University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

She had two objects in choosing this hymn. It
was the appropriate chant of Velasquez—equally for
his lips and ears—at that moment of his impending
peril; and she cherished the humane hope that, as in
the previous song, he would join his voice with hers,

and thus utter the proper prayer to Heaven just when
it would most become his lips. Her quick instincts
led her also to believe that Linares would receive it
as an intimation that the time was approaching when
it would be necessary for him also to act. But Velasquez
took no part in the hymn. His head sank
upon his breast as she proceeded, and he seemed to
drowse.

“Dost thou sleep, uncle?” demanded Juan.

He looked up when addressed, and, in the imperfect
light, it could be seen that the eyes of the invalid
were full of tears.

“The hymn saddens though it soothes me, Maria.
Why didst thou choose it? Yet I blame thee not. I
would I could sing it with thee. I strove, but the
voice failed me, and my heart felt strange as if with a
sudden sinking. I remember me to have heard that
hymn, the last night that I slept in the dwelling of
my poor mother, Juanita. I was innocent then! I
was a lad! There was a woman who was blind—they
called her Dolores—she sang it often beneath our
windows, but I did not weep to hear it then as I do
now. Yet I remember it well. I knew the ballad all
by heart, and could have sang it with her; but I had
wilder fancies, and I mocked the tenderness of her
hymn with a gay ballad of some bolder spirit. I
could not mock her now. Thy voice hath soothed
me, Maria, but sing to me no more to-night, I feel as
I would sleep. Juan, give me thy arm.”

The nephew started to his feet. Maria would have
offered an arm also, but Juan repulsed her.

“Not thine!” he answered, in accents not so low
but that Velasquez heard them.

“And why not hers, Juan?”

“She lacks the strength! Here is Gomez.”

“Maria lack the strength! Is she not well, Juan?
or am I so much feebler than before? It must be so!
I feel it so! Well! Give me help! Gomez be
it, then.”

A cold sweat covered the face and forehead of
Maria de Pacheco, as she beheld the officious Gomez
start forward at the summons of Juan. She saw
Velasquez grasped by them, as if for support, on either
side. The words of the latter—

“It is very dark—goest thou rightly, Juan?—
rushed through her very brain with a dreadful import,
the more terrible and startling, as, having herself
receded toward the cabin, she did not see them approach.
Then she was conscious that some one stood
beside her. It was Linares, followed by another.
She grasped his arm.

“Now, now, Linares!—It is doing! Hence! Quick!
God have mercy!”

A plunge, and a most piercing shriek, were heard
while she was speaking. Linares started forward.
There was a sudden uproar in the ship. The alarm
was given, and the men were running to and fro, while
a crowd gathered on the side where the deed had been
done. Another scream from the waters—a scream of
agony—a cry for help—and then the stern accents of
Linares prevailed over all others.

“Murderer of thy uncle—bloody traitor—I have
caught thee in the act!”

“Away!” cried Juan de Silva — “and to thy
duties. Behold in me thy captain!”

“Never!” was the cry from the crew. “Diego
Linares!”

“The heavy hand of Linares was upon the shoulder
of the culprit. His confederate, Gomez, was in the
grasp of an equally powerful assailant. The proceeding
had been too well devised—the action too prompt—
to suffer the cunning Juan to escape by any subtleties;
and he was already given to understand that the fate
to which he was doomed, was that to which his uncle
had been already consigned. In the suddenly aroused
sense of danger which he felt, his impulse was to call
for Donna Maria.

“She is here!” cried Linares.

The proud woman had recovered all her strength
of soul and courage, and the conviction that the hateful
and malignant spirit whom she had once feared
was now wholly in her power; and she felt an exulting
sense of pleasure in being able to discard the veil of
hypocrisy which she had so successfully worn. She
steadily advanced towards the clamorous group.

“Speak for me, Maria!” exclaimed the captive—
“tell these men—say to Linares, that, in what I have
done, I have but obeyed thy wishes!”

“As if my wishes should suffice to move the loving
nephew to the murder of his first friend and most
loving uncle!”

“Demonios! do I hear thee, woman?”

He was grappled instantly and firmly by the vigorous
Linares. A dozen willing hands were nigh, to
help him in the fearful deed which he designed.

“Must I perish! Has my toil of blood been taken
for such as these! Maria, dost thou indeed desert
me? Speak!” cried the desperate man—“Speak!
thou knewest my purpose—thou didst not disclaim
my deed!”

“I know thee as a felon and a fiend; as one whom
I loathe and scorn! Linares, trust him not! He
who would keep no terms with one so confiding as his
mother's brother, will keep no terms with thee. What
said I to thee before? Do thy duty to thyself and
me! Revenge Velasquez, thy captain, recover the
wretched Lopez de Levya from the isle where he was
put to perish, and be the master of thy ship and
crew!”

“This, then, was thy scheme! Demonios! that I
should have been blinded by this woman's subtleties!”

“Thou wast the victim to thy own vanities—thy
own quickness to crime—thy own coldness of heart!”
said the proud Maria.

“Oh, tongue of the serpent! dost thou sting me
thus! But thou exultest too soon. Thinkest thou
that I have lived for such a fate as this! with this wealth
at my girdle—with so much of life in my possession
—shall I lose life? No! off there, ye base scum and
offal—off! Ye shall hang for this like dogs—I
will!—”

His own terrible struggles arrested his words, by
which they had been stimulated. He had much to

live for, and the unwilling spirit of youth was not to
be resigned so easily to the sacrifice of those delights,
for which he had paid such heavy price. His strength,
which was not ordinarily great, was that of desperation
at the moment. He fought with wonderful spirit
and address, and it tasked three stout seamen so to
recover the mastery over him, as to lift him to the
side of the vessel to which the feeble uncle had been
beguiled, and over which he had been suddenly thrown.
Brought to the verge of the precipice, he succeeded
in forcing himself back, so that his head only hung
over the bulwarks.—Suddenly, however, the weight of
the powerful Linares was thrown upon him; and the
crack of the neck, as it was thrust down upon the sharp
and narrow thwarts, could have been heard even above
the spasmodic gurgle and hoarse scream of the victim,
by which it was accompanied. The still quivering
carcass which they committed to the deep, was no
longer conscious of its fate. A second plunge declared
the doom of the page Gomez, whose cries had
been silenced by the stroke of a dagger, while his
master's death-struggles were most violent. Deep
and dreary was the silence which followed on board
the vessel. The rage of all parties was satisfied, and
a certain, but indescribable fear was upon every heart.
But none of the fruits of the struggle had been lost.
A single hour had in effect rendered Maria de Pacheco,
as had been promised by Juan de Silva, the mistress
of the Dian de Burgos. A single sentence to Diego
Linares declared the present destination of the vessel.

“The Maroon—Lopez de Levya!”

She was obeyed; the ship was brought about, and
her prow turned once more in the direction of the
desolate Isle of Lovers.