Ramon’s act was a cruel blow to Señor de Sola. He is to be pardoned for venting his wrath on Pérez. The bandit was the only one of the guilty ones to hand, and Don Diego had also the matter of his silver against the man.
Chiquita had been carried away in a faint from Montesoro’s side. It was to the dead man that Don Diego pointed as he addressed the bound bandit.
“You have not the effrontery to deny that you killed him, I hope?”
“I killed him,” Pérez answered.
“You turn from robber to murderer with surprising ease,” Don Diego stormed. “And only with your connivance did yonder couple escape. I suppose you do not deny that, either.”
“I do not. As men go, I have never been known as a liar.”
“But are you so calloused as to offer no excuse for your conduct?”
“I have never been one for excuses, most noble sir. Reason, now, I have; but excuse——? No! And although I well may not be alive to hear you say it, the day will come when you will admit that I have done you greater service this day than has any man in your time.”
“Well, give it a name, then!” Don Diego exclaimed.
“That shall remain for other lips than mine. But here are your men with horses; although I warn you, you but waste your time in attempting to follow that fleeing pair. My men are in those hills to the west; if they allow you to pass, it will be because they know you come too late to matter.”
CHAPTER XXV
ALONE AT LAST
SUZANNA and Ramon did not suspect that unseen friends guarded their escape. The boy urged the horses on whenever the going permitted, and before noon they caught their first glimpse of the Mission. Even viewed from a distance, San Carlos de Carmelo breathed a sense of rest and security. A wide valley, mostly cultivated meadow land, stretched between the Mission and the spot where Ramon and Suzanna sood for a brief moment. They felt safe now, for they could win to the Mission long before any pursuer could descend from the hills in back of them.
Ramon had said no word of love to the girl, and Suzanna, catching his eye, gazed from him to the Mission, a silent question on her lips. The boy failed to read her thought, so Suzanna voiced her words.
“You have not asked me to marry you, Ramon,” she said with downcast eyes.
“Better far to marry and ask afterward, when irate fathers are rushing hither to stop us,” the boy answered gayly. But for all his words, he forced his horse alongside Suzanna’s and catching her around the waist lifted her into his arms. “Art hungry for a word of love from me, little one?” he whispered. “Think you that I had forgotten? Come, place your arms about me, and let me see you smile as my lips touch yours. The past is in back of us; and as long as we have each other, how matters it what else the future holds?”
Suzanna was tempted to tell him the truth concerning herself, but the happiness of knowing that this man loved her and was willing to marry her believing her to be a peon, was so great that she could not destroy it now. And so, her eyes closed, she delivered her lips to him. The wine of youth coursed through her body as her flesh met his. Yesterday was forgotten; ahead of her beckoned sunlit days at his side. Her spirit seemed to surge up and take wings, and as a bird that has newly found its freedom, her being soared to the heights. Dimly then, from a distance, she heard Ramon’s cautioning voice, and felt herself placed in her saddle again.
Neither spoke as they rode; a word would have broken the spell which held that beautiful valley and themselves prisoners. In silence, then, did they dismount before the Mission. A thin little wisp of a man, clad in the robes of the Franciscans, came out to meet them as they ascended the stone steps.
“ ’Tis easy to see, my children, what brings you here,” the little padre said to them.
A smile from Suzanna rewarded him.
“It is as you have surmised,” Ramon declared. “It is our wish that you join us in marriage, holy father.”
“But, my children, you come without witnesses,—though that is readily remedied; but the bans,—have your names been read?”
Ramon gulped. Dumbly he looked at Suzanna. Had they been fools not to think of this? As he looked at her, he saw Suzanna’s lips move.
“They have, good padre,” she said. “Don Ramon Gutierrez, son of Don Fernando Gutierrez; and—Chiquita de Sola, the daughter of Don Diego de Sola.”
“No, no!” Ramon begged.
The Franciscan looked from one to the other as these confusing statements greeted his ears. The names the girl had uttered were well known to him by hearsay.
“It is the truth,” Suzanna reiterated bravely. “I am Chiquita de Sola. Our names were read in Monterey by the Bishop himself.”
Ramon, still dumfounded, and only wondering what had caused this madness in Suzanna, took her in his arms and endeavored to calm her.
“No, Ramon!” Suzanna cried, forcing him away from her as she sought for the paper Pérez had given her. “I wanted to keep this surprise for you until we were married; but since it is necessary that the secret be told now, read this.”
The boy could but stare at her as he and the priest finished reading Alvarez’ statement.
“This is an honest document,” the padre announced gravely. “Señor Alvarez is our notary. I recognize his signature. If you are still of a mind to wed, I will call the witnesses.”
Ramon’s answer was to open his arms and take Suzanna into them, her tears of happiness wetting his cheek.
And so, in the Mission San Carlos de Carmelo, they were wed; and none too soon, for barely had the ceremony ended when a dozen horsemen flung themselves into the church, Don Fernando at their head. His face was livid with rage as he advanced to the chancel. In his hand he carried a long rawhide quirt, and as he realized that he came too late, he raised the quirt angrily and sent it hissing through the air at his son.
The Franciscan divined his intention too late to stop him, but even so he was in time to warn Ramon, but as the boy stepped backward, the lash struck Suzanna a cutting blow.
“You are in the house of God!” the padre exclaimed. “I ask judgment on you!”
The whip fell from Don Fernando’s hand as he sank to his knees. “I beg forgiveness for the blow,” he groaned. “I was beside myself. My son has denied me my dearest wish; he has violated a canon of our family that forever debars him from handing down to posterity an ancient and honorable name.”
A great sob burst from his quivering lips as he bowed his head at his own shame and his son’s.
“You are mistaken,” the little padre told him. “Your son has not married a peon. His wife is of blood as noble as his own. Dismiss your men and come into the sacristy with me.”
Don Fernando waited for Don Diego to join him, and together they followed the priest behind the altar.
What need to relate what went on between them when they were closeted together? Anger gave way to wonder, and grief to happiness. Pérez’ words came back to Don Diego. Truly, the man had not oversaid himself. He had done such service as few would dare.
“They shall go to my house at once,” Don Diego exclaimed, referring to Ramon and his bride. “We shall have a second wedding. And when they return from their wedding trip they shall occupy the very rooms to which I led Suzanna’s mother.”
“But my son is to manage my estate,” Don Fernando warned. “My house shall be his!”
“Perhaps it were well to allow the young man to decide,” the priest said wisely. “Remember, he is no longer a boy.”
They returned then, to the church proper; but Ramon and Suzanna, as she still chose to be called, had long since stolen away, and even then were racing their horses along the wide, wind swept beach beside the Pacific. They were alone at last; off to spend their honeymoon as lovers have ever wanted to spend it,—in peace and quiet. So there where the waves of the broad ocean break so gently upon the white sands of Carmel, let us leave them, knowing that through trial and misfortune they had come to such happiness as few attain.
THE END<
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