CONCLUSION.
Ten days had passed since this frightful catastrophe. In an arid and
sandy plain, on the borders of a lake, the stagnant and blackish
waters of which seemed stamped with immobility, a troop of some thirty
horsemen had established a temporary camp.
The horsemen of whom we speak had arrived in this spot scarcely two
hours. A part of them wore the European costume, while the others were
dressed in the Indian manner.
The first were Zeno Cabral, the Marquis de Castelmelhor, Emile
Gagnepain, the Marchioness de Castelmelhor and her daughter, Doña Eva.
Ten Montoneros, probably serving as an escort, and commanded by Don
Sylvio Quiroga, had established themselves a little way off.
The number of the Indians was greater than that of the whites; they
also formed a separate encampment under the orders of Tarou Niom,
Diogo, Gueyma, and Arnal.
All the persons of whom we speak had, on the invitation of Zeno Cabral,
come with him to this desolate spot, without even suspecting the
motives which had led the Montonero to bring them there.
Zeno Cabral, who for nearly an hour had been in conference with Diogo
and Gueyma, at last came out of the enramada; and the two chiefs
followed him, with downcast eyes and sad countenances.
With a gesture, Zeno Cabral called all his friends around him.
"Come, señor marquis," said the partisan; "and you also, Madame--and
you, señorita."
These three persons, who till then had remained a little distance off,
then came forward. Emile and Tyro immediately placed themselves without
ceremony near the ladies.
Zeno Cabral feigned not to observe this movement.
Each one waited with secret anxiety for what was about to transpire;
the silence was so profound and solemn that the flight of a bird, if
there had been any birds in that desolate plain, would have been heard.
Zeno Cabral at last raised his head, which till that moment had fallen
sorrowfully on his breast; his face was livid, his eyes were hollow and
bloodshot; he was a prey to emotion so violent that his whole body was
agitated with convulsive movements.
"Friends," said he, in a sad tone, "I thank you for having consented
to follow me here, where a great act of justice and of expiation is
to be performed. Many years have passed since the day when that crime
was committed, to be the avenger of which is my terrible task; it is
in this place, which none of you knew before coming here with me, that
this vengeance is to be accomplished."
Then, after a moment of silence, he added, turning towards the general:
"Marquis de Castelmelhor, you remember the unfortunate Laura?"
"I remember," answered the marquis, in a stifled voice; "I have been
criminal and cowardly; I have carried despair and shame into a family
which offered me paternal hospitality; in contempt of all divine and
human laws, I committed a horrible crime, not only in trying to seize
on the fortune of my benefactor, but in robbing him by carrying off his
daughter, whom I never loved, but whom I wished to make use of as a
means of securing the riches that I coveted."
All the persons present were struck with astonishment on hearing the
man speak thus; the marchioness concealed her face; Doña Eva threw
herself into the arms of her mother; Zeno Cabral alone remained calm,
cold, and impassive.
"So," said he, "you admit you are guilty?"
"Yes; but the crimes of the young man have been atoned for, if such
crimes can be, by the honourable and loyal conduct of the man of riper
years."
"You lie, Marquis de Castelmelhor," coldly interrupted Zeno Cabral.
"Caballero," cried the general, quickly raising his head, and
instinctively carrying his hand to his side, as if to take the sword
which was not there.
"You lie," resumed Zeno Cabral; "the mature man has if possible been
more criminal than the young man; he has assassinated the wife of his
best friend. Gueyma, there is the assassin of your mother!"
"Oh!" cried the young man.
"The mature man," Zeno Cabral continued, "after having seduced the
girl, abandoned her child in the streets of Rio Janeiro, and poisoned
her whom he had dishonoured in order to seize on her fortune. The child
was saved by me, and confided to the Guaycurus: it was Dove's Eye. The
middle-aged man--the general in the service of Brazil--was arrested
by me ten days ago, at the moment when he was preparing to sell the
interests of his master to another wretch like himself."
With an instinctive movement, the marchioness abruptly seized the
arm of her daughter, and snatched her away from the man whom she had
so loved, to whom she had sacrificed all, and who she learned was a
monster.
The persons present, mute with horror, heard as in a dream the recital
of these horrible crimes, so clearly and calmly detailed.
"Thrown in spite of myself on the path of this man," resumed Zeno
Cabral; "mixed up unwillingly with his career, I followed him step
by step, day by day, for many years; I have no right to call him to
account for his crimes, except for one--the most horrible of all--the
first. Blood for blood, eye for eye, tooth for tooth--This man killed
my sister; I will kill him." Then, placing his right hand on the
shoulder of the general, "Marquis de Castelmelhor," continued he, "look
around you; there is the diamond country that you wished to reach, the
secret relative to which you sought to steal from my sister, who did
not possess it; all the sand which surrounds us for a distance of ten
leagues abounds with diamonds; this country belongs to me, for it was
discovered by my grandfather, and no one after him has ever seen it;
well, rejoice, Marquis de Castelmelhor," cried he, with an accent of
terrible irony; "this country I give you; all these diamonds are yours;
henceforth you shall possess them forever." Turning then towards the
Montoneros: "Dig a hole," said he, in a hollow voice; "this man shall
be buried alive on a bed of diamonds!"
At this terrible conclusion, the marchioness uttered a piercing cry,
and fell fainting to the ground. Eva became wildly delirious. Emile and
Tyro, mad with grief, in vain lavished on the girl and her mother the
most devoted attentions.
Meanwhile, according to the order of Zeno Cabral, two Montoneros had
proceeded to dig the grave.
The witnesses of this horrible scene exchanged terrified looks, not
daring in any other way to express the sentiments which agitated them.
Suddenly Arnal advanced rapidly towards Zeno Cabral.
"Stop, caballero," said he in a firm voice; "stop, take care that
you are not criminal yourself, while thinking you are but a judge;
vengeance belongs only to God; that man did not kill your sister."
"I have proofs of his crime."
"You cannot have the proofs of that which does not exist," pursued
Arnal, with energy.
"What do you mean?"
"Your sister is not dead."
This unexpected piece of news, of such powerful interest, completely
changed the aspect of the scene, and everyone crowded round him.
"She is alive," cried Tarou Niom.
Arnal let go the hand of the partisan, which, until that time he had
held in his own, and looking at him with an expression of, pain and of
infinite tenderness:
"Oh, men, men!" cried he, with feverish energy, "Will the heart of
woman then always remain incomprehensible to you? Will you never be
able to read a single page of it? Can you not understand that your
sister--that artless and pure child of sixteen years, downcast by the
grief of an unmerited shame, succumbing under the weight of a fault
that she never committed--did not choose to bend her stainless brow,
and to blush before that implacable world for which appearances are
everything, and which always thinks the worst? Will you not admit,
then, that sublime abnegation which has made her, still living, cut
herself off from the world which respects the dead martyr, whom living
it would insult?"
"But," cried Zeno Cabral, dumfounded by these words, spoken in a tone
of irresistible truthfulness, "who has told you that this is really the
case?"
"Who--who?" murmured Arnal, in a feeble and trembling voice.
And, taking off her hat, she allowed some long and silky brown hair to
fall in disorder on her shoulders.
"Laura! My sister!" cried the partisan, rushing towards her.
"My brother! My brother!" murmured she, in a broken voice.
"Courage, my child!" said Tarou Niom, gently.
Suddenly the sound of a pistol was heard; everyone turned with anxiety;
the marquis, with his skull fractured, was writhing in agony.
"I have revenged my mother," said Gueyma, coldly, showing the smoking
weapon that he still held in his hand.
* * * * *
Laura, notwithstanding the prayers and supplications of her brother,
would never consent to abandon the Guaycurus, with whom she had found,
for so many years, such constant protection. She lived with Gueyma and
Dove's Eye, often visited by her brother.
The marchioness died of grief a few months only after the terrible
death of her husband, reproaching herself to her last hour for the love
that she had still for his memory. Before her dying hour, she united
her daughter to the French painter, whose devotion, under the trying
circumstances in which she had found herself, was so valuable.
Emile Gagnepain is Marquis de Castelmelhor, but he can never get
accustomed to his title. Every time that it is given to him, he
looks round him to see who is being addressed, and then he laughs on
perceiving his mistake.
Tyro is his steward.