CHAPTER IV.
WORSE THAN STRANGERS NOW.
It was a decidedly unpleasant sensation that so nearly overcame me when I made this remarkable discovery in the lordlycasaof the worthy alcalde.
Surprise and consternation about constituted the whole, for had I not often vowed never again to set eyes on that fair face, once madly loved, and here a perverse fate had actually taken me by the neck and forced me into her presence.
I hated her—yes, I felt certain I did—not so much because of the wrong she had done me as for the fact that, strange paradox, I could not cease to love her!
This weakness, how often I had cursed it, and then dreamed that once again my Hildegarde and I were Maying, making love among the flowers, dead to all the world, only to wake up furious with myself because I could not bruise my heart sufficiently to stamp out her false image.
And there I was looking upon the same maddeningbeauty that had once made a fool of me. By Heaven! she was prettier than ever and I ground my teeth with rage when I felt my miserable traitor heart throbbing like a triphammer against my ribs.
She knew me, too, despite the fact that I had grown a mustache and Vandyke beard since last we parted, and looked ten years older.
I saw her eyes dilate as though she were unable to believe her senses; what the various emotions that chased each other over her pink and white face meant I was unable to decide.
But she must have seen from my cold and haughty manner that I had not come to sue for her queenly pardon; my wrongs still rankled in my breast, or something did that answered the same purpose, and there was no sign of yielding in my appearance.
And yet, God knows I had difficulty in fighting down the mad longing to rush forward and seize upon her, to crush her to my heart as I had once been wont to do, and, casting aside all doubt, and pride, and hateful memories, call her again, “my Hildegarde.”
Her voice aroused me from the half stupor into which I had been thrown by the very violence of these various warring emotions.
“So, it is you?” she said, coldly.
That killed every bud of promise, even as a frost blights those of vegetation, and I was immediately thrown on my guard.
If she could be hateful, there was no good reason why I might not match her.
“Yes, I believe it is. My friend Robbins induced me to join him in this affair. I did not dream of meeting you, though.”
“Perhaps you might not have come if you had seen my name in the note?”
The scorn of her words lashed me. How she hated me, who had once been all the world to her.
“It would have made no difference; a woman in distress needed help—that should be enough for any one calling himself a man.”
“I am glad to hear you subscribe to such lofty sentiments; there was a time when you hardly thought the same.”
“Pardon me, I don’t care to discuss the past. That is buried beyond recall. I have forgotten it.”
I lied when I said that; what man can ever forget who has lived a year or two in Paradise, even though kicked out finally? But no matter, it served my purpose, for she took especial pains to show how she hated me, and I was not the one to be outdone by a woman.
There was some more play of the emotions upon her face; I saw a hand pressed against her heart, but of course it was only because my cold-blooded words had cut her pride, and she hardly knew just how to answer me.
Then she arose to the occasion, and I could see her blue eyes flash as they had flashed that day we had the nasty quarrel ending in my abandoning the palace I called home.
“You are a brute, Morgan Kenneth! Oh, how I detest you!” she said, hotly.
I smiled in derision; knowing that she hated me anyway, there was no reason why I should cringe to hear her say so; and yet, despite that sarcastic smile, deep down in my heart, I quailed under her scorn.
“I beg of you to ignore the past, at least until we are in other quarters than this. You have appealed for assistance. I confess I haven’t an iota of understanding as to how you came here, with whom, or what manner of danger you wish to avoid. It does not matter. We have come, and we are at your service. Where would you go to seek an asylum from your enemies?”
I spoke as calmly as might be expected of a man under such remarkable conditions.
She had become so nervous that, unable to stand still, she walked up and down with her fingers locking both hands together.
Heavens! what punishment for a man who had wrestled for two years to forget this queenly creature, and now to meet her thus!
Finally she said:
“I hoped to find safety at the home of the consul.”
“But he has gone out of town and will not be back short of a week; perhaps he may be killed on that wretched little railway.”
“Then an American or English vessel might give me a refuge,” she continued.
“Robbins, is the steamer you came on still in port?” I asked.
“I am sorry to say that it is not. The captain found a letter awaiting him to start for Guayamas without delay and load bananas there.”
“Then there is not an American or British vessel in the harbor?”
“I saw only one—a little steam yacht that flew the Stars and Stripes,” he answered, quickly.
I turned to my lady.
“That steam yacht is mine—you can find an asylum on board and will be taken wherever you wish.”
Then her eyes blazed again—so far as I knew I had not said anything uncivil, or calculated to arouse her temper, and yet she seemed to look upon my proposition in the light of an affront.
She even stamped her little foot in anger.
“Thank you, I prefer remaining here, and enduring all things, to going aboard that hateful yacht.”
Now what was there about the beautiful boat to incurher anger, save that it had been my lonely floating home for a long time, and must in that way be associated with my hateful personality that it had to come in for a share of her obloquy?
“Oh, if you object to my presence, I shall remain ashore and let Robbins take charge of the boat while you are aboard,” I said, quickly.
She gave me a look as of daggers drawn, but I could not interpret it, stupid that I was.
“Pray, give yourself no concern about the matter. If I had dreamed it would cause you this trouble I would have died rather than send that note for help. It was all a dreadful mistake.”
“Yes, a dreadful mistake,” I murmured.
Again she gave me a quick look, and then resumed her theatrical air that made her seem so irresistibly charming that I found it extremely difficult to keep on hating her.
“I am sorry to have given you so much trouble, Mr.—a—Robbins, but, after all, I have decided that there are situations more painful than the one I am now in under this roof, and that I must change my mind and remain here.”