10. X.
A severer trial was at hand for the Hebrew than
any through which he had ever passed before. He was
conscious that Urraca expected from him a speedy resolve
to fly with her to Guadarrama, as he had already
promised; and he was only solicitous how best to frame
his promises so as to satisfy and meet her present exactions.
Relying on the execution by Zitta of the
crime to which she had pledged herself, he had no hesitation
in this matter; and he had resolved to promise
freely to his mistress for the future, assured that, ere he
could be called upon for the fulfilment of his pledges,
the lips which had exacted them would have lost all
power of reproach. His misfortune was, as it is the
misfortune too commonly of the young and partially endowed,
to be too readily satisfied with his own powers
of persuasion. His vanity misled him into a self-confidence
which the circumstances did not justify. But
we shall see in the sequel. That same day, and towards
evening, when the coming of Amri was hourly
looked for, the resolve of Urraca began to assume a
more distinct and unequivocal aspect. The chamber
had been prepared by Zitta agreeably to the directions
of her mistress. To this chamber, which was high and
remote from the other apartments, the drapery and decorations
belonging to that which she had formerly occupied
had been carefully transferred. The table had
been spread sumptuously with fruits, cates, and many
delicacies brought freshly from the East; and in the
centre, as she had specially directed, a beautiful fountain-urn
of the purest silver was elevated, containing a
full measure of the choicest wine. Brilliantly lighted,
and in every respect ready and complete, the slave
called upon her mistress to survey and to approve her
work. She did approve of it, and a smile of bitter
satisfaction overspread her countenance as she spoke.
“It is well done, Zitta—thou hast omitted nothing—
it is fitly designed for those who shall enjoy it. Leave
me now, Zitta—leave me, and give fit reception when
Amri cometh. Deny me to all other persons, and seek
me no more thyself to-night.”
“Should the Lord Edacer come, my lady, he may
seek you to thank you for the lustres?”
“I can spare his thanks—I can understand them unspoken.
He cannot see me—I am sick to all but
Amri; and, Zitta—” The slave returned. There was
a pause before her mistress again spoke. Zitta advanced
a pace inquiringly, and Urraca whispered her thus:
“It may be thou wilt hear noises to-night from my
chamber—heed them not—hear them not!”
“Oh, my lady—what mean you?” cried the slave,
beseechingly.
“What matters it to thee, Zitta? thou art free now.”
“But not happy, my lady, to see you thus,” replied
the slave.
“Hear me, and be assured. What I do, I do for
my happiness, under the guidance of the only thought
which can promise me the peace I seek. I am not
wild, Zitta, but what I do and contemplate is done and
considered with a deliberate mind, ungoverned by any
passionate mood, such as has but too frequently misled
me into error. Obey me—leave me now; and—hear
me—whatever cry thou hearest coming from my chamber,
whether of my voice or Amri, give it no heed—
stir not to inquire—suffer no one, not even thyself, to
approach. Think only, and rejoice as thou thinkest,
at such moments, that thou art now free! It may be that,
even with thy thought, I too shall be free, though after a
different fashion. Leave me!”
“But may I not come, my lady—must I not, if thou
shouldst call or cry out?” demanded the slave.
“No—not even if I cry out shalt thou come,” was
the stern reply.
The slave, immersed in tears, would have lingered;
but, gently leading her to the door of the chamber, Urraca
pushed her from the entrance and carefully fastened
it behind her. When she had gone, and her steps were
no longer heard, Urraca carefully inspected all the windows,
and saw that, in compliance with commands previously
given, they were fastened beyond the strength of
any one man, without fitting instruments, to unclose.
This done, she approached the table, and drawing the
packet of poison from her vest, emptied its contents into
the vase teeming with wine, and then carefully destroyed
the parchment which contained it. She had now little
more to do than to await the arrival of Amri—or, we may
rather say, her fate. Her resolve was taken, and her
nature was of that impetuous and decisive character that
we may regard her determination as unalterable. This
was evident in the coolness which had marked all her
proceedings, her careful consideration of every subject
in her household, however minute or unimportant, which
might seem to challenge her attention, and the temperate
and subdued demeanour with which she had dismissed
and favoured her domestics. Lifting the curtain of her
privacy a moment before the appearance of Amri, we
behold her in an attitude, to her one of the most unwonted,
but, at the same time, of the most essential humiliation.
Upon her knees she strives earnestly, but
oh! how hopelessly, to pray for that mercy which she
must forfeit for the crime which even then she meditated.
The unspoken supplication dies away in murmurs, and
the murmurs—a vain and broken breathing—are lost in
the unheeding air.
