University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

“I was right, sir,” said Juan aloud, as he returned
to the seat of his uncle, who had been watching with
some curiosity the progress of this conference, of
which he heard not, of course, a single syllable. “She
is prudent and sensible. She will not interpose with
prayer or argument to balk the ends of justice. She
will not meddle with his fate.”

There was something like disappointment in the
dark, malignant features of Velasquez.

“Yet did she seem exceedingly slow in coming to
her resolution?”

“By no means, sir. She was prompt enough; but”
—here the sentence was concluded in a whisper
that reached only the ears of Velasquez—“but it was
my policy to persuade her, if possible, that her entreaties
might avert his fate. Could I have succeeded,
it might have served to confirm and strengthen our
suspicions. But she is firm—she may be guiltless!
But of the guilt of Lopez there can be no doubt. She
denies not that.”

Juan had his own motives for this statement. He
did not despair, yet, of finally overcoming the resolution
of the woman. His passion, in this, somewhat
baffled his judgment. But of this hereafter.

“Well, there is nothing left but to punish the one.
Bring him forth.”

Juan retired—the anxious soul of the lady followed

his parting footsteps, but her eyes maintained a steady
and unfaltering gaze, as before, neither resting upon
nor absolutely shrinking from the countenance of
Velasquez. The pilot was again summoned to the
side of the latter.

“Well?” was the brief but intelligible inquiry. It
was sufficiently understood.

“We approach, Señor.”

“Good! see to your ship.”

The pilot disappeared—a bustle announced new
parties to the scene, and, preceded by Juan, a youth
came forward under the conduct of two soldiers. He
was manacled hand and foot, and moved with difficulty.
The rattling of the chains was heard. It smote upon
the soul of the woman, but she turned not once her
head. The eyes of Velasquez were upon her. A
savage grin lighted up his dark, satanic countenance,
and left no doubt in the minds of those who beheld
that he meditated a purpose of the deadliest malice.
The youth in bonds was of graceful person and handsome
features, but they were not those of a man of
character or courage. The cheeks were of a deadly
paleness—the lips quivered with apprehension—the
whole air and expression were those of one totally
unequal to the trial that lay before him. His eye
wandered restlessly and apprehensively to the countenance
of one or the other of the three parties to whom
the reader has been introduced, without daring to
encounter the gaze of either. Velasquez watched his
movements with the exultation of a cat in possession
of her prey. The face of Juan bore a similar expression;

while in the fine masculine spirit which made
itself conspicuous in the face of the woman, in spite
of all her efforts to subdue it, there might be seen a
strange conflict between tenderness and scorn.

“Unbind him!” said Velasquez.

“Oh, thanks! thanks!” muttered the victim, looking
appealingly to his tyrant. The scorn deepened in its
shadows upon the face of the woman.

“You know not yet for what you have to be thankful,”
was the sneer of Juan, as he busied himself in
undoing the manacles.

“Speak to me, Juan. For what am I reserved?
what may this mean if it be not mercy?”

“It means freedom,” was the response, still in a
whisper.

“Well—and that —”

“May be mercy,” was the ironical return of Juan,
as he withdrew from between Velasquez and his prey.
The latter now looked with features in which hope
and doubt were still at a lively struggle, upon the face
of his tyrant. He made a step toward him. The
uplifted hand of Velasquez arrested his approach.

“Lopez de Levya, were I to have thee drawn up
by the neck to yon spar, as the heretic English do
those whom they would destroy, it were no more than
thou deservest. But I am of a more merciful temper
—I have taken the chains from thy limbs.”

A lively gratitude overspread the features of the
person addressed; but he still trembled with a natural
anxiety and doubt. He knew his tyrant.

“I mean to set thee free!”

“Thanks! thanks!”

“Nay, I will do more for thee than this. I will
elevate thee to rare dignities. I will make thee a chief,
a prince, a sovereign of land and sea. Thou shalt be
able to stand up in thine empire, and none will say
thee nay.”

A pause. The culprit looked wildly at this language.
It was something more than apprehension
that shone in his face. There was no mistaking the
hideous malice of the speaker; there was no doubting
the ironical grin upon the lips of Juan; and the experience
of the ship had seldom found mercy or forgiveness
or generosity in either. The eye of the
woman was now fixed fully upon that of Velasquez,
her intense interest in what she had to hear making
her somewhat relax in the stubborn vigilance of
thought which had impressed itself upon all her features.
Velasquez resumed:—

“The quiet of this part of the Caribbean Sea, as
thou well knowest, is seldom broken by the prows of
Europeans. The savage steers his bark in other
courses, dreading its wild currents and fearful whirlpools.
Here, he who shall make his abode will be a
sovereign beyond dispute. It may be ages before he
will see upon his horizon, driven by hostile tempests,
the white sails of a Christian vessel. No empire could
be more secure from challenge—no state more certainly
beyond the danger of overthrow.”

Another pause, and a conviction of what was intended
at once passed into the soul of the woman.
Her hands were griped convulsively together, and the

paleness of her cheek increased. The culprit, to whom
Velasquez addressed himself, simply appeared bewildered.
Chains, confinement, terror, and probably
want of food and sleep, had rendered his faculties obtuse.
But Velasquez proceeded rapidly to his complete
enlightenment.

“Look out upon the sea, good Lopez,” and his hand
waved in the direction of the object to which the ship
had been sensibly approaching. At a league's distance
a little island was distinctly perceptible, though
seeming to be scarcely upheaved above the billows
which encircled it. Trees in groups might be seen to
wave upon it, the earth rose into moderate hills and
elevations as the eye penetrated the interior. Numerous
wild-fowl sailed in swift gyrations above it, and
gigantic birds strode majestically along its white and
sandy shores.

“That island, Lopez de Levya, I discovered for the
first time when I last traversed this ocean. I made
the discovery against my own will, being driven hither
by stress of weather. I little dreamed at that time
of its future usefulness; but when our weather-beaten
pilot, old Gomez, in beholding its solitude, declared
that it would be the spot, of all the world, in which
love would be most likely to find security, we called
it, in a merry jest, `The Isle of Lovers,' and when I
remembered that it was farther said, `One might be
a sovereign here without paying his tenth to any
crown,' then did I conceive how fitly I might reward
merit, by bestowing this island upon the deserving—

upon one who would desire security for his love and a
sovereignty beyond dispute.”

The eyes of the culprit were gradually enlarging.
He had slowly begun to guess the terrible destiny
which was before him, and the first feeling of overwhelming
apprehension necessarily kept him dumb.
He looked at his tyrant with eyes full of vacant terror.
The latter gave him but few moments for meditation
or doubt, as he thus proceeded:—

“Thou hast done me great wrong, Lopez de Levya.
Thou hast audaciously presumed upon the lady of my
love. For this wrong will I reward thee! We are
commanded, as thou knowest, my son, to forgive
those who do us injury. I will go farther than the
commandment. I will honor thee with wealth and
territory, and the highest distinction. Henceforth
shalt thou be a prince, an absolute sovereign, Lopez
de Levya, and as thy suitable empire behold the `Isle
of Lovers,' which I now bestow upon thee. There
shalt thou make music to the night, with no constraint.
None shalt say nay to thy strumming. If thou
shalt please no damsel's ears with thy song, thou
shalt at least offend in nothing the rights of others.
Thou shalt sing thy areytos to the stars, and find
them more gentle in thy sight than such eyes as
thou hast but too frequently offended with thy wilful
fondness. Am I not right in this, lady mine?” and
with a smirk quite as full of sarcasm as of tenderness,
the persecutor of both parties turned his gaze
from the face of the wretched man to that of the
scarcely less wretched woman. But he gained nothing

by the scrutiny. Her glance was fixed and obdurate,
and conveyed no meaning in it, such as that which
his jealous suspicions might have looked to see. He
watched her features for a few moments with a dissatisfied
expression, then resuming his former tones
and aspect, he addressed himself to his nephew,
Juan.

“Juan, my son, we trust we have sufficiently said
to make this excellent prince understand what honors
are designed him in requital for his evil deeds. It is
for thee to do the rest. Take the prince, therefore,
conduct him to the boat, and do thou see him safely
placed within the limits of his empire. Give him
provision for a month, in which space of time doubtless
he will be able to bring his subjects to proper
subjection and take his tithes of the produce of the
land. Give him a crossbow and a spear, that he may
coerce them should they rebel or fly, and see that you
forget not to hang his guitar about his neck, that he
may regale his hours of recreation and repose with
the precious ditties he so much loves to sing in other
ears. So shall he have pleasing recollections of one,
at least, for whom he will scarcely ever touch guitar
again.”