The guests of Casa Grande--there were many besides Alvarado and his
party; the house was full again--were gathered with the family on the
corridor as Estenega, Chonita, and Prudencia dismounted at the extreme
end of the court-yard. As Reinaldo saw the enemy of his house approach
he ran down the steps, advanced rapidly, and bowed low before him.
"Welcome, Señor Don Diego Estenega," he said,--"welcome to Casa
Grande. The house is thine. Burn it if thou wilt. The servants are
thine; I myself am thy servant. This is the supreme moment of my life,
supremer even than when I learned of my acquittal of the foul
charges laid to my door by scheming and jealous enemies. It is
long--alas!--since an Estenega and an Iturbi y Moncada have met in
the court-yard of the one or the other. Let this moment be the seal of
peace, the death of feud, the unification of the North and the South."
"You have the hospitality of the true Californian, Don Reinaldo. It
gives me pleasure to accept it."
"Would, then, thy pleasure could equal mine!" "Curse him!" he added to
Chonita, as Estenega went up the steps to greet Don Guillermo and Doña
Trinidad, "I have just received positive information that it was
he who kept me from distinguishing myself and my house in the
Departmental Junta, he who cast me in a dungeon. It poisons my
happiness to sleep under the same roof with him."
"Ay!" exclaimed Chonita. "Why canst thou not be more sincere, my
brother? Hospitality did not compel thee to say so much to thine
enemy. Couldst thou not have spoken a few simple words like himself,
and not blackened thy soul?"
"My sister! thou never spokest to me so harshly before. And on my
marriage eve!"
"Forgive me, my most beloved brother. Thou knowest I love thee. But it
grieves me to think that even hospitality could make thee false."
When they ascended the steps, not a woman was to be seen; all had
followed Prudencia to her chamber to see the _donas_ of the groom,
which had arrived that day from Mexico. Chonita tarried long enough to
see that her father had forgotten the family grievance in his revived
susceptibility to Estenega, then went to Prudencia's room. There
women, young and old, crowded each other, jabbering like monkeys. The
little iron bed, the chairs and tables, every article of furniture,
in fact, but the altar in the corner, displayed to advantage exquisite
materials for gowns, a mass of elaborate underclothing, a white lace
mantilla to be worn at the bridal, lace flounces fine and deep, crêpe
shawls, sashes from Rome, silk stockings by the dozen. On a large
table were the more delicate and valuable gifts: a rosary of topaz,
the cross a fine piece of carving; a jeweled comb; a string of
pearls; diamond hoops for the ears; a large pin painted with a head of
Guadalupe, the patron saint of California; and several fragile
fans. Quite apart, on a little table, was the crown and pride of the
_donas_,--six white cobweb-like smocks, embroidered, hemistitched, and
deshaladoed. Did any Californian bridegroom forget that dainty item he
would be repudiated on his wedding-eve.
"God of my life!" murmured Valencia, "he has taste as well as gold.
And all to go on that round white doll!"
There was little envy among the other girls. Their eyes sparkled with
good-nature as they kissed Prudencia and congratulated her. The older
women patted the things approvingly; and, between religion, a _donas_
to satisfy an angel, and prospective bliss, Prudencia was the happiest
little bride-elect in all The Californias.
"Never were such smocks!" cried one of the girls. "Ay! he will make a
good husband. That sign never fails."
"Thou must wear long, long trains now, my Prudencia, and be as stately
as Chonita."
"Ay!" exclaimed Prudencia. Did not every gown already made have a
train longer than herself?
"Thou needst never wear a mended stocking with all these to last thee
for years," said another: never had silk stockings been brought to
the Californias in sufficient plenty for the dancing feet of its
daughters.
"I shall always mend my stockings," said Prudencia, "I myself."
"Yes," said one of the older women, "thou wilt be a good wife and
waste nothing."
Valencia laid her arm about Chonita's waist. "I wish to meet Don Diego
Estenega," she said. "Wilt thou not present him to me?"
"Thou art very forward," said Chonita, coldly. "Canst thou not wait
until he comes thy way?"
"No, my Chonita; I wish to meet him now. My curiosity devours me."
"Very well; come with me and thou shalt know him.--Wilt thou come too,
Eustaquia? There are only men on the corridor."
We found Diego and Don Guillermo talking politics in a corner, both
deeply interested. Estenega rose at once.
"Don Diego Estenega," said Chonita, "I would present you to the
Señorita Doña Valencia Menendez, of the Rancho del Fuego."
Estenega bowed. "I have heard much of Doña Valencia, and am delighted
to meet her."
Valencia was nonplussed for a moment; he had not given her the
customary salutation, and she could hardly murmur the customary reply.
She merely smiled and looked so handsome that she could afford to
dispense with words.
"A superb type," said Estenega to me, as Don Guillermo claimed
the beauty's attention for a moment. "But only a type; nothing
distinctive."
Nevertheless, ten minutes later, Valencia, with the manoeuvring of the
general of many a battle, had guided him to a seat in the sala under
Doña Trinidad's sleepy wing, and her eyes were flashing the language
of Spain to his. I saw Chonita watch them for a moment, in mingled
surprise and doubt, then saw a sudden look of fear spring to her eyes
as she turned hastily and walked away.
Again I shared her room,--the thirty rooms and many in the
out-buildings were overflowing with guests who had come a hundred
leagues or less,--and after we had been in bed a half-hour, Chonita,
overcome by the insinuating power of that time-honored confessional,
told me of her meeting with Estenega at the Mission. I made few
comments, but sighed; I knew him so well. "It will be strange to even
seem to be friends with him," she added,--"to hate him in my heart and
yet delight to talk with him, and perhaps to regret when he leaves."
"Are you sure that you still hate him?"
She sat up in bed. The solid wooden shutters were closed, but over the
door was a small square aperture, and through this a stray moonbeam
drifted and fell on her. Her hair was tumbling about her shoulders,
and she looked decidedly less statuesque than usual.
"Eustaquia," she said, solemnly, "I believe I can go to confession."