FOOTNOTE:[8]A boyish trick.
[8]A boyish trick.
[8]A boyish trick.
Don Gil Silencio and the Señora sat within the shady corner of the veranda. In front of the Señora stood a small wicker table. Upon the table was an old silver teapot, battered in the side, whose lid had difficulty in shutting. This relic of the past had been brought from England by the old Señora when she returned from the refuge she had obtained there, in one of her periodical escapes from old Don Oviedo. The old Señora had brought back with her the fashion of afternoon tea; also some of the leaves from which that decoction is made. The teapot, as well as the traditionary fashion of tea at five o'clock, had been left as legacies to her grandson, but of the good English tea there remained not the smallest grain of dust. The old Señora had been prodigal of her tea. She had on great occasions used more than a saltspoonful of the precious leaves at a drawing, and every one knows that at that rate even two pounds of tea will not last forever.
They had been married now for two weeks, the Señor Don Gil and the Señora, and for the firsttime in her young life the Señora was happy. Sad to have reached the age of seventeen and not to have passed one happy day, hardly a happy hour! Now the girl was like a bird let loose, but the Señor, for a bridegroom, seemed somewhat distrait and dejected. As he sipped his weak decoction he often raised his eyes to the wooded heights beyond which Troja lay.
"What is the matter, Gil? Is not the tea good?"
"As good as the hay from the old potrera, dear Heart. And cold? One would imagine that we possessed our own ice-machine."
The Señora looked at Don Gil questioningly. His face was serious. She smiled. These were virtues, then! The Señora did not know much about the English decoction.
"Be careful, Raquel. That aged lizard will fall into the teapot else; he might get a chill. Chills are fatal to lizards." Don Gil was smiling now.
Raquel closed the lid with a loud bang. The lizard scampered up the allemanda vine, where it hid behind one of the yellow velvet flowers.
"But you seem so absent in mind, Gil. What is it all about? You look so often up the broad camino. Do you expect any—any one—Gil?"
Don Gil dropped over his eyes those long and purling lashes which, since his adolescence, hadbeen the pride and despair of every belle within the radius of twenty miles.
"You do expect some one, Gil; no welcome guest. That I can see. Oh! Gil. It is my un—it is Escobeda whom you expect."
Don Gil did not look up.
"I think it is quite likely that he will come," he said. "I may as well tell you, Raquel; the steamer arrived this morning. He must have waited there over a steamer." Had Silencio voiced his conviction, he would have added, "Escobeda's vengeance may be slow, but it is sure as well."
The Señora's face was colourless, her frightened eyes were raised anxiously to his. Her lips hardly formed the word that told him of her fear.
"When?" she asked.
"Any day now. But do not look so worried, dear Heart. I think that we need not fear Escobeda."
"But he will kill us, Gil. He will burn the casa."
"No. He might try to crush some poor and defenceless peon, but hardly the owner of Palmacristi. Still, all things are possible, all cruelties and barbarities, with a man like Escobeda. His followers are a lawless set of rascals."
"And he will dare to attack us here, in our home?"
The Señora's hands trembled as she moved the cups here and there upon the table.
"An Englishman says, 'My house is my castle.' If I cannot say that; I can say, 'My house is my fort.' I will try to show you that it is, when the time comes, but look up! Raquel. Smile! dear one. I know that my wife is not a coward."
With an assumption of carelessness, the Señora took a lump of sugar from the bowl and held it out to the penitent lizard. It came haltingly down the stem of the vine, stretching out its pointed nose to see what new and unaccustomed dainties were to be offered it.
"He has sent you a message, Gil?"
"Who, Escobeda? Yes, child. He sent me a letter under a flag of truce, as it were. The letter was written at the government town."
"And he sent it—"
"Back by the last steamer, Raquel. His people are not allowed to enter our home enclosure, as you know. I allowed one of the peons to take the letter. He brought it to the trocha. Any one can come there. It is public land."
Raquel dropped the sugar; it rolled away.
"Gil, Gil!" she said, "you terrify me. What shall we do?" She arose and went close to him and laid her hands upon his shoulders. "Escobeda! with his cruel ways, and more cruel followers—"
"He is Spanish."
"So are we, Gil, we are Spanish, too."
"Yes, child, with the leaven of the west intermingled in our veins, its customs, and its manners."
"Gil, dearest, I can never tell you what I suffered in that house. What fear! What overpowering dread! Whenever one of those lawless men so much as looked at me I trembled for the moment to come. And no one knows, Gil, what would have hap—happened unless he—had been reserving—me for—for a fate—worse than—" Her face was dyed with shame; she broke off, and threw herself upon her husband's breast. Her words became incoherent in a flood of tears.
Silencio held his young wife close to his heart, he pressed his lips upon her wet eyelids, upon her disordered hair. He soothed her as a brave man must, forgetting his own anxiety in her terror.
"My peons are armed, Raquel. They are well instructed. They are, I think, faithful, as much so, at least, as good treatment can make them. Even must they be bribed, they shall be. I have more money than Escobeda, Raquel. Even were you his daughter, you are still my wife. He could not touch you. As it is, he has no claim upon you. I am not afraid of him. He may do his worst, I am secure."
"And I?"
"Child! Are not you the first with me? But for you I should go out single-handed and try to shoot the coward down. But should I fail—and he is as good a shot as the island boasts—Raquel, who would care for you? I have thought it all out, child. My bullets are as good as Escobeda's; they shoot as straight, but I hope I have a better way; I have been preparing for your coming a long time, dear Heart, and my grandfather before me."
Raquel looked up from her hiding-place on his breast.
"Your grandfather, Gil, for me?"
Silencio smiled down upon the upraised eyes.
"Yes, for you, Raquel, had he but known it. Come! child, come! Dry your tears! Rest easy! You are safe." As Silencio spoke he shivered. "Your tea has gone to my nerves."
He took the pretty pink teacup from the veranda rail, where he had placed it, and set it upon the table. He looked critically at the remains of the pale yellow decoction.
"Really, Raquel, if you continue to give me such strong drinks, I shall have to eschew tea altogether."
"I am so sorry. I put in very little, Gil."
Silencio had brought a smile to her face. There is bravery in success of this kind, bringing a smile to the face of a beloved and helpless creature when a man's heart is failing him for fear.
"Let us walk round to the counting-house," he said.
He laid his arm about her shoulder, and together they strolled slowly to the side veranda, traversed its lengths, and descended the steps. They walked along the narrow path which led to the counting-house, and turned in at the enclosure. At the door they halted. Silencio took a heavy key from his pocket. Contrary to custom, he had kept the outer door locked for the past fortnight.
"Our Don Gil is getting very grand with his lockings up, and his lockings up," grumbled Anicito Juan. "There were no lockings up, the good God knows, in the days of the old Señor."
"And the good God also knows there were no lazy peons in the days of the old Señor to pry and to talk and to forget what they owe the family. When did the peon see meat in the days of the old Señor? When, I ask? When did you see fowl in a pot, except for the Señores? And now the best of sugar, and bull for the san-coche twice a week. And peons of the most useless can complain of such a master! Oh! Ta-la!"
A storm of words from the family champion, Guillermina, fell as heavily upon the complainant as a volley of blows from a man. Anicito Juan ducked his head as if a hurricane were upon him, and rushed away to cover.
Silencio tapped with his key upon the trunk of the dead palm tree which arose grand and straight opposite its mate at the side of the doorway.
"Now watch, Raquel," he said.
The tall trunk had sent back an answering echo from its hollow tube. Then there was a strange stir within the tree. Raquel looked upward. Numberless black beaks and heads protruded from the holes which penetrated the sides of the tall stem from the bottom to the top, as if to say, "Here is an inquisitive stranger. Let us look out, and see if we wish to be at home."
Raquel laughed gleefully. She took the key from her husband's fingers, crossed the path, and tapped violently upon the barkless trunk of the second palm tree. As many more heads were thrust outward as in the first instance. Some of the birds left their nests in the dead tree, flew a little way off, and alighted upon living branches, to watch for further developments about the shell where they had made their homes. Others cried and chattered as they flew round and round the palm, fearing they knew not what. Raquel watched them until they were quiet, then tapped the tree again. As often as she knocked upon the trunk the birds repeated their manœuvres. She laughed with delight at the result of each recurring invasion of the domestic quiet of the carpenter birds.
So engaged was Raquel that she did not perceive the entrance of a man into the small enclosure of the counting-house, nor did she see Silencio walk to the gate with the stranger. The two stood there talking hurriedly, the sound of their voices quite drowned by the cries of the birds.
As Raquel wearied of teasing the birds, she dropped her eyes to earth to seek some other amusement. A man was just disappearing round the corner of the paling. Silencio had turned and was coming back to her along the path which led from the gate to the door of the counting-house.
She met him with smiles, her lips parted, her face flushed.
"Who was that, Gil—that man? I did not see him come."
"You have seen him go, dear Heart. Is not that enough?"
Silencio spoke with an effort. His face was paler than it had been; Raquel's face grew serious. His anxiety was reflected in her face, as the sign of a storm in the sky is mirrored in the calm surface of a pool.
"Tell me the truth, Gil. You have had a message from Escobeda?"
"Not exactly a message, Raquel. That was one of my men. A spy, we should call him in warfare."
"And he brings you news?"
"Yes, he brings me news."
"What news, Gil? What news? I am horribly afraid. If he should take me, Gil! Oh! my God! Gil, dear Gil! do not let him take me!"
She threw herself against his breast, white and trembling. This was a horror too deep for tears.
Silencio smiled, though the arm which surrounded her trembled.
"He shall never take you from me, never! I am not afraid of that. But your fears unman me! Try to believe what I say, child. He shall never take you from me. Come! let us go in."
He took the key from her hand, and unlocked and opened the outer door of the counting-house. He pushed her gently into the room, and followed her, closing and locking the door behind him. Then he opened the door of the second room, and ushered her into this safe retreat. While he was fastening the door of this room, Raquel was gazing about her with astonishment. Her colour had returned; Silencio's positive words had entirely reassured her. "I never knew of this pretty room, Gil. Why did you never tell me of it?"
"I have hardly become accustomed to your being here, Raquel. There is much yet to learn about Palmacristi. Wait until I show you—"
Silencio broke off with a gay laugh.
"What! What will you show me, Gil? Ah!that delicate shade of green against this fresh, pure white! A little boudoir for me! How good you are to me! You have kept it as a surprise?"
Silencio laughed again as she ran hither and thither examining this cool retreat. He wondered if she would discover the real nature of those walls. But the delicacy of Raquel prevented her from touching the hangings, or examining the articles in the room except with her eyes.
"I spoke to you of my fortress, dear Heart."
"Oh! Are you going to show me your fortress? Come! come! Let us go!"
She took him by the arm and urged him to the further door.
"We need not go to seek it, child; it is here."
Silencio drew back the innocent-looking hangings and disclosed the steel plates which the Señor Don Juan Smit' had brought down from the es-States and had set in place. Silencio tapped the wall with his finger.
"It is bullet-proof," he said.
At the sight of this formidable-looking wall Raquel's colour vanished, as if it were a menace and not a protection, but not for long. Her cheek flushed again. She laughed aloud, her eyes sparkled. She was like a little child with a new toy, as she ran about and examined into the secrets of this innocent-looking fortress.
"Gil! Gil!" she cried, "what a charming prison! How delightful it will be to hear Escobeda's bullets rattling on the outside while we sit calmly here drinking our tea."
"Perhaps we can find something even more attractive in the way of refreshment." Silencio had not forgotten the cup which had neither inebriated nor cheered.
"I see now that you have no windows. At first I wondered. How long should we be safe here? Could he break in the door?"
Silencio bit his lip.
"Not the outer door. And the door leading into the house—well, even Escobeda would hardly—I may as well tell you the truth, Raquel. Sit down there, child, and listen."
The young wife perched herself upon the tall stool that stood before the white desk, her lips parted in a delicious smile. The rose behind her ear fell forward. She took it in her fingers, kissed it, and leaping lightly from her seat, ran to Silencio and thrust it through the buttonhole of his coat. Then she ran back and perched herself again upon her stool.
"Go on," she said, "I am ready." And then, womanlike, not waiting for him to speak, she asked the question, "Is he coming to-night, Gil?"
"I only wish that he would, for the darkness isour best friend. Escobeda expects an ambush, and my men are ready for it, but he will be here bright and early to-morrow. But be tranquil, I have sent for Beltran, Raquel. He will surely come. He never deserted a friend yet."
"How many men can he muster, Gil?" anxiously asked Raquel.
"Ten or twelve, perhaps. The fact that we are the attacked party, the men to hold the fortress, is in our favour. I still hope that the Coco will arrive in time. I hardly think that Escobeda will dare to use absolute violence—certainly not when he sees the force that I can gather at Palmacristi, and recognises the moral force of Beltran's being on my side."
"Oh, Gil! Why did you not send for the yacht before this?" Raquel descended from her perch and crossed the floor to where Silencio stood.
"Child! I had sent her away to Lambroso to prepare for just such a moment as this. It was the very day that your note came. She should be repaired by now. I cannot think what keeps her. I am sure that the repairs were not so very formidable."
"Do you think that Escobeda could have stopped the Coco, delayed her—?"
"No, hardly, though he may have seen the yacht over there. But after all, Raquel, we may as wellgo to the root of the matter now as later. It may be as well that the yacht is not here. If we should run away, we might have the fight to make all over again. However, we must act for the best when the time comes. Have no fear, Raquel, have no fear."
But as Don Gil looked down at the little creature at his side, a horrible fear surged up within his own heart, and rose to his throat and nearly choked him. She still raised her eyes anxiously to his.
"And your friend, your relative, that Don Beltran. You are sure that we may trust him, Gil?"
"Beltran?" Silencio laughed. "I wish that I were as sure of Heaven as of Beltran's faithfulness. He will be here, never fear. He never deserted a friend yet. If you awake in the night at the sound of horses' hoofs, that will be Beltran coming over the hill; do not think of Escobeda. Go to sleep, and rest in perfect security. If you must think at all, let your thoughts be of my perfect faith in my friend, who will arrive before it is light. I wish that I were as sure of Heaven."
When Felisa had seen Agueda disappear below the hillside she turned to Beltran.
"What is it, cousin?" asked Felisa, leaning heavily upon his shoulder.
He put his arm round her.
"You must get down, little lady. I have a summons from a friend; I must go home at once."
"But if I choose not to go home?" said Felisa, pouting.
"All the same, we must go," said Beltran.
"But if I will not go?"
"Then I shall have to carry you. You must go, Felisa, and I must, at once."
For answer Felisa leant over and looked into the eyes that were so near her own. She laid her arm round Beltran's shoulders, the faint fragrance that had no name, but was rather a memory of carefully cared forlingerie, was wafted across his nostrils for the hundredth time. One could not imagine Felisa without that evanescent thing that was part of her and yet had no place in her contrivance, hardly any place in her consciousness.
Beltran took her in his arms and lifted her to the ground. The tree, released, sprang in air.
"Ah! there goes my stirrup. You must get it for me, Beltran."
The gay scarf, having been utilized as a stirrup, had been left to shake and shiver high above them, with the tremors of the tree, which was endeavouring to straighten its bent bark and wood to their normal upright position.
"I can send for that; we must not wait," said Beltran.
"Send for it, indeed! Do you know that I got the scarf in Naples, cousin?—that a Princess Pallavicini gave it to me? Send for it, indeed! Do you think that I would have one of your grimy peons lay his black finger upon that scarf? You pulled the tree down before, bend it down again."
For answer, Beltran leaped in air, trying to seize the scarf. He failed to reach it. Then he climbed the tree, and soon his weight had bent the slight young sapling to earth again. Felisa sat underneath a ceiba, watching Beltran's efforts. At each failure she laughed aloud. She was obviously regretful when finally he released the scarf and handed it to her.
Beltran urged haste with Felisa, but by one pretext or another she delayed him.
"Sit down under this tree, and tell me what is in that letter, cousin."
Beltran stood before her.
"It is from my old friend, Silencio; he needs me—"
"I cannot hear, cousin; that mocking-bird sings so loud. Sit down here and tell me—"
"It is from my friend, Silen—"
"I cannot hear, cousin. You must sit here by me, and tell me all about it."
Beltran threw himself upon the ground with a sigh. She forced his head to her knee, and played with the rings of his hair.
"Now tell me, cousin, and then I shall decide the question for you."
Beltran lay in bliss. Delilah had him within her grasp; still there was firmness in the tone which said:
"I have already decided the question, Sweet. I promised him that I would go to him when he should need me. The time has come, and I must go to-night."
"And leave me?" said Felisa, her delicate face clouding under this news. "And what shall I do if we are attacked while you are away?"
"There is no question of your being attacked, little cousin. Silencio has an enemy, Escobeda, who, he thinks, will attack him to-morrow at daylight. In fact, Felisa, you may as well hear theentire story. Then you will understand why I must go. Silencio is a sort of cousin of mine. He has married the niece of as great a villain as ever went unhung, and he, the uncle, Escobeda, will attack Silencio to recover his niece. He is clearly without the law, for Silencio is married as fast as the padre can make him. But there may be sharp work; there is no time to get government aid, and I doubt if under the circumstances it would be forthcoming. So I must go to Silencio's help." Beltran made a motion as if to rise.
Felisa now clasped her fingers round his throat. It was the first time that she had voluntarily made such a demonstration, and Beltran's pulses quickened under her touch. He relaxed his efforts, turned his face over in her lap, and kissed the folds of her dress.
"Vida mia, vida mia! you will not keep me," he murmured through a mass of lace and muslin.
"Indeed, that will I! Do you suppose that I am going to remain at that lonely casa of yours, quaking in every limb, dreading the sound of each footstep, while you are away protecting some one else? No, indeed! You had no right to ask us here, if you meant to go away and leave us to your cut-throat peons. I will not stay without you."
"But my peons are not cut-throats, Felisa.They will guard you as their own lives, if I tell them that I must be gone."
"Do you mean to go alone?"
"No, I mean to take half a dozen good men with me, and leave the rest at San Isidro. There is no cause to protect you, Felisa, little cousin; but should you need protection, you shall have it."
"I shall not need it, for I will not let you leave me, Beltran. Suppose that dreadful man, Escobeda, as you call him, becomes angry at seeing you on the side of your friend, and starts without your knowledge, and comes to San Isidro. He might take me away in the place of that niece of his, to force you to get the Señor Silencio to give his niece back to him."
"What nonsense are you conjuring up, Felisa, child! That is too absurd! Escobeda's quarrel is with Silencio, not with me. Do not fear, little one."
"And did I not hear you say that this Señor Escobeda hated your father, and also hated you?"
"Yes, I did say that," admitted Beltran, reluctantly, as he struggled to rise without hurting her; "but he will be very careful how he quarrels openly with me. My friends in the government are as powerful as his own."
"Well, you cannot go," said Felisa, decisively, "and let that end the matter."
They went homeward slowly, much as they hadcome, Felisa delaying Beltran by some new pretext at every step. She kept a watchful eye upon him, to see that he did not drop her bridle rein and canter away at the cross roads.
When they reached the picnic ground they found that Uncle Noé had departed, and Beltran must, perforce, see his cousin safely within the precincts of San Isidro. She did not leave the veranda after dismounting, but seated herself upon the top step, which was now shaded from the sun, and watched every movement of master and servants. Beltran had disappeared within doors, but he could not leave the place on foot. After a while he emerged from his room; behind him hobbled old Juana, carrying a small portmanteau. As he came toward the steps, Felisa arose and stood in his way.
"Why do you go to-night?" she said.
"Because he needs me at daybreak."
"I need you more." Felisa looked out from under the fringe of pale sunshine. "You will not leave me, Beltran—cousin?"
"It is only for a few hours, dear child."
"Is this Silencio more to you than I am, then, Beltran?"
"Good God! No, child, but I shall return before you have had your dip in the river."
"I do not like to be left here alone, cousin. I want you—"
"Imustgo, and at once, Felisa. Silencio depends upon me. Good by, good by! You will see me at breakfast."
Felisa arose. The time for pleading was past.
"You shallnotgo," said she, holding his sleeve with her small fingers.
"I must!" He pulled the sleeve gently away. She clasped it again persistently. Then she said, resolutely and with emphasis, "So sure as you do, I take the first steamer for home."
"You would not do that?"
"That is my firm intention."
"But Silencio needs me."
"I need you more."
Felisa withdrew her small hands from his sleeve and started down the veranda, toward her room. Her little shoes tick-tacked as she walked.
He called after her, "Where are you going?"
"To pack my trunks," said Felisa, "if you can spare that girl of yours—that Agueda—to help me."
A throb of joy flew upward in the heart of Agueda, whose nervous ear was awake now to all sounds.
"Do you really mean it, Felisa?"
"I certainly do mean it," answered Felisa. "If you go away from me now, I will take the first steamer home. To-morrow, if one sails."
"And suppose that I refuse you the horses, the conveyance, the servants—"
Felisa turned and looked scornfully at Beltran.
"I suppose that you are a gentleman first of all," she said. "You could not refuse."
"No, I could not."
"And you will remain?"
Beltran dropped his head on his breast.
"I will remain," he said.
Beltran drew his breath sharply inward.
"It is the first time," he added.
"The first time?" She looked at him questioningly.
"Did I speak aloud? Yes, the first time, Felisa, that I was ever false to a friend. He counts on me; I promised—"
"Men friends, I suppose. What about women? I count on you, you have promisedme—"
Agueda threw herself face downward on her bed and stopped her ears with deep buried fingers.
Silencio passed the night in wakeful watching and planning. Raquel slept the innocent sleep of a careless child. Gil had promised that all would come out well. She trusted him.
Very early in the morning the scouts whom Silencio had placed along the boundaries of his estate were called in, and collected within the patio of the casa. The outer shutters of the windows were closed and bolted; the two or three glass windows, which spoke of the innovation which civilization brings in its train, were protected by their heavy squares of plank. The doors were locked, and the casa at Palmacristi was made ready for a siege.
Silencio awakened Raquel as the first streak of dawn crept up from the horizon. Over there to the eastward trembled and paled that opalescent harbinger which told her that day was breaking. She looked up with a child's questioning eyes.
"It is time, sweetheart. Now listen, Raquel. Pack a little bag, and be ready for a journey."
Raquel pouted.
"Cannot Guillermina pack my bag?"
"No, not even Guillermina may pack your bag. When it is ready, set it just inside your door. If you do not need it, so much the better. You may open your windows toward the sea, but not those that look toward Troja."
Silencio flung wide the heavy shutter as he spoke. Raquel glanced out to sea.
"Oh, Gil! where is the Coco?"
"I wish I knew. She should be here."
"Are we to go on board, Gil?"
"Unfortunately, even should she arrive now, she is a half-hour too late. Now hasten, I will give you fifteen minutes, no more."
"We might have gone out in the boat, Gil. Oh! why did you not call me?"
Silencio pointed along the path to the right. Some of Escobeda's men, armed with machetes and shotguns, stood just at the edge of the forest, where at any moment they could seek protection behind the trees. They looked like ghosts in the early dawn.
"And where is your friend, Beltran?"
Silencio shook his head.
"He cannot have received my message," he said.
"And are the men of Palmacristi too great cowards to fight those wretches?"
Silencio started as if he had been struck. He did not answer for a moment; then he said slowly:"Raquel, do you know what we should be doing were you not here?—I and my men?"
He spoke coldly. Raquel had never heard these tones before.
"We should be out there hunting those rascals to the death, no matter how they outnumber us; but I dare not trust you between this and the shore. My scouts tell me that they have kept up picket duty all night. Escobeda expected the Coco back this morning; at all events, he was ready for our escape in that way. The orders of those men are to take you at any cost. Should I be killed, your protection would be gone. I am a coward, but for you only, Raquel, for you only."
The young wife looked down. The colour mounted to her eyes. She drew closer to her husband, but for once he did not respond readily to her advances. He was hurt to the core.
"Get yourself ready at once," he said. "I will give you fifteen minutes, no more. We have wasted much time already."
Raquel hardly waited for Silencio to close the door. She began to dress at once, her trembling fingers refusing to tie strings or push the buttons through the proper holes. As she hurriedly put on her everyday costume, she glanced out of the window to see if in the offing she could discover the Coco. The little yacht was at that very momenthastening with all speed toward her master, but a point of land on the north hid her completely from Raquel's view.
"Although he will not own it, he evidently intends to carry me away in the yacht." Raquel smiled. "So much the better; it will be another honeymoon."
When Silencio left Raquel, he ran out to the patio. On the way thither he met old Guillermina with a tray on which was her mistress's coffee. Upon the table in the patio veranda—that used by the servants—a hasty meal was laid. Silencio broke a piece of cassava bread and drank the cup of coffee which was poured out for him, and as he drank he glanced upward. Andres was standing on the low roof, on the inner side of the chimney of stone which carried off the kitchen smoke. He turned and looked down at Don Gil.
"The Señor Escobeda approaches along the gran' camino, Señor."
Silencio set down his cup and ran up the escalera. He walked out to the edge of the roof, and shaded his eyes with his hand.
"Yes, Andres; it is true. And I see that he has some gentlemen with him." He turned and called down to the patio.
"Ask Guillermina if her mistress has had her coffee."
As he faced about a shot rang out. The bullet whistled near his head.
"Go down, Señor, for the love of God!" said Andres.
The company of horsemen were riding at a quick pace, and were now within hearing.
Silencio waved his arm defiantly.
"Ah! then it is you, Señor Escobeda! I see whom you have with you. Is that you, Pedro Geredo? Is that you, Marcoz Absalon? You two will have something to answer for when I report this outrage at the government town."
Escobeda had ridden near to the enclosure. His head was shaking with rage. His earrings glittered in the morning sun, his bloodshot eyes flashed fire. He raised his rifle and aimed it at Silencio.
"You know what I have come for, Señor. Send my niece out to me, and we shall retire at once."
"How dare you take that name upon your lips?" Silencio was livid with rage. Another shot was fired. This time it ploughed its way through Silencio's sleeve.
"Shall I kill him, Señor?" Andres brought his escopeta to his shoulder; he aimed directly at Escobeda. "I can kill him without trouble, Señor, and avoid further argument. It is as the Señor says!"
Silencio looked anxiously seaward. No sign of the Coco!
"Not until I give the word, Andres." And then to Escobeda, "I defy you! I defy you!"
Shots began to fall upon the casa from the guns of Escobeda's impudent followers. Escobeda leaped his horse into the enclosure; his men followed suit. Silencio saw them ride in lawless insolence along the side of the building, and then heard the hollow ring of the horses' hoofs upon the veranda. He ran down the escalera. The mob were battering at the front door with the butt ends of their muskets.
Raquel appeared in the patio, pale and terrified.
"Gil! Gil!" she cried, "they are coming in! They will take me!"
"Coward! Come out and fight," was the cry from the outside.
"I am a coward for you, dear." He seized her wrists. "To the counting-house!" he whispered, "to the counting-house!" As they ran she asked, "Is there any sign of the Coco?"
"None," answered Silencio; "but we could not reach her now."
Together they flew through the hallways, across the chambers, where the blows were sounding loud upon the wooden wall of the house, upon the shutters, and the doors. They ran down the far passage and reached the counting-house door. Silencio stumbled over something near the sill.
"Ah! your bag," he said. "I told Guillermina to set it there."
He opened the door with the key held ready, and together they entered. Silencio tore the rug from the middle of the room, and disclosed to Raquel's amazed eyes a door sunken in the floor. He raised it by its heavy ring. A cold blast of air flowed upward into the warm interior. Raquel had thought the room cool before; now she shivered as if with a chill. Silencio pushed her gently toward the opening. "Go down," he said.
Raquel gazed downward at the black depths.
"I cannot go alone, Gil." She shuddered.
"Turn round, dear Heart; put your feet on the rungs of the ladder, so! Ah! what was that?" Silencio glanced anxiously toward the open doorway. A heavy cracking of the stout house-door showed to what lengths Escobeda and his followers were prepared to venture.
"Go, go! At the bottom is a lantern; light it if you can, while I close the trap-door."
Raquel shrank at the mouth of this black opening, which seemed to yawn for them. The damp smell of mould, the cold, the gloom, were sudden and dreadful reminders of the tomb which this might become. She imagined it a charnel house. She dreaded to descend for fear that she shouldplace her feet upon a corpse, or lay her fingers on the fleshless bones of a skeleton.
"Courage, my Heart! Courage! Go down! Do not delay."
At the kindness of his tone, Raquel, taking courage, began to descend. Terrible thoughts filled her mind. What if Escobeda and his men should discover their retreat, and cut off escape at their destination? What that destination was she knew not. Her eyes tried vainly to pierce the mysterious gloom. It was as if she looked into the blackness of a cavern. She turned and gazed for a moment back into the homelike interior which she was leaving, perhaps for all time. The loud blows upon the house-door were the accompaniment of her terrified thoughts.
Raquel descended nervously, her trembling limbs almost refusing to support her. She reached the bottom of the ladder, and by the aid of the dim light from above, she found the lantern and the matches, which Silencio's thoughtful premonition had placed there, ready for her coming. As she lighted the lantern she heard a terrific crash.
Silencio, with a last glance at the open door of the counting-house, which he had forgotten to close, now lowered the trap-door, and joined Raquel in the dark passage. He stood and listened for a moment. He heard a footstep on the floorabove, and taking Raquel's hand in his, together they sped along the path which he hoped would lead her to safety.
"Oh, child!" he said, in sharp, panting words, as they breathlessly pursued the obscure way, "for the first time I have given you proof of my love."
Raquel turned to look at him. She saw his dark face revealed fitfully by the flashes of the lantern swinging from his hand.
"Here am I flying from that villain, when I ache to seize him by the throat and choke the very breath of life out of him. Here am I running away,running away!—do you hear me, Raquel?—while they, behind there, are calling me coward. But should he take you—"
Raquel stumbled and almost fell at these dreadful words.
"Gil, Gil, dearest! do not speak of it; perhaps he is coming even now behind us."
At the dreadful suspicion she fell against the wall, dragging him with her. She clung to him in terror, impeding his progress.
"This is not the time to give way, Raquel." Silencio spoke sternly. "Call all your will to your aid now. Run ahead of me, while I stand a moment here."
Raquel gathered all her resolution, and without further question fled again upon her way. Silenciowaited a moment, facing the steps which they had just descended, and listened intently. But all that he heard was the sound of Raquel's flying feet. When he was convinced that no one was following them, he turned again and ran quickly after Raquel. He easily gained upon her.
"I hear nothing, Raquel. Do not be so frightened."
At these words the changeable child again regained confidence.
"You have heard of a man building better than he knew," he said. He waved the lantern toward the sides of the tunnel. "There were wild tales of smuggling in the old days—"
The colour had returned to Raquel's cheek. She laughed a little as she asked:
"Did your grandfather smuggle, Gil?"
"He was no better and no worse than other men; who knows what—we will talk later of that. Come!"
He took her hand in his, and again together they fled along the passage. As no sound of pursuing feet came to their ears, confidence began to return. They were like two children running a race. Silencio laughed aloud, and as they got further from the entrance to the passage he whistled, he sang, he shouted! The sound of his laughter chilled the heart of Raquel with fear.
"Gil," she pleaded, "they will hear you. They will know where we have gone." She laid her fingers on his lips as they ran, and he playfully bit them, as he had seen her close her teeth upon El Rey's.
The passage was a long one. Raquel thought that it would never end.
"Have we come more than two miles, Gil?" she asked.
Raquel was not used to breathless flights in the dark. Silencio laughed.
"Poor little girl! Does it seem so long, then? When we have reached the further end we shall have come just three hundred feet."
At last, at last! the further door was reached. Silencio unlocked it and pushed it open. This was rendered somewhat difficult by the sand which had been blown about the entrance since last he had brushed it away. A little patient work, and the two squeezed themselves through the narrow opening.
"Hark! I hear footsteps," whispered Raquel, her face pale with renewed terror.
Silencio stood still and listened.
"You are right," he said; "they are behind us. Take the lantern and hold it for me close to the keyhole." He began pushing the door into place.
She took the light from him and held it as he directed.
"Hold it steady, child. Steady!—Do not tremble so! I must see! Imust!steady!"
Raquel's hand shook as if with a palsy.
The footsteps came nearer. To her they sounded from out the darkness like the approach of death.
"Hasten!" she whispered, "hasten!" She held the lantern against the frame of the solid door and pressed her shoulder against it, that her nervousness should not agitate the flame, whispering "Hasten!" the while to Silencio, whose trembling fingers almost refused to do this most necessary work. At last, with a bang and a sharp twist of the key, the heavy door was closed and locked.
"Do you see an iron bar anywhere, Raquel, in the bushes there on the left?"
She ran to the side of the tunnel, which still arched above them here. Silencio was close to her, and at once laid his hand upon the strong piece of metal. He sprang back to the door, and slipped the bar into the rust-worn but still faithful hasps.
Then he turned, seized her hand again, and led her hurriedly along between the high banks. It was still dark where they stood, so overgrown was the deep cut, but Silencio knew the way. He took the lantern from Raquel's hand, extinguishedit, and set it upon the ground. "We shall need this no more," he said.
The trees and vines growing from the embankment, which nearly closed overhead, were interwoven like a green basket-work, and almost shut out the daylight. Silencio took Raquel's hand in his and led her along the narrow path. The light became stronger with every step.
Suddenly Raquel stopped short.
"What was that, Gil?"
"What, dearest?"
"That! Do you not hear it? It sounds like a knocking behind us."
Silencio stood still for a moment, listening to the sounds.
"Yes," he said at last, "I do hear it. It is some of those villains pursuing us. Hasten, Raquel. When they find the door is closed, they will return to the casa to cut off our retreat."
Raquel found time to say:
"And the poor servants left behind, will they—"
"They are safe, child. You are the quarry they seek. Escobeda does not exchange shots to no purpose."
A few more steps, and Silencio parted the thicket ahead. Raquel passed through in obedience to his commanding nod, and emerged into the blinding glare of a tropical morning. Beneath her feet wasthe hot, fine sand of the seashore. A few yards away a small boat was resting, her stern just washed by the ripples. Raquel turned and looked backward. The mass of trees and vines hid the bank from view, the bank in its turn concealed the casa. As she stood thus she heard again a slow knocking, but much fainter than before. It was like the distant sound of heavy blows.
"Thank God! they are knocking still," said Silencio. "Run to the boat, child, quickly."
Raquel shrank with fear.
"They will see me from the house," she said.
"You cannot see the beach from the casa; have you forgotten? Run, run! For the boat! the boat!"
Obeying him, she sped across the sand to the little skiff.
"The middle seat!" he cried.
He followed her as swiftly, and with all his strength pushed the light weight out from the shore, springing in as the bow parted with the beach. The thrust outward brought them within sight of the house. For a moment they were not discovered, and he had shipped the oars and was rowing rapidly toward the open sea before they were seen.
It required a moment for the miscreants to appreciate the fact that the two whom they had thoughthidden in the house had escaped in some unknown way. Then a cry of rage went up from many throats, and one man raised his rifle to his shoulder, but the peon next him threw up the muzzle, and the shot flew harmless in the air.
It is one thing to fire at the bidding of a master, on whose shoulders will rest all the blame, and quite another to aim deliberately at a person who is quite within his rights—you peon, he gran' Señor. Escobeda was nowhere to be seen. There was no one to give an order, to take responsibility. The force was demoralized. The men formed in a small group, and watched the little skiff as it shot out to sea, impelled by the powerful arm and will of Silencio. As he rowed Silencio strained his eyes northward, and perceived what was not as yet visible from the shore. He saw the Coco just rounding the further point—distant, it is true, but safety for Raquel lay in her black and shining hull.
When old Guillermina saw Don Gil and the Señora retreat from the patio and cross the large chamber, she knew at once their errand. Had she not lived here since the days of the old Don Oviedo? What tales could she not have told of the secret passage to the sea! But her lips were sealed. Pride of family, the family of her master, was the padlock which kept them silent. Howmany lips have been glued loyally together for that same reason!
As Guillermina crossed the large chamber she heard the blows raining upon the outer shutters and the large door. She heard Escobeda's voice calling, "Open! open!" as he pounded the stout planking with the butt end of his rifle. The firing had ceased. Even had it not, Guillermina knew well that the shots were not aimed at her. She had withstood a siege in the old Don Oviedo's time, and again in the time of the old Don Gil, and from the moment that Silencio had brought his young wife home she had expected a third raid upon the casa.
Guillermina walked in a leisurely manner. She passed through the intervening passages, and found the counting-house door open. This she had hardly expected. She joyously entered the room and closed the door. Then her native lassitude gave way to a haste to which her unaccustomed members almost refused their service. She quickly drew the rug over the sunken trap-door, smoothed the edges, and rearranged the room, so that it appeared as if it had not lately been entered. It was her step overhead which Don Gil and Raquel had heard at first, and which had caused them so much uneasiness.
As Guillermina turned to leave the room, sheheard a crash. Escobeda, having failed to break in the great entrance door, had, with the aid of some of his men, pried off a shutter. The band came pouring into the house and ran through all the rooms, seeking for the flown birds. As Guillermina opened the door of the counting-house to come out, key in hand, she met Escobeda upon the threshold. His face was livid. He held his machete over his head as if to strike.
"So this is their hiding-place," he screamed in her ear.
He rushed past her, and entered the counting-house. Its quiet seclusion and peaceful appearance filled him with astonishment, and caused him to stop short. But he was not deceived for long. He tore away the green hangings, hoping to find a door. Instead a wall of iron stared him in the face. He ran all round the room, feeling of the panels or plates, but nowhere could he discover the opening which he sought. Each plate was firmly screwed and riveted to its neighbour. He turned and shook his fist in Guillermina's face.
"You shall tell me where they have gone," he howled, in fury, and then poured forth a volley of oaths and obscenities, such as no one but a Spaniard could have combined in so few sentences.
Guillermina faced him, her hands on her fat hips.
"The Señor should not excite himself. It is bad to excite oneself. There was the woodcutter over at La Floresta—"
"To hell with the woodcutter! Where is that Truhan?" Then Escobeda began to curse Guillermina. He cursed her until he foamed at the mouth, his gold earrings shaking in his ears, his eyes bloodshot, his lips sending flecks of foam upon her gown. He cursed her father and her mother, her grandfather and her grandmother, her great-grandfather and great-grandmother, which was quite a superfluity in the way of cursing, as Guillermina had no proof positive that she had ever possessed more than one parent. He cursed her brothers and sisters, her aunts, her uncles, her cousins, her nephews and nieces.
"The Señor wastes some very good breath," remarked Guillermina in a perfectly imperturbable manner. "I have none of those people."
Escobeda turned on her in renewed frenzy. The vile words rolled out of his mouth like a stream over high rocks. He took a fresh breath and cursed anew. As he had begun with her ancestors, so he continued with her descendants, the children whom she had borne, and those whom she was likely to bear.
"The good God save us!" ejaculated old Guillermina. And still Escobeda cursed on, his fury nowfalling upon her relationships in all their ramifications, and in all their branches.
"Ay de mi! The gracious Señor wastes his time. If the gracious Señor should rest a little, he could start with a fresh breath."
As Guillermina spoke, she rearranged the curtain folds, smoothed and shook the silken pillows, and laid them straight and in place. She kept her station as near the middle of the sunken door as possible.
Again he thundered at her the question as to where the fugitives had found refuge. Guillermina, brave outwardly, was trembling inwardly for the safety of her beloved Don Gil. The young Señora was all very well, she might grow to care for her in time, but her little Gil, whom she had taken from the doctor's arms, whom she had nursed on her knee with her own little Antonio, who lay under the trees on the hillside yonder—she must gain time.
"Does not the Señor know that the Señor Don Gil Silencio-y-Estrada and the little Señora have gone to heaven?"
Escobeda stopped short in his vituperation.
"Dead? He was afraid, then! He killed her." Escobeda laughed cruelly. "If I have lost her, so has he."
"Ay, ay, they have flown away, flown to heaven,the Señores. The good God cares for his own. I wonder now who cares for the Señor Escobeda!"
With the scream of a wild beast he flew at her, and she, fearing positive injury, sprang aside. Escobeda's spur caught in the rug and tore it from its place on the floor. He stumbled and fell, pulling the green and white carpet after him. Concealment was no longer possible; the trap-door was laid bare. With a fiendish cry of delight he flew at the ring in the sunken door.
"To hell! to hell!" he shouted. "That is where they have gone; not to heaven, but to hell."
Escobeda had heard rumours all his life of the secret passage to the sea—the passage which had never been located by the curious. At last the mystery was solved. He raised the door, and without a word to Guillermina, plunged into the black depths. The absence of a light was lost sight of by him in his unreasoning rage. Almost before his fingers had disappeared from view, Guillermina had lowered the trap-door into its place in the most gentle manner.
If one is performing a good action, it is best to make as little noise about it as possible. As she fitted the great iron bar across the opening, there came a knocking upon the under side of the iron square.
"Give me a light! A light! you she-devil! A light, I say."
Guillermina went softly to the door of the counting-house and closed it to prevent intrusion. She could hear Escobeda's followers running riotously all over the casa. Her time would be short, that she knew. She knelt down on the floor and put her lips close to the crack in the trap-door.
"And he would curse my mother, would the Señor! And my little Antonio, who lies buried on the hill yonder."
"A light!" he shouted, "a light! she-devil, a light, I say!"
"May the Señor see no light till he sees the flames of hell," answered Guillermina. "The Señor must pardon me, but that is my respectful wish."
She smoothed the innocent-looking carpet in place, replaced the chairs, and went out, locking the door after her.
"Let us hope," said she quietly, "that my muchacho has barred the door at the further end of the passage." Looking for a wide crack, she found it, and dropped the key through it.
This is why the disused passage is always called Escobeda's Walk.
Sometimes, when Don Gil and the little Señora sit and sip the straw-coloured tea at five o'clock of anafternoon, the teapot, grown more battered and dingy, the lid fitting less securely than of yore, the Señora sets down her cup, and taking little Raquel upon her knee, holds her close to her heart, and says:
"Do you hear that knocking, Gil? There is certainly a rapping on the counting-house floor."
"I hear nothing," answers Silencio, as he gives a large lump of sugar to the grandson of the brown lizard. And for that matter, there is an ancient proverb which says that "None are so deaf as those who will not hear."
Uncle Adan had been taken ill. He was suffering from the exhalations of the swamp land through which he must travel to clear the river field. He had that and the cacao patch both on his mind. There was a general air of carelessness about the plantation of San Isidro which had never obtained before since Agueda's memory of the place. The peons and workmen lounged about the outhouses and stables, lazily doing the work that was absolutely needed, but there was no one to give orders, and there was no one who seemed to long for them. It appeared to be a general holiday.
Uncle Adan lay and groaned in his bed at the further end of the veranda, and wondered if the cacao seed had spoiled, or if it would hold good for another day. When Agueda begged him to get some sleep, or to take his quinine in preparation for the chill that must come, he only turned his face to the wall and groaned that the place was going to rack and ruin since those northerners had come down to the island. "I have seen the Señor plant the cacao," said Agueda. "He had thePalandrez and the Troncha and the Garcia-Garcito with him. He ordered, and they worked. I went with them sometimes." Agueda sighed as she remembered those happy days.
Uncle Adan turned his aching bones over, so that he could raise his weary eyes to Agueda's.
"That is all true," he said. "The Señor can plant, no Colono better. But one cannot plant the cacao and play the guitar at one and the same time."
Agueda hung her head as if the blame of right belonged to her.
"You act as if I blamed you, and I do," said Uncle Adan, shivering in the preliminary throes of his hourly chill. "You who have influence over the Señor! You should exert it at once. The place is going to rack and ruin, I tell you!"
Agueda turned and went out of the door. She was tired of the subject. There was no use in arguing with Uncle Adan, either with regard to the quinine or the visitors. She went to her own room, and took her hat from the peg. When again she came out upon the veranda, she had a long stick in one hand and a pail in the other. Then she visited the kitchen.
"Juana," she said, "fill this pail with water and tell Pablo and Eduardo Juan that I need them at once."
She waited while this message was sent to the recalcitrant peons, who lounged lazily toward the House at her summons.
"De Señorit' send fo' me?" asked Pablo.
"I sent for both of you," said Agueda. "Why have you done no cacao planting to-day?"
"Ain' got no messages," replied Pablo, who seemed to have taken upon himself the rôle of general responder.
"You know very well that it is the messages that make no difference. Bring your machetes, both of you," ordered Agueda, "and come with me to the hill patch."
For answer the peons drew their machetes lazily from their sheaths.
"I knew that you had them, of course. Come, then! I am going to the field. Where is the cacao, Pablo?"
"Wheah Ah leff 'em," answered Pablo.
"And where is that?"
"In de hill patch, Seño'it'."
"And did some one, perhaps, mix the wood ashes with them?"
Pablo turned to Eduardo Juan, open-mouthed, as if to say, "Did you?"
Agueda also turned to Eduardo Juan. "Well! well!" she exclaimed impatiently, "were the wood ashes mixed, then, with the cacao seeds?"
Eduardo Juan shifted from one foot to the other, looked away at the river, and said, "Ah did not ogsarve."
"You did not observe. Oh, dear! oh, dear! Why can you never do as the Señor tells you? What will become of the plantation if you do not obey what the Señor tells you?"
"Seño' ain' say nuttin'," said Eduardo Juan, with a sly smile.
Agueda looked away. "I am not speaking of the Señor. I mean the Señor Adan," said she. "You know that he has charge of all; that he had charge long before—come, then! let us go."
As Agueda descended the steps of the veranda, she heard Beltran's voice calling to her. She turned and looked back. Don Beltran was standing in the open door of the salon. His pleasant smile seemed to say that he had just been indulging in agreeable words, agreeable thoughts.
"Agueda," said Beltran, "bring my mother's cross here, will you? I want to show it to my cousin."
Agueda turned and came slowly up the steps again. She went at once to her own room and opened the drawer where the diamonds lay in their ancient case of velvet and leather. The key which opened this drawer hung with the household bunch at her waist. The drawer had not been opened forsome time, and the key grated rustily in the lock. Agueda opened the drawer, took the familiar thing in her hand, and returning along the veranda, handed it to Beltran. Then she ran quickly down the steps to join the waiting peons. But Felisa's appreciative scream as the case was opened reached her, as well as the words which followed.
"And you let that girl take charge of such a magnificent thing as that! Why, cousin, it must mean a fortune."
"Who? Agueda?" said Beltran. "I would trust Agueda with all that I possess. Agueda knew my mother. She was here in my mother's time."
The motherly instinct, which is in the ascendant with most women, arose within the heart of Agueda.
"Come, Palandrez, come, Eduardo Juan," said she. They could hardly keep pace with her. If there was no one else to work for him while he dallied with his pretty cousin, she would see that his interests did not suffer.
"Why, then, do you not go up there in the cool of the evening, Palandrez? You could get an hour's work done easily after the sun goes behind the little rancho hill."
"It is scairt up deyah," said Palandrez. "De ghos' ob de ole Señora waak an' he waak. Ain' no one offer deyah suvvices up on de hill when it git 'long 'bout daak."
Agueda went swiftly toward the hill patch, the peons sulkily following her. They did not wish to obey, but they did not dare to rebel. Arrived at her destination, she turned to Pablo, who was in advance of Eduardo Juan.
"Where, then, is the pail of seed, Pablo?"
Pablo, without answer, began to send his eyes roaming over and across the field. Eduardo Juan, preferring to think that it was no business of his, leaned against a tree-trunk and let his eyes rest on the ground at his feet. As these two broken reeds seemed of no practical use, Agueda began to skirt the field, and soon she came upon the pail, hidden behind a stump.
"Here it is, Eduardo Juan," she called. "Begin to dig your holes, you and Pablo, and I will—oh!" This despairing exclamation closed the sentence, and ended all hope of work for the day. Agueda saw, as she spoke, that the pail swarmed with ants. She pushed her stick down among the shiny brown seed, and discovered no preventive in the form of the necessary wood ashes. The seed was spoiled.
"It is no use, Pablo," she said. "Come and see these ants, you that take no interest in the good of the Señor." She turned and walked dejectedly down the hill. Pablo turned to Eduardo Juan.
He laughed under his breath.
"De Seño' taike no intrus' in hees own good."
"Seed come from Palmacristi; mighty hard git seed dis time o' yeah," answered Eduardo Juan, with a hopeful chuckle. If no more seed were to be had, then no more planting could be done.
Later in the evening, as Agueda went toward the kitchen, she passed by Felisa's doorway. A glimpse was forced upon her of the interior of the pretty room and its occupant. Felisa was seated before the mirror. She had donned a gown the like of which Agueda had never seen. The waist did not come all the way up to the throat, but was cut out in a sort of hollow, before and behind, for Agueda saw the shoulders which were toward her, quite bare of covering, and in the mirror she caught the reflection of maidenly charms which in her small world were not a part of daily exhibit. Agueda stopped suddenly.