"Furious at this sight, I drew my sword, ran to meet the unfortunate Alvaro, and, imagining that it was my hated rival whom I struck, I thrust my weapon into the bosom of the faithful friend whom I had come to seek. But, Heaven be praised!" he continued with emotion, "my error will not cost him his life, nor cause eternal grief to Donna Theodora." "Ah! Mendoza," interrupted the lady, "you do injustice to my tears; never shall I console myself for your own loss. Even should I espouse your friend, it will be only to unite our griefs: your love, your friendship, your misfortunes will ever be present to our recollection,--the sole topic for our tongues." "It is too much, madam," replied Don Fabrido; "I am not worthy thus to trouble thy repose. Permit, I entreat thee, Zarata to call thee his, on the day when he shall have revenged thy wrongs on Alvaro Ponza." "Don Alvaro," said the widow of Cifuentes, "is no more; on the same day that he forced me from my home, he was killed by the pirate who enslaved me." "Madam," replied Mendoza, "my wavering soul rejoices at the welcome news; my friend will be the sooner happy. Follow without control your mutual inclinations. I see, with joy, the hour approach which removes from you, for ever, the obstacle which your generous compassion has raised against your happiness. May your days glide in peace, and in an union which the envy of fortune may never dare to trouble! Adieu, Madam;--adieu, Don Juan!--think sometimes, in your joy, of one who has never loved but you." Donna Theodora and the Toledan were unable to reply to this affectionate address, except by tears, which redoubled as he spoke. Mendoza, therefore, perceiving their grief, thus continued: "But I have done with earth! Death already points me out my way; and I have not yet supplicated the Divine mercy to pardon me for having, by my own folly, shortened a life of which it should have alone disposed." He spoke no more; but, raising his eyes to Heaven, appeared to be engaged in mental prayer for its forgiveness; when a gurgling in his throat told that a last outbreaking of his wound had taken place, and he expired. Don Juan, as he heard the fatal rattling which indicated what was passing, was maddened with despair. His hands sought his own wound; and tearing it open, he would have soon joined his friend, but that the renegade and Francisco threw themselves upon him, and withheld his fury: Donna Theodora, woman-like, forgetful of her own woes at sight of the transport of the Toledan, hastened to soothe him by her tenderness; and--what will not love do?--soon brought him to himself: in short, the lover triumphed over the friend. But, if reason regained its sway, it was only to resist the insensate frenzy of his grief, and not to weaken its sentiment.