by Bret Harte
THE MYSTERY OF THE HACIENDA.
Dick Bracy gazed again at the Hacienda de los Osos, and hesitated. Thereit lay--its low whitewashed walls looking like a quartz outcrop of thelong lazy hillside--unmistakably hot, treeless, and staring broadly inthe uninterrupted Californian sunlight. Yet he knew that behind thoseblistering walls was a reposeful patio, surrounded by low-pitchedverandas; that the casa was full of roomy corridors, nooks, andrecesses, in which lurked the shadows of a century, and that hidden bythe further wall was a lonely old garden, hoary with gnarled pear-trees,and smothered in the spice and dropping leaves of its baking roses. Heknew that, although the unwinking sun might glitter on its red tiles,and the unresting trade winds whistle around its angles, it always keptone unvarying temperature and untroubled calm, as if the dignity ofyears had triumphed over the changes of ephemeral seasons. But wouldothers see it with his eyes? Would his practical, housekeeping aunt, andhis pretty modern cousin--
"Well, what do you say? Speak the word, and you can go into it with yourfolks to-morrow. And I reckon you won't want to take anything either,for you'll find everything there--just as the old Don left it. I don'twant it; the land is good enough for me; I shall have my vaqueros andrancheros to look after the crops and the cattle, and they won't troubleyou, for their sheds and barns will be two miles away. You can staythere as long as you like, and go when you choose. You might like to tryit for a spell; it's all the same to me. But I should think it the sortof thing a man like you would fancy, and it seems the right thing tohave you there. Well,--what shall it be? Is it a go?"
Dick knew that the speaker was sincere. It was an offer perfectlycharacteristic of his friend, the Western millionaire, who had haltedby his side. And he knew also that the slow lifting of his bridle-rein,preparatory to starting forward again, was the business-like gesture ofa man who wasted no time even over his acts of impulsive liberality.In another moment he would dismiss the unaccepted offer from hismind--without concern and without resentment.
"Thank you--it is a go," said Dick gratefully.
Nevertheless, when he reached his own little home in the outskirts ofSan Francisco that night, he was a trifle nervous in confiding to thelady, who was at once his aunt and housekeeper, the fact that he wasnow the possessor of a huge mansion in whose patio alone the littleeight-roomed villa where they had lived contentedly might be casuallydropped. "You see, Aunt Viney," he hurriedly explained, "it would havebeen so ungrateful to have refused him--and it really was an offer asspontaneous as it was liberal. And then, you see, we need occupy only apart of the casa."
"And who will look after the other part?" said Aunt Viney grimly. "Thatwill have to be kept tidy, too; and the servants for such a house, wherein heaven are they to come from? Or do they go with it?"
"No," said Dick quickly; "the servants left with their old master, whenRingstone bought the property. But we'll find servants enough in theneighborhood--Mexican peons and Indians, you know."
Aunt Viney sniffed. "And you'll have to entertain--if it's a big house.There are all your Spanish neighbors. They'll be gallivanting in and outall the time."
"They won't trouble us," he returned, with some hesitation. "Yousee, they're furious at the old Don for disposing of his lands to anAmerican, and they won't be likely to look upon the strangers in the newplace as anything but interlopers."
"Oh, that is it, is it?" ejaculated Aunt Viney, with a slight puckeringof her lips. "I thought there was SOMETHING."
"My dear aunt," said Dick, with a sudden illogical heat which he triedto suppress; "I don't know what you mean by 'it' and 'something.'Ringstone's offer was perfectly unselfish; he certainly did not supposethat I would be affected, any more than he would he, by the childishsentimentality of these people over a legitimate, every-day businessaffair. The old Don made a good bargain, and simply sold the land hecould no longer make profitable with his obsolete method of farming, hisgang of idle retainers, and his Noah's Ark machinery, to a man who knewhow to use steam reapers, and hired sensible men to work on shares."Nevertheless he was angry with himself for making any explanation, andstill more disturbed that he was conscious of a certain feeling that itwas necessary.
"I was thinking," said Aunt Viney quietly, "that if we invited anybodyto stay with us--like Cecily, for example--it might be rather dull forher if we had no neighbors to introduce her to."
Dick started; he had not thought of this. He had been greatly influencedby the belief that his pretty cousin, who was to make them a visit,would like the change and would not miss excitement. "We can alwaysinvite some girls down there and make our own company," he answeredcheerfully. Nevertheless, he was dimly conscious that he had alreadymade an airy castle of the old hacienda, in which Cecily and her auntmoved ALONE. It was to Cecily that he would introduce the old garden, itwas Cecily whom he would accompany through the dark corridors, andwith whom he would lounge under the awnings of the veranda. All thisinnocently, and without prejudice or ulterior thought. He was not yetin love with the pretty cousin whom he had seen but once or twiceduring the past few years, but it was a possibility not unpleasant tooccasionally contemplate. Yet it was equally possible that she mightyearn for lighter companionship and accustomed amusement; that thepassion-fringed garden and shadow-haunted corridor might be profaned byhoydenish romping and laughter, or by that frivolous flirtation which,in others, he had always regarded as commonplace and vulgar.
Howbeit, at the end of two weeks he found himself regularly installedin the Hacienda de los Osos. His little household, re-enforced byhis cousin Cecily and three peons picked up at Los Pinos, boretheir transplantation with a singular equanimity that seemed to himunaccountable. Then occurred one of those revelations of character withwhich Nature is always ready to trip up merely human judgment. AuntViney, an unrelenting widow of calm but unshaken Dutch prejudices,high but narrow in religious belief, merged without a murmur into theposition of chatelaine of this unconventional, half-Latin household.Accepting the situation without exaltation or criticism, placid butunresponsive amidst the youthful enthusiasm of Dick and Cecily overeach quaint detail, her influence was, nevertheless, felt throughoutthe lingering length and shadowy breadth of the strange old house. TheIndian and Mexican servants, at first awed by her practical superiority,succumbed to her half-humorous toleration of their incapacity, andbecame her devoted slaves. Dick was astonished, and even Cecily wasconfounded. "Do you know," she said confidentially to her cousin,"that when that brown Conchita thought to please Aunty by wearing whitestockings instead of going round as usual with her cinnamon-coloredbare feet in yellow slippers--which I was afraid would be enough to sendAunty into conniption fits--she actually told her, very quietly, to takethem off, and dress according to her habits and her station? And youremember that in her big, square bedroom there is a praying-stool anda ghastly crucifix, at least three feet long, in ivory and black,quite too human for anything? Well, when I offered to put them in thecorridor, she said I 'needn't trouble'; that really she hadn't noticedthem, and they would do very well where they were. You'd think she hadbeen accustomed to this sort of thing all her life. It's just too sweetof her, any way, even if she's shamming. And if she is, she just doesit to the life too, and could give those Spanish women points. Why, sherode en pillion on Manuel's mule, behind him, holding on by hissash, across to the corral yesterday; and you should have seen Manuelabsolutely scrape the ground before her with his sombrero when he lether down." Indeed, her tall, erect figure in black lustreless silk,appearing in a heavily shadowed doorway, or seated in a recessed window,gave a new and patrician dignity to the melancholy of the hacienda. Itwas pleasant to follow this quietly ceremonious shadow gliding alongthe rose garden at twilight, halting at times to bend stiffly over thebushes, garden-shears in hand, and carrying a little basket filled withwithered but still odorous petals, as if she were grimly gathering thefaded roses of her youth.
It was also probable that the lively Cecily's appreciation of her auntmight have been based upon another virtue of that lad
y--namely, herexquisite tact in dealing with the delicate situation evolved from thealways possible relations of the two cousins. It was not to be supposedthat the servants would fail to invest the young people with Southernromance, and even believe that the situation was prearranged by theaunt with a view to their eventual engagement. To deal with the problemopenly, yet without startling the consciousness of either Dick orCecily; to allow them the privileges of children subject to theoccasional restraints of childhood; to find certain household dutiesfor the young girl that kept them naturally apart until certain hoursof general relaxation; to calmly ignore the meaning of her retainers'smiles and glances, and yet to good-humoredly accept their interest as akind of feudal loyalty, was part of Aunt Viney's deep diplomacy. Cecilyenjoyed her freedom and companionship with Dick, as she enjoyed thenovel experiences of the old house, the quaint, faded civilization thatit represented, and the change and diversion always acceptable to youth.She did not feel the absence of other girls of her own age; neither wasshe aware that through this omission she was spared the necessity ofa confidante or a rival--both equally revealing to her thoughtlessenjoyment. They took their rides together openly and withoutconcealment, relating their adventures afterwards to Aunt Viney witha naivete and frankness that dreamed of no suppression. The city-bredCecily, accustomed to horse exercise solely as an ornamental andartificial recreation, felt for the first time the fearful joy of a dashacross a league-long plain, with no onlookers but the scattered wildhorses she might startle up to scurry before her, or race at her side.Small wonder that, mounted on her fiery little mustang, untrammeled byher short gray riding-habit, free as the wind itself that blew throughthe folds of her flannel blouse, with her brown hair half-loosed beneathher slouched felt hat, she seemed to Dick a more beautiful and womanlyfigure than the stiff buckramed simulation of man's angularity andprecision he had seen in the parks. Perhaps one day she detected thisconsciousness too plainly in his persistent eyes. Up to that momentshe had only watched the glittering stretches of yellow grain, in whichoccasional wind-shorn evergreen oaks stood mid-leg deep like cattle inwater, the distant silhouette of the Sierras against the steely blue, orperhaps the frankly happy face of the good-looking young fellow at herside. But it seemed to her now that an intruder had entered the field--astranger before whom she was impelled to suddenly fly--half-laughingly,half-affrightedly--the anxious Dick following wonderingly at hermustang's heels, until she reached the gates of the hacienda, where shefell into a gravity and seriousness that made him wonder still more. Hedid not dream that his guileless cousin had discovered, with a woman'sinstinct, a mysterious invader who sought to share their guilelesscompanionship, only to absorb it entirely, and that its name was--love!
The next day she was so greatly preoccupied with her household dutiesthat she could not ride with him. Dick felt unaccountably lost. Perhapsthis check to their daily intercourse was no less accelerating to hisfeelings than the vague motive that induced Cecily to withhold herself.He moped in the corridor; he rode out alone, bullying his mustang inproportion as he missed his cousin's gentle companionship, and circlingaimlessly, but still unconsciously, around the hacienda as a centre ofattraction. The sun at last was sinking to the accompaniment of arising wind, which seemed to blow and scatter its broad rays over theshimmering plain until every slight protuberance was burnishedinto startling brightness; the shadows of the short green oaks grewdisproportionally long, and all seemed to point to the white-walledcasa. Suddenly he started and instantly reined up.
The figure of a young girl, which he had not before noticed, was slowlymoving down the half-shadowed lane made by the two walls of the gardenand the corral. Cecily! Perhaps she had come out to meet him. He spurredforward; but, as he came nearer, he saw that the figure and its attirewere surely not hers. He reined up again abruptly, mortified at hisdisappointment, and a little ashamed lest he should have seemed to havebeen following an evident stranger. He vaguely remembered, too, thatthere was a trail to the high road, through a little swale clothedwith myrtle and thorn bush which he had just passed, and that she wasprobably one of his reserved and secluded neighbors--indeed, her dress,in that uncertain light, looked half Spanish. This was more confusing,since his rashness might have been taken for an attempt to force anacquaintance. He wheeled and galloped towards the front of the casa asthe figure disappeared at the angle of the wall.
"I don't suppose you ever see any of our neighbors?" said Dick to hisaunt casually.
"I really can't say," returned the lady with quiet equanimity. "Therewere some extraordinary-looking foreigners on the road to San Gregorioyesterday. Manuel, who was driving me, may have known who they were--heis a kind of Indian Papist himself, you know--but I didn't. They mighthave been relations of his, for all I know."
At any other time Dick would have been amused at this serene relegationof the lofty Estudillos and Peraltas to the caste of the Indian convert,but he was worried to think that perhaps Cecily was really being boredby the absence of neighbors. After dinner, when they sought the rosegarden, he dropped upon the little lichen-scarred stone bench by herside. It was still warm from the sun; the hot musk of the roses filledthe air; the whole garden, shielded from the cool evening trade winds byits high walls, still kept the glowing memory of the afternoon sunshine.Aunt Viney, with her garden basket on her arm, moved ghost-like amongthe distant bushes.
"I hope you are not getting bored here?" he said, after a slightinconsequent pause.
"Does that mean that YOU are?" she returned, raising her mischievouseyes to his.
"No; but I thought you might find it lonely, without neighbors."
"I stayed in to-day," she said, femininely replying to the unaskedquestion, "because I fancied Aunt Viney might think it selfish of me toleave her alone so much."
"But YOU are not lonely?"
Certainly not! The young lady was delighted with the whole place, withthe quaint old garden, the mysterious corridors, the restful quiet ofeverything, the picture of dear Aunt Viney--who was just the sweetestsoul in the world--moving about like the genius of the casa. It wassuch a change to all her ideas, she would never forget it. It was sothoughtful of him, Dick, to have given them all that pleasure.
"And the rides," continued Dick, with the untactful pertinacity of theaverage man at such moments--"you are not tired of THEM?"
No; she thought them lovely. Such freedom and freshness in the exercise;so different from riding in the city or at watering-places, where it wasone-half show, and one was always thinking of one's habit or one's self.One quite forgot one's self on that lovely plain--with everything so faraway, and only the mountains to look at in the distance. Neverthelessshe did not lift her eyes from the point of the little slipper which hadstrayed beyond her skirt.
Dick was relieved, but not voluble; he could only admiringly follow thecurves of her pretty arms and hands, clasped lightly in her lap, down tothe point of the little slipper. But even that charming vanishing pointwas presently withdrawn--possibly through some instinct--for the younglady had apparently not raised her eyes.
"I'm so glad you like it," said Dick earnestly, yet with a nervoushesitation that made his speech seem artificial to his own ears. "Yousee I--that is--I had an idea that you might like an occasional changeof company. It's a great pity we're not on speaking terms with oneof these Spanish families. Some of the men, you know, are really finefellows, with an old-world courtesy that is very charming."
He was surprised to see that she had lifted her head suddenly, with aquick look that however changed to an amused and half coquettish smile.
"I am finding no fault with my present company," she said demurely,dropping her head and eyelids until a faint suffusion seemed tofollow the falling lashes over her cheek. "I don't think YOU ought toundervalue it."
If he had only spoken then! The hot scent of the roses hung suspended inthe air, which seemed to be hushed around them in mute expectancy; theshadows which were hiding Aunt Viney from view were also closing roundthe bench where they sat.
He was very near her; he had only to reachout his hand to clasp hers, which lay idly in her lap. He felt himselfglowing with a strange emanation; he even fancied that she was turningmechanically towards him, as a flower might turn towards the ferventsunlight. But he could not speak; he could scarcely collect histhoughts, conscious though he was of the absurdity of his silence. Whatwas he waiting for? what did he expect? He was not usually bashful, hewas no coward; there was nothing in her attitude to make him hesitate togive expression to what he believed was his first real passion. But hecould do nothing. He even fancied that his face, turned towards hers,was stiffening into a vacant smile.
The young girl rose. "I think I heard Aunt Viney call me," she saidconstrainedly, and made a hesitating step forward. The spell which hadheld Dick seemed to be broken suddenly; he stretched forth his armto detain her. But the next step appeared to carry her beyond hisinfluence; and it was even with a half movement of rejection thatshe quickened her pace and disappeared down the path. Dick fell backdejectedly into his seat, yet conscious of a feeling of RELIEF thatbewildered him.
But only for a moment. A recollection of the chance that he hadimpotently and unaccountably thrown away returned to him. He tried tolaugh, albeit with a glowing cheek, over the momentary bashfulness whichhe thought had overtaken him, and which must have made him ridiculousin her eyes. He even took a few hesitating steps in the direction of thepath where she had disappeared. The sound of voices came to his ear, andthe light ring of Cecily's laughter. The color deepened a little on hischeek; he re-entered the house and went to his room.
The red sunset, still faintly showing through the heavily recessedwindows to the opposite wall, made two luminous aisles through thedarkness of the long low apartment. From his easy-chair he watched thecolor drop out of the sky, the yellow plain grow pallid and seem tostretch itself to infinite rest; then a black line began to deepen andcreep towards him from the horizon edge; the day was done. It seemed tohim a day lost. He had no doubt now but that he loved his cousin, andthe opportunity of telling her so--of profiting by her predisposition ofthe moment--had passed. She would remember herself, she would rememberhis weak hesitancy, she would despise him. He rose and walked uneasilyup and down. And yet--and it disgusted him with himself still more--hewas again conscious of the feeling of relief he had before experienced.A vague formula, "It's better as it is," "Who knows what might havecome of it?" he found himself repeating, without reason and withoutresignation.
Ashamed even of his seclusion, he rose to join the little family circle,which now habitually gathered around a table on the veranda of thepatio under the rays of a swinging lamp to take their chocolate. To hissurprise the veranda was empty and dark; a light shining from the innerdrawing-room showed him his aunt in her armchair reading, alone. Aslight thrill ran over him: Cecily might be still in the garden! Henoiselessly passed the drawing-room door, turned into a long corridor,and slipped through a grating in the wall into the lane that separatedit from the garden. The gate was still open; a few paces brought himinto the long alley of roses. Their strong perfume--confined in thehigh, hot walls--at first made him giddy. This was followed by aninexplicable languor; he turned instinctively towards the stone benchand sank upon it. The long rows of calla lilies against the oppositewall looked ghostlike in the darkness, and seemed to have turned theirwhite faces towards him. Then he fancied that ONE had detached itselffrom the rank and was moving away. He looked again: surely there wassomething gliding along the wall! A quick tremor of anticipation passedover him. It was Cecily, who had lingered in the garden--perhaps togive him one more opportunity! He rose quickly, and stepped towards theapparition, which had now plainly resolved itself into a slight girlishfigure; it slipped on beneath the trees; he followed quickly--hisnervous hesitancy had vanished before what now seemed to be a half-coy,half-coquettish evasion of him. He called softly, "Cecily!" but she didnot heed him; he quickened his pace--she increased hers. They were bothrunning. She reached the angle of the wall where the gate opened uponthe road. Suddenly she stopped, as if intentionally, in the clear openspace before it. He could see her distinctly. The lace mantle slippedfrom her head and shoulders. It was NOT Cecily!
But it was a face so singularly beautiful and winsome that he was asquickly arrested. It was a woman's deep, passionate eyes and heavy hair,joined to a childish oval of cheek and chin, an infantine mouth, and alittle nose whose faintly curved outline redeemed the lower face fromweakness and brought it into charming harmony with the rest. A yellowrose was pinned in the lustrous black hair above the little ear; ayellow silk shawl or mantle, which had looked white in the shadows, wasthrown over one shoulder and twisted twice or thrice around the plumpbut petite bust. The large black velvety eyes were fixed on his inhalf wonderment, half amusement; the lovely lips were parted in halfastonishment and half a smile. And yet she was like a picture, adream,--a materialization of one's most fanciful imaginings,--likeanything, in fact, but the palpable flesh and blood she evidently was,standing only a few feet before him, whose hurried breath he could seeeven now heaving her youthful breast.
His own breath appeared suspended, although his heart beat rapidly ashe stammered out: "I beg your pardon--I thought--" He stopped at therecollection that this was the SECOND time he had followed her.
She did not speak, although her parted lips still curved with theirfaint coy smile. Then she suddenly lifted her right hand, which hadbeen hanging at her side, clasping some long black object like a stick.Without any apparent impulse from her fingers, the stick slowly seemedto broaden in her little hand into the segment of an opening disk, that,lifting to her face and shoulders, gradually eclipsed the upper part ofher figure, until, mounting higher, the beautiful eyes and the yellowrose of her hair alone remained above--a large unfurled fan! Thenthe long eyelashes drooped, as if in a mute farewell, and they toodisappeared as the fan was lifted higher. The half-hidden figureappeared to glide to the gateway, lingered for an instant, and vanished.The astounded Dick stepped quickly into the road, but fan and figurewere swallowed up in the darkness.
Amazed and bewildered, he stood for a moment, breathless and irresolute.It was no doubt the same stranger that he had seen before. But WHO wasshe, and what was she doing there? If she were one of their Spanishneighbors, drawn simply by curiosity to become a trespasser, why had shelingered to invite a scrutiny that would clearly identify her? It wasnot the escapade of that giddy girl which the lower part of her face hadsuggested, for such a one would have giggled and instantly flown; it wasnot the deliberate act of a grave woman of the world, for its sequelwas so purposeless. Why had she revealed herself to HIM alone? Dickfelt himself glowing with a half-shamed, half-secret pleasure. Then heremembered Cecily, and his own purpose in coming into the garden. Hehurriedly made a tour of the walks and shrubbery, ostentatiously callingher, yet seeing, as in a dream, only the beautiful eyes of the strangerstill before him, and conscious of an ill-defined remorse and disloyaltyhe had never known before. But Cecily was not there; and again heexperienced the old sensation of relief!
He shut the garden gate, crossed the road, and found the grille justclosing behind a slim white figure. He started, for it was Cecily; buteven in his surprise he was conscious of wondering how he could haveever mistaken the stranger for her. She appeared startled too; shelooked pale and abstracted. Could she have been a witness of his strangeinterview?
Her first sentence dispelled the idea.
"I suppose you were in the garden?" she said, with a certain timidity."I didn't go there--it seemed so close and stuffy--but walked a littledown the lane."
A moment before he would have eagerly told her his adventure; but in thepresence of her manifest embarrassment his own increased. He concludedto tell her another time. He murmured vaguely that he had been lookingfor her in the garden, yet he had a flushing sense of falsehood in hisreserve; and they passed silently along the corridor and entered thepatio together. She lit the hanging lamp mechanically. She certainlyWAS pale; her slim hand trembled slightly. Sud
denly her eyes met his,a faint color came into her cheek, and she smiled. She put up her handwith a girlish gesture towards the back of her head.
"What are you looking at? Is my hair coming down?"
"No," hesitated Dick, "but--I--thought--you were looking just a LITTLEpale."
An aggressive ray slipped into her blue eyes.
"Strange! I thought YOU were. Just now at the grille you looked as ifthe roses hadn't agreed with you."
They both laughed, a little nervously, and Conchita brought thechocolate. When Aunt Viney came from the drawing-room she found the twoyoung people together, and Cecily in a gale of high spirits.
She had had SUCH a wonderfully interesting walk, all by herself, aloneon the plain. It was really so queer and elfish to find one's self whereone could see nothing above or around one anywhere but stars. Starsabove one, to right and left of one, and some so low down they seemedas if they were picketed on the plain. It was so odd to find the horizonline at one's very feet, like a castaway at sea. And the wind! it seemedto move one this way and that way, for one could not see anything,and might really be floating in the air. Only once she thought she sawsomething, and was quite frightened.
"What was it?" asked Dick quickly.
"Well, it was a large black object; but--it turned out only to be ahorse."
She laughed, although she had evidently noticed her cousin's eagerness,and her own eyes had a nervous brightness.
"And where was Dick all this while?" asked Aunt Viney quietly.
Cecily interrupted, and answered for him briskly. "Oh, he was trying tomake attar of rose of himself in the garden. He's still stupefied by hisown sweetness."
"If this means," said Aunt Viney, with matter-of-fact precision, "thatyou've been gallivanting all alone, Cecily, on that common plain, whereyou're likely to meet all sorts of foreigners and tramps and savages,and Heaven knows what other vermin, I shall set my face against arepetition of it. If you MUST go out, and Dick can't go with you--andI must say that even you and he going out together there at nightisn't exactly the kind of American Christian example to set to ourneighbors--you had better get Concepcion to go with you and take alantern."
"But there is nobody one meets on the plain--at least, nobody likely toharm one," protested Cecily.
"Don't tell ME," said Aunt Viney decidedly; "haven't I seen all sortsof queer figures creeping along by the brink after nightfall between SanGregorio and the next rancho? Aren't they always skulking backwards andforwards to mass and aguardiente?"
"And I don't know why WE should set any example to our neighbors. Wedon't see much of them, or they of us."
"Of course not," returned Aunt Viney; "because all proper Spanish youngladies are shut up behind their grilles at night. You don't see THEMtraipsing over the plain in the darkness, WITH or WITHOUT cavaliers!Why, Don Rafael would lock one of HIS sisters up in a convent andconsider her disgraced forever, if he heard of it."
Dick felt his cheeks burning; Cecily slightly paled. Yet both saideagerly together: "Why, what do YOU know about it, Aunty?"
"A great deal," returned Aunt Viney quietly, holding her tatting up tothe light and examining the stitches with a critical eye. "I've gotmy eyes about me, thank heaven! even if my ears don't understand thelanguage. And there's a great deal, my dears, that you young peoplemight learn from these Papists."
"And do you mean to say," continued Dick, with a glowing cheek and anuneasy smile, "that Spanish girls don't go out alone?"
"No young LADY goes out without her duenna," said Aunt Vineyemphatically. "Of course there's the Concha variety, that go out withouteven stockings."
As the conversation flagged after this, and the young people once ortwice yawned nervously, Aunt Viney thought they had better go to bed.
But Dick did not sleep. The beautiful face beamed out again from thedarkness of his room; the light that glimmered through his deep-setcurtainless windows had an odd trick of bringing out certain hangingarticles, or pieces of furniture, into a resemblance to a mantledfigure. The deep, velvety eyes, fringed with long brown lashes, againlooked into his with amused, childlike curiosity. He scouted the harshcriticisms of Aunt Viney, even while he shrank from proving to her hermistake in the quality of his mysterious visitant. Of course she wasa lady--far superior to any of her race whom he had yet met. Yet howshould he find WHO she was? His pride and a certain chivalry forbade hisquestioning the servants--before whom it was the rule of thehousehold to avoid all reference to their neighbors. He would make theacquaintance of the old padre--perhaps HE might talk. He would rideearly along the trail in the direction of the nearest rancho,--Don JoseAmador's,--a thing he had hitherto studiously refrained from doing. Itwas three miles away. She must have come that distance, but not ALONE.Doubtless she had kept her duenna in waiting in the road. Perhaps itwas she who had frightened Cecily. Had Cecily told ALL she had seen? Herembarrassed manner certainly suggested more than she had told. He felthimself turning hot with an indefinite uneasiness. Then he tried tocompose himself. After all, it was a thing of the past. The fair unknownhad bribed the duenna for once, no doubt--had satisfied her girlishcuriosity--she would not come again! But this thought brought withit such a sudden sense of utter desolation, a deprivation so new andstartling, that it frightened him. Was his head turned by the witcheriesof some black-eyed schoolgirl whom he had seen but once? Or--he felt hischeeks glowing in the darkness--was it really a case of love at firstsight, and she herself had been impelled by the same yearning that nowpossessed him? A delicious satisfaction followed, that left a smile onhis lips as if it had been a kiss. He knew now why he had so strangelyhesitated with Cecily. He had never really loved her--he had never knownwhat love was till now!
He was up early the next morning, skimming the plain on the back of"Chu Chu," before the hacienda was stirring. He did not want any one tosuspect his destination, and it was even with a sense of guilt thathe dashed along the swale in the direction of the Amador rancho. Afew vaqueros, an old Digger squaw carrying a basket, two little Indianacolytes on their way to mass passed him. He was surprised to find thatthere were no ruts of carriage wheels within three miles of the casa,and evidently no track for carriages through the swale. SHE must havecome on HORSEBACK. A broader highway, however, intersected the trail ata point where the low walls of the Amador rancho came in view. Here hewas startled by the apparition of an old-fashioned family carriage drawnby two large piebald mules. But it was unfortunately closed. Then, witha desperate audacity new to his reserved nature, he ranged close besideit, and even stared in the windows. A heavily mantled old woman, whosebrown face was in high contrast to her snow-white hair, sat in the backseat. Beside her was a younger companion, with the odd blonde hair andblue eyes sometimes seen in the higher Castilian type. For an instantthe blue eyes caught his, half-coquettishly. But the girl was NOT at alllike his mysterious visitor, and he fell, discomfited, behind.
He had determined to explain his trespass on the grounds of hisneighbor, if questioned, by the excuse that he was hunting a strayedmustang. But his presence, although watched with a cold reserve by thefew peons who were lounging near the gateway, provoked no challenge fromthem; and he made a circuit of the low adobe walls, with their barredwindows and cinnamon-tiled roofs, without molestation--but equallywithout satisfaction. He felt he was a fool for imagining that he wouldsee her in that way. He turned his horse towards the little Missionhalf a mile away. There he had once met the old padre, who spoke apicturesque but limited English; now he was only a few yards ahead ofhim, just turning into the church. The padre was pleased to see DonRicardo; it was an unusual thing for the Americanos, he observed, tobe up so early: for himself, he had his functions, of course. No, theladies that the caballero had seen had not been to mass! They were DonnaMaria and her daughter, going to San Gregorio. They comprised ALL thefamily at the rancho,--there were none others, unless the caballero, ofa possibility, meant Donna Inez, a maiden aunt of sixty--an admirablewoman, a saint on earth! He trusted that he would find his estray
; therewas no doubt a mark upon it, otherwise the plain was illimitable; therewere many horses--the world was wide!
Dick turned his face homewards a little less adventurously, and it mustbe confessed, with a growing sense of his folly. The keen, dry morningair brushed away his fancies of the preceding night; the beautiful eyesthat had lured him thither seemed to flicker and be blown out by itspractical breath. He began to think remorsefully of his cousin, of hisaunt,--of his treachery to that reserve which the little alien householdhad maintained towards their Spanish neighbors. He found Aunt Viney andCecily at breakfast--Cecily, he thought, looking a trifle pale. Yet (orwas it only his fancy?) she seemed curious about his morning ride. Andhe became more reticent.
"You must see a good many of our neighbors when you are out so early?"
"Why?" he asked shortly, feeling his color rise.
"Oh, because--because we don't see them at any other time."
"I saw a very nice chap--I think the best of the lot," he began, withassumed jocularity; then, seeing Cecily's eyes suddenly fixed on him, headded, somewhat lamely, "the padre! There were also two women in a queercoach."
"Donna Maria Amador, and Dona Felipa Peralta--her daughter by her firsthusband," said Aunt Viney quietly. "When you see the horses you thinkit's a circus; when you look inside the carriage you KNOW it's afuneral."
Aunt Viney did not condescend to explain how she had acquired hergenealogical knowledge of her neighbor's family, but succeeded inbreaking the restraint between the young people. Dick proposed a ridein the afternoon, which was cheerfully accepted by Cecily. Theirintercourse apparently recovered its old frankness and freedom, marredonly for a moment when they set out on the plain. Dick, really to forgethis preoccupation of the morning, turned his horse's head AWAY fromthe trail, to ride in another direction; but Cecily oddly, and with anexhibition of caprice quite new to her, insisted upon taking the oldtrail. Nevertheless they met nothing, and soon became absorbed in theexercise. Dick felt something of his old tenderness return to thiswholesome, pretty girl at his side; perhaps he betrayed it in his voice,or in an unconscious lingering by her bridle-rein, but she accepted itwith a naive reserve which he naturally attributed to the effect ofhis own previous preoccupation. He bore it so gently, however, that itawakened her interest, and, possibly, her pique. Her reserve relaxed,and by the time they returned to the hacienda they had regainedsomething of their former intimacy. The dry, incisive breath of theplains swept away the last lingering remnants of yesterday's illusions.Under this frankly open sky, in this clear perspective of the remoteSierras, which admitted no fanciful deception of form or distance--thereremained nothing but a strange incident--to be later explained orforgotten. Only he could not bring himself to talk to HER about it.
After dinner, and a decent lingering for coffee on the veranda, Dickrose, and leaning half caressingly, half mischievously, over his aunt'srocking-chair, but with his eyes on Cecily, said:--
"I've been deeply considering, dear Aunty, what you said last eveningof the necessity of our offering a good example to our neighbors. Now,although Cecily and I are cousins, yet, as I am HEAD of the house,lord of the manor, and padron, according to the Spanish ideas I am herrecognised guardian and protector, and it seems to me it is my positiveDUTY to accompany her if she wishes to walk out this evening."
A momentary embarrassment--which, however, changed quickly into ananswering smile to her cousin--came over Cecily's face. She turned toher aunt.
"Well, don't go too far," said that lady quietly.
When they closed the grille behind them and stepped into the lane,Cecily shot a quick glance at her cousin.
"Perhaps you'd rather walk in the garden?"
"I? Oh, no," he answered honestly. "But"--he hesitated--"would you?"
"Yes," she said faintly.
He impulsively offered his arm; her slim hand slipped lightly throughit and rested on his sleeve. They crossed the lane together, and enteredthe garden. A load appeared to be lifted from his heart; the momentseemed propitious,--here was a chance to recover his lost ground, toregain his self-respect and perhaps his cousin's affection. By a commoninstinct, however, they turned to the right, and AWAY from the stonebench, and walked slowly down the broad allee.
They talked naturally and confidingly of the days when they had metbefore, of old friends they had known and changes that had crept intotheir young lives; they spoke affectionately of the grim, lonely, butself-contained old woman they had just left, who had brought them thusagain together. Cecily talked of Dick's studies, of the scientific workon which he was engaged, that was to bring him, she was sure, fame andfortune! They talked of the thoughtful charm of the old house, of itsquaint old-world flavor. They spoke of the beauty of the night, theflowers and the stars, in whispers, as one is apt to do--as fearing todisturb a super-sensitiveness in nature.
They had come out later than on the previous night; and the moon,already risen above the high walls of the garden, seemed a vast silvershield caught in the interlacing tops of the old pear-trees, whosebranches crossed its bright field like dark bends or bars. As it rosehigher, it began to separate the lighter shrubbery, and open white lanesthrough the olive-trees. Damp currents of air, alternating with drierheats, on what appeared to be different levels, moved across thewhole garden, or gave way at times to a breathless lull and hush ofeverything, in which the long rose alley seemed to be swooning in itsown spices. They had reached the bottom of the garden, and had turned,facing the upper moonlit extremity and the bare stone bench. Cecily'svoice faltered, her hand leaned more heavily on his arm, as if she wereovercome by the strong perfume. His right hand began to steal towardshers. But she had stopped; she was trembling.
"Go on," she said in a half whisper. "Leave me a moment; I'll join youafterwards."
"You are ill, Cecily! It's those infernal flowers!" said Dick earnestly."Let me help you to the bench."
"No--it's nothing. Go on, please. Do! Will you go!"
She spoke with imperiousness, unlike herself. He walked on mechanicallya dozen paces and turned. She had disappeared. He remembered there was asmaller gate opening upon the plain near where they had stopped. Perhapsshe had passed through that. He continued on, slowly, towards the upperend of the garden, occasionally turning to await her return. In this wayhe gradually approached the stone bench. He was facing about to continuehis walk, when his heart seemed to stop beating. The beautiful visitorof last night was sitting alone on the bench before him!
She had not been there a moment before; he could have sworn it. Yetthere was no illusion now of shade or distance. She was scarcely sixfeet from him, in the bright moonlight. The whole of her exquisitelittle figure was visible, from her lustrous hair down to the tiny,black satin, low-quartered slipper, held as by two toes. Her face wasfully revealed; he could see even the few minute freckles, like powderedallspice, that heightened the pale satin sheen of her beautifullyrounded cheek; he could detect even the moist shining of her parted redlips, the white outlines of her little teeth, the length of her curvedlashes, and the meshes of the black lace veil that fell from the yellowrose above her ear to the black silk camisa; he noted even the thickyellow satin saya, or skirt, heavily flounced with black lace andbugles, and that it was a different dress from that worn on thepreceding night, a half-gala costume, carried with the indescribable airof a woman looking her best and pleased to do so: all this he had noted,drawing nearer and nearer, until near enough to forget it all and drownhimself in the depths of her beautiful eyes. For they were nolonger childlike and wondering: they were glowing with expectancy,anticipation--love!
He threw himself passionately on the bench beside her. Yet, even if hehad known her language, he could not have spoken. She leaned towardshim; their eyes seemed to meet caressingly, as in an embrace. Her littlehand slipped from the yellow folds of her skirt to the bench. He eagerlyseized it. A subtle thrill ran through his whole frame. There wasno delusion here; it was flesh and blood, warm, quivering, and eventightening round his own. He was
about to carry it to his lips, when sherose and stepped backwards. He pressed eagerly forward. Another backwardstep brought her to the pear-tree, where she seemed to plunge into itsshadow. Dick Bracy followed--and the same shadow seemed to fold them inits embrace.
*****
He did not return to the veranda and chocolate that evening, but sentword from his room that he had retired, not feeling well.
Cecily, herself a little nervously exalted, corroborated the fact ofhis indisposition by telling Aunt Viney that the close odors of the rosegarden had affected them both. Indeed, she had been obliged to leavebefore him. Perhaps in waiting for her return--and she really was notwell enough to go back--he was exposed to the night air too long. Shewas very sorry.
Aunt Viney heard this with a slight contraction of her brows and arenewed scrutiny of her knitting; and, having satisfied herself bya personal visit to Dick's room that he was not alarmingly ill, setherself to find out what was really the matter with the young people;for there was no doubt that Cecily was in some vague way as disturbedand preoccupied as Dick. He rode out again early the next morning,returning to his studies in the library directly after breakfast; andCecily was equally reticent, except when, to Aunt Viney's perplexity,she found excuses for Dick's manner on the ground of his absorption inhis work, and that he was probably being bored by want of society. Sheproposed that she should ask an old schoolfellow to visit them.
"It would give Dick a change of ideas, and he would not be perpetuallyobliged to look so closely after me." She blushed slightly under AuntViney's gaze, and added hastily, "I mean, of course, he would not feelit his DUTY."
She even induced her aunt to drive with her to the old mission church,where she displayed a pretty vivacity and interest in the people theymet, particularly a few youthful and picturesque caballeros. Aunt Vineysmiled gravely. Was the poor child developing an unlooked-for coquetry,or preparing to make the absent-minded Dick jealous? Well, the idea wasnot a bad one. In the evening she astonished the two cousins by offeringto accompany them into the garden--a suggestion accepted with eager andeffusive politeness by each, but carried out with great awkwardness bythe distrait young people later. Aunt Viney clearly saw that it was nother PRESENCE that was required. In this way two or three days elapsedwithout apparently bringing the relations of Dick and Cecily to any moresatisfactory conclusion. The diplomatic Aunt Viney confessed herselfpuzzled.
One night it was very warm; the usual trade winds had died away beforesunset, leaving an unwonted hush in sky and plain. There was somethingso portentous in this sudden withdrawal of that rude stimulus to theotherwise monotonous level, that a recurrence of such phenomena wasalways known as "earthquake weather." The wild cattle moved uneasily inthe distance without feeding; herds of unbroken mustangs approachedthe confines of the hacienda in vague timorous squads. The silence andstagnation of the old house was oppressive, as if the life had reallygone out of it at last; and Aunt Viney, after waiting impatiently forthe young people to come in to chocolate, rose grimly, set her lipstogether, and went out into the lane. The gate of the rose gardenopposite was open. She walked determinedly forward and entered.
In that doubly stagnant air the odor of the roses was so suffocatingand overpowering that she had to stop to take breath. The whole garden,except a near cluster of pear-trees, was brightly illuminated by themoonlight. No one was to be seen along the length of the broad allee,strewn an inch deep with scattered red and yellow petals--colorless inthe moonbeams. She was turning away, when Dick's familiar voice, butwith a strange accent of entreaty in it, broke the silence. It seemed toher vaguely to come from within the pear-tree shadow.
"But we must understand one another, my darling! Tell me all. Thissuspense, this mystery, this brief moment of happiness, and these hoursof parting and torment, are killing me!"
A slight cough broke from Aunt Viney. She had heard enough--she did notwish to hear more. The mystery was explained. Dick loved Cecily; thecoyness or hesitation was not on HIS part. Some idiotic girlish caprice,quite inconsistent with what she had noticed at the mission church,was keeping Cecily silent, reserved, and exasperating to her lover. Shewould have a talk with the young lady, without revealing the fact thatshe had overheard them. She was perhaps a little hurt that affairsshould have reached this point without some show of confidence to herfrom the young people. Dick might naturally be reticent--but Cecily!
She did not even look towards the pear-tree, but turned and walkedstiffly out of the gate. As she was crossing the lane she suddenlystarted back in utter dismay and consternation! For Cecily, herniece,--in her own proper person,--was actually just coming OUT OF THEHOUSE!
Aunt Viney caught her wrist. "Where have you been?" she asked quickly.
"In the house," stammered Cecily, with a frightened face.
"You have not been in the garden with Dick?" continued Aunt Vineysharply--yet with a hopeless sense of the impossibility of thesuggestion.
"No, I was not even going there. I thought of just strolling down thelane."
The girl's accents were truthful; more than that, she absolutely lookedrelieved by her aunt's question. "Do you want me, Aunty?" she addedquickly.
"Yes--no. Run away, then--but don't go far."
At any other time Aunt Viney might have wondered at the eagerness withwhich Cecily tripped away; now she was only anxious to get rid of her.She entered the casa hurriedly.
"Send Josefa to me at once," she said to Manuel.
Josefa, the housekeeper,--a fat Mexican woman,--appeared. "Send Conchaand the other maids here." They appeared, mutely wondering. Aunt Vineyglanced hurriedly over them--they were all there--a few comely, but nottoo attractive, and all stupidly complacent. "Have you girls any friendshere this evening--or are you expecting any?" she demanded. Of a surety,no!--as the padrona knew--it was not night for church. "Very well,"returned Aunt Viney; "I thought I heard your voices in the garden;understand, I want no gallivanting there. Go to bed."
She was relieved! Dick certainly was not guilty of a low intrigue withone of the maids. But who and what was she?
Dick was absent again from chocolate; there was unfinished work to do.Cecily came in later, just as Aunt Viney was beginning to be anxious.Had she appeared distressed or piqued by her cousin's conduct, AuntViney might have spoken; but there was a pretty color on her cheek--theresult, she said, of her rapid walking, and the fresh air; did AuntViney know that a cool breeze had just risen?--and her delicate lipswere wreathed at times in a faint retrospective smile. Aunt Vineystared; certainly the girl was not pining! What young people were madeof now-a-days she really couldn't conceive. She shrugged her shouldersand resumed her tatting.
Nevertheless, as Dick's unfinished studies seemed to have whitened hischeek and impaired his appetite the next morning, she announced herintention of driving out towards the mission alone. When she returned atluncheon she further astonished the young people by casually informingthem they would have Spanish visitors to dinner--namely, theirneighbors, Donna Maria Amador and the Dona Felipa Peralta.
Both faces were turned eagerly towards her; both said almost in the samebreath, "But, Aunt Viney! you don't know them! However did you--Whatdoes it all mean?"
"My dears," said Aunt Viney placidly, "Mrs. Amador and I have alwaysnodded to each other, and I knew they were only waiting for theslightest encouragement. I gave it, and they're coming."
It was difficult to say whether Cecily's or Dick's face betrayed thegreater delight and animation. Aunt Viney looked from the one to theother. It seemed as if her attempt at diversion had been successful.
"Tell us all about it, you dear, clever, artful Aunty!" said Cecilygayly.
"There's nothing whatever to tell, my love! It seems, however, that theyoung one, Dona Felipa, has seen Dick, and remembers him." She shot akeen glance at Dick, but was obliged to admit that the rascal's faceremained unchanged. "And I wanted to bring a cavalier for YOU, dear, butDon Jose's nephew isn't at home now." Yet here, to her surprise, Cecilywas faintly blushing.
Early in the afternoon the piebald horses and dark brown chariot of theAmadors drew up before the gateway. The young people were delightedwith Dona Felipa, and thought her blue eyes and tawny hair gave an addedpiquancy to her colorless satin skin and otherwise distinctivelySpanish face and figure. Aunt Viney, who entertained Donna Maria, wasnevertheless watchful of the others; but failed to detect in Dick'seffusive greeting, or the Dona's coquettish smile of recognition, anysuggestion of previous confidences. It was rather to Cecily thatDona Felipa seemed to be characteristically exuberant and childishlyfeminine. Both mother and stepdaughter spoke a musical infantineEnglish, which the daughter supplemented with her eyes, her eyebrows,her little brown fingers, her plump shoulders, a dozen charmingintonations of voice, and a complete vocabulary in her active andemphatic fan.
The young lady went over the house with Cecily curiously, as ifrecalling some old memories. "Ah, yes, I remember it--but it was longago and I was very leetle--you comprehend, and I have not arrive moochwhen the old Don was alone. It was too--too--what you call melank-oaly.And the old man have not make mooch to himself of company."
"Then there were no young people in the house, I suppose?" said Cecily,smiling.
"No--not since the old man's father lif. Then there were TWO. It is agood number, this two, eh?" She gave a single gesture, which took in,with Cecily, the distant Dick, and with a whole volume of suggestionin her shoulders, and twirling fan, continued: "Ah! two sometime makeone--is it not? But not THEN in the old time--ah, no! It is a sad story.I shall tell it to you some time, but not to HIM."
But Cecily's face betrayed no undue bashful consciousness, and she onlyasked, with a quiet smile, "Why not to--to my cousin?"
"Imbecile!" responded that lively young lady.
After dinner the young people proposed to take Dona Felipa into the rosegarden, while Aunt Viney entertained Donna Maria on the veranda. Theyoung girl threw up her hands with an affectation of horror. "SantaMaria!--in the rose garden? After the Angelus, you and him? Have you notheard?"
But here Donna Maria interposed. Ah! Santa Maria! What was all that!Was it not enough to talk old woman's gossip and tell vaqueros tales athome, without making uneasy the strangers? She would have none of it."Vamos!"
Nevertheless Dona Felipa overcame her horror of the rose garden atinfelicitous hours, so far as to permit herself to be conducted by thecousins into it, and to be installed like a rose queen on the stonebench, while Dick and Cecily threw themselves in submissive andimploring attitudes at her little feet. The young girl lookedmischievously from one to the other.
"It ees very pret-ty, but all the same I am not a rose: I am what youcall a big goose-berry! Eh--is it not?"
The cousins laughed, but without any embarrassed consciousness. "DonaFelipa knows a sad story of this house," said Cecily; "but she will nottell it before you, Dick."
Dick, looking up at the coquettish little figure, with Heaven knows whatOTHER memories in his mind, implored and protested.
"Ah! but this little story--she ees not so mooch sad of herself as sheees str-r-r-ange!" She gave an exaggerated little shiver under her laceshawl, and closed her eyes meditatively.
"Go on," said Dick, smiling in spite of his interested expectation.
Dona Felipa took her fan in both hands, spanning her knees, leanedforward, and after a preliminary compressing of her lips and knitting ofher brows, said:--
"It was a long time ago. Don Gregorio he have his daughter Rosita here,and for her he will fill all thees rose garden and gif to her; for shelike mooch to lif with the rose. She ees very pret-ty. You shall haveseen her picture here in the casa. No? It have hang under the crucifixin the corner room, turn around to the wall--WHY, you shall comprehendwhen I have made finish thees story. Comes to them here one day DonVincente, Don Gregorio's nephew, to lif when his father die. He wasyong, a pollio--same as Rosita. They were mooch together; they havemake lofe. What will you?--it ees always the same. The Don Gregorio havecomprehend; the friends have all comprehend; in a year they will makemarry. Dona Rosita she go to Monterey to see his family. There eesan English warship come there; and Rosita she ees very gay with theofficers, and make the flirtation very mooch. Then Don Vincente he isonhappy, and he revenge himself to make lofe with another. When Rositacome back it is very miserable for them both, but they say nossing. Thewarship he have gone away; the other girl Vincente he go not to no more.All the same, Rosita and Vincente are very triste, and the family willnot know what to make. Then Rosita she is sick and eat nossing, and walkto herself all day in the rose garden, until she is as white andfade away as the rose. And Vincente he eat nossing, but drink moochaguardiente. Then he have fever and go dead. And Rosita she havefainting and fits; and one day they have look for her in the rosegarden, and she is not! And they poosh and poosh in the ground for her,and they find her with so mooch rose-leaves--so deep--on top of her. SHEhas go dead. It is a very sad story, and when you hear it you are very,very mooch dissatisfied."
It is to be feared that the two Americans were not as thrilled by thissad recital as the fair narrator had expected, and even Dick ventured topoint out that those sort of things happened also to his countrymen, andwere not peculiar to the casa.
"But you said that there was a terrible sequel," suggested Cecilysmilingly: "tell us THAT. Perhaps Mr. Bracy may receive it a little morepolitely."
An expression of superstitious gravity, half real, half simulated, cameover Dona Felipa's face, although her vivacity of gesticulation andemphasis did not relax. She cast a hurried glance around her, and leaneda little forward towards the cousins.
"When there are no more young people in the casa because they are dead,"she continued, in a lower voice, "Don Gregorio he is very melank-oaly,and he have no more company for many years. Then there was a rodeo nearthe hacienda, and there came five or six caballeros to stay with himfor the feast. Notabilimente comes then Don Jorge Martinez. He is a badman--so weeked--a Don Juan for making lofe to the ladies. He lounge inthe garden, he smoke his cigarette, he twist the moustache--so! One dayhe came in, and he laugh and wink so and say, 'Oh, the weeked, sly DonGregorio! He have hid away in the casa a beautiful, pret-ty girl, andhe will nossing say.' And the other caballeros say, 'Mira! what is this?there is not so mooch as one young lady in the casa.' And Don Jorge hewink, and he say, 'Imbeciles! pigs!' And he walk in the garden and twisthis moustache more than ever. And one day, behold! he walk into thecasa, very white and angry, and he swear mooch to himself; and he ordershis horse, and he ride away, and never come back no more, never-r-r!And one day another caballero, Don Esteban Briones, he came in, and say,'Hola! Don Jorge has forgotten his pret-ty girl: he have left her overon the garden bench. Truly I have seen.' And they say, 'We will too.'And they go, and there is nossing. And they say, 'Imbecile and pig!' Buthe is not imbecile and pig; for he has seen, and Don Jorge has seen; andwhy? For it is not a girl, but what you call her--a ghost! And they willthat Don Esteban should make a picture of her--a design; and he makeone. And old Don Gregorio he say, 'madre de Dios! it is Rosita'--thesame that hung under the crucifix in the big room."
"And is that all?" asked Dick, with a somewhat pronounced laugh, but aface that looked quite white in the moonlight.
"No, it ees NOT all. For when Don Gregorio got himself more companyanother time--it ees all yonge ladies, and my aunt she is invite too;for she was yonge then, and she herself have tell to me this:--
"One night she is in the garden with the other girls, and when they wantto go in the casa one have say, 'Where is Francisca Pacheco? Look,she came here with us, and now she is not.' Another one say, 'She haveconceal herself to make us affright.' And my aunt she say, 'I willgo seek that I shall find her.' And she go. And when she came to thepear-tree, she heard Francisca's voice, and it say to some one she seenot, 'Fly! vamos! some one have come.' And then she come at the momentupon Francisca, very white and trembling, and--alone. And Francisca shehave run away and say nossing, and shut herself in her room. And one ofthe other girls say:
'It is the handsome caballero with the little blackmoustache and sad white face that I have seen in the garden that makethis. It is truly that he is some poor relation of Don Gregorio, orsome mad kinsman that he will not we should know.' And my aunt ask DonGregorio; for she is yonge. And he have say: 'What silly fool ees thees?There is not one caballero here, but myself.' And when the other younggirl have tell to him how the caballero look, he say: 'The saints saveus! I cannot more say. It ees Don Vincente, who haf gone dead.' Andhe cross himself, and--But look! Madre de Dios! Mees Cecily, you areill--you are affrighted. I am a gabbling fool! Help her, Don Ricardo;she is falling!"
But it was too late: Cecily had tried to rise to her feet, had staggeredforward and fallen in a faint on the bench.
*****
Dick did not remember how he helped to carry the insensible Cecily tothe casa, nor what explanation he had given to the alarmed inmates ofher sudden attack. He recalled vaguely that something had been said ofthe overpowering perfumes of the garden at that hour, that the livelyFelipa had become half hysterical in her remorseful apologies, and thatAunt Viney had ended the scene by carrying Cecily into her ownroom, where she presently recovered a still trembling but reticentconsciousness. But the fainting of his cousin and the presence of a realemergency had diverted his imagination from the vague terror thathad taken possession of it, and for the moment enabled him to controlhimself. With a desperate effort he managed to keep up a show ofhospitable civility to his Spanish friends until their early departure.Then he hurried to his own room. So bewildered and horrified he hadbecome, and a prey to such superstitious terrors, that he could not atthat moment bring himself to the test of looking for the picture of thealleged Rosita, which might still be hanging in his aunt's room. Ifit were really the face of his mysterious visitant--in his presentterror--he felt that his reason might not stand the shock. He would lookat it to-morrow, when he was calmer! Until then he would believe thatthe story was some strange coincidence with what must have been hishallucination, or a vulgar trick to which he had fallen a credulousvictim. Until then he would believe that Cecily's fright had been onlythe effect of Dona Felipa's story, acting upon a vivid imagination, andnot a terrible confirmation of something she had herself seen. He threwhimself, without undressing, upon his bed in a benumbing agony of doubt.
The gentle opening of his door and the slight rustle of a skirt startedhim to his feet with a feeling of new and overpowering repulsion. But itwas a familiar figure that he saw in the long aisle of light which ledfrom his recessed window, whose face was white enough to have been aspirit's, and whose finger was laid upon its pale lips, as it softlyclosed the door behind it.
"Cecily!"
"Hush!" she said, in a distracted whisper: "I felt I must see youto-night. I could not wait until day--no, not another hour! I couldnot speak to you before them. I could not go into that dreadful gardenagain, or beyond the walls of this house. Dick, I want to--I MUST tellyou something! I would have kept it from every one--from you most ofall! I know you will hate me, and despise me; but, Dick, listen!"--shecaught his hand despairingly, drawing it towards her--"that girl's awfulstory was TRUE!" She threw his hand away.
"And you have seen HER!" said Dick, frantically. "Good God!"
The young girl's manner changed. "HER!" she said, half scornfully, "youdon't suppose I believe THAT story? No. I--I--don't blame me, Dick,--Ihave seen HIM."
"Him?"
She pushed him nervously into a seat, and sat down beside him. In thehalf light of the moon, despite her pallor and distraction, she wasstill very human, womanly, and attractive in her disorder.
"Listen to me, Dick. Do you remember one afternoon, when we were ridingtogether, I got ahead of you, and dashed off to the casa. I don't knowwhat possessed me, or WHY I did it. I only know I wanted to get homequickly, and get away from you. No, I was not angry, Dick, at YOU;it did not seem to be THAT; I--well, I confess I was FRIGHTENED--atsomething, I don't know what. When I wheeled round into the lane, Isaw--a man--a young gentleman standing by the garden-wall. He was verypicturesque-looking, in his red sash, velvet jacket, and round silverbuttons; handsome, but oh, so pale and sad! He looked at me veryeagerly, and then suddenly drew back, and I heard you on Chu Chu comingat my heels. You must have seen him and passed him too, I thought: butwhen you said nothing of it, I--I don't know why, Dick, I said nothingof it too. Don't speak!" she added, with a hurried gesture: "I know NOWwhy you said nothing,--YOU had not seen him."
She stopped, and put back a wisp of her disordered chestnut hair.
"The next time was the night YOU were so queer, Dick, sitting on thatstone bench. When I left you--I thought you didn't care to have mestay--I went to seek Aunt Viney at the bottom of the garden. I was verysad, but suddenly I found myself very gay, talking and laughing withher in a way I could not account for. All at once, looking up, I saw HIMstanding by the little gate, looking at me very sadly. I think I wouldhave spoken to Aunt Viney, but he put his finger to his lips--hishand was so slim and white, quite like a hand in one of those Spanishpictures--and moved slowly backwards into the lane, as if he wished tospeak with ME only--out there. I know I ought to have spoken to Aunty; Iknew it was wrong what I did, but he looked so earnest, so appealing, soawfully sad, Dick, that I slipped past Aunty and went out of the gate.Just then she missed me, and called. He made a kind of despairinggesture, raising his hand Spanish fashion to his lips, as if to saygood-night. You'll think me bold, Dick, but I was so anxious to knowwhat it all meant, that I gave a glance behind to see if Aunty wasfollowing, before I should go right up to him and demand an explanation.But when I faced round again, he was gone! I walked up and down the laneand out on the plain nearly half an hour, seeking him. It was strange, Iknow; but I was not a bit FRIGHTENED, Dick--that was so queer--but I wasonly amazed and curious."
The look of spiritual terror in Dick's face here seemed to give way to aless exalted disturbance, as he fixed his eyes on Cecily's.
"You remember I met YOU coming in: you seemed so queer then that Idid not say anything to you, for I thought you would laugh at me, orreproach me for my boldness; and I thought, Dick, that--that--that--thisperson wished to speak only to ME." She hesitated.
"Go on," said Dick, in a voice that had also undergone a singularchange.
The chestnut head was bent a little lower, as the young girl nervouslytwisted her fingers in her lap.
"Then I saw him again--and--again," she went on hesitatingly. "Of courseI spoke to him, to--to--find out what he wanted; but you know, Dick, Icannot speak Spanish, and of course he didn't understand me, and didn'treply."
"But his manner, his appearance, gave you some idea of his meaning?"said Dick suddenly.
Cecily's head drooped a little lower. "I thought--that is, I fancied Iknew what he meant."
"No doubt," said Dick, in a voice which, but for the superstitioushorror of the situation, might have impressed a casual listener asindicating a trace of human irony.
But Cecily did not seem to notice it. "Perhaps I was excited that night,perhaps I was bolder because I knew you were near me; but I went up tohim and touched him! And then, Dick!--oh, Dick! think how awful--"
Again Dick felt the thrill of superstitious terror creep over him. "Andhe vanished!" he said hoarsely.
"No--not at once," stammered Cecily, with her head almost buried in herlap; "for he--he--he took me in his arms and--"
"And kissed you?" said Dick, springing to his feet, with every traceof his superstitious agony gone from his indignant face. But Cecily,without raising her head, caught at his gesticulating hand.
"Oh, Dick, Dick! do you think he really did it? The horror of it, Dick!to be kissed by a--a--man who has been dead a hundred years!"
"A hundred fiddlesticks!" said Dick furiously. "We have been deceived!No," he stammered, "I mean YOU have been deceived--insulted!"
"Hush! Aunty will hear you," murmured the girl despairingly.
Dick, who had thrown away his cousin's hand, caught it again, anddragged her along th
e aisle of light to the window. The moon shone uponhis flushed and angry face.
"Listen!" he said; "you have been fooled, tricked--infamously trickedby these people, and some confederate, whom--whom I shall horsewhip if Icatch. The whole story is a lie!"
"But you looked as if you believed it--about the girl," said Cecily;"you acted so strangely. I even thought, Dick,--sometimes--you had seenHIM."
Dick shuddered, trembled; but it is to be feared that the lower, morenatural human element in him triumphed.
"Nonsense!" he stammered; "the girl was a foolish farrago ofabsurdities, improbable on the face of things, and impossible to prove.But that infernal, sneaking rascal was flesh and blood."
It seemed to him to relieve the situation and establish his ownsanity to combat one illusion with another. Cecily had already beendeceived--another lie wouldn't hurt her. But, strangely enough, he wassatisfied that Cecily's visitant was real, although he still had doubtsabout his own.
"Then you think, Dick, it was actually some real man?" she saidpiteously. "Oh, Dick, I have been so foolish!"
Foolish she no doubt had been; pretty she certainly was, sitting therein her loosened hair, and pathetic, appealing earnestness. Surely theghostly Rosita's glances were never so pleading as these actual honesteyes behind their curving lashes. Dick felt a strange, new-born sympathyof suffering, mingled tantalizingly with a new doubt and jealousy, thatwas human and stimulating.
"Oh, Dick, what are WE to do?"
The plural struck him as deliciously sweet and subtle. Had theyreally been singled out for this strange experience, or still strangerhallucination? His arm crept around her; she gently withdrew from it.
"I must go now," she murmured; "but I couldn't sleep until I told youall. You know, Dick, I have no one else to come to, and it seemed to methat YOU ought to know it first. I feel better for telling you. You willtell me to-morrow what you think we ought to do."
They reached the door, opening it softly. She lingered for a moment onthe threshold.
"Tell me, Dick" (she hesitated), "if that--that really were a spirit,and not a real man,--you don't think that--that kiss" (she shuddered)"could do me harm!"
He shuddered too, with a strange and sympathetic consciousness that,happily, she did not even suspect. But he quickly recovered himselfand said, with something of bitterness in his voice, "I should be moreafraid if it really were a man."
"Oh, thank you, Dick!"
Her lips parted in a smile of relief; the color came faintly back to hercheek.
A wild thought crossed his fancy that seemed an inspiration. They wouldshare the risks alike. He leaned towards her: their lips met in theirfirst kiss.
"Oh, Dick!"
"Dearest!"
"I think--we are saved."
"Why?"
"It wasn't at all like that."
He smiled as she flew swiftly down the corridor. Perhaps he thought sotoo.
*****
No picture of the alleged Rosita was ever found. Dona Felipa, when thestory was again referred to, smiled discreetly, but was apparently toopreoccupied with the return of Don Jose's absent nephew for furthergossiping visits to the hacienda; and Dick and Cecily, as Mr. and Mrs.Bracy, would seem to have survived--if they never really solved--themystery of the Hacienda de los Osos. Yet in the month of June, when themoon is high, one does not sit on the stone bench in the rose gardenafter the last stroke of the Angelus.
