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Pelayo

a story of the Goth
  
  
  

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IV.
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4. IV.

The heart of Melchior was subdued within him as
these sad strains fell upon his ears. He dared not then
approach his daughter; but, leaving her for a time to the
indulgence of her sorrows, he fled silently to his own
chamber, and there, unseen, gave free utterance to his.
When he came forth the traces of grief, other than it
was his wont to show, were completely obliterated from
his countenance. In sadness, but without any reference
to the secret care of both their hearts, he now addressed
her; he was about to take his departure for the country,
and, as it was not his purpose to return to Cordova, he
gave her directions as to her mode of procedure during
his absence.

“You will here remain, my child, in the house, and
with the family of my brother Samuel, until you shall
have heard from me. Heed no word that you shall
hear counselling your departure from this place, unless
the bearer shall show to your eyes, when he speaks, the
ring which now you see upon my finger. Do not leave
this dwelling for less reason, unless it be that some
cause to me unknown, and which I look not for, should
compel you. Your own judgment must then direct your
course, and the blessing of the Great Jehovah keep with
you to protect and guide you.”

“But if Amri, my father—should he again seek and
pursue me, for truly do I think it was he who so assailed
me when I was saved from his grasp by—”

She paused—she could not speak the name of Pelayo.

“It may be it was he. I thought not of that,” said
Melchior, musingly—“but now he cannot harm thee.
He is secure for a season—secure from harming thee,
as he himself is secure from harm.”

Melchior then related the occurrence which had taken
place at the house of Adoniakim, which resulted in the


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commitment of the vicious youth to the temporary prison
from which we have witnessed his escape. The cheek
of Thyrza paled with apprehension as she heard the
narrative.

“My mind misgives me, my father, if Amri be in possession
of your secret,” said the maiden.

“There would be danger, my child, were he free.
But he is secure, and the bolt which fetters him is under
the hand of Adoniakim.”

“Alas—his father! I fear that he too greatly loves
Amri to keep him in bondage. Amri will plead and
promise, and Adoniakim will believe and set him free;
and thy life, my father, and the life of—”

She did not finish the sentence. Melchior reassured
her.

“I warned Adoniakim against his weakness, Thyrza,
and his eyes are now fully opened to his son's unworthiness.
There is too much at risk, my child, and the
heavy responsibility upon Adoniakim will keep him
bound to caution. He will not relax the bolt nor draw
the bar which bind Amri until the meeting is over, and
our people have all departed for the mountains, whither it
is our present purpose to depart.”

“Yet, my father, should it be that I see danger, or
hear words of alarm ere the meeting in the cave be over?”
inquired the daughter.

“Then don the garments of the page, my child, and
seek me at the cave. Thou wilt find shelter among its
close recesses from any present danger; and if there
be danger, we shall encounter it, as heretofore we have
ever done, together. Leave not thy weapon, but keep
it secret about thee. Thy power to use it successfully
will much depend on the ignorance of thy assailant that
thou hast such weapon in possession. Thou knowest
the path to the cave?”

“There are two—”

“Take thou that which leads by the Fountain of the


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Damsels. It will be less noted than the other which is
by the woods, and there will be fewer to suspect thy
purpose being flight, as it is a trodden and familiar path.
But I trust there will be no need of this. I would not
have thee fly until I send thee word by a safe hand, for
there may be blows to be given along the passes which
lead to the Asturian mountains, whither we shall guide
our footsteps; and the fierce soldiery will make it unsafe
for thy present travel. Yet take thy own counsel if thou
seest cause of fear in Cordova.”

With other words of advice, mixed with cheering
and fond language besides, the old man took his departure,
leaving his now doubly-desolate daughter to her
own sad moods and heart-sorrowing meditations.