Bianca; or, The Young Spanish Maiden

Chapter 1

It was a cold, drizzling day of February. The bare trees waved their withered branches to the biting wind, in a weird and mournful manner, as if they were wringing their hands in agonised despair.

A funeral procession was winding slowly up the path; two mourners followed the coffin; the church yard was in a lonely place; so there were no half-curious, half-sympathising people following. It was the daughter of Alonzo Garcia a foreign gentleman residing in England, his eldest daughter and his most loved; the youngest was by his side, Bianca. She did not weep; she was calm and quiet, and followed her father with a downcast race; no tear was there in her eye. The Rector, Mr. Smith waited at the vestry he shook Mr. Garcia’s hand but did not utter a word. He also took Bianca’s hand in both of his, in a fatherly way; his grasp, his kindly look, brought the tears to her eyes, and she bent her head lower. Then they all followed the Bad procession. Through the drear wind and falling snow, clear, soft, mournful yet comforting was heard the voice of Mr. Smith.

"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die."

"I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth. And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God: whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another."

"We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."

"I said, I will take heed to my ways: that I offend not in my tongue."

"I will keep my mouth as it were with a bridle: while the ungodly is in my sight."

Mr. Smith stopped; father and daughter lifted their eyes; they had arrived at the place of rest.

Now the procession stopped; Miss Garcia stooped down to place a wreath of white roses on the coffin; two small buds fell from the garland to the ground; she took them up and kept them within her hand. 'Twas dead Inez' gift to her; thought she.

They lowered the coffin. The father stood, silent, his eyes half-closed, his lips trembling; was he praying? was he weeping? Bianca’s tears fell silently, drop by drop; sometimes a deep-drawn sigh shook her slight frame; she kept down the sobs in that way. The first lump of earth was thrown over the pale blue colored coffin; it was soon invisible. The grave was filled. Every one went away. Father and daughter stayed some minutes longer; at last Miss Garcia took her father’s hand in her own. "Come away father, come home." He went with her docilely. She turned back her head once more; oh, she longed to go and lay herself down on the newly made grave, and die there.

They came home. The father went straight to the room whence the dear dead had been borne away, where she had pass her last days. His daughter did not follow. She knew she could do nothing to console him. God even cannot, sometimes. Let the mourner remain alone with the Divine Comforter: He will give him peace and strength to bear the sorrow. Bianca entered her own room. She sat by the window; a book lay open on the table; her eye fell upon it; Inez was very fond of it; it was Tennyson’s In Memoriam. The first lines Bianca came upon were

Come, let us go, your cheeks are pale, But half my life I leave behind Methinks my friend is richly shrined, But I shall pass; my work will fail.

Yet in these ears till hearing dies, One set slow boll will seem to toll The passing of the sweetest soul That ever looked with human eyes.

I hear it now, and o’er and o’er,

How often had she heard Inez repeat these lines in her soft silvery voice!

I hear it now, and o’er and o’er, Eternal greetings to the dead; And ‘Ave, Ave, Ave’, said, ‘Adieu, adieu’ for evermore!

She closed the book and looked out of the window. Where was Inez now? Beneath the cold earth:—She so delicate was now sleeping quietly in the wild churchyard with nothing between her and the inclement sky, but a thin oak-plank, and the newly turned sod. Bianca’s heart 'se serra' convulsively at the thought. Why should she so strong be housed from the weather in a warm, lighted room, while pale Inez lay cold and stiff in the lonely grave-yard? She looked with drear despair at the drizzling snow and rain. Her large eyes were dilated; she opened the window (it was a glass door) and stept out into the garden. She smiled, it was a strange, peculiar smile, 'I am like you now Inez dear,' murmured she, and sat down on the soaked ground, her head bent down. How long she remained there she did not know. It was getting dark when a hand was placed on her shoulder; and a voice, Martha’s voice said. 'Miss Bianca whatever are you at?' She opened her eyes but without stirring. 'Miss Bianca, Miss Bianca,' cried Martha beseechingly, 'Pair thing, puir thing, she does not hear.' And Martha shook her by the shoulders. 'Are ye benumbed, are ye frozen?' She rose now. 'No Martha; there’s nothing the matter with me.' 'But why are ye out, all alone, in the snow? If ye go on in this way, ye’ll soon fallow sweet Miss Inez.’ 'Would to God, I could;’ exclaimed she below her breath, and her brown eyes looked dreamily and longingly at the drear scenery around. 'And if ye were baith to leave your auld father, what’s to become of him I should like to know She turned her face towards the old Scotch woman. 'You are right, Martha. Poor papa;‘ she murmured, and got up. 'Yeare wet through Miss Bianea, ye must change your clothes.' 'I’ll take a cup of tea first Martha, and papa must have something.' She entered the dining room. Reader lot me describe her to you a little.

She was not beautiful; of the middle height; her slight figure was very graceful; her face was not quite oval; her fore-head was low; her lips wore full, sensitive and mobile; her colour was dark; have you ever soon an Italian peasant girl? When she blushed or was excited, the color mounted warm and deep to her pale olive cheek; she was beautiful then; her dark brown eyes, 'just like Keeper’s' (the dog’s) her father would say, smiling,—were large and full; in fact this pair of eyes and her long, black curls were her only points of beauty.

Martha brought her a cup of tea, she took it; then made one large cup for her father and went upstairs. She hung up her dress; her father must not see her thus drenched; he would be anxious. Then,he softly entered the room where the much- loved had died. Her father was on his knees beside the bod; she put the cup gently on the side-table, and came quietly and knelt beside him. Some time elapsed; she was weeping silently to herself; when a hand was placed heavily and slowly on her shoulder, She knew it was her father’s. A thrill of unknown pleasure she felt at this touch. He had never caressed her; Inez had been his favourite. He loved both his daughters, but Inez with her childlike grace, her utter dependence on him, her caressing ways, had been his best-loved; Bianca although younger, was so grave, so sedate, so womanly, so independent, that he looked on her as his counsellor; sometimes even he would ask her advice in some important matter; “she was his right hand;“ he would say, “as good as a son to him; beneath her girl’s boddice beat a heart as bold as any man’s; beneath her wavy curls was a head as sharp and intelligent as any mathematician’s.” Inez was the being to whom both were devoted; father and sister worshipped Inez. Sometimes Bianca felt a pang when she saw her father pass his hand on his eldest daughter’s shoulder; or, but this was very rarely, for M. Garcia was not a demonstrative man, kiss her on the cheek. “After all, he loves Inez best,” Bianca would think awake in her bed; “and is not that right? Inez wants to be looked after; she is so loving; no wonder he loves her best. I should not be jealous; I am strong; I can take care of myself.” During Inez’s illness no mother could have been a better nurse than young Bianca was. It was a wonder how she would keep awake three or four nights running; she never left the house even for a walk; sometimes she would go out to buy some grapes or pears,—Inez was so fond of fruits.” Much-loving, much-loved Inez!

M. Garcia rose at last. “Come Bianca, she is at peace now.” They both went out; she took him to the parlour; and gave him the cup of tea. He did not take further notice of her; he was looking at the stars. After a pause, lie said, half to himself. “But last tuesday, she was with us, and now beyond the stars! How strange it all seems.” A silence. Presently she said quietly, “your tea is getting cold, father, drink it.” He did so, and pushed the cup towards her; she filled it again. “I tis refreshing” he said. They remained silent for the space of about two hours engrossed in thought. Bianca coughed several times while both were so absorbed. “Have you got a cold Bianca?" Said her father anxiously. "A slight one, father." “How did you catch it? you must take great care of yourself, now my child." And he put his hand out to her; she put her's in it, and came and sat quietly beside him on a low stool at his feet. Presently she said, "Father shall I read to you?" "Yes, do. Take something warm before you go to bed tonight." "Yes, father; what shall I read? The 14th chapter of John?" He nodded, and she opened the book. In her soft yet rich tones she read, “Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. Ye believe in God, believe also in me." When she had finished the chapter, she closed the book slowly. They then knelt down and prayed. “Now Bianca, go to bed." He rang the bell. "Martha get Miss Bianca something warm, she has got a bad cold." "No wonder she has with—" Bianca interrupted her; "come away Martha" Outside the dining room; "Martha"—said she, "you must not tell father where I was this morning." "Very well, Miss Bianca." Martha brought her young mistress a cup of hot spiced wine. Bianca drank it, then she went upstairs. She went towards the door of her sister’s room, she turned the lock slowly and entered. She half expected to see Inez there in her white robe lying quiet and pale in her coffin, with her arms across her breast, and her dark, soft hair framing her peaceful, beautiful face, and her lips half-open in a calm, gentle, and happy smile. She had seen her thus last night. Bianca knelt beside the bed and prayed. She came out half an hour afterwards; a stop was mounting the stairs; she passed quickly and silently to her own room. She heard the steps stop before the door. Would he go in? No. He went to his own bedroom.

Next morning when Bianca awoke, she involuntarily turned her face towards the bed where Inez used to sleep before her illness. She turned her head away presently with a sigh; she got up and kneeling at the foot of the bed, wept, with her head buried in the counterpane. She did not pray;—Inez come back;—that was her cry, wrung from her heart; by and by the tears dropped slower; silo was thinking. "How happy she is!" thought she, "in that garden full of flowers, as she said; how happy she is, with dear mother walking beside her. Is the garden very beautiful, Inez?" And again the bitter cry went forth, "Inez take me with you! I feel so very wretched! She knelt there sometime; gradually a sense of numbness came over her; her eyes became dry. She got up, dressed, and sat down before the open window. "Father must not see that I have cried." The cold morning air soon dissipated all the traces of tears and she went downstairs. "Is not father risen yet, Martha?" She asked surprised at finding the dining-room empty. "No Miss." She went upstairs and tapped at her father's door;—"Shall I come in, father?" "Yes." She entered. "Why! Still in bed father! Are you ill?" "Yes Bianca; feel my forehead and hands child." She did so. They were burning hot. "You have got the fever father; I must send for the doctor." Her father passed his hand over her head. "What would you do Bianca, if I were to leave you and die?" said he half jestingly. "You are not going to die father, I won’t lot you"—smiling, but she turned her face away to hide the rising tears. He sighed. "But to me it would be the best thing, I ask nothing but to be at rest." "I must get you something warm father" rising, "and write to the doctor." She went out and shut the door after her. On the staircase she stopped a few minutes, then entered her own bedroom and sat down in a chair. The tears fell fast. Will lie indeed die? "God," she thought, "give me a sign that he will live. Oh God! Think this not presumptuous but give faith to thy servant and strengthen her." She knelt down and opened the Bible. The words which struck her eye were: "Behold I will bring it health and cure, and I will cure them, and will reveal unto them the abundance of peace and truth." She read the passage again and again with a happy smile, while the tears were still bright her wet cheek; then she kissed the words and closed the book. Lord, I thank Thee," said she, with her forehead leaning on the "Gospel of peace." She was strengthened. She came down, wrote to the doctor, and then brought M. Garcia his tea.

Presently there was a tap at. the door, and Martha entered. Please sir, there is Mr. Smith waiting downstairs, will he come in?" "By all means. Bianca bring him here. I should like to see him." Bianca went down. Mr. Smith was waiting in the hail. The front door was open, and gusts of fresh wind were sweeping in. Mr. Smiith took Bianca’s two hands in his own. "And how is papa?" "He is very ill; he wants to see you Mr. Smith." "Ill! I am sorry to hear that. What is the matter with him?" "Fever." And the girl’s eyes filled. "Poorchild! Poor child!" Said the Rector patting her on the head; God will give you strength to bear all this. His grace is sufficient for us." He followed her upstairs. The Rector wont to the bedside of the patient. They did not talk much, but the silent and sincore sympathy apparent in Mr. Smith’s mild face was more welcome than a host of words from any of Job’s comforters.

Bianca sat by the window. The doctor presently came. He prescribed; then went away; he was a busy man.

A week past, a week of intense bodily and mental suffering; on the seventh day M. Garcia opened his eyes, and recognised his daughter. He almost started at first. Her pale profile, as she sat quietly by the window recalled his lost Inez vividly to his mind. "Come here, Bianca." She went and put her hand in his, he grasped it warmly and tears came into the eyes of both. God had boon merciful to Bianca.

Chapter II

More than twelve months had passed. It was a bright June day. A young man and woman were sauntering thoughtfully in the fields. It was Bianca and Mr. Walter Ingram. "Look Mr. Ingram isn’t the sun beautiful? The west seems lightened by a bonfire." He turned half round: "Yes; it is very beautiful;" he said. He was a rather handsome young man of about twenty four, with a frank countenance, fair hair, and pale blue eyes; his lips were full, but they lacked firmness; in stature he was of the middle height. There was pause. Bianca was looking dreamily at the far west when the voice of her companion interrupted her reverie. "Bianca" he said. "I want to tell you something important; shall we go first to a quieter spot?" "This is quiet enough. Say on." And she turned towards him. He had bent his head and with his cane was writing thoughtfully on the ground. He was so long speaking, that she got impatient. "Well?" She said. "Bianca" he said and his voice was very low, and his utterance quick, "will you be my wife? I should be so happy with you." She shook her head, a faint peculiar and rather sad smile parted her lips. "You loved her Walter; Inez was to have been your wife; she has left us all; the angels loved her too; poor Walter!" For he had turned his face away. "Your obligations to papa, I should say your gratitude rather, makes you think that you must marry one of his daughters. With Inez it was different, and all right. She loved you and you loved her." "But I think I love you too Bianca." "Well,I don't love you, I like you, that is all. Yes, I like you very much, as a friend and a brother. If she had lived, poor Walter!" And she placed her hand on his shoulder. He sat down and buried his face in his hands. She sat down too beside him; she saw the tears trickling through his fingers. "Poor fellow! Poor boy!" she murmured; and she took one of his hands in hers. "You loved her as much as that! I did not know it Walter, I thought she loved more than she was loved." Bye and bye he quieted down. "I did not know how much I loved till I lost her!" "And you wanted to marry me Walter, what if I had said yes." And she smiled one little smile to herself. "I should not have been sorry. I should have taken you at your word. Even now you are the woman I should select as a wife if I had to choose from the whole world. You know me and my ways, you can help me in my struggle through life." "Can I? I shall help you as a sister, brother. Walter, you must come to me in your difficulties." Yes indeed, I shall sister Bianca." "Now get up Walter, I must be going home." They walked together a few yards. "There is Maggie coming" said Bianca, shading her eyes; then, as if a new sudden thought had struck her. "Walter that is the girl you ought to marry. She is just the wife for you." "Isn't that Miss Moore?" "Yes! why! you know her already!" "Yes I met her once or twice. I know her brother a little."

Miss Moore came running to her friend. "Now Bianca," said she, kissing her in her warm girlish way, I have a bone to pick with you. You haven't come to see us for a long time." Then seeing Mr. Ingram, she gave him her hand, then turning again to her friend. "When will you come? You know Colin is away in London; and the house is so dull without him. Mamma keeps me at lessons. Will you come tomorrow Bianca. Say, yes" "Yes Maggie." "There’s my own darling old Bianca. Good bye. Come early." And with a nod to Mr. Ingram she disappeared.

At the door Ingrain shook bands with Bianca. "You won’t come in?" "No, not to-day." Then after a slight pause and reddening. "Bianca, I behaved like a fool to-day, in asking you such a question. You forgive me, don't you?" She nodded merrily; "I am glad you see it." "It seems natural to you to be sister Bianca to every body. So goodbye sister Bianca." "Goodbye Walter."

In the evening as she was sitting out in the garden with her father, she told him all. "Father, Ingram was wanting to marry me to-day." He turned to her; "Indeed" said he, and the remembrance of Inez came to him. "Yes father, and I refused him." "You did well, child; he is a worthy boy, very good and frank; but I would not like you to marry him; he was well matched with Inez I should have given her to him gladly; but I look for a different man for you." She smiled, pleased, at these words. "But I will never marry father. Life is full of care, and the lonelier you are, the easier is it to live and die." "True, very true, in one sense." And her father sighed. After a pause he said. "And so the lad wanted to marry you! He did not love my Inez then?" "In his own way, he did; he is very good, but he is not very steady. He is impressionable." After another pause he murmured half to himself

Ah! dear, but come thou back to me Whatever change the years have wrought I find not yet one single thought, That cries against my wish for thee!

She went quietly and sat down beside him, with her sewing in her hand. He passed his hand over her hair. "It is better so," he said, "after all she is safer in the Master's fold than here."

After some cursory talk, Bianca as her custom was, brought a French book; her father read aloud from it and she sowed; then in her turn she read aloud and he listened. It was About's 'Germaine.' M. Garcia had been asked by the editor of a magazine to write an article on French light literature of the present day. A refugee, and in exile for a long time, he eked out his scanty income by writing occasionally for the press. A perfect knowledge of the literature of many countries qualified him well for such work. "About is always "spirituel," isn’t he father? Though his standard of morality isn’t very high;" remarked Bianca "He is very epigrammatic, and the dullest subject he can make interesting as a novel. The "Grece Contemporaine" is an instance.” "I don't wonder the Empress used to have him at her soirées to make him tell a tale impromptu. I should like to hear him."

As the night came on, they closed the book and remained silent. Bianca was looking at the moon. What were the thoughts passing through her head? It would be hard to tell. Her face was very thoughtful, yet there was a quiet brightness in it, and her eyes had a dreamy far-off look. She rose up suddenly, and a rather sad smile parted her lips. "We must be going father, it is late." They both went in; as she was going to bed she said; "Father, Maggie ask me to go and see her to-morrow; I may go?" "Yes,by all moans. But stop—the old lady may think you want to hook her son as a husband." She laughed, and her father smiled too. “He isn't here now, he is in London, father." "Well, then you can go. When are you going?" "Oh tomorrow; any time will do. Shall you want me tomorrow?" "The article I am going to write should be looked at. I should like to have your opinion Bianca. I have to send it to-morrow." "Oh I will look over it, and, then I shall go." She said good and went to her own room. She undressed and then sat down by the window, bye and bye she began repeating fragments of poetry.

"She was thinking of a hunter, From another tribe and country, Young and tall and very handsome, Who one morning, in the Spring-time, Came to buy hor father’s arrows, Sat and rested in the wigwam, Lingered long about the doorway, Looking back as he departed. She had hoard her father praise him, Praise his courage and his wisdom; Would he come again for arrows To the falls of Minnehaha Minnehaha, laughing water? On the mat her hands lay idle And her eyes were very dreamy.”

Bianca’s were. Presently with a smile; "I am getting sentimental; I mustn’t say that "young and tall and very handsome," and think of him. Pooh! It can never be. Why do I think of him? It does me no good; on the contrary it does me harm. Ho is a bra of Burleigh. Now-a-days lords do not come to woo village maidens; and besides I am no village maiden; neither am I pretty. So be off,—all dreams never to be fulfilled,"—and half jestingly yet with rather a sad smile she went to bed. After a time she got up. "I have not prayed. How wicked I am getting.” And kneeling down beside the bed, she prayed earnestly for forgiveness and peace; and then she went back to sleep.

away in sullen wrath against—his mother? No; against Bianca! Bianca’s allurements, all her loving phrases were lost upon him; "you a’e weak; you cannot carry me; go away." "You are strong Willie, aren’t you?" "Yes." "Wellg ive me a slap on my palm." "It will hu't." "I don't beleve it. Try." The boy gave a slap with all his little might; Bianca winced with well-feigned pain; "Oh you hurt me." And she wrung her hand. "Did not I tell you so!" Said Willie triumphnt1y. "Well, I shall want a strong arm to lean upon, will you lend me your's." Willie very proudly took in his little hand that of Miss Garcia; and thus peace being restored, they all repaired to the garden. They had been walking about for some time; Miss Garcia had been running about in a side alloy with little Willie. Soon Maggie appeared looking for her. "how flushed you are Bianca! Come and sit on the bench with mamma." Bianca went with Willie in her arms. Lady Moore was seated on a rustic bench, with a small table before her, on which was placed a sumptuous little dinner for Master Willie. "Now then come and eat your dinner Willie." Said his mother, "Who'll cut me my meat and my bwead ma?" with a sly 'will-you' glance a Bianca. "I will," said Miss Garcia. Willie was charmed. "Now Will what will you take next?"—as the soup and fish were dispatched with marvellous alacrity. You call me Will; I like that Bianca, Colin calls me Will.” When dinner was finished, Willis nestled in Bianca’s lap, with a sigh. It was getting' dark; Willie was bashful; that sigh meant a desire for a kiss from now that nobody was looking; Bianca kissed the smooth round cheek, that was pressed close against her’s. "I wish Colin was he'e;" said the boy. "Your wish is fulfilled then, Willie, for there is Colin coming; it can’t be but him Said Maggie Lady Moore turned her eagle eye towards the gate. "It is Colin. We did not expect him to-day." A tall form was striding quickly towards the group; Maggie ran forward; “O Colin this is kind! What a good brother you are!" And she hung caressingly on his arm; he kissed her on the forehead with a grave smile; then he went.to his mother who kissed him in her freez manner; Lady Moore loved her son passionately, but she was very undemonstrative. "This is quite unexpected Colin; I thought you were not coming till Wednesday." "I am not unwelcome, mother mine, am I?" asked he with his quiet smile. You know you are’not, my boy." "The fact is, I finished my business in London sooner than I expected, so I came home." He turned towards Miss Garcia; she gave him her hand with a quiet "How do you do?" Little Willie who was reclining on her lap, with his curly head heavy with sleep near her shoulder, murmured half asleep; "Kissme Co'in." "Come to me then Will,” and Lord Moore stretched his hands towards him; "No; I am s’eepy; kiss me now, bofo’e I s’eep." Lord Moore bent over the little face; his drooping brown hair almost touched Bianca’s forehead as ho kissed the child. There was a keen brightness in his hazel eyes, an unusual glow on his white forehead as he turned towards his mother. Her face was rigid and haughty as she made room for him beside her. She was the first to speak, and her voice was clear and cold, in spite of the polite mannor. "Miss Garcia you must feel cold with only that thin muslin dress on" "No,my Lady, the evening is warm." "And she looks so nice in white mamma," said Maggie smiling. "There you are wrong Margaret; white suits fair complexions, and Miss Garcia is a dark beauty, dark as a gipsy I declare." "Your father is Spanish, isn’t he Bianca?" "Sangur azul, Maggie,"—said Bianca, laughing. "Has he really Moorish blood in his veins?" "Yes,so it is believed." "But if you are Spanish how do you know English so well, Bianca?" Asked Maggie. "My paternal grandfather married an English lady, and my mother was an Englishwoman." Her voice lowered a little. "Your sister resembled your mother, I suppose; I only saw her once, she was very fair and beautiful." Bianca did not reply. Why should others speak of Inez, her and her father’s Inez. It was a strange feeling, but she felt as if no one had a right to speak of Inez except her father and her sister. She presently said "I must go home." Then added; "Will has fallen fast asleep." And she rose taking Willie gently in her arms. "Give him to me, he is too heavy for you." Said Lord Moore. “No,thank you. It might awake him.” Answered Bianca. She entered the drawing room, unclasped the little arms from her neck, and as she did so sang or rather murmured unconsciously to herself, (Bianca was passionately fond of poetry) some fragments of a’ song of which only these words were audible.