CHAPTER IV.
The next morning a small band of soldiers, headed by HenriqueFerriera, wound their way toward the humble home of Jarima.
On arriving, they found to their astonishment the door fastened close,and no one to answer their knock.
"Never mind, break it down," Henrique said, roughly.
In obedience a few heavy blows fell on the woodwork, which soon gaveway beneath their force.
Stepping over the scattered splinters, Henrique saw a sight whichfilled him with horror.
Crouching on the bare floor, her hands twined convulsively in her longhair, was a woman, with three sleeping children leaning against her.
On a hard straw mattress, almost in shadow, lay Jarima, his facecovered with blood, which oozed in streams from his mouth.
Henrique gazed for an instant on the awful sight, then turned towardshis men.
"We have arrived a little too late; blind men cannot see, or dumb onestell tales. Some horrible wretch has done this deed, fearful of hisbetraying them. I wonder who?"
The woman, when questioned, could tell them nothing. She only knew herhusband had been brought home in his present condition at daybreak,and remained unconscious since.
"I regret to say it is our painful duty to take him; every care willbe given him. He is suspected of having murdered Luiz Falcam."
"No, no; you are mistaken! It is some one else, not he. Jarima wasmuch too gentle to kill any one!" the woman cried, passionately.
Her prayers and supplications were unavailing. Henrique was obliged todo his duty, and bade his men take the suffering man to prison.
Some hours later, as Diniz stood in his room, just before setting outin search of Henrique, that man entered the house, followed by severalsoldiers.
"Diniz Sampayo, I arrest you on the charge of having stolen apoignard, set with jewels, from Manuel Tonza de Sepulveda."
Diniz started, and flushed angrily.
"I steal? When you know it is the weapon I bought from Phenee, theJew, as proof against the murderer."
"So you said; but we have heard another tale to that. Anyhow, if youare innocent, you will be set free as soon as you are tried."
"But the man Jarima? Have you not been for him?"
"Yes, but he is useless; when we arrived, some one had been before us,and not only blinded him, but cut out his tongue, so that he could notspeak."
"How horrible! How could any one have been so cold-blooded?" Dinizgasped, turning pale.
"Evidently it was done for some purpose. But come, Sampayo, I cannotwait here."
"Will nothing I say convince you I am innocent? If innocence givesstrength, I shall soon be at liberty."
Henrique smiled scornfully, and hurried the young man away.
"You will not be alone; your prison-cell is shared by another--Phenee,the Jew. An old friend of yours, is he not?" Henrique asked.
"Friend--no! I have only spoken to him once in my life. What is hearrested for?"
"Being a receiver of stolen goods," grimly.
Diniz thought suddenly of Miriam, and wondered how she would bear thisblow. Her only relative and dearly-loved parent torn from her side, tolinger in a damp cell. How bitterly he blamed himself for having beenthe cause of Phenee's capture! If he had not disclosed the secret ofPhenee having bought the poignard from Jarima, no one would havesuspected him.
"Poor girl! She will regret now having helped a stranger, who, inreturn, has brought her only grief and desolation," he murmured,sorrowfully.
Miriam passed nearly three days in sad thought, when her solitarymourning was broken by the visit of a thickly-veiled woman, whose low,sweet tones fell like softest music on Miriam's ear.
"Are you alone?" she asked, glancing questioningly round the room.
"Yes. Did you want me?"
"I do, very badly. I remembered only to-day that you once proved atrue friend to Diniz Sampayo, and I came to know if you would againaid him?" throwing back her veil, and disclosing a pale, sweet face,stamped by deepest grief.
"Diniz Sampayo! But is he, then, in need of help--in danger?" a suddenfear lighting up her face.
"Yes, he is in prison," sadly.
"You are sure? How can it be possible? What has he done?" in amazedwonder.
"He has done nothing. Only his enemies have thrown the suspicion ofhis having stolen a poignard from Manuel Tonza--a poignard which Iknow he bought here. It is my fault this has happened. It was toavenge the death of the man I loved--his dearest friend--that heplaced his life in peril!"
"I remember well. It is quite true he bought it here, soon afterJarima, the fisherman, had sold it to my grandfather. He, poor dear,is also in sorrow, imprisoned for having received stolen goods, as ifhe could tell when things are stolen!" indignantly.
"I am very sorry, Miriam; but if you help me, you will help yourgrandfather also," Lianor urged gently.
"I will!" Miriam cried firmly; "I will never give up until I have themboth safely outside that odious prison!"
Lianor gazed with grateful affection at the girl's expressive face,which now wore such a look of determined courage.
"If I can do anything, let me know directly," Lianor said, gently."Gold may perhaps be useful, and I have much."
"Thank you, but I am rich; and I know grandfather would lose all,rather than his liberty. You are Don Garcia's daughter, are you not?"
"Yes," somewhat sadly. "You know me?"
"By sight, yes."
"I shall see you again, I hope," Lianor said, as Miriam followed herto the door. "You will tell me of your success or failure?"
"Yes; I will come or write."
When her charming visitor had gone, Miriam returned to her seat, apained expression on her bright face.
"He also there. Poor Diniz! But I will save him yet," determinedly.
Hastily opening a heavy iron box, she drew out a handful of gold.
Placing this in her pocket, she softly left the house, and scarcelyknowing what instinct prompted her, she hurried towards a small hotelnot far from the sea.
"Can you tell me," she began breathlessly to a sunburnt man standingnear, "if there are any ships leaving here to-morrow?"
"I don't know, senora. I will inquire," he answered politely, andafter an absence of about ten minutes, he returned to say "thatCaptain Moriz, of the Eagle, was even then preparing for departure onthe morrow."
"Where does he live?" Miriam said, eagerly.
"He is staying at this hotel at present."
"Do you think I could see him? It is very important."
"I dare say. You can at least try," smilingly.
The Jewess thanked her good-natured commissioner, and lightly ascendedthe steps.
"I wish to see Captain Moriz. Is he in?"
"I think so," the man answered after one quick glance at Miriam; "Iwill inquire."
Miriam waited with growing impatience until the man returned, and wasrelieved when she heard that the captain was not only there, but wouldsee her.
With wildly beating heart the girl followed her conductor to a large,darkly-furnished room, where, by a table scattered with papers, sat atall, bronzed seaman.
"I believe you are leaving India to-morrow? Would you mind telling mewhere you are going?"
"To Africa," a look of surprise crossing his face.
"Are you going to take passengers?"
"That was not my intention."
"But if any one asked you, would you refuse?"
"I don't know. I did not want any one on board," Moriz answereduneasily.
"If you knew it would do some one a great service? I am rich, andwould pay you well; so do not hesitate on that account."
"Is it you who wish to go?"
Miriam blushed, and bit her lip angrily. She had not intended tobetray her secret so soon.
"Yes, it is I, and two other people. Will you take us, and set us downon one of those small islands on the coast, where no one would findus?"
Moriz hesitated; but he could not withstand th
e eager pleading in theslumbrous eyes, the intense pathos in the sweet voice.
"Yes," he said at last, very slowly, "I will take you on board; butyou must be ready by to-morrow night. I cannot wait for stragglers,"trying to force much severity into his tones.
"Oh, thank you! I am content now. Do not fear; we shall be in time.Until then adieu," she said softly.
And, with a graceful bow, she departed.
Her next step was in the direction where Phenee was confined.
She found no difficulty in finding the jailer, a hard-looking manenough, though Miriam thought she could see a gentle expression in hiseyes when they rested on two young children, whose pale, wastedfeatures gave evidence of close confinement in that dreary place.
"I may win him yet by those little ones," she murmured; "gold willhave power to touch his heart for their sakes."
"You wished to see me, senora?"
"Yes. I want you to answer a few questions. First, have you not gotPhenee, the Jew, and Diniz Sampayo here?"
"Yes, senora."
"Are they together?"
"No, senora."
"Could it be possible for you to set them free, without fear ofdetection?" eagerly.
"Yes, senora; but I am not a traitor."
"But think, Vincent: my poor grandfather has done no harm, and he willperish in that horrible place, though innocent. And the Senor Sampayo,as I have proof, bought the poignard himself from my grandfather. Why,then, should you say he stole it?" indignantly.
"It is not I who accused him; my duty here is to guard the prisoners--not to try them."
"Vincent," Miriam continued, in a low, pleading voice, "you are poor;your little children are pining for want of fresh, pure air. I amrich, and can give you enough money to live in comfort away from thisclose den. Release my friends, and the power of saving your childrenshall be yours. Look!" drawing one of the wondering girls to her side,"see how pale and thin she is! Can you refuse my offer when the livesof those you love depend upon it?"
Vincent felt the truth of her words, and knew the only things hecherished on earth, those innocent children, were slowly fading andpining away for want of fresh air.
The man raised his head, and glanced earnestly at the moved expressiveface, then in a low, hoarse voice he muttered:
"Be it so. I will help the prisoners to escape. I cannot see my littleones dying before my eyes, when an opportunity is given me to savethem."
"Then to-morrow at sunset you will bring them to the Golden Lion, Iwill be there, ready with the money."
"I will not fail, senora. May Heaven forgive me if I am doing wrong!"
After a few instructions, the happy girl went swiftly away, but ereshe had moved far, she returned, and paused before Vincent.
"I forgot to ask you about that poor man, Jarima," she said, gravely.
"He did not live long, senora, after he was brought here."
"And his wife--children?"
"Of them I know nothing," he answered quietly.
Ere she continued her homeward way, Miriam sped swiftly towardJarima's poor home, and knocked gently at the door. It was opened bythe eldest of the three children, and forcing a purse of money intohis brown hand, the girl whispered sweetly:
"For your mother, little one; from a friend," then moved silentlyaway, hurrying homeward to await patiently for the long hours to pass,ere her grandfather would be released.
Vincent, true to his word, gathered his few belongings together, andwhen the evening came, went softly to the cells in which his prisonerslay, and, setting them free, told them to follow him.
Wondering, yet glad, Phenee, leaning on Diniz's arm for support,slowly obeyed the jailer, who, accompanied by his two children, ledthem toward the hotel Miriam had named.
There, sure enough, the young Jewess was waiting, and after tenderlyembracing Phenee, and smiling softly at Diniz, she turned to Vincentand placed a bag of gold in his hand.
"This is your reward. May you and your little ones live in happiness!"she said earnestly.
"We leave Goa to-night, senora. My life would be worth nothing if Istayed here after this. Good-by, and thank you for your generosity."
Miriam hastened her grandfather to the ship, shocked at hisfeebleness; but for Sampayo he would scarcely have been able to getthere.
Only once he spoke to the girl ere he retired to his cabin for thenight.
"The money and jewels, Miriam--what have you done with them?"
"They are here, grandfather. I brought everything of value away withme."
"That is right, child. You are a good girl!"
Miriam stood rather sadly beside the bulwarks, gazing at the land inwhich she had been born, and which she was now leaving forever.
A low sigh broke from her lips.
"Why do you sigh? Are you sorry to quit your native land?" a voicewhispered in her ear.
"Yes; though for my grandfather's sake I cannot deeply regret it,"Miriam answered, gazing at Diniz with tear-dimmed eyes.
"I have not thanked you yet for having released me from that dreadfulplace, or even a worse doom. I am still scarcely able to realize mygood fortune. What made you, a stranger, think of one whom all othershad forgotten?"
"Not all. It was Donna Lianor who told me where you were, and asked meto help you," Miriam said, blushing beneath his tender, grateful gaze."Besides, I looked upon you as a friend," almost inaudibly.
"That is what I want to be--your friend. And Lianor--how is she?--well?"
"As well as it is possible to be under the heavy trial she wentthrough this morning. She was married to Manuel Tonza," sadly.
"Poor girl! Poor Lianor! Hers is indeed an unhappy lot!" Dinizmurmured pityingly.
CHAPTER V.
In a large, handsome room, overlooking a shining river, now ablazewith sunshine, sat a beautiful woman, wearing on her face unmistakablesigns of sadness.
She scarcely heeded the opening door, until two pretty children camebounding to her side, clambering onto her chair and lap.
Then her face changed, and a sweet, tender smile chased away allgloom; the idle hands were busy now stroking the curly heads pressedso close against her.
"I would have brought them to you before, but their father wished tokeep them; he is always so happy when they are near," a little,dark-eyed woman, clad in picturesque robes of brilliant crimson and gold,said rapidly, as she threw herself down on a pile of soft cushionsopposite the sweet, pale mother.
Lianor sighed, but she could not look sad long with those lovedchildren clasped in her arms.
"I cannot understand Manuel," she said, with a puzzled expression inher eyes; "he is so strange, sometimes gay--almost too gay; then herelapses into a gloomy, brooding apathy, from which even the childrenhave no power to rouse him."
"But you have. He is never too morose to have a smile for you. Ithink, sometimes, he feels lonely. You are bound to him, yet yourheart is as unresponsive to his passionate love as if you werestrangers," Savitre said, thoughtfully.
"Do you think so, Savitre? I am indeed sorry; but you know howimpossible it is to forget my first love. I like Manuel, but beyondthat, affection--except for my darlings--is dead; buried in Luiz'sgrave."
"Hush! here comes Manuel," Savitre whispered, warningly.
It was indeed Manuel, older and graver-looking than of yore, with adeep melancholy in his eyes, brought there only by intense suffering.
Savitre, on his entrance, softly glided from the room, leaving husbandand wife alone.
"Lianor," he began, a bright smile lighting up his face as he bent tokiss her fair brow, "I have been thinking, and am resolved to quitIndia and return to Portugal. I have been here long enough. Don't youthink that will be pleasant, dearest?"
"Nothing would please me more," Lianor cried, delightedly. "Thegreatest wish of my life is to see Portugal once more, to show ourcountry to our children," bending to kiss her tiny daughter's face.
"Then it will be granted. Prepare to start as soon as possible. Now, Iam deter
mined to leave here. Something seems to urge me to go atonce."
Only too anxious, Lianor began her arrangements.
Savitre, who had never cared to leave her friend before, even tobecome Panteleone's bride, entered into the preparations withunconcealed eagerness.
She had faithfully promised her lover that, once in Portugal, shewould, with his father's approval, marry him.
Lianor felt no regret at leaving India, except for a loved grave--herfather's--which she had so carefully tended.
Not many days after, Manuel Tonza, his wife, children, Panteleone, andSavitre, accompanied by several faithful servants, including Lalli andTolla, embarked in a fine stately ship, which was to bear them insafety to their home.
Tonza seemed full of joy as he saw the last lines of the Indian coastdisappear. He had rarely appeared so happy since his marriage withLianor five years before.
For several days the good ship went steadily on her way, until onenight a terrific storm arose, and the vessel, heedless of the humancargo it was bearing, drifted onward at the mercy of the tempest.
Tonza, holding Lianor and his children closely to him, stood silentlydismayed, scarcely able to realize the awful danger which lay beforehim and those he loved.
Still onward, through the almost impenetrable darkness, went thedoomed ship, until, as the dense shadows began to clear and the stormto cease, a sudden shock was felt by all--she had struck against somerocks and was slowly sinking!
"We must be somewhere near land," the captain cried, his voicesounding above the roaring waters.
By aid of the fast-breaking dawn, they could see the line of high,dark rocks, upon which the ship had met her fate.
With much difficulty and peril, under the captain's cool directions,the crew managed at last to leave the sinking vessel, not without muchloss of life. Out of nearly five hundred only a few arrived in safety,amongst whom were Tonza, his wife, children, Savitre, and Panteleone.
When the day broke in calm splendor, the sun shown upon a mournfulsight--a group of shipwrecked men and women.
No sign of habitation met their view; only a weary waste of bare land,sheltered by a few trees, from whose branches hung a goodly supply offruit.
"If we go farther inland, we are sure to find some natives, if onlysavages," Tonza remarked gravely; and followed by the men, hecommenced the long, weary way.
Lianor, pale but firm, holding in her arms her little daughter, walkedbeside him, heedless of the fatigue which oppressed her and made herlong to sink upon the sandy ground to rest.
Onward they went, never pausing to rest their tired feet until, as theday was about to decline, they came to a deep waterfall, over whichthey had to cross. No easy task, as the only means of doing so was byan uneven path, made from a line of rocks, on either side of which theboiling waters poured in terrific fury.
Tonza--who, now the captain had perished, placed himself at the headof the crew--was the first to put his foot upon the crossing; then,turning to the people, he said:
"Be careful, and not glance behind or down, or you will lose yourbalance and fall."
Lianor, who, by her husband's wish, had given her child to one of themen, followed closely behind Manuel, who held his boy in his arms.
Silently, without daring to murmur one word, the men walked bravelyonward.
They were nearly half way across.
Manuel had indeed touched firm ground, when a sudden cry from herlittle girl made Lianor turn in affright to see what ailed her.
That move was fatal; the next instant she had lost her footing andfallen into the dashing torrent.
With a despairing shriek Manuel stopped, and had not some one held himback, would have dashed in after his wife. Panteleone, who saw achance of saving her, quickly slipped over the side, caught her in hisaims as she was about to sink, then bore her to land.
Forgetful of all others, Manuel threw himself beside her still form,from which all life seemed to have fled, calling wildly on her name,pressing passionate kisses on her cold face, hoping by the warmth ofhis caresses to bring back the color to her cheeks.
But it was useless; Lianor was dead; her head having struck against arock, caused instant unconsciousness, from which they could not rouseher.
When Tonza realized the awful truth he rose to his feet, pale andhaggard, his eyes full of despairing anguish.
"It is just; my sin is punished. My wife, the only thing I loved onearth, for whose sake I committed crime, is taken from me! She alonehad power to make me happy; without her I cannot live. It is time Iconfessed all, and you shall be my judges. It was I who caused thedeath of Luiz Falcam, that I might win his betrothed; and when I heardthat Diniz Sampayo had discovered partly the truth, I had him throwninto prison on suspicion of having stolen the very poignard with whichLuiz had met his death--one that I myself had placed in the assassin'shand! You all know how he escaped, but he is an exile for my fault. Ifever you should see him, tell him his innocence is established; he canreturn to India in peace. You have heard my story, now judge me;" andwith arms crossed over his breast, his head bowed in deepest grief andhumility, he waited his sentence.
A dead hush fell over the group, broken only by the suppressed sobs ofSavitre, who was crouching beside Lianor, and the pitiful moans of thelittle girl dying in one of the rough seamen's arms.
At last Pantaleone, a look of compassion on his face, went towards hisfriend, and, laying his head on Tonza's shoulder, said gently:
"My cousin, you have sinned, but God has sent your punishment; that issufficient. Live to devote your life to bringing up the littlemotherless children left to you. Restore Sampayo to his own again;then try, by true repentance, to atone for the wrong you did him."
Tonza raised his head, and glanced gratefully at Panteleone; but hiseyes were full of firm resolution none could understand.
"You are good, but my life is worth nothing, now she has gone. See,this poor babe will soon follow her mother. Garcia I leave to you; heis too young to realize his loss; but never let him know his father'ssin!" he exclaimed hoarsely; and, after pressing his boy tightly tohis breast, kissed the dying child; then softly lifting Lianor in hisarms, he first pressed his lips reverently on her pale brow, and,before any one could prevent him, or realize what he was about to do,he had sprang from the rock into the deep torrent, and disappearedwith his precious burden from their view.
A cry of horror burst from the lips of all present, and many effortswere made to find their bodies; but in vain.
With saddened hearts the people turned away, and continued theirjourney, praying they might ere long find help and shelter.
Before the day had closed another soul had winged its flight toHeaven, and the tiny waxen form of Lianor's baby-girl left in its lastresting-place in the golden sand.
A small wooden house, surrounded by sweet-scented flowers of brightesthue, amongst which a beautiful, dark-eyed woman was softly gliding,culling large clusters of the delicate blossoms.
As she stopped to gather a few rich carnations, singing in a low,musical voice, a man, young and handsome, slipped from beneath thepretty porch, and walking noiselessly behind her, suddenly lifted herin his strong arms, pressing the slight form tenderly to his breast.
"Take care, Diniz," she cried, warningly, a ring of deepest joythrilling her clear voice. "You will spoil all my flowers!"
"Except the fairest of all--yourself. Ah, Miriam, my darling! howhappy we have been since that day when you so generously saved me froma felon's doom!" rapturously kissing the beautiful, dark face so nearhis own.
Their bliss was broken by a crowd of brown-skinned people, movingtoward the cottage, seemingly acting under some emotion.
"What has happened? What is it?" husband and wife criedsimultaneously.
"We have seen a party of white men, doubtlessly shipwrecked on thecoast, coming in this direction. They are even now in sight," one mansaid quickly.
Diniz flushed, and his eyes grew bright with suppressed joy.
"Perhaps
some of our countrymen, Miriam. Let us hasten forward towelcome them," he cried eagerly; and leading his wife, while the crowdfollowed curiously behind, Sampayo hurried in the direction fromwhence the strangers were coming.
It was not long before they met the tired crew, now dwindled to abouttwenty, many having perished on the way.
As Diniz stepped towards the first stranger, on whose arm leaned ayoung and beautiful woman, a low cry burst from his lips.
"Panteleone!" he gasped, "is it really you?"
"What, Diniz!" and the two friends, separated for so long a time,warmly clasped hands.
"But how comes it that you are like this?"
Panteleone briefly related their voyage from India, and the disastrousend. Tears shone in his eyes when he recounted the sad death of Lianorand her husband.
"Poor, poor girl! How sorry I am!" Diniz said mournfully, whileMiriam, scarcely able to repress her sobs, drew Lianor's orphan boy inher arms, and bore him to their pretty home.
"You are welcome--all!" Sampayo said gently, turning to thehaggard-looking seamen. "Come."
A few days later a grand old ship, bound for Portugal, started fromthat coast, bearing the wrecked crew to their former destination.
Amongst those on board were Diniz and his wife (Phenee had long sincejoined his forefathers), who, now his innocence was made known, had nolonger the fear of being imprisoned, and could return in safety to hisnative land.
Panteleone's father received Savitre with almost paternal love, andsome months after their arrival, when their mourning for poor Lianorwas lessened, the two faithful hearts became one.
Little Garcia, Tonza's son, was tenderly nurtured in their tranquilhome, and the aunt he loved so dearly became a second mother,replacing the one he had lost.
No shadow of his father's sin darkened his young life; he livedunconscious of the sad fate of his mother, who, won by crime, by herdeath avenged Luiz Falcam, for, through her, Manuel Tonza had atonedfor all.
THE END.
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Dyke Darrel the Railroad Detective; Or, The Crime of the Midnight Express Page 33
