HOW THE VIRTUOUS RUSSELL FINDS A FRIEND IN NEED.
It is necessary here to go back for a brief interval in order to take
up the fortunes of one who some time ago disappeared from these
pages.
The virtuous Russell was alone. He had passed a night which,
considering his situation, had not been altogether uncomfortable. He
had slept a refreshing sleep, and in the land of dreams had been able
to forget the ills of life. Morning came, however, and with his
waking thoughts there returned the recollection of the past, and the
full consciousness of his present position. He was a captive in a
prison from which he could not hope to escape; at the mercy of a
powerful and cunning enemy, who knew his secret, and would use every
effort to get his money. If he refrained for the present from
exerting violence, it was only too probable that this forbearance was
but temporary, and that at the last the prisoner must yield.
These were gloomy thoughts, and the good Russell was well-nigh
overwhelmed.
But the greatest calamities are often alleviated by comparative
trifles; and so it was a trifle which, on this occasion, served to
soothe the sorrows of our suffering friend--such a trifle, in fact,
as a mere costume. Whether it was that, being a tailor, he was more
affected than others by his raiment; or whether it was that a man's
dress has, as is claimed, a potent influence which always affects the
wearer, need not be discussed; certain it is that just now it was his
novel attire which chiefly engaged the thoughts of Russell, and made
him less sensible of his misfortunes.
As a dress it was certainly magnificent. The cloth was of the finest
quality. Gold was lavished freely upon it--gleaming in the numerous
buttons; shining in the profuse lace which glittered over the breast
and round the cuffs and round the collar in a flood of glory;
sparkling in the hatband; flowing down the skirts like the oil from
Aaron's beard. Many a time had his own fancy designed and his own
hands fashioned such an array as this for others; but now, as it
infolded his own ample person, it shone with new lustre, and threw
something of its own lustre around the wearer.
And now, as the actor, when arrayed in the robes of majesty, assumes
a kingly port and struts about the stage, so our Russell. He took to
himself the part which the uniform suggested. He felt like the
general of an army. He threw out his chest, stood erect, strutted,
admired his figure and his gait, waved in his hand an imaginary
sword, and guided invisible armies to the field of battle.
In the midst of all this he was suddenly roused by a slight noise
behind him.
Turning hastily, he saw a woman, who had entered bearing some
articles of food for his morning's repast. In a moment Russell
descended from the lofty heights of imagination to the dull realities
of a cold world, and, in plain language, began to feel rather
sheepish at being discovered in such a frame of mind. Nay, this very
frame of mind, this new sense of personal dignity as general, made
his chagrin all the greater.
The woman was attired in a picturesque costume, such as is worn by
the lower orders in the North of Spain, with the addition, however,
of a bright-colored turban. Her face was decidedly handsome, though
rather too sharp in outline and expression, while at the same time
decidedly the worse for wear. A pair of fine bold black eyes were
fixed upon Russell with an expression of undisguised admiration as
she stood looking at him. The moment he turned she looked down, and
then, dropping a courtesy, said:
"Breakfast, senor."
Upon this she deposited her tray upon a heavy oak table, and then
stood looking at him with the same expression as before. There was
something in all this which was flattering to the vanity of Russell;
arid he stood regarding the woman with very much complaisance. And as
he looked at her, he thought to himself that she was a very pretty
woman.
The woman then said, still looking at him:
"Beaut'ful! Oh, lovela!"
She spoke in broken English; and Russell, while flattered by her
admiration, was delighted at hearing his own language.
"Do you speak English, my dear?" he said, in a tone of affectionate
familiarity, drawing nearer to her.
"Oh yes--me speek Inglees--me in Cuba--learn speek Inglees--vara
mooch."
"Oh! so you've been in Cuba, have you, my dear? Well, Cuba's a very
pretty country, and you're a very pretty woman."
The woman smiled, showing rows of splendid teeth.
"Senor mus' be a gran' nobile--a generale."
Russell smiled a lofty smile, and laid his hand patronizingly, yet
tenderly, upon the woman's shoulder.
"You are a very sensible woman," said he, "and as pretty as you are
sensible. What is your name?"
"Rita," said the woman.
"Well, Rita, I dare say you and I shall be great friends."
[Illustration: "Beaut'ful! Oh, Lovela!"]
"Friends! oh, senor is too much magnifico--"
"Oh, I ain't proud, my dear--not a bit, not a mite. I've got plenty
of money, Rita, and can help my friends; but I ain't proud, not me.
And what may be your particular duties in this establishment?"
"Senor?"
"I say, what do you do here? Are you house-keeper?"
"Senor, I am maid--to the lady prisoners--an' other things--to servar
and attendar."
"Prisoners, eh? Do they have many of them here?"
"Oh--sometime," said Rita, with a laugh; "ladies and gen'l'ms."
Russell looked at her with a benignant smile.
"Well, Rita, all that I can say is, it's a pity that such a pretty
woman as you cannot have some better fortune than this."
Rita laughed.
"Ah, senor, you a flattera!"
"Oh no. I'm a plain, blunt, bluff, honest John Bull. But the fact is,
you are very pretty, Rita, my dear!"
Rita laughed again at this, and her large black eyes fixed themselves
with bolder admiration upon the benignant face and splendid dress of
the gallant tailor.
Here a happy thought occurred to Russell's mind.
It was evident that this woman was already an admiring friend. Could
he not, in some way, work upon her so as to attract her to his
interests? Her help would be invaluable. She might, if she chose, do
much; she might even help him to escape. It was worth trying. To win
her over to his side, there was nothing which he would not try. But
how could he get her help? By bribery? Of course, to a certain
extent; but it would be well to be cautious, and not offer too much.
Other means might be used.
By gaining her good-will, she would be more accessible to a bribe,
and would be less exacting.
Now, Russell was sharp at a bargain, and by no means anxious to pay
more than he could help. Even where his own liberty, even where his
life was concerned, he paused to consider the expense. He resolved to
bribe this woman, but to name no price, to let it be undecided, to
agree in a general way; and afterward, should he succeed in gaining
his liberty, to cut the amount down as low as possible. He also
resolved to put money out of the question as far as he could, and
work upon her good-will and her affections, rather than her avarice.
The woman's open, undisguised admiration seemed to promise an easy
conquest. To him she appeared to have a frank, guileless, impetuous
disposition, all of which was a great help to the furtherance of his
designs.
Russell looked all around.
"Oh," said Rita, "do not fear--all away."
"Come, my dear," said Russell; "sit down here by my side; I want to
talk with you."
Russell seated himself on an oaken bench, and Rita promptly seated
herself by his side. She sat by him, and looked at him with a smile,
and with the same fervid admiration.
"The pretty child!" thought Russell, as he caught the glance of her
glowing eyes. "How she does admire me!"
"So you are an attendant here, are you, Rita, my dear?" he asked.
"Yes."
"But it isn't good enough for such a pretty woman as you are!" he
continued.
"Ah, senor, what do you mean?" said Rita. "What can I do better?"
"But you ought to be something better--far better. Would you not like
to--"
"Like what?" asked Rita, who was full of excitement.
"Well," said Russell, "to have plenty of money, to have beautiful
clothes, to live in a beautiful house, to have jewels, to have
amusements, and so forth?"
Rita's dark eyes flashed fire with eager covetousness at this
alluring speech.
"Oh, senor," she said, "it is impossible."
"Rita!" said Russell, in a solemn voice.
"Senor!"
"Look at me."
"Si, senor."
Rita had been looking at him all along fixedly enough, but at this
invitation she threw additional earnestness into the deep glance of
her bold, dark eyes.
"You see what I am, Rita, my dear. I am a prisoner--in grief, in
despair. Now, if any one would help me, I could do very much for that
one."
"You are a gran' nobile?" said Rita, in an inquiring tone.
"Oh yes," said Russell, in his large way; "and, what's more, I can
make you happy for the rest of your life. I like you, Rita. I'm quite
fond of you. You're an uncommonly pretty woman."
Saying this, Russell took Rita's hand and pressed it with much
emphasis. Now, the interpretation which Rita put upon these words and
this action was very different from what Russell intended. The
benignant Russell merely wished to impress upon Rita's mind that he
had very friendly feelings toward her, and that, if she would help
him, he was in a position to reward her handsomely. He didn't want to
name any sum. He wished, for obvious reasons, to leave the amount
unsettled. But Rita understood it differently. Being of a sentimental
turn, she regarded this as a sort of declaration of love--in fact,
almost an offer of marriage--and, if not so altogether, at least an
approach to it. Still, she was a shrewd woman, and waited until
Russell had explained himself further.
Russell observed her silence, and was quite satisfied. It showed
proper caution, and caution was an excellent quality in one whom he
wished to have for a helper in his need. So he went on in the same
way, still holding Rita's hand.
"You are so pretty, Rita, my dear, I swear I never before saw such a
pretty woman. This isn't the place for you. You must get out of this;
and if you will only go away with me, why, there's nothing that I
wouldn't do for you. When I like a person, I'm ready to do anything
for them. And the first moment I saw you, I said to myself, 'There's
the woman for you!'"
"Am I really the woman for you?" asked Rita, full of excited hopes,
and still continuing to misinterpret his words.
"The very one!" said Russell. "The one of all others! Heaven has sent
you to me. Rita, my dear, do what I ask!"
Rita was deeply moved. This brilliant, wealthy stranger seemed to
love her. He wanted her to fly with him. But, oh, if he should prove
false!
"Ah, senor, you not earnest--you not true!" said Rita, clasping his
hand in both of hers.
"True! earnest!" cried Russell. "I swear, Rita, my dear, I will be
true to what I say--always, always! Can't you trust me, Rita, my
dear?"
"Oh, senor," sighed Rita, deeply moved, "you persuade me too easy.
And think on the danger--the life is risk--the death will come if we
are captura."
"Rita, my dear," said Russell, "let us not talk of danger. Let us fly
together. I will always remember your devotion. I will never forget
you as long as life lasts. I am noted for my truth and fidelity. I've
got a warm and throbbing heart. And now, Rita, my dear, if you want
one who will always be yours truly--if you want one who will love you
and care for you--why, I'm your man!"
Upon these words Rita put, as usual, her own interpretation. The last
words especially--"I'm your man"--seemed to her to be the most direct
offer yet.
"My man?" she said--"and will you be my man, senor?"
"Of course--of course," said Russell, not comprehending her drift.
Upon this Rita flung her arms around the neck of the astonished
Russell.
"Oh, senor--then--I helpa you. I yours--I do all. We fly--you be
true--to your Rita."
Russell was so astonished that for some time he said nothing; but
feeling how important it was to retain her friendship, he did not
dare to disabuse her of her false idea; nay, he even felt that it
would be better for her to entertain it since she had it. So he put
his arm around her and kissed her.
Suddenly Rita started up.
"I mus' go," she said. "I will soon return."
And with these words she hurriedly retreated, leaving Russell to his
breakfast and his meditations.
Russell had been very successful in his attempt to win over Rita to
his interests; in fact, too successful. His success caused him at
first not a little perplexity. Rita, he perceived, had misunderstood
him; but then, in making friendly advances to a woman who was not
very well up in the English language, it was next to impossible to
preserve those nice and delicate shades of meaning which he had
intended. Upon the whole, however, after mature consideration, he
concluded that it had all turned out for the best.
It was evident that this woman had formed a very strong attachment
for him. Very well. She would be all the more devoted to his
interests, and turn all her thoughts and energies toward securing his
escape. Things could not have turned out better. He had not intended
it, but if Rita chose to misunderstand him, why should he try to
undeceive her? The more she cared for him, the better it would be for
him. And thus Russell, out of his selfish desires for his own safety,
allowed himself to trifle with the heart's best affections, and
beguile poor Rita, and allure her with hopes that could never be
realized.
After all, however, there were grave obstacles in his way. Could he
desert his wife and leave her in such peril? Or, worse, could he
leave those precious bonds, which he had so carefully hidden? If he
did, he might never see them again.
Was it possible to get them before leaving? Would it be safe to tell
Rita, and direct her to get them for him? This thought occupied him
for some time, and he almost made up his mind to do so. But the risk
was too great. After all, Rita might be a spy in the interests of
"His Majesty," and sent to worm his secret out of him.
No, it would not be safe. It would be safer to leave the bonds where
they were. If he escaped, he might hope to obtain assistance from the
Government, in which case he might be able to come back with them, to
show them the way, and then, when the castle was recaptured, he might
be able to regain his treasure. And so he decided finally upon this
course.
At midday Rita returned, bringing his dinner, a savory _olla
podrida_. She set it down, and then threw her arms around the
embarrassed Russell, who was seated on the bench, murmuring words of
endearment in unintelligible Spanish. He bore it well, however, and,
remembering his necessities, he tried to exhibit those feelings which
might be expected from him.
Rita this time had a bundle with her, which she gave to Russell,
directing him to hide it under the bench for the present.
"You mus' disguisar," she said; "this is a woman dress--"
"A woman's dress?"
"Oh, no difficolta. You wait till avenin', then you put him on, ofer
your militar coat--just as you stands. Alla right; then you
disguisado, and commalong me. I be alla ready. You waita forra mi.
But not you put him on till avenin', or mighta be discovaire, you
know. Ha, senor?"