The Three Brides, Love in a Cottage, and Other Tales | Page 6

front; but when it comes in a
more appalling form and scene, she shrinks not from the dread ordeal.
When man's foot trembles on the scaffold, woman stands there serene,

unwavering, and self-sustained.
One hour before the appointed time, the door of Magdalena's cell
opened, and a tall figure, wrapped in a dark cloak, with a slouched hat
and sable plume, stood before her. It was the same who had gazed on
her so often in the church of San Ildefonso, the same who had
encountered Julio in the narrow street with proofs of her alleged falsity.
"Is the hour arrived?" asked Magdalena, calmly.
"Nay," replied the stranger, in a deep tone. "Can you not see the prison
clock through the bars of your cell door? Look; it lacks yet an hour of
noon."
"Then, sir, you come to announce the arrival of the holy father,--of my
friends."
"They will be here anon," said the stranger.
"I do not," said Magdalena, in the same calm tone she had before
employed, "see you now for the first time."
"Beautiful girl!" cried the stranger; "no! I have for months haunted you
like your shadow. Your fair face threw the first gleams of sunshine into
my heart that have visited it from early manhood. I love you,
Magdalena!"
"This is no hour and no place for words like these," replied the captive,
coldly.
"Nay!" cried the stranger, with sudden energy. "Beautiful girl, I come
to save you!"
"To save me!" cried Magdalena, a sudden, wild hope springing in her
breast,"--to save me! It is well done. Believe me, I am innocent. You
have bribed the jailer to open my prison doors; you have contrived
some means of evasion. I know not--I care not what. I shall be freed! I
shall clasp my father's knees once more. I shall go forth into the blessed

air and light of heaven. God bless you, whoever you are, for your
words of hope!"
"You shall go forth, if you will," replied the stranger; "but openly, in
the face and eyes of man. At my word the prison bars will fall, the keys
will turn, the gates will be unbarred. I have a royal pardon!"
"Give it me! give it me!" almost shrieked Magdalena.
"It is bestowed on one condition: that you become my wife."
"That I become your wife!" repeated Magdalena, as if she but half
comprehended the words. "Forsake poor Julio! And yet the bribe, to
escape a death of infamy, to save my father's gray hairs from going
down to a dishonored grave! Speak! who are you, with power to save
me on these terms?"
The stranger tossed aside his sable hat and plume, and dropped his
cloak, and stood before her in a rich dress of black velvet, trimmed with
point lace, a broadsword belted to his waist. He was a man of middle
age, of a fine, athletic figure, and handsome face, but there was an
indescribable expression in his dark eyes, in the stern lines about his
handsome mouth, that affected the gazer with a strange, shuddering
horror.
"Peruse me well, maiden," said the stranger. "I am not deformed. I am
as other men. If there be no glow in my cheek, still the blood that flows
through my veins is healthy and untainted. Moreover, though I be not
noble, my character is stainless. If to be the wife of an honest man is
not too dear a purchase for your life, accept my hand, and you are
saved."
"Who are you?" cried Magdalena, intense curiosity mastering her even
in that moment.
"I am the executioner of Madrid!" replied the stranger.
Magdalena covered her face with her hands, and uttered a low cry of

horror.
"I am the executioner of Madrid!" repeated he. "I have never
committed crime in my life, though my blade has been reddened with
the blood of my fellow-creatures. Yet no man takes my hand,--no man
breaks bread or drinks wine with me. I, the dread minister of justice, a
necessity of society, like the soldier on the rampart, or the priest at the
altar, am a being lonely, abhorred, accursed. Yet I have the feelings, the
passions of other men. But what maiden would listen to the suit of one
like me? What father would give his daughter to my arms? None, none!
And, therefore, the state decrees that when the executioner would wed,
he must take to his arms a woman doomed to death. I loved you,
Magdalena, hopelessly, ere I dreamed the hour would ever arrive when
I might hope to claim you. That hour has now come. I offer you your
life and my hand. You must be my bride, or my victim!"
"Your victim! your victim!" cried Magdalena. "Death a thousand times,
though a thousand times