The Velvet Glove

by Henry Seton Merriman

  CHAPTER XXIX

  LA MAIN DE FERJuanita was very early astir the next morning. The house was peculiarlyquiet, but she knew that Marcos, if he had been abroad, had now returned;for Perro was lying on the terrace in the sunlight watching the librarywindow.

  Juanita went to that room and there found Marcos writing letters. A mapof the Valley of the Wolf lay open on the table beside him.

  "You are always writing letters," she said. "You began writing them onthe splash-board of the carriage at the mouth of the valley and you havebeen doing it ever since."

  "They are making use of my knowledge of the valley," he replied. Hecontinued his task after a very quick glance up at her. Juanita had foundout that he rarely looked at her.

  "I am not at all tired after our adventure," she said. "I made up lastnight for the want of sleep. Do I look tired?"

  "Not at all," answered Marcos, glancing no higher than her waist.

  "But I had a dream," she said. "It was so vivid that I am not sure nowthat it was a dream. I am not sure that I did not in reality get out ofbed quite early in the morning, before daylight, when the moon was justtouching the mountains, and look out of my window. And the terrace,Marcos, was covered with soldiers; rows and rows of them, like shadows.And at the end, beneath my window, stood a group of men. Some wereofficers; one looked like General Pacheco, fat with a chuckling laugh;another seemed to be Captain Zeneta--the friend who stood by us in thechapel of Our Lady of the Shadows--who was saying his prayers, youremember. Most young men are too conceited to say their prayers nowadays.And there were two civilians, in riding-boots all dusty, who lookedsingularly like you and Uncle Ramon. It was an odd dream, Marcos--was itnot?"

  "Yes," answered he with a laugh. "Do not tell it to the wrong people asJoseph did."

  "No, your reverence," she said. She stood looking at him with grave eyes.

  "Is there going to be a battle?" she asked, curtly.

  "Yes."

  "Where?"

  He pointed down into the valley with his pen.

  "Just above the bridge if it all comes off as they have planned."

  She went out on to the terrace and looked down into the valley, which waspeaceful enough in the morning light. The thin smoke of the pinewood-fires rose from the chimneys in columns of brilliant blue. The sheepon the slopes across the valley were calling to their lambs. Then Juanitareturned to the library window and stood on the threshold, with broodingeyes and a bright patch of colour in her cheeks.

  "Will you do me a favour?" she asked.

  "Of course."

  He lifted his pen from the paper, but did not look up.

  "If there is a battle--if there is any fighting, will you take great careof yourself? It would be so terrible if anything happened to you ... forUncle Ramon I mean."

  "Yes," answered Marcos, gravely. "I understand. I promise to take care."

  Juanita still lingered at the window.

  "And you always keep your promises, don't you? To the letter?"

  "Why shouldn't I?"

  "No, of course not. It is characteristic of you, that is all. Yourpromise is a sort of rock that nothing can move. Women, you know, make apromise and then ask to be let off; you would not do that?"

  "No," answered Marcos, quite simply.

  In Navarre the hours of meals are much the same as those that rule inEngland to-day. At one o'clock luncheon both Marcos and Sarrion were athome. The valley seemed quiet enough. The soldiers of Juanita's dreamseemed to have vanished like the shadows to which she compared them.

  "I am sure," said Cousin Peligros, while they were still at the table,"that the sound of firing approaches. I have a very delicate hearing. Allmy senses are very highly developed. The sound of the firing is nearer,Marcos."

  "Zeneta is retreating slowly before the enemy, with his small force,"explained Marcos.

  "But why is he doing that? He must surely know that there are ladies atTorre Garda."

  "Ladies are not articles of war," said Juanita with a frivolous disregardof Cousin Peligros' reproving face. "And this is war."

  As she spoke Marcos rose and quitted the room after glancing at hiswatch. Juanita followed him.

  "Marcos," she said, in the hall, having closed the dining-room doorbehind her. "Will you tell me what time it will begin?"

  "Zeneta is timed to retreat across the bridge at three o'clock. The enemywill, it is hoped, follow him."

  "And where will you be?"

  "I shall be with Pacheco and his staff on the hill behind Pedro's mill.You will see a little flag wherever Pacheco is."

  Cousin Peligros' delicate hearing had not been deceived. The firing wasnow close at hand. The valley takes a turn to the left below the ridgeand upon the hillside above this corner the white irregular line of smokenow became visible.

  In a few minutes the dark mass of Zeneta's men appeared on the road atthe corner. He was before his time. The men were running. They raised thedust like a troop of sheep and moved in a halo of it. Every hundred yardsthey stopped and fired a volley. They were acting with perfect regularityand from a distance looked like toy soldiers. They were retreating ingood order and the sound of their volleys came at regular intervals. Onthe bridge they halted. They were going to make a stand here, as wouldseem natural. Had they had artillery they could have effectually heldthis strong and narrow place.

  It now became apparent that they were a woefully small detachment. Theycould not spare men to take up positions on the rocky hillside behindthem.

  There was a pause. The Carlists were waiting for their skirmishers tocome in from heights above the road.

  Sarrion and Juanita stood at the edge of the terrace. Sarrion waswatching with a quick and comprehensive glance.

  "Is General Pacheco a good general?" asked Juanita.

  "Excellent."

  Sarrion did not comment further on this successful soldier.

  "They played me false," the General had told him indignantly a few hoursearlier. "They promised me a good sum--yes a sufficient sum. But when thetime came the money was not forthcoming. An awkward position; but I founda way out of it."

  "By being loyal," suggested Sarrion with a short laugh and there theconversation ceased.

  Juanita looked across the valley towards Pedro's mill. There was no flagthere. All the valley was peaceful enough, giving in the brilliantsunshine no glint of sword or bayonet.

  On the bridge, the little knot of men awaited the advent of the Carlistsforming up round the corner. In a moment these came, swarming over theroad and the hillside. The roadway was packed with them, the rocks andthe bushes above the river seemed alive with them. They firedindependently, and the hillside was white in a moment. The royalisttroops on the bridge fired one volley and then turned. They ran straightalong the road. Some threw down their knapsacks. One or two stopped,seemed to hesitate and then laid them down on the road like a tiredchild. Others limped to the side and sat there.

  All the while the Carlists came on. The rear ranks were still cominground the corner. The skirmishers were already across the bridge. Therewas only one place for Zeneta's men to run to now--the castle of TorreGarda. They were already at the foot of the slope. Juanita and Sarrioncould distinguish the slim form of their commander walking along the roadbehind his men, sword in hand. Sometimes he ran a few steps, but for themost part he walked with long, steady strides, shepherding his men.

  They began to climb the slope, and Zeneta took up his position on a rockjutting out of the hillside. He stood on tiptoe and watched the bridge.The last of the Carlists were on it now. Juanita could see his eagerface, with intrepid eyes alert, and lips apart, drawn back over histeeth. She glanced at Sarrion, whose lips were the same. His eyesglittered. He was biting his lower lip.

  As the last man ran across the bridge on the heels of his comrades,Zeneta looked across the valley towards the water mill. He waved hishandkerchief high above his head. A little flag fluttered above the treesgrowing round the mill-wheel.

  Cousin Peligros bein
g only human now came to the terrace to see what washappening. She had taken the precaution of putting on her mittens andopening her parasol.

  "What is the meaning of this noise?" she asked; but neither Sarrion norJuanita seemed to hear her. They were watching the little flag, whichseemed to be descending the hill.

  So close beneath the house were Zeneta's men now, that those on theterrace could hear his voice.

  "The bridge," said Sarrion, under his breath. "Look at the bridge!"

  It was half hidden in the smoke that still hovered in the air, butsomething was taking place there. Men were running hither and thither.The sunlight glittered on uniform and bayonet.

  "Guns!" said Sarrion curtly, and as he spoke the whole valley shookbeneath their feet. A roar seemed to arise from the river and spread allup the hills, and simultaneously a cloak of white smoke was laid over thegreen slopes.

  Juanita saw Zeneta stand for a moment, with sword upheld, while his mengathered round him. Then with a wild shout of exultation he led them downthe hill again. Before he had run ten paces he fell--his feet seemed toslip from under him, and he lay at full length for a moment--then he wasup again and at the head of his men.

  A bullet came singing up over the low brushwood and a distant tinkle offalling glass told that it had found its billet in a window. The bushesin the garden seemed suddenly alive with rustling life and Sarriondragged Juanita back from the balustrade.

  "No--no!" she said angrily.

  "Yes--I promised Marcos," answered Sarrion with his arm round her waist.

  In a moment they were in the library where they found Cousin Peligros inan easy chair with folded hands and the face of a very early Christianmartyr.

  "I have never been treated like this before," she said severely.

  Sarrion stood at the window, keeping Juanita in.

  "It will be all over in a few minutes," he said. "Holy Virgin! What alesson for them."

  The din was terrible. The lady of delicate hearing placed her hands overher ears not forgetting to curl her little finger in the manner deemedirresistible by her generation. Quite suddenly the firing ceased as if bythe turning of a tap.

  "There," said Sarrion, "it is over. Marcos said they were to be taught alesson. They have learnt it."

  He quitted the room taking his hat which he had thrown aside.

  Juanita went to the terrace. She could see nothing. The whole valley washidden in smoke which rolled upward in yellow clouds. The air choked her.She came back to the library, coughing, and went towards the door.

  "Juanita," said Cousin Peligros, "I forbid you to leave the room. Iabsolutely refuse to be left alone."

  "Then call your maid," said Juanita, patiently.

  "Where are you going?"

  "I am going to follow Uncle Ramon down to the valley. There must behundreds of wounded. I can do something----"

  "Then I forbid you to go. It is permissible for Marcos to identifyhimself with such proceedings--in protection of those whom Providence hasplaced under his care. Indeed I should expect it of him. It is his dutyto defend Torre Garda."

  Juanita looked at the supine form in the easy chair.

  "Yes," she answered. "And I am mistress of Torre Garda."

  Which, perhaps, had a double meaning, for when she closed the door--notwithout emphasis--Cousin Peligros sat upright with a start.

  Juanita hurried out of the house and ran down the road winding on theslope to the village. The smoke choked her; the air was impregnated withsulphur. It seemed impossible that anybody could have lived through thesehellish minutes that were passed. In front of her she saw Sarrionhurrying in the same direction. A moment later she gave a little cry ofjoy. Marcos was riding up the slope at a gallop. He pulled up when he sawhis father and by the time he had quitted the saddle, Juanita was withhim.

  Marcos' face was gray beneath the sunburn. His eyes were bloodshot andhis lips were pressed upward in a line of deadly resolution. It was theface of a man who had seen something that he would never forget. Helooked at his father.

  "Evasio Mon," he said.

  "Killed?"

  Marcos nodded his head.

  "You did not do it?" said Sarrion sharply.

  "No. They found him among the Carlists, There were five or six priests.It was Zeneta--wounded himself--who recognised him and told me. He wasnot dead when Zeneta found him--and he spoke. 'Always the losing game,'he said. Then he smiled--and died."

  Sarrion turned and led the way slowly back again towards the house.Juanita seemed to have forgotten her intention of going to the valley tooffer help to the nursing-sisters who lived in the village.

  Marcos' horse, the Moor, was shaking and dragged on the bridle which hehad slipped over his arm. He jerked angrily at the reins, looking backwith a little exclamation of impatience. Juanita took the bridle from hisarm and led the horse which followed her quietly enough. She said nothingand asked no questions. But she was watching Marcos' face--wondering,perhaps, if it would ever soften again.

  Sarrion was the first to speak.

  "Poor Mon," he said, half addressing Juanita. "He was never a fortunateman. He took the wrong turning years ago. He abandoned the Church inorder to ask a woman to marry him. But she had scruples. She thought, orshe was made to think, that her duty lay in another direction. And Mon'slife ... well ...!"

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  "I know," said Juanita quietly ... "all about it."

  CHAPTER XXX

  THE CASTING VOTEThere is in one corner of the little churchyard of Torre Garda a squaremound which marks the burial-place, in one grave, of four hundredCarlists. The Wolf, it is said, carried as many more to the sea.

  General Pacheco completed his teaching at the mouth of the valley wherethe Carlists had left in a position (impregnable from the front) a strongdetachment to withstand the advance of any reinforcements that might besent from Pampeluna to the relief of Captain Zeneta and his handful ofmen. These were taken in the rear by the force under General Pachecohimself and annihilated. This is, however, a matter of history as is alsothe reputation of Pacheco. "A great general--a brute," they say of him inSpain to this day.

  By sunset all was quiet again at Torre Garda. The troops quitted thevillage as unobtrusively as they had come. They had lost but few men andhalf a dozen wounded were left behind in the village. The remainder weremoved to Pampeluna. The Carlist list of wounded was astonishingly small.General Pacheco had the reputation of moving quickly. He was rarelyhampered by his ambulance and never by the enemy's wounded. He was agreat general.

  Cousin Peligros did not appear at dinner. She had an attack of nervesinstead.

  "I understand nerves," said Juanita lightly when she announced thatCousin Peligros' chair would remain vacant. "Was I not educated in aconvent? You need not be anxious. Yes--she will take a little soup--alittle more than that. And all the other courses."

  After dinner Cousin Peligros notified through her maid that she felt wellenough to see Marcos. When he returned from this interview he joinedSarrion and Juanita in the drawing-room, and he looked grave.

  "You have seen for yourself that there is not much the matter with her,"said Juanita, watching his face.

  "Yes," he answered rather absent-mindedly. "There is not much the matterwith her."

  He did not sit down but stood with a preoccupied air and looked at thewood-fire which was still grateful in the evening at such an altitude asthat of Torre Garda.

  "She will not stay," he said at last. "She says she is going to-morrow."

  Sarrion gave a short laugh and turned over the newspaper that he wasreading. Juanita was reading an English book, with a dictionary which shenever consulted when Marcos was near. She looked over its pages into thefire.

  "Then let her go," she said slowly and distinctly. And in a silence whichfollowed, the colour slowly mounted to her face. Marcos glanced at herand spoke at once.

  "There is no question of doing anything else," he said, with a laugh thatsounded uneasy. "She will have nerves unti
l she sees a lamp-post again.She is going to Madrid."

  "Ah!"

  "And she wants you to go with her and stay," said Marcos, bluntly.

  "It is very kind of her," answered Juanita in a cool and even voice. "Youknow, I am afraid Cousin Peligros and I should not get on very well--notif we sat indoors for long together, and kept our hands white."

  "Then you do not care to go to Madrid with her?" inquired Marcos.

  Juanita seemed to weigh the pros and cons of the matter with her head ata measuring angle while she looked into the fire.

  "No ... No," she answered. "I think not, thank you."

  "You know," Marcos explained with an odd ring of excitement in his voice."I am afraid we shall have a bad name all over Spain after this. Theyalways did think that we were only brigands. It will be difficult to getanybody to come here."

  Juanita made no answer to this. Sarrion was reading the paper veryattentively. But it was he who spoke first.

  "I must go to Saragossa," he said, without looking up from his paper."Perhaps Juanita will take compassion on my solitude there."

  "I always feel that it is a pity to go away from Torre Garda just as thespring is coming," said she, conversationally. "Don't you think so?"

  She glanced at Marcos as she spoke, but the remark must have beenaddressed to Sarrion, whose reply was inaudible. For some reason the twomen seemed ill at ease and tongue-tied. There was a dull glow in Marcos'eyes. Juanita was quite cool and collected and mistress of the situation.

  "You know," said Marcos at length in his direct way, "that it is only ofyour happiness that I am thinking--you must do what you like best."

  "And you know that I subscribe to Marcos' polite desire," said Sarrionwith a light laugh.

  "I know you are an old dear," answered Juanita, jumping up and throwingaside her book. "And now I am going to bed."

  She kissed Sarrion and smoothed back his gray hair with a quick and lighttouch.

  "Good-night, Marcos," she said as she passed the door which he held open.She gave him the friendly little nod of a comrade--but she did not lookat him.

  The next morning Cousin Peligros took her departure from Torre Garda.

  "I wash my hands," she said, with the usual gesture, "of the wholeaffair."

  As her maid was seated in the carriage beside her she said no more. Itremained uncertain whether she washed her hands of the Carlist war or ofJuanita. She gave a sharp sigh and made no answer to Sarrion's hope thatshe would have a pleasant journey.

  "I have arranged," said Marcos, "that two troopers accompany you as faras Pampeluna, though the country will be quiet enough to-day. Pacheco haspacified it."

  "I thank you," replied Cousin Peligros, who included domestic servants inher category of persons in whose presence it is unladylike to be natural.

  She bowed to them and the carriage moved away. She was one of thosefortunate persons who never see themselves as others see them, but movethrough existence surrounded by a halo, or a haze, of self-complacency,through which their perception cannot penetrate. The charitable wereready to testify that there was no harm in her. Hers was merely one of amillion lives in which man can find no fault and God no fruit.

  Soon after her departure Sarrion and Marcos set out on horseback towardsthe village. There was another traveler there awaiting their Godspeed ona longer journey, towards a peace which he had never known. It was in thehouse of the old cura of Torre Garda that Sarrion looked his last on theman with whom he had played in childhood's days--with whom he had neverquarrelled, though he had tried to do so often enough. The memory heretained of Evasio Mon was not unpleasant; for he was smiling as he layin the darkened room of the priest's humble house. He was bland even indeath.

  "I shall go and place some flowers on his grave," said Juanita, as theysat on the terrace after luncheon and Sarrion smoked his cigarettes. "Nowthat I have forgiven him."

  Marcos was sitting sideways on the broad balustrade, swinging one foot inits dusty riding-boot. He could see Juanita from where he sat. He usuallycould see her from where he elected to sit. But when she turned he wasnever looking at her. She had only found this out lately.

  "Have you forgiven him already?" asked he, with his dark eyes fixed onher half averted face. "I knew that it was easy to forget the dead, butto forgive ..."

  "Oh--it was not when he was killed that I forgave him."

  "Then when was it?"

  Juanita laughed lightly and shook her head.

  "I am not going to tell you that," she answered. "It is a secret betweenEvasio Mon and myself. He will understand when I place the flowers on hisgrave ... as much as men ever do understand."

  She vouchsafed no explanation of this ambiguous speech, but sat insilence looking with contemplative eyes across the valley. Sarrion wasseated a few yards away. At times he glanced through the cigarette smokeat Juanita and Marcos. Suddenly he drew in his feet and sat upright.

  "Dinner at seven to-night," he said, briskly. "If you have no objection."

  "Why?" asked Juanita.

  "I am going to Saragossa."

  "To-night?" she asked hastily and stopped short. Marcos sat motionless.Sarrion lighted another cigarette and forgot to answer her question.Juanita flushed and held her lips between her teeth. Then she turned herhead and looked at Sarrion from the corner of her eyes. She searched himfrom his keen, brown face--said by some to be the handsomest face inSpain--to his neat and firmly planted feet. But there was nothing writtenfor her to read. He had forced her hand and she did not know whether hehad done it on purpose or not. She knew her own mind, however. She wascalled upon to decide her whole life then and there. And she knew her ownmind.

  "Seven o'clock," said the mistress of Torre Garda, rising and goingtowards the house. "I will go at once and see to it."

  She, presumably, carried out her intention of visiting Evasio Mon'sgrave, and perhaps said a prayer in the little chapel near to it for therepose of the soul of the man whom she had forgiven so suddenly andcompletely. She did not return to the terrace at all events, and theSarrions went about their own affairs during the afternoon without seeingher again.

  At dinner Sarrion was unusually light-hearted and Juanita accommodatedherself to his humour with that ease which men so rarely understand inwomen and seldom acquire for themselves. Sarrion spoke of Saragossa as ifit were across the road and intimated that he would be coming and goingbetween the two houses during the spring, and until the great heats madethe plains of Aragon uninhabitable.

  "But," he said, "you see how it is with Marcos. The Valley of the Wolf ishis care and he dare not leave it for many days together."

  When the parting came Juanita made light of it, herself turning Sarrion'sfur collar up about his ears and buttoning his coat. For despite hissixty years he was a hardy man, and never made use of a closed carriage.It was a dark night with no moon.

  "It is all the better," said Marcos. "If the horses can see nothing, theycannot shy."

  Marcos accompanied his father down the slope to the great gate where thedrawbridge had once been, sitting on the front seat beside him in thefour-wheeled dogcart. They left Juanita standing in the open doorway,waving her hand gaily, her slim form outlined against the warm lamplightwithin the house.

  At the drawbridge Marcos bade his father farewell. They had parted at thesame spot a hundred times before. There was but the one train fromPampeluna to Saragossa and both had made the journey many times. Therewas no question of a long absence from each other; but this parting wasnot quite like the others. Neither said anything except thoseconventional words of farewell which from constant use have lost anymeaning they ever had.

  Sarrion gathered the reins in his gloved hands, glanced back over thecollar which Juanita had vigorously pulled up about his ears, and with anod, drove away into the night.

  When Marcos, who walked slowly up the slope, returned to the house hefound it in darkness. The servants had gone to bed. It was past teno'clock. The window of his own study had been left open and the lam
pburnt there. He went in, extinguished the lamp, and taking a candle wentup-stairs to his own room. He did not stay in the room, however, but wentout to the balcony which ran the whole length of the house.

  In a few minutes his father's carriage must cross the bridge with thathollow sound of wheels which Evasio Mon had mistaken for guns.

  A breeze was springing up and the candle which Marcos had set on a tablenear the open window guttered. He blew it out and went out in thedarkness. He knew where to find the chair that stood on the balcony justoutside his window and sat down to listen for the rumble of the carriageacross the bridge.

  He turned his head at the sound of a window being opened and Perro wholay at his feet lifted his nose and sniffed gently. A shaft of light layacross the balcony at the far end of the house. Juanita had opened hershutters. She knew that Sarrion must pass the bridge in a few minutes andwas going to listen for him.

  Marcos leant forward and touched Perro who understood and was still. Fora moment Juanita appeared on the balcony, stepping to the railing andback again. The shaft of light then remained half obscured by her shadowas she stood in the window. She was not going to bed until she had heardSarrion cross the bridge.

  Thus they waited and in a few minutes the low growling voice of the riverwas dominated by the hollow echo of the bridge. Sarrion had gone.

  Juanita went within her room and extinguished the lamp. It was a warmnight and the pine trees gave out a strong and subtle scent such as theyonly emit in spring. The bracken added its discreet breath hardlyamounting to a tangible odour. There were violets, also, not far away.

  Perro at Marcos' feet, stirred uneasily and looked up into his master'sface. Instinctively Marcos turned to look over his shoulder. Juanita wasstanding close behind him.

  "Marcos," she said, quietly, "you remember--long, long ago--in thecloisters at Pampeluna, when I was only a child--you made a promise. Youpromised that you would never interfere in my life."

  "Yes."

  "I have come ..." she paused and passing in front of him, stood therewith her back to the balustrade and her hands behind her in an attitudewhich was habitual to her. "I have come," she began again deliberately,"to let you off that promise--Not that you have kept it very well, youknow--"

  She broke off and gave a short laugh, such as a man may hear perhaps oncein his whole life, and hearing it, must know that he has not lived invain.

  "But I don't mind," she said.

  She moved uneasily. For her eyes, growing accustomed to the darkness,could discern his face. She returned to the spot where Marcos had firstdiscovered her, behind his chair.

  "And, Marcos--you made another promise. You said that we were only goingto play at being married--a sort of game."

  "Yes," he answered steadily. He did not turn. He never saw her handsstretched out towards him. Then suddenly he gave a start and sat still asstone. Her hands were on his hair, soft as the touch of a bird. Herfingers crept down his forehead and closed over his eyes firmly andtenderly--a precaution which was unnecessary in the darkness--for she wasleaning over his chair and her hair, dusky as the night itself, fell overhis face like a curtain.

  "Then I think it is a stupid game--and I do not want to play it anylonger ... Marcos."