade saved your life, and who carried the lady off; a greater villain there does not exist in Lisbon. I have learned so much from our friend, though the difficulty will be to find this Rodrigo; and the chances are that he will adorn one of the newly-raised gibbets before long. I hope, however, to have an interview with him before that time; and then the sooner he is hung, the sooner will there be one villain less in the world."

"Is this the only clue you have been able to discover?" said Luis, dejectedly. "I fear that it will be of little service."

"Fear not, senhor," answered Antonio: "in the first place, you have the satisfaction of knowing that the lady was not killed by the falling houses, when Rodrigo carried her off; and, in the second, I have reason to suppose that it was not for his own sake he committed the outrage."

"Thank Heaven for that!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Luis.

"In the mean time, our friend the Frade is making inquiries which may a.s.sist us," continued Antonio. "And we will now, by your leave, find Captain Pinto, to whom I wish to make some reports."

They accordingly proceeded in search of the Captain.

When Don Luis and his companions arrived at the spot where they had agreed to meet Captain Pinto, which was at an open place called the Caes Sodre, near the royal a.r.s.enal, they found the people under his command with several prisoners in their custody.

Antonio examined the countenance of each, but he did not recognise any one till he came to a man lying bound on the ground, his clothes torn and b.l.o.o.d.y, with two of the guards standing near him, badly wounded.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "Senhor Rodrigo, you know me, I think?"

"Yes," answered the ruffian; "I am not likely to forget you."

Luis looked on with anxiety, for he beheld the ruffian who had carried off Clara; but Antonio, desiring to be left alone with the man, knelt down by his side, while Captain Pinto detailed to Luis the circ.u.mstances of his capture. His last act had been in character with his former life. The guards were pa.s.sing a house from which loud cries were heard to proceed, and on entering it an old man was found weltering in his blood on the floor, and a woman was struggling in the grasp of the ruffian, whose shrieks prevented his hearing their entrance. Before they could seize him, however, he had plunged his knife into her bosom; and then turning on them, had wounded two in his attempt to escape; but at last, after a desperate resistance, he was captured.

Luis shuddered as he heard the account. "Has my beloved Clara been in the power of a wretch like this?" he thought.

Antonio held some minutes' conversation with the bravo. "For what purpose did you carry off the lady?" he said, after some time.

"To serve another, the greater my folly," was the answer.

"And she is there still?" inquired Antonio.

"Yes, if he has not removed her.--Go, I would have my revenge on him.

He has deceived me twice, and you may gain the ransom I expected--and then I shall die happy."

Before night the corpse of the noted bravo, Rodrigo, was seen hanging from the highest gibbet at the gates of Lisbon.

Volume 2, Chapter XVI.

We have observed, in the course of our very desultory custom of reading, that most novelists delight in endeavouring to make their readers suppose, somewhere about the middle of their second volume, that their hero, or heroine, in whose fate by that time they may have begun to feel some interest, has been engulfed beneath the raging waves, or dashed to pieces from falling off a lofty, sea-worn cliff, or murdered by banditti in a forest, or blown up in a castle, or has made his or her exit from this terrestrial scene in some equally romantic way; for we cannot fill our page with further instances. Now, we confess that, after a little experience, we were never deceived by such ingenious devices. In the first place, very few writers have the hardihood to kill their heroes or heroines at all, for the reason, that few readers approve of the principle; and, in the second, they would not think of doing so till the end of the third volume, as they would find considerable difficulty in continuing their story without them. For our own part, rather than commit so atrocious an act, we would alter the truth of history, and defer the dreadful catastrophe to the final scene.

Having made this preamble, we must return to the ruins of the Santa Clara Convent, at the moment the bravo Rodrigo had torn Clara from the arms of Don Luis, after their almost miraculous escape from destruction.

She had just recovered sufficient consciousness to know that she was separated from him, and had no power to liberate herself. In vain she called on Luis to save her, as the ruffian bore her away. He carried her quickly across the ruins, pa.s.sing close to the spot where her unhappy father then was; and when he saw himself pursued, not knowing by whom, he dashed down the nearest turning with his fair prize, regardless of her cries and prayers for mercy. His progress in that direction was soon impeded by the burning buildings, when he was obliged to turn back part of the way, and make a circuit through the northern part of the city in the direction of Belem, towards which he proceeded on the very opposite side. No one regarded him as he pa.s.sed: they were either wretches like himself, or unhappy beings who had, that day, perchance, lost all they loved on earth, and heeded not aught but their own misfortunes; besides, alas! such spectacles had become too common to attract the notice of any: no one attempted to rescue her from the ruffian's power. At length, weary from his exertions, for the road he was obliged to follow was long, steep, and intricate, Rodrigo stopped to rest. Even over the most savage bosoms lovely innocence will always be able to exert a softening influence, and we believe that there is no man born of womankind so hardened as not to feel its power. Clara, though she thought not this, for terror had deprived her of all power of thinking, took this opportunity, by a natural instinct, to entreat her captor to restore her to her father, promising him a high reward for so doing.

"So you said once before, lady, when I had you in my power; but I shall not be again disappointed, depend on it," answered the robber.

"However, don't be alarmed, for your lover, as I guess him to be, is, as far as I know, still alive, no thanks to my intentions, though; and I am going to take you to one who will treat you well, and pay me highly for my trouble and loss of time, so there is nothing after all to cry about."

"But my father will pay you any sum you demand," quickly responded Clara, thinking she had made some impression on the man's feelings.

"No, no," he answered, "he would not have shut you up in a convent if he cared much about you; besides, for what I know, he may be killed, as thousands were to-day; now my employer was alive a few hours since, and I intend this time to make sure of my reward."

The thoughts of her father's death stopped Clara's further utterance, and the bravo, again lifting her in his arms, bore her onward. He now again turned through some partially ruined streets, several fierce bands pa.s.sing him who uttered horrid jests, and seemed inclined to dispute possession of his prize; but his fierce threats of vengeance made them desist, for his character was well-known to all.

Full two hours had pa.s.sed ere he finally stopped before the door of a low house, which appeared uninjured; for while the lofty temples and the proud palaces of the great had been overwhelmed in ruin, the humble shed of the mechanic had escaped.

He forced open the door, and entered without hesitation. An old woman was seated on the floor, trembling and weeping with alarm: a small oil lamp burning near her gave just sufficient light to show the wretched state of the apartment.

He placed Clara on one of the two only chairs the room afforded, and then fastened the door behind him. "Come, rouse up, mother, and stop your tears, the earthquake will do no further harm. Here is a lady I have brought you to attend upon, and remember you must treat her properly."

"Take her away--I want no ladies here!" muttered the old hag, without looking up.

"Hark you, mother! I expect to be well paid for my trouble, and you shall have plenty of gold if I return her safe to her friends. My taste is not for such delicate fish as this."

"Am I to have plenty of gold?" said the old woman, eagerly. "Yes, yes, then I will do all you require."

"That is well," answered Rodrigo. "Treat her kindly, and give her food, if she can eat such as we poor people have; and take care she does not escape, or we shall lose our reward--remember that."

"Ay, ay, we are to have gold, are we? then I will take care she does not get away," returned the hag, glancing at her with her baneful eyes.

"I have said, no harm shall happen to you, lady, so cease crying," said the bravo, turning to Clara; and, whispering a few words in his mother's ear, he quitted the house, locking the door behind him, and taking away the key.

The old woman followed her son's directions, without addressing a word to her prisoner; but, weak and faint as Clara was, she could not, as may be supposed, partake of the fare placed before her. Her witch-like hostess then supported her to a rough couch in a corner of the room, on which, more in a state of fainting than sleeping, she forgot, for a time, the horrors of her situation, though her brain yet retained a confused impression of the terrific sounds and dreadful scenes she had encountered.

It was daylight before the bravo returned, bringing a basket of delicate provisions already cooked and prepared with care, which he placed on the table, without addressing Clara, and withdrew in haste, merely nodding to his mother as he pa.s.sed out, again locking the door behind him. A few hours' rest had partially restored Clara's strength, and enabled her to take a little refreshment; but to all her questions the old woman was as uncommunicative as her son, pretending entire deafness, to escape being troubled with further ones. Her manner was, however, sufficiently respectful, and she was attentive to her prisoner's wants; but her behaviour was actuated, evidently, more by the hopes of gain than by any feminine or kindly feeling. As she moved about the room, at her work, muttering curses, she would every now and then cast suspicious glances towards the fair girl; but whenever a slight shock of the earthquake was felt, she would fall down on her knees and kiss and fondle the image of a saint, the only ornament the room possessed: as soon, however, as it had pa.s.sed away, she would again rise and pursue her former occupations.

On these occasions, Clara could not avoid trembling with alarm, as she saw the fragile building vibrating with the shock, expecting every instant to be overwhelmed in its ruins; but the earthquake providentially did no further damage than cause pieces of mortar to fall from the ceiling, or the walls, till at last she learned no longer to dread it.

Clara had remained many hours in a dreadful state of doubt and uncertainty, not only as to her own future fate, but as to that of Luis, whom she had last beheld in the power of the ruffians; and of her father, for she could not tell if he had escaped the destruction, which appeared to her universal, though she was unconscious of the horrors of the commencement; when the door of the room was opened from without, and a tall figure entered, wrapped in a large cloak, so as completely to conceal his person, a black mask covering his features. He bowed respectfully towards her as he entered, and then advanced close to where she was seated, her lovely head bent down, and her face hidden in her hands.

"Lady!" said the stranger, "I have been deputed hither by one who adores you to distraction, and who has heard with deep concern of the violence which has been offered to you; but he has taken measures to prevent the return of the ruffian who brought you here, and if you will accept of my escort, I will conduct you to a place of greater security."

Clara started at the first sound of that voice, which made her tremble with fear, for the tones seemed familiar; but then she thought she must have been mistaken, yet she mistrusted the speaker.

"I can trust myself with no one who requires a mask to conceal his features," she answered; "yet let me know to whom I am indebted for a.s.sistance, and I may be grateful."

"Circ.u.mstances prevent my declaring myself, lady, at present," returned the stranger; "but confide in my honour, and I will escort you from this wretched hovel to an abode, which, though unworthy to receive you, is yet equal to any the city, in its present ruined state, can afford."

"Pardon me, senhor, that I hesitate," said Clara; "for I dare not confide in one unknown; but if you will carry the information to my father that I am here, I shall be deeply grateful."

The stranger listened to this answer with signs of impatience.

"I would do what you wish, fair lady, but I grieve to say your father, if, as I believe, you are the daughter of Goncalo Christovao, fell a victim to the destroying earthquake."

"Oh! say you do not speak the truth; you surely must have been mistaken," she exclaimed; "my father cannot be among the dead!"

"It is but too true, lady," was the answer; "and I fear you have few or no friends who have escaped it."

On hearing this sad a.s.sertion, Clara bent down her head and sobbed violently, while the stranger stood by, beholding her in silence for some minutes, when she suddenly looked up. "I pray Heaven you may have been deceived in the account you give," she said; "but if not, as you are a man, and, as I believe, from your air, of gentle birth, I entreat you to discover one who has already risked his life to save mine, and in whom I may place entire confidence--Don Luis d'Almeida. Go, senhor, inform him that I am here, and he will strive to show his grat.i.tude to you."

Clara, in the innocence of her heart, referred naturally to the person on whom all her thoughts and feelings centred; but her words seemed to give anything but satisfaction to her hearer. He stamped vehemently on the ground, as he answered, between his closed teeth,--"Know you not, lady, that you speak of one who is the murderer of your brother? and he, surely, is not a fit guardian for you."