Melmoth the Wanderer by Charles Maturin

Husband, husband, I've the ring / Thou gavest today to me; / And thou to me art ever wed, / As I am wed to thee! / - Little's Poems

The remainder of that dreadful night when Isidora disappeared, had been passed almost in despair by Doña Clara, who, amid all her rigour and chilling mediocrity, had still the feelings of a mother -- and by Fra Jose, who, with all his selfish luxury and love of domination, had a heart where distress never knocked for admittance, that she did not find pity ready to open the door.

The distress of Doña Clara was aggravated by her fear of her husband, of whom she stood in great awe, and who, she dreaded, might reproach her with unpardonable negligence of her maternal authority.

In this night of distress, she was often tempted to call on her son for advice and assistance; but the recollection of his violent passions deterred her, and she sat in passive despair till day. Then, with an unaccountable impulse, she rose from her seat, and hurried to her daughter's apartment, as if she imagined that the events of the preceding night were only a fearful and false illusion that would be dispersed by the approach of day.

It seemed, indeed, as if they were, for on the bed lay Isidora in a profound sleep, with the same pure and placid smile as when she was lulled into slumber by the melodies of nature, and the sound was prolonged in her dream by the whispered songs of the spirits of the Indian Ocean. Doña Clara uttered a shriek of surprise, that had the singular effect of rousing Fra Jose from a deep sleep into which he had fallen at the approach of day. Starting at the sound, the good-natured, pampered priest, tottered into the room, and saw, with incredulity that slowly yielded to frequent application to his obstinate and adhesive eyelids, the form of Isidora extended in profound slumber.

"Oh what an exquisite enjoyment! " said the yawning priest, as he looked on the sleeping beauty without another emotion than that of the delight of an uninterrupted repose.

-- "Pray, don't disturb her," he said, yawning himself out of the room -- "after such a night as we all have had, sleep must be a very refreshing and laudable exercise; and so I commend you to the protection of the holy saints!"

"Oh reverend Father! -- Oh holy Father! " cried Doña Clara clinging to him, "desert me not in this extremity -- this has been the work of magic -- of infernal spirits. See how profoundly she sleeps, though we are speaking, and it is now daylight."

"Daughter, you are much mistaken," answered the drowsy priest; "people can sleep soundly even in the daytime; and for proof send me, as I am now retiring to rest, a bottle of Foncarral or Valdepenas -- not that I value the richest vintage of Spain from the Chacoli of Biscay to the Mataro of Catalonia,62 but I would never have it said that I slept in the daytime, but for sufficient reason."

"Holy Father! " answered Doña Clara, "do you not think my daughter's disappearance and intense slumber are the result of preternatural causes?"

"Daughter," answered the priest, contracting his brows, "let me have some wine to slake the intolerable thirst caused by my anxiety for the welfare of your family, and let me meditate some hours afterwards on the measures best to be adopted, and then -- when I awake, I will give you my opinion."

"Holy Father, you shall judge for me in everything."

"It were not amiss, daughter," said the priest retiring, "if a few slices of ham, or some poignant sausages, accompanied the wine -- it might, as it were, abate the deleterious effects of that abominable liquor, which I never drink but on emergencies like these."

"Holy Father, they shall be ordered," said the anxious mother -- "but do you not think my daughter's sleep is supernatural?"

"Follow me to mine apartment, daughter," answered the priest, exchanging his cowl for a nightcap, which one of the numerous household obsequiously presented him, "and you will soon see that sleep is a natural effect of a natural cause. Your daughter has doubtless passed a very fatiguing night, and so have you, and so have I, though perhaps from very different causes; but all those causes dispose us to a profound repose.

-- I have no doubt of mine -- fetch up the wine and sausages -- I am very weary -- Oh I am weak and worn with fasts and watching, and the labours of exhortation. My tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth, and my jaws cling together -- perhaps a draught or two might dissolve their parching adhesion. But I do so hate wine -- why the devil don't you fetch up the bottle?"

The attendant domestic, terrified by the tone of wrath in which the last words were uttered, hurried on with submissive expedition, and Fra Jose sat down at length in his apartment to ruminate on the calamities and perplexities of the family, till he was actually overcome by the subject, and exclaimed in a tone of despair, "Both bottles empty! Then it is useless to meditate further on this subject."

He was roused at an earlier hour than he wished, by a message from Doña Clara, who, in the distress of a weak mind, accustomed always to factitious and external support, now felt as if every step she took without it, must lead to actual and instant perdition. Her fear of her husband, next to her superstitious fears, held the strongest power over her mind, and that morning she called Fra Jose to an early consultation of terror and inquietude.