# Romance and Reality (Landon)/Chapter 63

CHAPTER XVII.
"How near I am now to a happiness
This earth exceeds not.......
Now for a welcome,
Able to draw men's envy upon man;
A kiss now that will hang upon my lip
As sweet as morning dew upon a rose,
And full as long,"
Middleton.
Though not, perhaps, taking such perfect poetry of expression, a similar train of thought passed across Edward's mind on the morning that he galloped through the woods of the fair Spanish province where dwelt "the ladye of his love." Leontio, in the drama, was very much disappointed in his reception; so was Lorraine. The last dark branches which intercepted his view gave way, and he saw a heap of blackened ruins. Scarcely aware of his own actions, he sprang from his horse. A single glance convinced him it could harbour no human ​habitant. With the rapidity of his own thoughts, he flung himself on horseback again, and, urging the animal to its utmost speed, the blood was on the spur, and foam on the bit, when he drew bridle at Alvarez' cottage.
Minora was there alone; and the instant she caught sight of the young Englishman, with all that tact by which a woman's feelings enable her to read those of others, she waited no question, but instantly exclaimed, "The Donna Beatrice is safe, but at Naples!'
Lorraine turned away his face for one moment, towards the fresh air of the door, before he answered her. Alvarez entered almost immediately, and minute and many were the questions and answers which rilled up the next hour. His plan was soon formed: he would accept their hospitality for the coming night, and return the next day to Naples. During the latter part of the dialogue, Minora had been reducing to practice the theory of the French poet,
"Mais, après tout, il faut diner."
The little oaken table had been placed beneath the porch, which the vine was beginning to cover with its lithe and light tendrils, and its small glistening green leaves opening in that ​short-lived and delicate perfume which exhales from the early blossoms of the grape. She had fried an omelet, fragrant with aromatic herbs; and her father filled a pitcher with claret, of the colour of the ruby, and the coolness of the pearl.
The sun set into one of those beautiful and purple evenings, which Langhorne has depicted as sweetly as poet well could—
"Twilight with gentle hand did weave
 Her fairy web of night and day,"—
when Edward bent his steps to take a last look at a place haunted by Beatrice's earliest years, and of which every record would, he rightly deemed, be so precious to her memory.
Time destroys not half so ruthlessly as man. The roof was entirely gone—only a rude skeleton of the house remained in the scorched and falling walls—a few traces of the black and white pavement were still left near one of the windows. It had been Beatrice's favourite seat, for the sake of a vine which had clustered luxuriantly round. Great part of the tree had been burnt—a few green shoots were now expanding, but they trailed upon the ground. A large oak had been entirely burnt; and this, with the destruction of some smaller trees, had ​laid poor Donna Margaretta's little garden open to view. There stood the stately ilex—all else was changed. The bees had deserted the hives, which were overgrown with thick creeping plants, that effectually excluded the air; the fountain was choked up with rubbish; and a few bright flowers mocked with their glad colours the desolation around.
Edward turned mournfully homewards: the scene of destruction pressed heavily upon his spirits; it was too nearly connected with what his Beatrice had suffered. He felt impatient to extend towards her that security and protection which it is man's to give to the woman he loves. The distance to Naples seemed immeasurable; and again and again did he lament that he had ever been persuaded to leave her. The next morning the dew lay like silver on the leaves, when he bade Alvarez and his daughter a kindly farewell.
Minora gained by the visit—a marriage-portion, which made her lover's father as polite to the heiress as he had been cold to the beauty. He had negatived the features which his son had most eloquently pleaded; but he had nothing to say against the pistoles.
Edward had just turned out of the village, ​and was preparing to take the road to the left, when his further progress was intercepted by two cavaliers, one of whom politely requested he would go to the right. He was so civilly arrested, that at first he was unsuspicious of the fact. He then did what people usually do in such cases—complied with what he could not resist.
One of the officers was tall and silent—the other short and communicative, and most particularly polite in his mode of information. From him Lorraine learnt that he was arrested on a charge of treason; and his obliging companion finished with observing, "I hope they will not hang so handsome a cavalier as your Excellency. I would recommend letting you off with a few years' solitary imprisonment. May I ask if the Senhor considers himself lucky? much depends on good fortune in such cases."
With this encouraging remark, they stopped at the house of the Judge of the district. Edward, as soon as he entered, saw that his case was hopeless. The judge was seated in a large arm-chair, by which stood a little black boy with a huge fan of white feathers: a flask and a silver goblet were on a table beside him, ​both empty; and their proprietor was looking round with the bewildered air of one just awakened from sleep. The shorter officer approached, and made some statements in a whisper.
"There, there, you have spoken; and I have heard quite enough. Strange that people should use so many more words than their intelligence needs! Bring the prisoner!"
Edward advanced.
"Young man, what were you doing at Don Henriquez de los Zoridos' yesterday evening?"
With a safe conscience Lorraine could reply "Nothing."
"Nothing! that's no answer—refuses to reply. Who did you expect to meet there?"
"Nobody."
"That's no answer either! What brought you here?"
"The beauty of the country—I am travelling for amusement."
"Ah, one of those wandering gentlemen who think every country better than their own—the very people for mischief. You saw Donna Beatrice when you were here before: where is she now? '
"I can scarcely be supposed to control that lady's actions."
​ "I don't consider that any answer either. Where is Don Henriquez?"
"I do not know."
"Young gentleman, it is a maxim of mine always to say as little as possible, which saves a great deal of trouble. I have asked you all the necessary questions. Answer them today with your tongue, or to-morrow with your head."
"Neither, if you please," said Lorraine, firmly. "I am a British subject, and have in no way interfered with your government. I cannot reply to questions of which I am ignorant. I place myself under the protection of the British Ambassador, and appeal to the Governor of the province."
"A great deal of unnecessary trouble. I take you at your word. I am sending despatches to our governor—you shall go too. I wish you a pleasant journey."
Again he said a few words to the shorter officer, and turned in his chair with the air of one prepared for a luxurious nap.
It was late in the afternoon when Lorraine arrived at the sea-port where the governor of the province resided. Don Manuel was exactly the poetical idea of a Spaniard: something like a portrait of Vandyke's—a clear olive ​complexion; large dark eyes, rather melancholy in their expression; coal-black hair and mustaches; a tall and noble figure; and that stately courtesy, which seems to say, "I owe it to myself to do no wrong."
Lorraine immediately resolved on what indeed was his only plan of conduct. The sleepy yet shrewd judge was the antipodes to confidence, but to Don Manuel he felt no hesitation in frankly stating his actions and their motives, from his first arrival in Spain to the present time. The Governor heard him with the most kindly attention.
"Truly, as a Spaniard and a gentleman, I can only say that at your age I should have acted even as yourself. My official situation is here at variance with my feelings. I cannot be blind to the advantages your detention may give to the pursuit of Don Henriquez. If I set you at liberty, you are in a condition to materially forward his escape. I must not trust you at Naples. However, all you will have to endure is a temporary restraint: it shall not be a very severe one."
For about a fortnight he remained prisoner on parole in the Governor's house. It would have been, under any other circumstances, a pleasant visit. One advantage was, that he ​certainly derived from it much juster views on the state of Spain than he would ever have obtained from Don Henriquez. At length a vessel was to sail for England, and on board this the Governor informed him he was to embark.
"I am sorry," said Don Manuel, "to place such delay between you and Naples; but I consider it indispensable. My only consolation is, that no lady's constancy is the worse for being tried."
Edward thought he would as soon not have tried it. Nevertheless, for England he was forced to embark, and in England he arrived without incident or impediment.
We might sail round the world without an adventure now-a-days. Once in his native country, business obliged him to visit London; and at his banker's he found several letters from his brother, all full of regret, affection, and despondency. The contents of the last two were such as to induce him to depart forthwith for Etheringhame Castle.