The Bandolero; Or, A Marriage among the Mountains

by Mayne Reid

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

  HER NAME IS DOLORES.

  There is one subject upon which there can be no question--nothing toadmit of discussion. It is, that jealousy is the most painful thoughtthat can torture the soul of man.

  In painfulness it has its degrees--greater or less, according to itskind: for of this dread passion, conceit, or whatever you may call it,there is more than one _species_.

  There is the jealousy that springs after possession; and that whicharises from anticipation. Mine, of course, belonged to the latter.

  I shall not stay to inquire which is the more disagreeable of the two--as a general rule. I can only say, that, standing there under thePeruvian pepper-trees, I felt as if the shades of death and the furiesof hell were above and around me.

  I was angry at the man who had made me feel so;--but mad--absolutelymad--with the woman!

  What could she have meant in leading me such a measure? What profit didshe expect by practising upon me such a damnable delusion?

  "_En la Alameda--a seis Horas_!"

  I was there, true to the time,--and she, too. Six o'clock could beheard striking from a score of church towers--every stroke as if thehammer were driving a nail into my heart!

  For some seconds I listened to the tolling--tolling--tolling. Were theyfuneral bells?

  Oh! what a woman--in beauty an angel--in behaviour a devil!

  I had no longer a doubt that such was a true description of MercedesVilla-Senor.

  To excuse my thus quickly coming to conclusions, you should knowsomething of Mexican society--its highest and best.

  But it is not for me to expose it. My _souvenirs_ are too sweet topermit of my turning traitor.

  That was one of the most bitter--although it was also one of the mosttransient.

  Perhaps I should not say transient; since, after a very short intervalof relief, it came back bitter as before--with a bitterness long, long,to continue.

  The illusion was due to a process of reasoning that passed through mymind as I stood looking after the _carretela_, after the incidentdescribed.

  I had conceived a half hope.

  Mercedes might be only a messenger? The note might have been fromDolores--the guarded Dolores, who dared not go out alone?

  The sisters might be _confidantes_--a thing not uncommon in Mexico, oreven in England? Dolores, threatened with a cloister, might have noother means of corresponding with her "querido Francisco?"

  This view of the case was more pleasing than probable.

  It might have been both, but for my knowledge of "society" as it existsin the City of the Angels. From the insight I had obtained, I could tooreadily believe, that the handsome Captain Moreno was _playing falsewith a pair of sisters_!

  Only for an instant was I permitted to indulge in the unworthysuspicion.

  But the certainty that succeeded it, was equally painful to reflectupon: for I left the Alameda with the knowledge that Francisco Morenohad one love; and she the lady who had driven past in her _carretela_!

  I obtained the information through a dialogue heard accidentally behindme.

  Two men, whom I had not noticed before, had been sharing with me theshade of the pepper-tree. One was plainly a Poblano; the other, by hisdress, might have passed for a haciendado of the _tierra caliente_--perhaps a "Yucateco" on his way to the capital. Small as was the notesurreptitiously delivered, and rapid its transition from hand to hand--both these men had observed the little episode.

  The Poblano seemed to treat it as a thing of course. It caused surpriseto the stranger; whose habiliments, though not without some richness,scarce concealed an air of rusticity.

  "Who is she?" inquired the astonished provincial.

  "The daughter of one of our _ricos_" replied the Poblano. "His name isDon Eusebio Villa-Senor. No doubt you have heard of him?"

  "Oh, yes. We know him in Yucatan. He's got a sugar estate near Sisal;though he don't come much among us. But who's the fortunate individualso likely to become proprietor of that pretty plantation? Such anintelligent fellow would make it pay; which, _por Dios_! is more than Ican do with mine."

  "Doubtful enough whether captain Moreno could do so either--if he hadthe chance of becoming its owner. By all accounts he's not much givento accumulating cash--unless over the _monte_ table. Independently ofthat, he's not likely to come in for any property belonging to DonEusebio Villa-Senor."

  "Well, without knowing much of your city habits," remarked the Yucateco,"I'd say he has a fair chance of becoming the owner of Don Eusebio'sdaughter. A Campeachy girl who'd do, what she has just done, would beconsidered as marked for matrimony."

  "Ah!" rejoined the denizen of the angelic city, "you Yucatecos are asimple people: you leave your _muchachas_ free to do as they choose. InPuebla, if they don't obey the paternal mandate, they are inclosedwithin convents--of which we have no less than a dozen in our saintedcity. I've heard say, that such is to be the fate of DoloresVilla-Senor--if she insist on marrying the man to whom you have justseen her handing that pretty epistle."

  "Dolores Villa-Senor?" I asked, springing forward, and rudely takingpart in a conversation that so fearfully interested me.

  "_Dolores_ Villa-Senor? Do I understand you to say that _Dolores_ isthe name of the lady just gone past in the carretela?"

  "_Si senor--ciertamente_!" responded the Poblano, who must have supposedme insane, "Dolores Villa-Senor; or Lola, if you prefer it short: thatis the lady's name. _Carrambo_! what is there strange about it? Every_chiquitito_ in the streets of Puebla knows _her_."

  My tongue was stopped. I made no further inquiry. I had heard enoughto tell me I had been chicaned.

  She who had passed was the woman I loved--the same who had invited me tothe Alameda. There could be no mistake about that, nor aught else--onlythat her name was _Dolores_, and _not Mercedes_!

  I had been made the catspaw of a heartless coquette!