When Father Felix left the prado he went directly to the church where he
officiated, and, thence, into the small refectory behind it; here, he
removed the flowing vestments he had worn when engaged in the enterprise
which we have described in a previous chapter of this book, and assumed
a more conventional and handy garb for he had work to do that would
require all the strength of his arms and all the muscles of his broad
back; he had set himself a task that was never meant for priestly hands
to do, and, in the doing of it, he would need all the strength that
years of careful living and an inherited and bounding health had
bestowed upon him.
He, at once, began preparations for the work he had to do, and, to begin
with, he adjusted the heavy cross which he always wore about his neck so
that it would hang exactly in front of him and not over-balance his body
by being on one side or the other; this cross had been a relic much
prized by him of an old Priest with whom he had studied and whose
sainted memory he revered almost as much as that of the saints whom he
had been taught to worship along with the Virgin Mary and The Babe of
Bethlehem; then, he put on next to his skin a hair-cloth shirt so
constructed as not to scratch and yet to be very warm; over this he
placed a heavy riding-coat which had been given to him by one of those
who attended the services he conducted in the church; these garments,
together with heavy breeches and warm, woolen stockings worn under heavy
boots, completed, with the addition of a broad-brimmed hat, a disguise
that would deceive almost any person who was acquainted with his
ordinary appearance.
Having clothed himself to his own satisfaction, he took a heavy stick he
had handy in his strong right hand and proceeded to leave the vicinity
where he was accustomed, at all hours, to be found, and, stealthily and
quietly, exercising all the precaution of which he was capable, he
proceeded up the street that ran behind the little church with as much
of haste as was consistent with the object of his journey.
When he had gone about two blocks from the church he turned sharply to
his left and proceeded about as far again up the street that led away
from the village, then, turning again to his left, he walked briskly for
another block or two, when he came to a sharp turn and paused as if in
doubt as to just which turn to take, when, suddenly, as if from the
ground at his feet, he heard a low voice addressing him in no uncertain
language:
"Turn toward the right side of this street," whispered the voice, "take
the right-hand side of this street and then turn again toward the left
when you have gone for two more blocks toward the right. You will find
the object of your search has been in waiting for you for some hours and
is now growing impatient ... so make all possible haste, good Father
Felix ... make all possible haste for she is sore pressed with fatigue
and fear."
When the voice had ceased speaking to him, Father Felix followed the
direction it gave him, implicitly, and found, indeed, as it had assured
him, the object of the night-journey he had just made, waiting for him
with great impatience, coupled with much fear and dread of consequences;
he hastened to reassure her as soon as he reached her side by saying
softly to her:
"Be of good cheer, dear Madam. The work that you commissioned me to do
has been well done and all of the prisoners excepting one are now at
liberty. Unfortunately, one of our friends lost his life just before the
wide doors of the prison were burst open ... no one seems to know how
this came about, but we found his dead body across the very entrance as
if, indeed, he had been about to join our ranks outside when death
overtook and stopped him."
"Which of the prisoners was killed?" asked the woman who had been
waiting there for his coming, eagerly and apprehensively.
"I do not suppose that you were acquainted with the young fellow ..."
answered the good Father Felix, soothingly, "he was called Victorio
Colenzo ... he was the lover of a girl I know very well and she was with
the crowd, who followed me; she dashed into the entrance of the prison
and held his head, which had been almost severed from its body, in her
lap until she fainted and became mercifully unconscious of her horrible
surroundings ... the poor girl was almost crazed with agony and regret,
for she had flouted him to some extent because of his revolutionary
sentiments...."
He had gotten that far in his narrative little thinking of the intense
interest it had for the woman listening to it, until he happened to look
earnestly at her when he saw, in an instant, that it held for her great
personal appeal; he stopped at that knowledge and waited for her to
explain the situation if so be she wished to do so; at length, between
low-drawn sobs, she said, falteringly:
"You say Victorio Colenzo was the lover of some light girl you know?
Indeed, you are much mistaken. Instead of being any girl's lover, he
belonged solely to me. He was my own dearly beloved husband, Father
Felix. I had not yet told you of our marriage for I wanted you to think
of me only in my own personal right, but I am the widow of the man whose
shameful and horrible death you have just been describing to me ... I am
the weeping widow of Victorio Colenzo, Father Felix, and, if it be in my
power, his death shall be avenged in blood!"
As she ceased speaking she put her hands before her face and gave way,
utterly, to her great sorrow, for she had but spoken the solemn truth
although no one of her many acquaintances suspected that she was a
married woman at all.
Father Felix was dumbfounded by the intelligence the young woman had
just given to him and pitied her from the very bottom of his tender
heart and he blamed his blundering tongue for giving to her such a shock
as he had just been the cause of; at the same time he could not blame
himself as much as he might have done had he not known of the marriage
contract of Estrella and this same man of whom he had been speaking; he
hastened to place this young girl in the right light before his
companion by saying:
"My dear Madam, as to the girl of whom I was just speaking, she is in
every sense of the word a good girl and innocent of any wrong intention;
if there is a sinner in this matter it was he who is now not to be
condemned by any human being, for he has gone before his Maker Who will
mete out to him whatever is his just dessert. I am deeply grieved that I
should have caused you this deep grief at this time, but, as the
circumstances are, you would have been obliged to know it very soon in
any case."
The young woman who had been waiting for the Priest to come to her to
make his report as to how he had done the work that she had set for him
to do, was beautiful as any dream of womanhood could ever be.
Her great gray eyes, that shone like stars upon a misty night, were
lifted to his face and questioned him as to the truth of his last
statement while they plainly showed the almost holy faith she had in all
he did:
"Dear Father Felix," she said, finally, stifling as best she could the
sobs that shook her slender figure, "dear Father Felix, I know you speak
the truth, and, yet, it does not seem to me that he could have ever been
a hypocrite such as a man would have to be to be what you infer he was.
He was my darling husband ... if he, also, was the lover of a trusting
girl, then he sinned most grievously ... it breaks my heart," she ended,
clasping her soft, white hands together spasmodically, "it breaks my
heart to think he could be such a villain as you say he was. Dear Father
Felix," she began again, for hope will sometimes come upon the very
heels of wild despair, "dear Father Felix, are you sure that this man
who is newly dead can be the Victorio Colenzo that I know ... the man
who is ... I hope he is ... my own dear husband? The one I mean was a
prisoner with the others you have liberated ... it was for his sake
alone that I arranged to have you do the work you've done ... might it
not be that you have been mistaken in the man? Might there not have
even been two men bearing the same name within that prison?"
Eagerly and hopefully, she questioned the good Priest. He sadly shook
his head and said to her:
"The young man whose body lay within the entrance to the prison when we
had battered down the door, was tall and very dark ... his hair was like
a raven's wing for blackness ... his eyes were like the falcon's in
their keenness ... he was a handsome fellow in every possible way and
the girl, Estrella, of whom I spoke, fairly worshipped him although her
own family flouted her for doing so, as he only came to see her at long
intervals and seemed ashamed to be seen with her ... seldom ever went
out anywhere with her, but they were plighted lovers ... that I know ...
they came to me together, one evening, in the church, and I blessed
their future union, believing him to be an honest man and knowing her to
be a gentle, true and loving girl."
"I fear he was my husband, Father Felix.... I fear the very one I hoped
to liberate has lost his life and lost his honor, too. Father Felix,
tell me how to bear this great and hopeless sorrow! _Is_ there any way
to bear a sorrow such as this one is? _Can_ I shut my Husband's memory
from my heart because I can no longer have respect for him? _Is_ there
any way," she wailed, pleadingly, "_is_ there any way to bear a sorrow
such as this one is? _Tell_ me, good Father, _tell_ me, is there any
way of escape for me who am as innocent as is this young girl of whom
you have just spoken? Is there some way in which I can assist her,
Father Felix? Perhaps it is my duty, under these circumstances, to hunt
her up and try to help her, who is, also, as it were, a widow of my
darling Husband. Must I do this, Father? Would it be my duty, as the
wife of Victorio Colenzo, to look this girl up and try to help her bear
her sorrow on account of his death?"
The good Priest looked at her in deep amazement, but he answered her as
calmly as he could command his voice to speak:
"No, my Daughter, no ... that would be going beyond reason as to duty.
It might be right for you to send her something if she were in need of
monetary assistance.... I do not think she is, however, I do not think
Estrella is in need of anything to live upon ... they had not been
married, you understand ... she was not his wife as you were ... only
just he'd promised he would marry her, sometime. No, you owe her nothing
more than womanly sympathy in her bereavement and you do not need to see
her at all, for that matter. It would give you unnecessary pain, it
seems to me. As for her, if we can, we will let her remain in ignorance
of the character of him she loved ... she would the sooner repair the
injury, it seems to me, if she could still respect his memory. It must
be doubly hard for you, my Daughter, to lose him and respect for him at
the same time ... yet, it would have been a terrible knowledge for you
to have gained ... that he had misled this innocent girl ... even during
his life. A man has little thought of the women who love him when he
plays fast and loose with more than one of them at a time, anyway. I
wish I knew what words to say to you to make you strong to bear this
misery, dear Daughter ... you must bear it all alone, I know that
much ... only God in His great Mercy, can assist you in this matter ...
only He can tell you what to do or how to endure your agony of spirit,
for only He can understand your heart. I am but a feeble instrument in
God's Own Hands, my dear, afflicted Daughter.... I am but a very feeble
instrument.... I wish I knew the way to help you bear this thing. I wish
that I could say the fitting word to turn your mind to other thoughts,
for only in the mind can fitting help be found ... only the spiritual
side of your strong nature can uphold you now."
He'd kept on talking to her hoping to alleviate her pain in some
degree ... hoping that her fits of violent and heart-breaking weeping
would grow farther and farther apart until they would cease altogether
so that, being calmer, she could better face this heavy burden that was
hers, and hers alone, to bear. Seeing no cessation of her sobs and moans
of agony of spirit, he began to speak of other matters, hoping to
distract her mind and turn her thoughts to other things, thereby giving
her an opportunity to face the sorrow that had come upon her so suddenly
with more strength than she would have if she continued to dwell on it
alone. So he bethought him of the soldiery and of their coming riding
into the prado and he began to tell her of this phase of the adventure
he had on her account, mainly. She listened calmly to this narrative and
even asked some questions, haltingly, but, just as soon as that account
was ended, she began again to ask concerning poor Victorio:
"Where have they taken his remains, good Father? Where can I find my
darling Husband's body? How can I bear to have to see his face which has
always to my knowledge been so full of life and youth and perfect health
lying stark and still with no expression in his glorious dark eyes that
always looked so lovingly at me? Father Felix, even now, it seems to me
that there must be some mistake about my Husband's being the same man
who was the lover of this girl you know about.... I think that I will
see her ... there ... beside my darling Husband's body and decide the
matter for myself instead of listening to the tales that have been told
to me. That is how I think I will proceed," she ended, then, quite
calmly, as it seemed, for secretly she then began to hope that it was
not her husband, after all, "That is how I will proceed about this
terrible calamity, Father Felix. I will see this girl beside the body
of the man she says has been her lover ... he may not be my darling
Husband, after all."
And so their conference ended, he giving her explicit directions as to
where Victorio's body had been placed, and she thanking him for carrying
out her wishes even though, as it seemed then, the very thing she had
him do the work for had failed her utterly.
Father Felix went back, then, to the refectory, with this complicated
matter bearing hard upon his heart. He pitied both the suffering women
very much and wished to help them both if so be he could find the proper
way to do the task in.
He pondered deeply on the various situations he'd surprised in carrying
out the project of the woman he had met, that night; she had not told
him of her plans in their entirety, and, so, it seemed, the very plans
she doted on the most had very far miscarried and the work, so far as
she had been concerned, had not only been as futile as any work could
ever be, but, also, it had brought to her a new and horrible calamity
besides the failure of her plans and loss of him she evidently deeply
loved as tender women love but only once in all their human lives,
perhaps, for Victorio Colenzo had been a man to claim the love of tender
women ... he was very tall and very handsome, too; his deep, dark eyes
were very full of loving expression and his strong arms, folded close
about a tender woman's yielding form, would lift her spirit up and make
her almost wild with joy and gladness.
And, as it looked now, those strong arms had been folded, not only round
his own wife's tender form, but, also, about, at least, one other
woman's, too. Good Father Felix reflected on the fraility of man and
pondered deeply on the tenderness of women, but he did not, even then,
reach the very root of the whole matter, for he, being what he was,
would not be very likely ever to know the heights and depths, as well,
of human love, for he had always been a religious devotee in spite of
his great strength of limb ... he'd only used his bodily powers to
forward the work to which his whole life was devoted utterly, and, so,
good Father Felix could not fully understand a man such as Victorio
Colenzo must have been to leave the record that he'd left behind him
when he died, there, in the entrance to that dark and gloomy prison,
just as he had been about to come again, a free man, into the glorious
light of day.