Six weeks elapsed before the good ship “Eliza” again made the land. Then the heights of Maryland rose to the view, and on the following morning, at an early hour, she made Cape Fear. Passing Virginia, she sailed slowly along the coast of Carolina, and at last, after a very fair passage, came to an anchor at Roanoke.

Roanoke island, a little to the south of Albemarle Sound, and somewhat further south of Dismal Swamp, was Sir Walter Raleigh’s plantation, and the first of the British settlements in North America. It had been established several years, but was, nevertheless, yet in its infancy, and the arrival of a ship from dear old England naturally excited in the colony the liveliest sensation. Long and long before she came to an anchor, and while she was yet far in the offing, every human creature in Roanoke had made her the subject of their every thought, and conjecture had deemed no point in her appearance too small for the exercise of its powers. Boats put off to meet her miles out, and, as she neared the island, a whole fleet of this craft, comprising every class of galley and canoe, hovered round her, and, though no one was allowed to come on board, all the news from England was known in every boat before the ship anchored.

Once anchored, Hildebrand lost no time, after he had completed his arrangements, in communicating with the shore, and landing the supplies which Sir Walter had sent out. The process of unloading occupied him a whole week, and by the time that he had taken in his return cargo, and procured fresh provisions, two weeks more had elapsed. Nevertheless, the ship which Sir Walter Raleigh had promised to send him as a companion, that he might be better able to cope with the Spaniards, and which he knew to have been nearly ready when he sailed from England, had not made her appearance, and there became reason to suppose that she had incurred some mishap. Another week elapsed, and still there was no sign of her coming, and Hildebrand began to fear, from the information he had had previous to leaving England, that, if he delayed much longer, the Spanish fleet would escape him, and arrive at Cadiz before he could cross the Atlantic. This reflection determined him to make no further delay, and accordingly, amidst the hearty cheers of the colonists, he weighed anchor, and made all sail for the Atlantic.

After three weeks’ sail, the “Eliza” came in sight of the Azores, and, holding off the land, cruized in the offing for three weeks more; but saw no trace of the Spanish fleet. Anxious and disappointed, Hildebrand began to fear that it must have passed; and he resolved, after a little hesitation, and a conference with Master Halyard, who was of the same opinion as himself, to run for Cadiz, where he would be able to ascertain if his conjectures were well founded.

A favourable wind soon brought him to Cadiz. On entering the harbour, he saw the fleet had not arrived, though there were, to his surprise, several large ships lying in-shore, evidently preparing for some expedition. Being only in search of the Mexican fleet, however, Hildebrand would have put to sea again, but he was obliged, however it might assort with his design, to make some stay, lest he should excite suspicion, and so be prevented from departing at all.

But, though he came to an anchor, he kept a good distance from the shore, and made all ready against any visit from the authorities. From whatever cause, however, he did not receive such a visit, and on the following morning he ventured to go on shore.

Leaving his boat at the mole, he passed up to the quay, and thence to the city. As he progressed, he found the whole city, from one end to the other, rife with those preparations which, previous to his landing, he had observed along the shore; and he became curious to know what could be the object of so formidable an armament. But whenever he was about to make it the subject of inquiry, he found that he was closely attended by two cavaliers, whose faces, from their wearing their cloaks in the Spanish fashion, and having their slouched hats pulled over their brows, he could not well distinguish. Their appearance, however, caused him to refrain from any inquiry, and ultimately drove him to the quay, and induced him to return to his ship.

The next day Hildebrand again visited the city. He had not gone far, when, happening to look behind him, he found that the two vigilant cavaliers were on his heels once more. This brought him to a stand, and he resolved, since he could not shake them off, to let them pass him, and then return to his boat. They passed him without hesitation, and, having watched them a few yards, he turned quickly round, and made off. In his hurry, however, he took a wrong turning, and, instead of finding himself on the quay, he came to a halt in front of the cathedral.

There was no time for deliberation: to return, even if he could make out the way, would be but to seek the two persons who had been watching him; whereas, if he passed into the cathedral, he would find a covert for the moment, and, after a short interval, might return unobserved. This view of the matter no sooner occurred to him, than, with his accustomed decision, he resolved on the latter course; and straightway entered the cathedral.

High mass was in course of celebration at the moment of his entrance. The chapel in which the service was performed, being dedicated to our Lady, was in high favour with the people of Cadiz, and, therefore, was well attended. But though a small structure, it was not so full but that some seats were unoccupied; and Hildebrand, directly they incurred his notice, took possession of one of these without ceremony.

As he sat down, his side adjoined the chapel-aisle, which divided him, by only a few paces, from another row of seats, placed longitudinally. Thus, the occupiers of these seats, so far as they were opposite to him, faced Hildebrand, and could make no one movement that did not incur his observation.

One of these seats, a little in his advance, was occupied by a young lady and her duenna, who, at his very first entry, attracted Hildebrand’s whole attention. She was tall for a Spaniard, but this did not reduce, but rather augmented, the dignity of her mien, and gave a more bewitching grace to her exquisite proportions. From the manner in which she wore her mantilla, which, turned over the back of her head and shoulders, fell down over only one arm, these could be partly distinguished, and, certainly, the most fastidious taste could not but admire all that was visible. Her bust was rounded so accurately, in every turn of its outline, from her throat downwards, that the figure which painters call the line of beauty could be traced through all its proportions. But this incurred little notice, if one could gaze on the more attractive loveliness of her face. In her large eyes, indeed, there was a charm, dark and resistless as the frown of death, that fell on the eyes of others with a magnetic effect, and seemed to absorb all light in their own. Above, her arched eyebrows, though as black as night themselves, appeared to melt away into the full radiance of morning, which lent to her high forehead its most roseate colours, and most captivating sweetness. Then the light was again broken by her sparkling raven hair, which, parted in the middle, was turned in a profusion of curls behind her ears. It made itself visible, however, once more, on the side where her mantilla was raised, in its fall downwards, which brought a cluster of three or four ringlets on her neck and bosom. This rather added to, than weakened, the charm of her complexion, and its soft mellow tints derived from the contrast of light and shade a new fascination, and a more striking and bewitching beauty. Its general effect was, on a closer survey, also heightened by the warm blood that played in her cheeks, and by the more dazzling red of her lips, which

Hildebrand’s were not the only eyes that the young lady had captivated. Whether, however, it was owing to his tall person being more remarkable, or to the fact of his being a stranger, or to both causes combined, he alone had the good fortune, if such it were, to receive from the fair maiden any degree of encouragement. The first time her eyes met his, her glance was not, it is true, free from some savour of disdain; but it brightened as it passed over his handsome features, and gradually assumed a softer and responsive sparkle. Several times afterwards, in the course of the tedious service, he met her glance, and each time it wore a more tender tone, and brought to her warm cheeks a livelier blush. At last, the service was concluded, and the lady, together with her duenna, rose to retire. Hildebrand followed her with his eyes till she reached the church-porch. As she was making her egress, she turned round, and again bent her eyes on his.

Hildebrand was riveted to the spot: the next moment, the lady passed out; and, though he hastened after her, she had gone out of sight when he reached the church-porch, and left no vestige behind.

Hildebrand returned to his boat with some sense of disappointment. This was lessened, however, on reflection, as it occurred to him that his visit to the cathedral had, at least, had the effect of misleading the two persons who had been watching him, and with whose attendance he could well dispense. But he did not remember, what must have removed all sense of disappointment, that his stay in Cadiz could not be prolonged above a day or two, and, therefore, that he would have no opportunity of pursuing the adventure which his visit to the cathedral had opened. A thought of Evaline de Neville, it is true, pierced his bosom with something like the sting of self-reproach, but the remembrance of the last parting look of the fair Spaniard counteracted its effect, and made her alone the subject of his reflections.

The next day, he resolved to visit the cathedral again. He endeavoured to persuade himself, in answer to some scruples and reproofs of conscience, that he was actuated in this step by a higher motive than the pursuit of an intrigue, and that his real object was to ascertain, under the cloak of an intrigue, what was the destined purpose of that great and formidable armament, which, on his first arrival, he had observed to be in progress, and had since found to be employing the whole energies of Spain. And, though it was not his principal object, he really was desirous to acquire this information; for if, as he conjectured, the armament was designed to reinforce the Duke of Parma, in Flanders, it was highly advisable that the fact of its being on foot should be immediately communicated to the court of England. Still, it must be owned, it was more his admiration of the fair Spaniard, than his jealousy of Spanish armaments, that led him again to the cathedral.

The service had begun when he entered the sacred edifice. Advancing to the seat he had occupied the previous morning, he perceived that the young lady and her duenna were already settled in their seats, and, so far as outward appearances testified, engaged in their devotions. But though he was gratified at their punctual attendance, his gratification was not without alloy; for the young lady, from whatever reason, wore a close veil over her face, and he did not receive one glance from her during the whole service. He was, however, unable to keep his eyes from her, and, on the service being concluded, they followed her, as on the day previous, to the church-porch. She would, he thought, at least give him a parting glance; she would at least raise her veil as she made her egress; but she passed out without so much as looking round.

Hildebrand’s cheeks glowed with resentment, not unmingled with shame, as his vanity received this mortifying blow. He was so taken aback, indeed, that he remained rooted to his seat, and it was not till the silence around warned him that he was almost the only person in the chapel, and, consequently, that it was high time to take his departure, that the first effects of his disappointment began to subside. Then, gathering his cloak about him, he sprang to his feet, and walked hastily forth.

As he was passing through the church-porch, he felt some one touch him behind. Turning round, his eye fell on an old woman, in whom, despite of her close veil, he immediately recognised the Spanish maiden’s duenna.

“Senhor,” said this person, “thou hast made me wait long: I have a billet for thee.”

And, drawing her hand from under her mantilla, she disclosed a sealed billet, which, without further speech, she placed in his eager hands.

“Thanks, thanks!” answered Hildebrand, slipping a ring from his finger, and dropping it into the withered palm of the duenna.

The latter person, quietly closing her hand over her costly guerdon, raised its forefinger to her lips, and, with this caution, broke away.

It may well be supposed, from his previous demeanour, that Hildebrand’s impatience to view and peruse the welcome billet was excessive. Fearful that he might be watched, however, he restrained his curiosity, and held the billet close in his hand, under the fold of his cloak, till he reached a retired part of the city-quay. Then, drawing it forth, he tore it open and read these words:—

“If thy looks belie not thy heart, and thou canst love truly, be under the porch of the cathedral, at the southern entrance, this even, at ten of the clock.”

Hildebrand conned the billet over and over again, each time, as though he were really in love, viewing it more closely, and discerning in its fair penmanship a fresh grace. He did not hesitate a moment as to the propriety of accepting the invitation; indeed, in the excitement of the occasion, he did not give it a thought. He only wondered how the adventure would end—only thought how many hours, slow and tedious as days, must precede the appointed hour; and sought to overlook their weariness with the far-seeing eye of anticipation.

But the hour of the assignation arrived at last. Punctual to the moment, Hildebrand pushed across the cathedral-close, and presented himself at the southern porch.

It was a dark night, but still; and, in this retired quarter of the city, there was no person abroad. On taking his station in the porch, Hildebrand thought it probable, from the tenor of her note, that his unknown mistress might be led by these circumstances to venture out, and give him a meeting in the shadow of the porch. But he was not left long to conjecture. He had been in the porch but a few minutes, when an approaching footstep, followed by the rustling of drapery, saluted his ear. The next moment, a female appeared in sight: it was the old duenna.

“Art thou here before me, Senhor?” she said, approaching him. “Now, I’ll swear, from this impatience of thine, thy love is honest, and should win thee thy lady’s favour. Nay, nay, be not so eager. Thou shalt see her anon, I warrant you.”

“Let it be straightway, then, Senhora, I entreat thee,” answered Hildebrand, slipping a broad piece into her hand.

“Ay, ay, I am overfond, and ye both bend me as ye will,” answered the duenna. “St. Jago have mercy on me! I am afraid I do not right.”

“Nay, I’ll warrant, in thy young days, thou hast had lovers thyself,” observed Hildebrand; “so thou canst not, with any honesty,—and I’ll swear thou art right honest,—deny them to thy fair young ward.”

“Well, indeed, thou speakest sooth,” returned the duenna; “for I have, in my younger days, had lovers enow; and though the time for such follies is almost past with me,”—she was full sixty years of age—“it is not so with Donna Inez. Be of good heart, then, and follow me to her presence.”

Uttering these words, the old duenna turned away, and, with a quick step, passed out into the cathedral-close. Hildebrand followed her, a few paces in her rear, to a neighbouring street, which led them to the other end of the city. Here, turning into a by-street, they passed along the outside of a dead wall to a small doorway, inserted in the wall, some distance from any dwelling. The old woman came to a stand before the door, and, raising her hand over her eyes, looked narrowly round, on either side, to see that no one was about. It was very dark, and she could not see far; but she seemed, after one glance around, to be satisfied on this score, and turned to the door again. A key which she drew from her vest, and inserted in the lock, quickly opened the door, and she whispered Hildebrand to enter.

Passing down two or three steps, Hildebrand found himself in a large garden, which spread round, on either side of the walk he was standing on, further than he could see. Having ascertained this, he was turning to look for his guide, when he descried the figure of another female, somewhat taller than the duenna, standing against a contiguous tree. A thought struck him that it was his mistress, and, without further pause, he sprang lightly to her side.

The lady’s arms were folded in the fall of her mantilla, but Hildebrand, gently pushing that aside, easily possessed himself of her trembling hand. As he did so, he came before her, and turned his eyes on her face.

Notwithstanding that he could not see very clearly, he readily distinguished the adorable features of his mistress, and the soft light that, in defiance of the darkness, beamed in her peerless eyes. He could not, perhaps, discern the warm glow of confusion, mingled with pleasure, that his presence had called to her cheek, but her feelings were sufficiently revealed to him by the trembling of her delicate hand. Love, whose refined sensibilities are entirely swayed by example, being so subject to impulse, and the action of passing influences, would have responded to this confusion; and the rapture of the moment would have been locked in silence, and only seen in the excess of feeling. But Hildebrand was only a gallant, not a lover; and he was at no loss for words—earnest and musical, too, though lacking in sincerity—in which he could address his mistress.

Readiness of compliment is a characteristic trait, if one may so speak, of that passion which springs only from admiration, in contradistinction to that which flows, with a gentler wave, and a more constant and regular current, from the purer source of affection. In the one passion, all is but skin-deep; in the other, it is heart-deep: the first is, like the body, mortal; but the other is an emblem of the soul, and is quick, etherial, and undying.

Clasping her hand in his, and drawing it under his arm, Hildebrand first proceeded to thank his mistress, in a few passionate words, for the distinguished favour which she had bestowed upon him, in the concession of an interview. They moved onward while he spoke, and presently, turning a sweep in the walk, came in view of the lady’s dwelling. Here Hildebrand would have paused; but his mistress, though she had till now been almost a passive agent, and had hardly seemed to exercise volition, continued to move on, and, of course, drew him with her.

A few paces brought them to a flight of steps, which, after a moment’s hesitation, they ascended, and passed over the landing to an adjacent door. Raising the latch, the lady pushed the door open, and disclosed a lighted hall within.

“Follow, and say not a word!” she said.

She passed into the hall, and Hildebrand, pursuant to her injunction, followed her in silence. They crossed the hall on tiptoe, and halted at the foot of a staircase, which, dividing in the middle, ascended in two distinct flights, and opened into a sort of gallery, or continuation of the landing, which ran round three sides of the hall above.

The lady looked anxiously up the stairs, on either side, and round the whole range of the hall, to see if any one was about, but everything was still as death, and the hall seemed to have no other inmates but themselves. Apparently satisfied on this point, the lady moved forward again, and, with a light but quick step, ascended to the gallery, followed by her silent gallant.

At the summit of the stairs, a few feet from the landing, was a narrow door, which the lady opened. A flood of light poured through the aperture, and, looking in, Hildebrand discovered a well-lighted and elegant room, furnished as a sitting-chamber. The lady held the door open, and Hildebrand, perceiving that she wished him to enter first, passed in. His companion followed in his wake, and shut the door behind them.

Up to this moment, Donna Inez—for such was the name of the fair Spaniard—had spoken but once, and then only to request Hildebrand to be silent. But the effects of Hildebrand’s first approach had now worn off, and the excitement of her progress from the garden, through a part of the house which might have exposed her to unfriendly observation, and which, therefore, involved some degree of peril, had re-nerved her, and her features had lost all trace of confusion or embarrassment.

As she closed the chamber-door, she turned round, and fixed her eyes full on the face of her gallant.

“Thou art not an Andalusian,” she said, wistfully surveying his features, “nor art thou from Catalonia: wast born in Spain at all?”

“No, lady,” answered Hildebrand: “I am from the North.”

“Ah, methought thou hadst not our accent,” returned Donna Inez; “and yet, though they be foreign, thine accents are good, and become thee right well. Be the Northerns true?”

“Thou wilt find me true, lady,” replied Hildebrand.

“Thou’lt say so, I warrant,” said Donna Inez. And thrusting her hand under her mantilla, she drew forth a small dagger, and continued:—“Regard thou the temper of this steel! Consider, while thou admirest its flashing lustre, how ready it is to defend, and how prompt to revenge! Canst thou be true as this?”

“Ay, truer!” answered Hildebrand, smiling, and clasping her uplifted hand in his.

Firmly as she had clutched the dagger, the small hand of Donna Inez relaxed, after one vain effort, in the passionate grasp of Hildebrand. She turned her eyes on his face, but it was not, as before, with the searching glance of inquiry, but with a look of the fullest confidence, mingled with overpowering passion. There was nothing in the tone of his face, however earnestly surveyed, but might confirm her confidence; the flush of triumph on his cheek, and the excitement in his eye, while they lent his countenance a more stirring animation, seemed to offer to her his warmest sympathy, and to speak of love that was as dear as life, and as true as she could wish it.

Still holding her hand in his, Hildebrand led her to a contiguous chair, and seated himself by her side. Probably he would here have followed up, by a few well-timed words, the impression which he had made upon her by his bearing; but if he had resolved upon this, he was prevented from carrying his intention into effect. Just as he had taken his seat beside her, the door of the chamber, which was right opposite to where they were sitting, was hastily pushed open, and the old duenna rushed in.

“Oh, Donna, child, thou art lost!” exclaimed the faithful governante, in broken accents. “Don Gonzalez has returned, and is, alack! even now upon the stairs, calling for thee with all his main.”

Nothing could exceed the embarrassment of the lovers on hearing this intelligence. Hildebrand, it is true, did not know who Don Gonzalez was, or precisely understand what might be the effect of his arrival. But, though he was unacquainted with the exact and particular nature of the danger, he clearly saw that a danger impended, and that its consequences might cause both Inez and himself very serious annoyance. Inez viewed the arrival of Don Gonzalez with still greater concern. She had known him from her childhood, when she was left, with a large dower, to his uncontrolled guardianship, by his younger brother, her father. Being thus entirely at his disposal, and knowing him to be a man of unscrupulous passions, and a jealous and vindictive temper, she naturally saw the danger in its blackest colours, and was perfectly overwhelmed with anxiety and apprehension.

“Alack!” she exclaimed, “I am indeed undone! Fly, Sir! fly, I beseech thee!”

“Madonna! and how is he to fly, I prithee?” asked the duenna. “There is no way out, I ween, but through this door, and the tyrant will be on the threshold presently.”

Startled by this intelligence, Hildebrand glanced round in search of some place of concealment. A large casement stood on one side of the chamber, screened from observation by a flowing merino curtain, which was fastened, about a foot below the roof, to a pole of cedar, whence its ample folds fell to the floor. This was the only covert that presented itself, but Hildebrand thought that, unless the jealous Spaniard should suspect his ward to have been entertaining a gallant, and subject the chamber to a rigid search, it might prove sufficient.

“Have no fear!” he said to Inez. “I will hide me behind yonder curtain; and if it come to the worst, I carry a good Toledo at my side, and will make my way against more foes than one.”

There was no time to spare; for the step of Don Gonzalez, rendered more distinct by the clink of his spurs, was now heard at the door. Hardly had Hildebrand slipped behind the curtain, when, pushing open the door, he entered the chamber.

He was a man in years; but time, though it had whitened his hair, had not bent his tall form, or broken the stiffness of his figure. Even his grey hair, which would have given a venerable look to others, served to render his appearance more rigid, and the severity of his glance was magnified by his white brows, while his lips, pressed sternly together, looked more repulsive under his grizzled moustachios. He was dressed in grave habits, with a slouched hat, as though—which probably was the case—he had but just returned from abroad, and had passed straight to his ward’s sitting-chamber.

On his entrance into the apartment, he closed the door behind him, and, turning round, glanced inquiringly at the two inmates. His quick eye, surveying them earnestly, readily detected the embarrassment of his niece, and discerned that all was not right with her grave duenna. But what probably tended most to excite his suspicions, and led him to surmise that some evil was on foot, was the attire of the two females, which, considering the lateness of the hour, was certainly singular, as it comprehended their veils and mantillas.

“Ye have been walking late, Senhoras,” he said, “yet not, I trust, without good escort, or ye may have met some misadventure.”

There was a pause.

“And whither hast thou roamed, fair niece?” resumed Don Gonzalez. “What happy gallant, of all the young bachelors of Cadiz, hast thou favoured with an assignation?”

“What meanest thou, Sir?” said Inez, recovering herself.

“Wouldst thou outface me?” demanded Gonzalez. “There is that on thy cheek, woman, would avow thy guilt, though thy tongue grew dumb in swearing its tale false.”

But Inez was not to be brow-beaten. Though the unexpected intrusion of her uncle had taken her aback, it could not, by any possible bearing, bend and overcome her indomitable spirit; and now that the first shock of the surprise had worn off, she was prepared to meet him, and could look the danger in the face with perfect firmness. She met his insinuations with indignant remonstrance; and answered his taunts, though they were the most bitter he could devise, with taunts more galling. He sought to silence her once or twice; but the more he stormed, the more did Inez persist, both by her voice and gesture, in braving his fury, and treating him with scorn and defiance. At last, his passion rose, almost to madness. There was one thing that Inez had not explained, and that was, how, at so late an hour of the night, she and her duenna were dressed for walking. This was a point, however innocent it might be in itself, that he was not disposed to give up, and it furnished him with an excuse for his last outburst.

“Thou hast had no assignation,” he said, “and yet, by all appearance, hast been abroad at midnight. I prithee what mighty matter took thee forth so late?”

“Is it a sin, then, Senhor, to stroll at nights in the garden?” demanded Inez.

“’Tis a fair night, certes, for ladies to go strolling,” answered Gonzalez.

“Thou art too careful for me, Sir,” returned Inez. “There was no rain.”

“No rain!” exclaimed Gonzalez. “Wouldst thou make me doubt mine own senses? But, no! I will not be braved thus. Thou shalt confess, with thine own lips, and before thy helpmate here, that the rain hath been abundant.”

As he thus spoke, he caught a firm hold of her wrist, and drew her towards the chamber casement. The detection of her lover, to whom the curtain of the casement had hitherto afforded a secure covert, seemed inevitable; and her rage sank under her anxiety and terror.

“Hold, Senhor! hold!” she exclaimed, throwing all her weight on her guardian’s arm: “I know it hath rained hard.”

But her submission had not the effect she sought. Indeed, it rather increased suspicion, than subdued it; and as it was not till he moved towards the casement that she had tried to conciliate him, Gonzalez fancied that the casement would present something to view, in some way or other, that she desired to conceal. Directly the thought occurred to him, he cast off her hold, and threw her from him.

Inez beheld him approach the curtain of the casement, behind which her lover had taken refuge, without the power of interposing. The old duenna, in the back-ground, was equally helpless, and could only raise her hands in speechless terror. Inez scarcely dared to breathe, when, twining one hand round the hilt of his rapier, Gonzalez fastened the other on the curtain, and tore it aside.

The two females started back in astonishment: the casement was open, and Hildebrand had gone.