He felt stiff and stupid, with a roasting spot in his back between his shoulders; but he was able to see the light in Gil Perez' eyes—which was a good light, saying, "Well so far—but I look for more." Neither Gil nor the spectacled gentleman in black—the surgeon, he presumed—spoke to him, and disinclined for speech himself, Manvers lay watching their tip-toe ministrations, with spells of comfortable dozing in between, in the course of which he again lost touch with the world of Spain.
When he came to once more he was much better and felt hungry. He saw Gil Perez by the window, reading a little book. The sun-blinds were down to darken the room; Gil held his book slantwise to a chink and read diligently, moving his lips to pronounce the words.
"Gil Perez," said Manvers, "what are you reading?" Gil jumped up at once.
"You better, sir? Praised be God! I read," he said, "a little catholic book which calls itself 'The Garden of the Soul'—ver' good little book. What you call ver' 'ealthy—ver' good for 'im. But you are better, master. You 'ungry—I get you a broth." Which he did, having it hot and hot in the next room.
"Now I tell you all the 'istory of this affair," he said. "Last night I see Manuela out a walking. I follow 'er too much—salute 'er—she lift 'er 'ead back to strike me dead. I say, 'Señorita, one word. Why you give your crucifix to my master—ha?' Sir, she began to shake—'ead shake, knee shake; I think she fall into 'erself. You see flowers in frost all estiff, stand up all right. By'nbye the sun, 'e climb the sky—thosa flowers they fall esquash—all rotten insida. So Manuela fall into 'erself. Then I talk to 'er—she tell me all the 'istory of thata time. She kill Estéban Vincaz, she tell me—kill 'im quick, just what I told you. Becausa why? Becausa she dicksure Estéban kill you. But I say to 'er, Manuela, that was too bad, lady. Kill Estéban all the same. Ver' good for 'im, send 'im what you call kingdom-come like a shot. But you leava that crucifix on my master's plate—make 'im tender, too sorry for you. He think, Thata nice girl, very. I like 'er too much. Now 'e 'as your crucifix in gold, lika piece of Vera Cruz, lika Santa Teresa's finger, and all the world know you kill Estéban Vincaz and 'e like you. Sir, I make 'er sorry—she begin to cry. I think—" and Gil Perez walked to the window—"I think Manuela ver' fine girl—like a rose. Now, master—" and he returned to the bed—"I tell you something. That man who estab you las' night was Tormillo. You know who?"
Manvers shook his head. "Never heard of him, my friend. Who is he?"
"He is servant to Don Luis Ramonez, the same I see at thecorrida. I tell you about 'im—no money, all pride."
Manvers stared. "And will you have the goodness to tell me why Don Luis should want to have me stabbed?"
"I tell you, sir," said Gil Perez. "Estéban Vincaz was Don Bartolomé Ramonez, son to Don Luis. Bad son 'e was, if you like, sir. Wil' oats, what you call. All the sama nobleman, all the sama only son to Don Luis."
Manvers considered this oracle with what light he had. "Don Luis supposes that I killed his son, then," he said. "Is that it?"
"'E damsure," said Gil Perez, blinking fast.
"On Manuela's account—eh?"
"Like a shot!" cried Gil Perez with enthusiasm.
"So of course he thinks it his duty to kill me in return."
"Of course 'e does, sir," said Gil. "I tell you, 'e is proud like the devil."
"I understand you," said Manvers. "But why does he hire a servant to do his revenges?"
"Because 'e think you dog," Gil replied calmly. "'E not beara touch you witha poker."
Manvers laughed, and said, "We'll leave it at that. Now I want to know one more thing. How on earth did Don Luis find out that I was in the wood with Manuela and his son?"
"Ah," said Gil Perez, "now you aska me something. Who knows?" He shrugged profusely. Then his face cleared. "Leave it to me, sir. I ask Tormillo." He was on his feet, as if about to find the assassin there and then.
"Stop a bit," said Manvers, "stop a bit, Gil. Now I must tell you that I also saw Manuela last night."
"Ah," said Gil Perez softly; and his eyes glittered.
"I saw her in the street," Manvers continued, watching his servant. "She was all in white."
Gil Perez blinked this fact. "Yes, sir," he said. "That is true. Poor girl." His eyes clouded over. "Poor Manuela!" he was heard to say to himself.
"I followed her for a while," said Manvers, "and saw you catch her up, and stop her. Then I went away; and then that rascal struck me in the back. Now do you suppose that Don Luis means to serve Manuela the same way?"
Gil Perez did not blink any more. "I think 'e wisha that," he said; "but I think 'e won't."
"Why not?"
"Because I tell Manuela what I see at thecorrida. She was there too. She know it already. Bless you, she don't care."
"But I care," said Manvers sharply. "I've got her on my conscience. I don't intend her to suffer on my account."
"That," said Gil Perez, "is what she wanta do." He looked piercingly at his master. "You know, sir, I ask 'er for your 'andkerchief."
"Well?" Manvers raised his eyebrows.
"I tell you whata she do. She look allaways in the dark. Nobody there. Then she open 'er gown—so!" and Gil held apart the bosom of his shirt. "I see it in there." There were tears in Gil's eyes. "Poor Manuela!" he murmured, as if that helped him. "I make 'er give it me. No good she keepa that in there."
"Where is it?" he was asked. He tried to be his jaunty self, but failed.
"Not 'ere, sir. I 'ave it—I senda to the wash." Manvers looked keenly at him, but said nothing. He had a suspicion that Gil Perez was telling a lie.
"You had better get her out of Madrid," he said, after a while. "There may be trouble. Let her go and hide herself somewhere until this has blown over. Give me my pocket-book." He took a couple of bills out and handed them to Gil. "There's a hundred for her. Get her into some safe place—and the sooner the better. We'll see her through this business somehow."
Gil Perez—very unlike himself—suddenly snatched at his hand and kissed it. Then he sprang to his feet again and tried to look as if he had never done such a thing. He went to the door and put his head out, listening. "Doctor coming," he said. "All righta leave you with 'im."
"Of course it's all right," said Manvers. But Gil shook his head.
"Don Luis make me sick," he said. "No use 'e come 'ere."
"You mean that he might have another shot at me?"
Gil nodded; very wide-eyed and serious he was. "'E try. I know 'im too much." Manvers shut his eyes.
"I expect he'll have the decency to wait till I'm about again. Anyhow, I'll risk it. What you have to do is to get Manuela away."
"Yessir," said Gil in his best English, and admitted the surgeon with a bow. Then he went lightfooted out of the room and shut the door after him.
He was away two hours or more, and when he returned seemed perfectly happy.
"Manuela quite safa now," he told his master.
"Where is she, Gil?" he was asked, and waved his hand airily for reply.
"She all right, sir. Near 'ere. Quita safe. Presently I see 'er." He could not be brought nearer than that. Questioned on other matters, he reported that he had failed to find either Don Luis or Tormillo, and was quite unable to say how they knew of his master's relations with the Valencian girl, or what their further intentions were. His chagrin at having been found wanting in any single task set him was a great delight to Manvers and amused the slow hours of his convalescence.
His wound, which was deep but not dangerous, healed well and quickly. In ten days he was up again and inquiring for Manuela's whereabouts. Better not see her, he was advised, until it was perfectly certain that Don Luis was appeased. Gil promised that in a few days' time he would give an account of everything.
It is doubtful, however, whether he would have kept his word, had not events been too many for him. One day after dinner he asked his master if he might speak to him. On receiving permission, he drew him apart into a little room, the door of which he locked.
"Hulloa, Gil Perez," said Manvers, "what is your game now?"
"Sir," said Gil, holding his head up, and looking him full in the face. "I must espeak to you about Manuela. She is in the Carcel de la Corte—to-morrow they take 'er to the Audiencia about that assassination." He folded his arms and waited, watching the effect of his words.
Manvers was greatly perturbed. "Then you've made a mess of it," he said angrily. "You've made a mess of it."
"No mess," said Gil Perez. "She tell me must go to gaol. I say, all righta, lady."
"You had no business to say anything of the sort," Manvers said. "I am sorry I ever allowed you to interfere. I am very much annoyed with you, Perez." He had never called him Perez before—and that hurt Gil more than anything. His voice betrayed his feelings.
"You casta me off—call me Perez, lika stranger! All right, sir—what you like," he stammered. "I tell you, Manuela very fine girl—and why the devil I make 'er bad? No, sir, that imposs'. She too good for me. She say, Don Luis estab my saviour! Never, never, for me! I show Don Luis what's whata, she say. I give myself up to justice; then 'e keepa quiet—say, That's all right. So she say to Paquita—that big girl who sleep with 'er when—when——" he was embarrassed. "Mostly always sleep with 'er," he explained—"She say, 'Give me your veil, Paquita de mi alma.' Then she cover 'erself and say to me, 'Come, Gil Perez.' I say, 'Señorita, where you will.' We go to the Carcel de la Corte. Three or four alguazils in the court see 'er come in; saluta 'er, 'Good-day, señora—at the feet of your grace,' they say; for they think ''ere come a dam fine woman to see 'er lover.' She eshiver and lift 'erself. 'I am no señora,' she essay. 'Bad girl. Nama Manuela. I estab Don Bartolomé Ramonez de Alavia in the wood of La Huerca. You taka me—do what you like.' Sir, I say, thata very fine thing. I would kissa the 'and of any girl who do that—same I kiss your 'and." His voice broke. "By God, I would!"
"What next?" said Manvers, moved himself.
"Sir," said Gil Perez, "those alguazils clacka the tongue. 'Soho, la Manola!' say one, and lift 'er veil and look at 'er. All those others come and look too. They say she dam pretty woman. She standa there and look at them, lika they were dirt down in the street. Then I essay, 'Señores, you pleasa conduct this lady to the carcelero in two minutes, or you pay me, Gil Perez, 'er esservant. Thisa lady 'ave friends,' I say. 'Better for you, señores, you fetcha carcelero.' They look at me sharp—and they thinka so too. Then the carcelero 'e come, and I espeak with him and say, 'We 'ave too much money. Do what you like.'"
"And what did he do?" Manvers asked.
"He essay, 'Lady, come with me.' So then we go away witha carcelero, and I eshow my fingers—so—to those alguazils and say, 'Dam your eyes, you fellows, vayan ustedes con Dios!' Then the carcelero maka bow. 'E say to Manuela, 'Señora, you 'ave my littla room. All by yourself. My wifa she maka bed—you first-class in there. Nothing to do with them dogs down there. I give them what-for lika shot,' say the carcelero. So I pay 'im well with your bills, sir, and see Manuela all the time every day."
He took rapid strides across the room—but stopped abruptly and looked at Manvers. There was fire in his eyes. "She lika saint, sir. I catch 'er on 'er knees before our Lady of Atocha. I 'ear 'er words all broken to bits. I see 'er estrike 'er breasts—Oh, God, that make me mad! She say, 'Oh, Lady, you with your sorrow and your love—you know me very well. Bad girl, too unfortunate, too miserable—your daughter all the sama, and your lover. Give me a great 'eart, Lady, that I may tell all the truth—all—all—all! If 'e thoughta well of me,' she say, crying like one o'clock, 'let 'im know me better. No good 'e think me fine woman—no good he kissa me'"—the delicacy with which Gil Perez treated this part of the history, which Manvers had never told him, was a beautiful thing—"'I wanta tell 'im all my 'istory. Then he say, Pah, what a beast! and serva me right.' Sir, then she bow righta down to the grounda, she did, and covered 'er 'ead. I say, 'Manuela, I love you with alla my soul—but you do well, my 'eart.' And then she turn on me and tell me to go quick."
"So you are in love with her, Gil?" Manvers asked him. Gil admitted it.
"I love 'er the minute I see 'er at thecorrida. My 'earta go alla water—but I know 'er. I say to myself, "That is la Manuela of my master Don Osmondo. You be careful, Gil Perez.'"
Manvers said, "Look here, Gil, I'm ashamed of myself. I kissed her, you know."
"Yessir," said Gil, and touched his forehead like a groom.
"If I had known that you—but I had no idea of it until this moment. I can only say——"
"Master," said Gil, "saya nothing at all. I love Manuela lika mad—that quite true; but she thinka me dirt on the pavement."
"Then she's very wrong," Manvers said.
"No, sir," said Gil, "thata true. All beautiful girls lika that. I understanda too much. But look 'ere—if she belong to me, that all the same, because I belong to you. You do what you like with 'er. I say, That all the same to me!"
"Gil Perez," said Manvers, "you're a gentleman, and I'm very much ashamed of myself. But we must do what we can for Manuela. I shall give evidence, of course. I think I can make the judge understand."
Gil was inordinately grateful, but could not conceal his nervousness. "I think the Juez, 'e too much friend with Don Luis. I think 'e know what to do all the time before. Manuela have too mucha trouble. Alla same she ver' fine girl, most beautiful, most unhappy. That do 'er good if she cry."
"I don't think she'll cry," Manvers said, and Gil Perez snorted.
"She cry! By God she never! She Espanish girl, too mucha proud, too mucha dicksure what she do with Don Bartolomé. She know she serve 'im right. Do againa all the time. What do you think 'e do with 'er when 'e 'ave 'er out there in Pobledo an' all those places? Vaya! I tell you, sir. 'E want to live on 'er. 'E wanta make 'er too bad. Then she run lika devil. Sir, I tell you what she say to me other days. 'When I saw 'im come longside Don Osmundo,' she say, 'I look in 'is face an' I see Death. 'E grin at me—then I know why 'e come. 'E talk very nice—soft, lika gentleman—then I know what 'e want. I say, Son of a dog, never!'"
"Poor girl," said Manvers, greatly concerned.
"Thata quite true, sir," Gil Perez agreed. "Very unfortunate fine girl. But you know what we say in Espain. Make yourself 'oney, we say, and the flies willa suck you. Manuela too much 'oney all the time. I know that, because she tell me everything, to tell you."
"Don't tell me," said Manvers.
"Bedam if I do," said Gil Perez.
The court was not full when Manvers and his advocate, with Gil Perez in attendance, took their places; but it filled up gradually, and the Judge of First Instance, when he took his seat upon the tribunal, faced a throng not unworthy of a bull-fight. Bestial, leering, inflamed faces, peering eyes agog for mischief, all the nervous expectation of the sudden, the bloody or terrible were there.
There was the same dead hush when Manuela was brought in as when they throw open the doors of thetoril, and the throng holds its breath. Gil Perez drew his with a long whistling sound, and Manvers, who could dare to look at her, thought he had never seen maidenly dignity more beautifully shown. She moved to her place with a gentle consciousness of what was due to herself very touching to see.
The crowded court thrilled and murmured, but she did not raise her eyes; once only did she show her feeling, and that was when she passed near the barrier where the spectators could have touched her by leaning over. More than one stretched his hand out, one at least his walking cane. Then she took hold of her skirt and held it back, just as a girl does when she passes wet paint. This little touch, which made the young men jeer and whisper obscenity, brought the water to Manvers' eyes. He heard Gil Perez draw again his whistling breath, and felt him tremble. Directly Manuela was in her place, standing, facing the assize, Gil Perez looked at her, and never took his eyes from her again. She was dressed in black, and her hair was smooth over her ears, knotted neatly on the nape of her neck.
The Judge, a fatigued, monumental person with a long face, pointed whiskers, and the eyes of a dead fish, told her to stand up. As she was already standing, she looked at him with patient inquiry; but he took no notice of that. Her self-possession was indeed remarkable. She gave her answers quietly, without hesitation, and when anything was asked her which offended her, either ignored it or told the questioner what she thought of it. From the outset Manvers could see that the Judge's business was to incriminate her beyond repair. Her plea of guilty was not to help her. She was to be shown infamous.
The examination ran thus:—
Judge: "You are Manuela, daughter of Incarnacion Presa of Valencia, and have never known your father?" (Manuela bows her head.) "Answer the Court."
Manuela: "It is true."
Judge: "It is said that your father was thegitanoSagruel?"
Manuela: "I don't know."
Judge: "You may well say that. Remember that you are condemning your mother by such answers. Your mother sold you at twelve years old to an unfrocked priest named Tormes?"
Manuela: "Yes. For threepesos."
Judge: "Disgraceful transaction! This wretch taught you dancing, posturing, and all manner of wickedness?"
Manuela: "He taught me to dance."
Judge: "How long were you in his company?"
Manuela: "For three years."
Judge: "He took you from fair to fair. You were a public dancer?"
Manuela: "That is true."
Judge: "I can imagine—the court can imagine—your course of life during this time. This master of yours, this Tormes, how did he treat you?"
Manuela: "Very ill."
Judge: "Be more explicit, Manuela. In what way?"
Manuela: "He beat me. He hurt me."
Judge: "Why so?"
Manuela: "I cannot tell you any more about him."
Judge: "You refuse?"
Manuela: "Yes."
Judge: "The court places its interpretation upon your silence." (He looked painfully round as if he regretted the absence of the proper means of extracting answers. Manvers heard Gil Perez curse him under his breath.)
The Judge made lengthy notes upon the margin of his docquet, and then proceeded.
Judge: "The young gentleman, Don Bartolomé Ramonez, first saw you at the fair of Salamanca in 1859?"
Manuela: "Yes."
Judge: "He saw you often, and followed you to Valladolid, where his father Don Luis lived?"
Manuela: "Yes."
Judge: "He professed his passion for you, gave you presents?"
Manuela: "Yes."
Judge: "You persuaded him to take you away from Tormes?"
Manuela: "No."
Judge: "What do I hear?"
Manuela: "I said 'No.' It was because he said that he loved me that I went with him. He wished to marry me, he said."
Judge: "What! Don Bartolomé Ramonez marry a public dancer! Be careful what you say there, Manuela."
Manuela: "He told me so, and I believed him."
Judge: "I pass on. You were with him until the April of this year—you were with him two years?"
Manuela: "Yes."
Judge: "And then you found another lover and deserted him?"
Manuela: "No. I ran away from him by myself."
Judge: "But you found another lover?"
Manuela: "No."
Judge: "Be careful, Manuela. You will trip in a moment. You ran away from Don Bartolomé when you were at Pobledo, and you went to Palencia. What did you do there?"
Manuela: "I cannot answer you."
Judge: "You mean that you will not?"
Manuela: "I mean that I cannot."
Judge: "This is wilful prevarication again. I have authority to compel you."
Manuela: "You have none."
Judge: "We shall see, Manuela, we shall see. You left Palencia on the 12th of May in the company of an Englishman?"
Manuela: "Yes."
Judge: "He is here in court?"
Manuela: "Yes."
Judge: "Do you see him at this moment?"
Manuela: "Yes." (But she did not turn her head to look at Manvers until the Judge forced her.)
Judge: "I am not he. I am not likely to have taken you from Palencia and your proceedings there. Look at the Englishman." (She hesitated for a little while, and then turned her eyes upon him with such gentle modesty that Manvers felt nearer to loving her than he had ever done. He rose slightly in his seat and bowed to her: she returned the salute like a young queen. The Judge had gained nothing by that.) "I see that you treat each other with ceremony; there may be reasons for that. We shall soon see. This gentleman then took you away from Palencia in the direction of Valladolid, and made you certain proposals. What were they?"
Manuela: "He proposed that I should return to Palencia."
Judge: "And you refused?"
Manuela: "Yes."
Judge: "Why?"
Manuela: "I could not go back to Palencia."
Judge: "Why?"
Manuela: "There were many reasons. One was that I was afraid of seeing Estéban there."
Judge: "You mean Don Bartolomé Ramonez de, Alavia?" (She nodded.) "Answer me."
Manuela: "Yes, yes."
Judge: "You are impatient because your evil deeds are coming to light. I am not surprised; but you must command yourself. There is more to come." (Manvers, who was furious, asked his advocate whether something could not be done. Directly her fear of Estéban was touched upon, he said, the Judge changed his tactics. The advocate smiled. "Be patient, sir," he said. "The Judge has been instructed beforehand." "You mean," said Manvers, "that he has been bribed?" "I did not say so," the advocate replied.)
The Judge returned to Palencia. "What other reasons had you?" was his next question, but Manuela was clever enough to see where her strength lay. "My fear of Estéban swallowed all other reasons." She saved herself, and with unconcealed chagrin the Judge went on towards the real point.
Judge: "The Englishman then made you another proposal?"
Manuela: "Yes, sir. He proposed to take me to a convent."
Judge: "You refused that?"
Manuela: "No, sir. I should have been glad to go to a convent."
Judge: "You, however, accepted his third proposal, namely, that you should be under his protection?"
Manuela: "I was thankful for his protection when I saw Estéban coming."
Judge: "I have no doubt of that. You had reason to fear Don Bartolomé's resentment?"
Manuela: "I knew that Estéban intended to murder me."
Judge: "Don Bartolomé overtook you. You were riding before the Englishman on his horse?"
Manuela: "Yes. I could not walk. I was ill."
Judge: "Don Bartolomé remained with you until the Englishman ran away?"
Manuela: "He did not run away. Why should he? He went away on his own affairs."
Judge(after looking at his papers): "I see. The Englishman went away after the pair of you had killed Don Bartolomé?"
Manuela: "That is not true. He went away to bathe, and then I killed Estéban with his own knife. I killed him because he told me that he intended to murder me, and the English gentleman who had been kind to me. I confess it—I confessed it to thealguazilsand thecarcelero. You may twist what I say as you will, to please your friends, but the truth is in what I say."
Judge: "Silence! It is for you to answer the questions which I put to you. You forget yourself, Manuela. But I will take your confession as true for the moment. Supposing it to be true, did you not stab Don Bartolomé in the neck in order that you might be free?"
Manuela: "I killed him to defend myself and an innocent person. I have told you so."
Judge: "Why should Don Bartolomé wish to kill you?"
Manuela: "He hated me because I had refused to do his pleasure. He wished to make me bad——"
Judge(lifting his hands and throwing his head up): "Bad! Was he not jealous of the Englishman?"
Manuela: "I don't know."
Judge: "Did he not tell you that the Englishman was your lover? Did you not say so to Fray Juan de la Cruz?"
Manuela: "He spoke falsely. It was not true. He may have believed it."
Judge: "We shall see. Have patience, Manuela. Having slain your old lover, you were careful to leave a token for his successor. You left more than that: your crucifix from your neck, and a message with Fray Juan?"
Manuela: "Yes. I told Fray Juan the whole of the truth, and begged him to tell the gentleman, because I wished him to think well of me. I told him that Estéban——"
Judge: "Softly, softly, Manuela. Why did you leave your crucifix behind you?"
Manuela: "Because I was grateful to the gentleman who had saved my life at Palencia; because I had nothing else to give him. Had I had anything more valuable I would have left it. Nobody had been kind to me before."
Judge: "You know what he has done with your crucifix, Manuela?"
Manuela: "I do not."
Judge: "What are you saying?"
Manuela: "The truth."
Judge: "I have the means of confuting you. You told Fray Juan that you were going to Madrid?"
Manuela: "I did not."
Judge: "In the hope that he would tell the Englishman?"
Manuela: "If he told the gentleman that, he lied."
Judge: "It is then a singular coincidence which led to your meeting him here in Madrid?"
Manuela: "I did not meet him."
Judge: "Did you not meet him a few nights before you surrendered to justice?"
Manuela: "No."
Judge: "Did you meet his servant?"
Manuela: "I cannot tell you."
Judge: "Did not the Englishman pay for your lodging in the Carcel de la Corte? Did he not send his servant every day to see you?"
Manuela: "The gentleman was lying wounded at the hotel. He had been stabbed in the street."
Judge: "We are not discussing the Englishman's private affairs. Answer my questions?"
Manuela: "I cannot answer them."
Judge: "You mean that you will not, Manuela. Did you not know that the Englishman caused your crucifix to be set in gold, like a holy relic?"
Manuela: "I did not know it."
Judge: "We have it on your own confession that you slew Don Bartolomé Ramonez in the wood of La Huerca, and you admit that the Englishman was protecting you before that dreadful deed was done, that he has since paid for your treatment in prison, and that he has treasured your crucifix like a sacred relic?"
Manuela: "You are pleased to say these things. I don't say them. You wish to incriminate a person who has been kind to me."
Judge: "I will ask you one more question, Manuela. Why did you give yourself up to justice?"
Manuela(after a painful pause, speaking with high fervour and some approach to dramatic effect): "I will answer you, señor Juez. It was because I knew that Don Luis would contrive the death of Don Osmundo if I did not prove him innocent."
Judge(rising, very angry): "Silence! The court cannot entertain your views of persons not concerned in your crime."
Manuela: "But——" (She shrugged, and looked away.)
Judge: "You can sit down."
Manvers' reiterated question of how in the name of wonder Don Luis or anybody else knew what he had done with Manuela's crucifix was answered before the day was over; but not by Gil Perez or the advocate whom he had engaged to defend the unhappy girl.
This personage gave him to understand without disguise that there was very little chance for Manuela. The Judge, he said, had been "instructed." He clung to that phrase. When Manvers said, "Let us instruct him a little," he took snuff and replied that he feared previous "instruction" might have created a prejudice. He undertook, however, to see him privately before judgment was delivered, but intimated that he must have a very free hand.
Manvers' rejoinder took the shape of a blank cheque with his signature upon it. The advocate, fanning himself with it in an abstracted manner, went on to advise the greatest candour in the witness-box. "Beware of irritation, dear sir," he said. "The Judge will plant a banderilla here and there, you may be sure. That is his method. You learn more from an angry man than a cool one. For my own part," he went on, "you know how we stand—without witnesses. I shall do what I can, you may be sure."
"I hope you will get something useful from the prisoner," Manvers said. "A little of Master Estéban's private history should be useful."
"It would be perfectly useless, if you will allow me to say so," replied the advocate. "The Judge will not hear a word against a family like the Ramonez. So noble and so poor! Perhaps you are not aware that the Archbishop of Toledo is Don Luis' first cousin? That is so."
"But is that allowed to justify his rip of a son in goading a girl on to murder?" cried Manvers.
The advocate again took snuff, shrugging as he tapped his fingers on the box. "The Ramonez say, you see, sir, that Don Bartolomé may have threatened her, moved by jealousy. Jealousy is a well-understood passion here. The plea is valid and good."
"Might it not stand for Manuela too?" he was asked.
"I don't think we had better advance it, Don Osmundo," he said, after a significant pause.
Gil Perez, pale and all on edge, had been walking the room like a caged wolf. He swore to himself—but in English, out of politeness to his master. "Thata dam thief! Ah, Juez of my soul, if I see you twist in 'ell is good for me." Presently he took Manvers aside and, his eyes full of tears, asked him, "Sir, you escusa Manuela, if you please. She maka story ver' bad to 'ear. She no like—I see 'er red as fire, burn like the devil, sir. She ver' unfortunata girl—too beautiful to live. And all these 'ogs—Oh, my God, what can she do?" He opened his arms, and turned his pinched face to the sky. "What can she do, Oh, my God?" he cried. "So beautiful as a rose, an' so poor, and so a child! You sorry, sir, hey?" he asked, and Manvers said he was more sorry than he could say.
That comforted him. He kissed his master's hand, and then told him that Manuela was glad that he knew all about her. "She dam glad, sir, that I know. She say to me las' night—'What I shall tell the Juez will be the very truth. Señor Don Osmundo shall know what I am,' she say. 'To 'im I could never say it. To thata Juez too easy say it. To-morrow,' she say, ''e know me for what I am—too bad girl!'"
"I think she is a noble girl," said Manvers. "She's got more courage in her little finger than I have in my body. She's a girl in a thousand."
Gil Perez glowed, and lifted up his beaten head. "Esplendid—eh?" he cried out. "By God, I serve 'er on my knees!"
On returning to the court, the beard and patient face of Fray Juan greeted our friend. He had very little to testify, save that he was sure the Englishman had known nothing of the crime. The prisoner had told him her story without haste or passion. He had been struck by that. She said that she killed. Don Bartolomé in a hurry lest he should kill both her and her benefactor. She had not informed him, nor had he reported to the gentleman, that she was going to Madrid. The Englishman said that he intended to find her, and witness had strongly advised him against it. He had told him that his motives would be misunderstood. "As, in fact, they have been, brother?" the advocate suggested. Fray Juan raised his eyebrows, and sighed. "Quien sabe?" was his answer.
Manvers then stood up and spoke his testimony. He gave the facts as the reader knows then, and made it clear that Manuela was in terror of Estéban from the moment he appeared, and even before he appeared. He had noticed that she frequently glanced behind them as they rode, and had asked her the reason. Her fear of him in the wood was manifest, and he blamed himself greatly for leaving her alone with the young man.
"I was new to the country, you must understand," he said. "I could see that there was some previous acquaintance between those two, but could not guess that it was so serious. I thought, however, that they had made up their differences and gone off together when I returned from bathing. When Pray Juan showed me the body and told me what had been done I was very much shocked. It had been, in one sense, my fault, for if I had not rescued her, Estéban would not have suspected me, or intended my death. That I saw at once; and my desire of meeting Manuela again was that I might defend her from the consequences of an act which I had, in that one sense, brought about—to which she had, at any rate, been driven on my account."
"I will ask you, sir," said the Judge, "one question upon that. Was that also your motive in having the crucifix set in pure gold?"
"No," said Manvers, "not altogether. I doubt if I can explain that to you."
"I am of that opinion myself," said the Judge, with an elaborate bow. "But the court will be interested to hear you."
The court was.
"This girl," Manvers said, "was plainly most unfortunate. She was ragged, poorly fed, had been ill-used, and was being shamefully handled when I first saw her. I snatched her out of the hands of the wretches who would have torn her to pieces if I had not interfered. From beginning to end I never saw more shocking treatment of a woman than I saw at Palencia. Not to have interfered would have shamed me for life. What then? I rescued her, as I say, and she showed herself grateful in a variety of ways. Then Estéban Vincaz came up and chose to treat me as her lover. I believe he knew better, and think that my horse and haversack had more to do with it. Well, I left Manuela with him in the wood—hardly, I may suggest, the act of a lover—and never saw Estéban alive again. But I believe Manuela's story absolutely; I am certain she would not lie at such a time, or to such a man as Fray Juan. The facts were extraordinary, and her crime, done as it was in defence of myself, was heroic—or I thought so. Her leaving of the crucifix was, to me, a proof of her honest intention. I valued the gift, partly for the sake of the giver, partly for the act which it commemorated. She had received a small service from me, and had returned it fifty-fold by an act of desperate courage. To crown her charity, she left me all that she had in the world. I do not wonder myself at what I did. I took the crucifix to a jeweller at Valladolid, had it set as I thought it deserved—and I see now that I did her there a cruel wrong."
"Permit me to say, sir," said the triumphant Judge, "that you also did Don Luis Ramonez a great service. Through your act, however intended, he has been enabled to bring a criminal to justice."
"I beg pardon," said Manvers, "she brought herself to justice—so soon as Don Luis Ramonez sent his assassin out to stab me in the back, and in the dark. And this again was a proof of her heroism, since she thought by these means to satisfy his craving for human blood."
Manvers spoke incisively and with severity. The court thrilled, and the murmuring was on his side. The Judge was much disturbed. Manuela alone maintained her calm, sitting like a pensive Hebe, her cheek upon her hand.
The Judge's annoyance was extreme. It tempted him to wrangle.
"I beg you, sir, to restrain yourself. The court cannot listen to extraneous matter. It is concerned with the consideration of a serious crime. The illustrious gentleman of your reference mourns the loss of his only son."
"I fail," said Manvers, "to see how my violent death can assuage his grief." The Judge was not the only person in court to raise his eyebrows; if Manvers had not been angry he would have seen the whole assembly in the same act, and been certified that they were not with him now. His advocate whispered him urgently to sit down. He did, still mystified. The Judge immediately retired to consider his judgment.
Manvers' advocate left the court and was away for an hour. He returned very sedately to his place, with the plainly expressed intention of saying nothing. The court buzzed with talk, much of it directed at the beautiful prisoner, whose person, bearing, motives, and fate were freely discussed. Oddly enough, at that moment, half the men in the hall were ready to protect her.
Manvers felt his heart beating, but could neither think nor speak coherently. If Manuela were to be condemned to death, what was he to do? He knew not at all; but the crisis to which his own affairs and his own life were now brought turned him cold. He dared not look at Gil Perez. The minutes dragged on——
The Judge entered the court and sat in his chair. He looked very much like a codfish—with his gaping mouth and foolish eyes. He pulled one of his long whiskers and inspected the end of it; detected a split hair, separated it from its happier fellows, shut his eyes, gave a vicious wrench to it and gasped as it parted. Then he stared at the assembly before him, as if to catch them laughing, frowned at Manvers, who sat before him with folded arms; lastly he turned to the prisoner, who stood up and looked him in the face.
"Manuela," he said, "you stand condemned upon your own confession of murder in the first degree—murder of a gentleman who had been your benefactor, of whose life and protection you desired, for reasons of your own, to be ridded. The court is clear that you are guilty and cannot give you any assurance that your surrender to justice has assisted the ministers of justice. Those diligent guardians would have found you sooner or later, you may be sure. If anyone is to be thanked it is, perhaps, the foreign gentleman, whose candour"—and here he had the assurance to make Manvers a bow—"whose candour, I say, has favourably impressed the court. But, nevertheless, the court, in its clemency, is willing to allow you the merits of your intention. It is true that justice would have been done without your confession; but it may be allowed that you desired to stand well with the laws, after having violated them in an outrageous manner. It is this desire of yours which inclines the court to mercy. I shall not inflict the last penalty upon you, nor exact the uttermost farthing which your crime deserves. The court is willing to believe that you are penitent, and condemns you to perpetual seclusion in the Institution of the Recogidas de Santa Maria Magdalena."
Manuela was seen to close her eyes; but she collected herself directly. She looked once, piercingly, at Manvers, then surrendered herself to him who touched her on the shoulder, turned, and went out of the court.
Everybody was against her now: they jeered, howled, hissed and cursed her. A spoiled plaything had got its deserts. Manvers turned upon them in a white fury. "Dogs," he cried, "will nothing shame you?" But nobody seemed to hear or heed him at the moment, and Gil Perez whispered in his ear, "That no good, master. Thiscanallaall the same swine. You come with me, sir, I tell you dam good thing." He had recovered his old jauntiness, and swaggered before his master, clearing the way with oaths and threatenings.
Manvers followed him in a very stern mood. By the door he felt a touch on the arm, and turning, saw a tall, elderly gentleman cloaked in black. He recognised him at once by his hollow eye-sockets and smouldering, deeply set eyes. "You will remember me, señor caballero, in the shop of Sebastian the goldsmith," he said; and Manvers admitted it. He received another bow, and the reminder. "We met again, I think, in the Church of Las Angustias in Valladolid."
"Yes, indeed," Manvers said, "I remember you very well."
"Then you remember, no doubt, saying to me with regard to your crucifix, which I had seen in Sebastian's hands, then in your own, that it was a piece of extravagance on your part. You will not withdraw that statement to-day, I suppose."
That which lay latent in his words was betrayed by the gleam of cold fire in his eyes. Manvers coloured. "You have this advantage of me, señor," he said, "that you know to whom you are speaking, and I do not."
"It is very true, señor Don Osmundo," the gentleman said severely. "I will enlighten you. I am Don Luis Ramonez de Alavia, at your service."
Manvers turned white. He had indeed made Manuela pay double. So much for sentiment in Spain.