The morning call., 1892-09-06
TEE STORY OF DON CARLOS.

The lastrays of the setting sun shone on
little village ia Southern Spain. 1t peeped
Through the windows of lOwly dwelling.
and lighted up sad scene. Ga bed in
one corner Of q scantly furnished room lay
a dying man. The features OF the sunerer
were worn by sickness and pain, but the
broad forehead and the brow knit Dy
thought indicated that he was man OF no
ordinary tyoe. By his side, with bent head.
sat the village priest
The dying mans lips parted, and In
voice of deep pathos he broke the silence.
Father, the spark of NV life is dying
cut. and would confess ere die, for can
not leave this world with the weight OF sin
upon my souL Listen to my sad story, and
give NE hope of pardon II you can.
s.My nause is Carlos Rojss. Years ago l
was a sunny-hesrted youth of 20. aud
loved the fair Isabel de Lemos. Our faml-
lies were friendly, though not intimate, and
l knew little of her people until oce day,
while wandering in the forest, l came upon
the beautiful Isabel sitting on fallen tree
trunk Dy the side of brook. | advanced
and offered q morning s8utatlon. She
started when / spoke. and saw volume
of poetry open In her lap. II was copy Oh
the works Of a poet long since forgotten.
Francesca of Rimni. Her eyes were lull
of tears as she turned 10 see who had
spoken. and | loved her from that moment
for tbs tenderness which caused her 10
weep at the tragic tale Of the unhappy pair
whose luve IS immortal.
After that we were much together, and
acts and looks displayed openly the passion
that we never named. Together We read
books of song or story, or perchance some
amoTOus lines that l had written. We
strolled together through the woodlands,
and when she grew weary she seated her-
self on a mOssy bank while l tYined gar
land Of wild flowers TO deck her beautiful
hair. We sailed together on moonlight
nights in my little plnnaee, and as we
skinned over the surface OF the river we
drew strange f8ucies from the sbimmerlns
waters. Anon we dTifted with the tide. and
as the strain of the mandolin or guitar came
from some neighborlng boat she raised her
exquisite voice in one Of the wild, plalntlye
songs that she knew l loved. An. that was
happy time!
s'But even the most sentimental lovers are
not satisfied with shadows. and the day
came when | formally asked for Is2beIS
hand in marriage OnT parents gave cor
dial consent 70 our union, and tried TO in
duce Isabel 10 name near day Tor the wed
ding. But she put it of for months, saying
that she had a surprise in store for me, and
/ must wait in patience.
week after week passed on silYery
wings and it wanted bat three days OF our
bridal The evening was sGltrv. with q full
moon sailing through the heavens. l had
not seen Isabel that day, for | had been
paying a visit to an old college friend. |
thought I might meet her il | strOlled
through her fathers grounds. and bent my
steps in that direction. Suddenly my ear
caught the sound Of voices coming from
secluded arbor. ! heard my own name pro-
htvr haa n
prise heard her answered by strange
masculine voice.
'With n curiosity that could not be
0uenghed OF Tepelled | crept as near to the
arbor as I dared. What a sight l saw
there. My brain burns again at the thought
Of the agony | then endured. Ny love was
folded 10 the arms OF a stranger! His face
l could not see. He was stTOkiDg her hair,
while she smiled sWeetiy and called him
her Juan. Then they kissed each other
Il grew hot and cold by turns. The moon
seemed 10 mock NE. / dropped swOOning
TO the ground. When l came TO my senses
they were gone. L was stunned. l could
not TeasOn-I could not think. All | real
tied was that had seen the woman l loved
IN the arms Of z stranger. UnCOnsCOusly
my hand felt its way 10 MY belt and drew
forth my pOnia,d It's point was keen and
one blow would suffice. a dim purpose be-
gap to form itself IN my muddled brain,
" Not her. IL whispered. but himp
81 stood behind thlcEet and awaited their
return. / saw them coming down the path.
AS they passed my covert / sprang forth
and struck the blow. With & shrek he fell
Isabel gave one look at my wild face, and
threw herself on the body. Horrfed at
what had done, | fed, never to return-ah,
never TO return!
''Since then I have wandered over Fu-
rope, seeking death on the battlefield But
death came not l lived to feel the heel Of
despair, remorse and shame. Many times |
woulc have returned to give myself I'D to
justice but for the thought Of meeting an
IgnominiOus death at the hands of the exc
cutioner. At last l could bear 1t no longer
l. would 90 hOme-I would cease to be a
fugitive from justice.
After days OF weary travel l reached
Spain. One night, fatigued and hearI-sore,
stopped at roadside inn. To beguile
myself of the melancholy that oppressed
me l went 10 the best room of the house,
where party of travellers were entertaining
the guests with tales Of their wanderings
dropped unnOticed into a seat near the
door. Imagine my horror when l found
that one of the travellers was narratng the
story Of my crime and disappsarancei / sat
and listened, and with shame and horror
learned that the man / had killed was my
sweetheart's brother. He had been travel
lag since his bOyhood's days and had come
home In order to be present at Isabef5 wed
ding This was the surprise my sweet girl
had in store for me.
"Wth a heart filed with remorse
learned that she had died broken hearted.
my name on her lips till the last Then
crept noiselessly away; / could bear no
more.
THE next morning left the inn and be-
gan my journey homeward. But was in.
Wild with fever | came 70 this house and
begged admittance Of its humble inmates
The physician whom they summoned has
told me 10 prepare TO die. So l have sent
Tor you, good father. In this purse, after
paying the expenses Of my simple funeral,
yon will md something left to lreward the
people who have befriended me-"
My son" said the priest-it was the
hrst time he had spoken-''your sin was
Indeed great. But heaven is merciful.
How know you that Juan de Lemos is
=. dead?"
Il saw him fall. good father; my blow
was sure, alasp
sand yet. had you listened little longer.
you would have learned that De Lemos stili
lives"
With a loud cry the dying man raised
himself on his pillows"
He lIyes-and ] am not a murderer
Oh, good father, can it really be? Speak
tell me all you know! Isabel, my love. |
am free from that crimo-I come-IsabelTv
The voice died away. Don Carlos sank
back upon MS pillow, dead.
The sun had set, but the western skies
were still tinged with crimson and yellow.
The priest knelt beside the dead mans
couch; there were tears In his ewes. and a
look OF sadness on his face-the face oF
Juan de Lemos.