Ferdinand. Ah! what of him, my lord?
Osorio. He proved a villain;
Betray’d the mystery to a brother villain;
And they between them hatch’d a damnéd plot
To hunt him down to infamy and death
To share the wealth of a most noble family, 125
And stain the honour of an orphan lady
With barbarous mixture and unnatural union.
What did the Velez? I am proud of the name,
Since he dared do it.
[OSORIO grasps his sword and turns off from FERDINAND,
then, after a pause, returns.
Osorio. Our links burn dimly.
Ferdinand. A dark tale darkly finish’d! Nay, my lord! 130
Tell what he did.
Osorio (fiercely). That which his wisdom prompted.
He made the traitor meet him in this cavern,
And here he kill’d the traitor.
Ferdinand. No! — the fool.
He had not wit enough to be a traitor.
Poor thick-eyed beetle! not to have foreseen 135
That he, who gull’d thee with a whimper’d lie
To murder his own brother, would not scruple
To murder thee, if e’er his guilt grew jealous
And he could steal upon thee in the dark!
Osorio. Thou would’st not then have come, if ——
Ferdinand. O yes, my lord! 140
I would have met him arm’d, and scared the coward!
[FERDINAND throws off his robe, shows himself armed,
and draws his sword.
Osorio. Now this is excellent, and warms the blood!
My heart was drawing back, drawing me back
With womanish pulls of pity. Dusky slave,
Now I will kill thee pleasantly, and count it 145
Among my comfortable thoughts hereafter.
Ferdinand. And all my little ones fatherless! Die thou first.
[They fight. OSORIO disarms FERDINAND, and in disarming
him, throws his sword up that recess, opposite to
which they were standing.
Ferdinand (springing wildly towards Osorio). Still I can strangle
thee!
Osorio. Nay, fool! stand off.
I’ll kill thee — but not so! Go fetch thy sword.
[FERDINAND hurries into the recess with his torch.
OSORIO follows him, and in a moment returns
alone.
Osorio. Now — this was luck! No bloodstains, no dead body! 150
His dream, too, is made out. Now for his friend.
[Exit.
SCENE changes to the court before the Castle of VELEZ.
MARIA and her FOSTER-MOTHER.
Maria. And when I heard that you desired to see me,
I thought your business was to tell me of him.
Foster-Mother. I never saw the Moor, whom you describe.
Maria. ‘Tis strange! he spake of you familiarly 155
As mine and Albert’s common foster-mother.
Foster-Mother. Now blessings on the man, whoe’er he be,
That join’d your names with mine! O my sweet lady,
As often as I think of those dear times
When you two little ones would stand at eve, 160
On each side of my chair, and make me learn
All you had learnt in the day; and how to talk
In gentle phrase, then bid me sing to you,
‘Tis more like heaven to come, that what has been!
Maria. O my dear mother! this strange man has left me 165
Wilder’d with wilder fancies than yon moon
Breeds in the love-sick maid — who gazes at it
Till lost in inward vision, with wet eye
She gazes idly! But that entrance, mother!
Foster-Mother. Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale! 170
Maria. No one.
Foster-Mother. My husband’s father told it me,
Poor old Leoni. Angels rest his soul!
He was a woodman, and could fell and saw
With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam
Which props the hanging wall of the old chapel? 175
Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree,
He found a baby wrapt in mosses, lined
With thistle-beards, and such small locks of wool
As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home,
And rear’d him at the then Lord Velez’ cost. 180
And so the babe grew up a pretty boy.
A pretty boy, but most unteachable —
And never learnt a prayer, nor told a bead,
But knew the names of birds, and mock’d their notes,
And whistled, as he were a bird himself. 185
And all the autumn ‘twas his only play
To get the seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them
With earth and water on the stumps of trees.
A friar who gather’d simples in the wood,
A grey-hair’d man — he loved this little boy, 190
The boy loved him — and, when the friar taught him,
He soon could write with the pen; and from that time
Lived chiefly at the convent or the castle.
So he became a very learned youth.
But O! poor wretch — he read, and read, and read, 195
Till his brain turn’d — and ere his twentieth year,
He had unlawful thoughts of many things.
And though he pray’d, he never loved to pray
With holy men, nor in a holy place.
But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet, 200
The late Lord Velez ne’er was wearied with him,
And once as by the north side of the chapel
They stood together, chain’d in deep discourse,
The earth heav’d under them with such a groan,
That the wall totter’d, and had well-nigh fall’n 205
Right on their heads. My lord was sorely frighten’d;
A fever seiz’d him; and he made confession
Of all the heretical and lawless talk
Which brought this judgment: so the youth was seiz’d
And cast into that hole. My husband’s