4. IV.
The freed slave had now no secrets from her mistress.
She unveiled her bosom freely to the examination
of Urraca. She told of a long and criminal intimacy
with Amri, and with a closeness and coherence
in the several parts of her narrative—with statements of
circumstances so well mixed up with other circumstances
which Urraca knew to be true, that the unhappy
woman could no longer withhold her credence, or doubt
the truth of what she heard. She listened in gloomy
recklessness, walking about during the narration,
sometimes interrupting it with a word of inquiry or exclamation,
but generally receiving the several particulars
in silence, and with an ear that lost not the smallest portion
of what was uttered. When the slave had finished,
having brought up her relation to the events which had
taken place in her last interview with Amri, Urraca
paused before her.
“And thou hast told me nothing but the truth, Zitta?”
she demanded of the slave.
“Only the truth, my lady.”
“Thou hast guessed at nothing in thy story?”
“Nothing, my lady.”
“And thou believest, Zitta, that the packet which is
in my hand contains a deadly poison?”
“Amri said so, my lady.”
“And bade thee, in words, to drug my cup with it,
that I might perish?”
“He did, my lady, in words—I do not err!”
“Be sure of what thou sayst, Zitta,” said Urraca,
gently, but solemnly. “As thou hopest for life, for
peace, for happiness—as thou dreadest eternal torture—
the hate of men—the scorn of angels—the wrath of
God—say nothing by apprehension and conjecture—
say nothing but what thou knowest to be the truth.”
“I have told thee nothing but the truth, my lady, as
I hope for the mercy of Heaven!” repeated the woman.
“And I believe thee!” exclaimed Urraca, with a long
and difficult breath; “I believe thee; but rather than
this—” putting her hand upon her throbbing temples—
“rather than this pang which I now suffer, Zitta, I would
that thou hadst drugged my cup in silence. Better to
have perished in the dream—the sweet dream of a requited
love—than live in its utter hopelessness, and live
only for hate;” and Urraca buried her face in her hands
as she spoke these words, and threw herself again upon
the couch.
“Alas! my lady, I am sorry for thee,” replied the
woman, as she beheld the anguish of her mistress; but
the sympathy was unwisely proffered to a spirit which,
though severely tried, was still far from subdued to resignation.
“Sorry! sorry for me, Zitta,” said Urraca, scornfully,
rising again from the couch, and looking upon the
slave, her face now freed from the hands which covered
it, and her eyes flashing with new fire upon the woman,
while a smile of contempt passed over her lips; “thou
errest, Zitta—thou shouldst not be sorry. Go—leave
me now. I will but think a while, and then call thee to
my help.”
