“Not so, Don Florez.  I am an unfortunate man, who is half mad by a cruel mistake which has occurred.  Recall your words, for they are unjust.”

“I do not intend to recall them, but assert the truth with the point of my rapier.  If you are not as great a coward, as you are a villain, you will follow me.”

“Such language will admit of no reply.  I am at your service,” cried Don Perez.

The two brothers-in-law walked in silence, until they reached a field hard by, where they threw off their cloaks, and fought with the fury of demons.  Victory was decided in favour of Don Perez; his sword passed through the heart of his adversary, who never spoke again.  Don Perez viewed the body with a stern countenance, wiped his sword, took up his cloak, and walked straight to the house of Don Florez.  “Donna Teresa,” said he (I only was present), “I call upon you, as you value salvation in the day of judgment, to tell me the truth.  Was it you, that, by an unfortunate mistake, I met one night in the saloon, and were those caresses, intended for Don Florez, bestowed upon me?”

There was a wildness, a ferocity in his air that frightened her; she stammered out at last—­“for my sins, it is true; but you know, too well, that I never was false in heart, although when I found out my mistake, I attempted to conceal my indiscretion.”

“Had you, madam, been as virtuous as your sister, all this mischief would not have happened—­and your husband would not now be lying a corpse, by the hand of his brother.”

Donna Teresa fainted at the intelligence, and Don Perez immediately quitted the house.  I hastened to her assistance, and succeeded in restoring her to life.

“It is but too true,” said she, mournfully; “crime will always meet with punishment, in this world, or in the next.  By permitting my love to overcome the dictates of virtue, by being too fond of my husband, I have murdered him.  Oh God!  I have murdered him, and rendered the lives of two others as much a burden to them as my own will ever be.  My poor, dear sister, where is she?”

I tried all my powers of consolation, but in vain:  all she requested was that I would find out where her sister was, and let her know.  I set off upon my melancholy task, and met the people bearing in the body of Don Florez.  I shuddered as it passed by, when I recollected how principal a part I had acted in the tragedy.  I soon gained the information, and brought it to Donna Teresa.  She dressed herself in deep mourning, and, desiring me to follow her, knocked at the convent gate, and requesting to see the superior, was admitted.  The superior came out of the parlour to receive her, not wishing that any one should enter, while Donna Emilia was in such a state of misery and despair.

“It is my sister that I come to see, madam, and I must not be refused; lead me to her, and be witness of the scene, if you please.”

The superior, who was not aware that Emilia would have refused to see Donna Teresa, led the way, and we were ushered into the presence of Emilia, who, looking up as Donna Teresa entered, turned away from her as if in abhorrence.