THE INXANOS
Robert Lisle walked home under the great stars that evening with a
new sense of restlessness at heart. He was rather a lonely young
man, feeling something of the alien in his grandfather’s house, yet
having cut loose from the ties which bound him to his native land. His
grandfather did not hesitate to remind him that he was not a Sterling
in name and that therefore he could not expect that inheritance which
might have fallen to him had he been born heir to a son of the house.
The old man was not unkind, but he was not a companionable person.
He had given his grandson the education which befitted his station,
had equipped him with the profession the boy preferred, and had
allowed him a place in his home whenever he should choose to accept
his hospitality. Having done this much he felt that he had fulfilled
his duty, and asked little in return. On one subject, however, he
had expressed a decided opinion: Robert should marry money, should
choose a wife of good family as well. Robert had tacitly accepted the
arrangement in not differing with his grandfather when the subject was
brought up, but to-night the idea suddenly became distasteful. Instead
of Miss Moffatt, whose neutral tints were of mental as well as of
physical quality, he saw a merry laughing witch of a maid, whose eyes
could be meltingly tender or full of mischief, who, while she appeared
only a little less than a trifler, nevertheless, had depths as yet
unstirred in her nature.
He had had glimpses of this underlying the exterior; he knew all that
her gay laughter hid. He had looked below the surface. The glad lady!
How well the name suited her. How well she would love once she had
given her heart. But--. He stood still in the road and looked back over
the long white way, then with an impatient fling he turned and trudged
on. “What’s the use,” he muttered. “I can’t afford it. I must not think
of it. A penniless, struggling fellow, what have I to offer a girl? No,
I must not think of it. Moreover, there is the old don, and if not, the
other fellow whom she evidently favors.”
Meanwhile Don Felipe had ridden away, and out in the _patio_ Tomás
was teaching Patty the _jota_, while Doña Martina called to them from
above, “Come in, come in, you scandalous pair,” she cried. “Don’t you
know it is past midnight? Haven’t you had dancing enough?”
“We have only seen it, we haven’t taken part in it,” replied Patty,
halting in her practice of the step. “We’ll come in presently, Tina.
There may never come another day like this. Why grudge us a few
moments?”
“This isn’t to-day, as you call it; it is to-morrow.”
“Then consider what a triumph. It ought to be put on record. I have
beguiled one Spaniard into catching up with _mañana_.”
“Paulette has gone in,” Doña Martina said after watching the two for a
few moments, “and I am so tired and so cold waiting here.”
“We’ll stop at once,” decided Patty. “Poor old Tina, I didn’t realize
I was keeping you up, and it does warm one up so to dance the _jota_
that I forgot you might be cold. I am a selfish pig. I’ll come right
in, dear. _Buenas noches_, Tomás. _Muchas gracias._ It has been lots of
fun, hasn’t it?”
“Shocking! Awful badth form,” returned Tomás, laughing.
Patty with a giggle of delight at the reply, ran in to find Paulette
already fast asleep, and the house dark and silent. She, herself,
however, was in no mood for slumbers. Her blood was tingling with
excitement of the dance. She opened her window and went out on the
balcony. The flowering branch set there that morning was withered and
drooping. Patty looked at it thoughtfully. “Poor lad,” she murmured,
“and he hasn’t two cents to rub together.” She leaned over the stone
railing. Tomás was smoking a last cigarette before going to bed; the
scent of it was borne upward with the odors from the garden beds. “It
wouldn’t be so dreadful to live in Spain, to be near dear old Tina
to--” Her meditations stopped short. Tomás was just below. She leaned
over and dropped one of the flowers from her hair. Tomás caught it and
looked up. “Shocking! Awful badth form,” said Patty mockingly, and
disappeared within.
In spite of a waking resolution to fix his thoughts unwaveringly upon
the quiet Miss Moffatt, Robert Lisle felt himself unresistingly drawn
toward the Estradas house the next evening. “I was lonely; I had to
come,” he said as he shook hands with Doña Martina.
“My dear man, you don’t have to make an excuse for coming. You know you
are always welcome,” returned Doña Martina.
Robert flushed up. “But I come so often,” he stammered.
“Why shouldn’t you? Aren’t we birds of a feather who should flock
together in a strange land? I’d feel very much hurt if you didn’t come
often. The girls will be down directly. That witch of a Patty has some
notion about going to the sea-caves to-night, a pretty rough walk, but
there’s no doing anything with her once she sets her heart on a thing.
She insists that she wants to visit the _inxanos_.”
“And what are they?”
“Here she comes; she will tell you.”
“I’ve changed my dress and put on thick shoes, Tina,” the girl began.
“Oh, Mr. Lisle, you must go, too. It is just the sort of thing you
would like. We are going to see where the _inxanos_ live.”
“I’ve just been asking about them. Who, or what are they?”
“They are the little beings who build the caves, tiny creatures who
live underground. I am delighted that the Spaniards have tales of
something besides saints; I had enough of those at the convent. There
are not only _inxanos_ but _xanos_, and they pronounce their name as
though it were written Shaughnessy, though they use an x instead of an
sh. The _inxanos_ are a sort of genii; they give you things when you
ask them, but they, alas, like the genii generally require you to do
something in return. I have written three wishes on a piece of paper
and I am going to deposit the paper in one of the caves. Don’t you want
to make three wishes, too?”
“I certainly do.”
“Oh, I knew you wouldn’t despise my fancy. You mustn’t tell your
wishes, you know, or they may not come true. The _inxanos_ are very
particular. Tomás has been telling me the most delightful tales of all
these strange creatures. What I couldn’t understand, Tina translated
for me. I must warn you of the _xanos_; they are water nymphs who haunt
the forest streams and springs. They are a sort of Lorelei who charm
the young men that happen to pass that way. I should hate to think of
your disappearing head first into some stream to-night on account of
the tricksy little things, so be very careful that you don’t linger.”
As Robert looked at her he thought it was not only the _xanos_ who
could lure a man from the path of duty, for try as he would to keep the
image of Beatrice Moffatt before him, it was so cast into the shade by
the sparkling face before him, that the image appeared but a shadowy
ghost, a pale and intangible memory.
“I must warn you, too, of the _huestos_,” Patty went on. “They are the
evil spirits who work mischief to the utter destruction of human kind.
Now, come in and write your three wishes. I have at last persuaded
Polly to do hers, but I had an awful time to work upon her imagination
sufficiently. She is so unsentimental, that Polly. When I had persuaded
her to do it, she couldn’t make up her mind what to write. I knew in a
minute.”
“Will you tell me if your wishes should chance to come true?”
“Will you promise to do the same?”
“Yes, I promise.”
“Then--Oh, I don’t know--Yes, I will tell, but I must do so in my own
good time.”
“And when will that be?”
Patty laughed and shook her head. “You mustn’t pin me down. Remember
it was you who said some day, when I asked you to tell me who fastened
the blossomy branch by the window.”
“If you will let me walk with you to the caves I will tell you this
very night.”
“Anything to have my present curiosity satisfied,” said Patty, with one
of her most saucy smiles. “Come in. Polly must have made up her mind
by this time, though we are not going just yet, for Tomás has promised
to sing us some of those weird Asturian songs of his. He is perfectly
adorable when he sings them.”
Robert followed her upstairs to where Tomás was softly playing a few
chords on his guitar. The three wishes were soon written out and the
paper tucked away in Robert’s waistcoat pocket.
“Now for the music,” said Patty. “Those songs of yours are just suited
to out of doors, Tomás, so I think we’d better go out on the balcony.
Sing that funny little song about Perequito, and that other, _Dame la
mano, paloma_.”
Tomás twanged out his accompaniments and began the curious little
melodies of the province, songs which ended in a long upward soaring
note, suggesting a call of the mountaineers. They were generally in a
minor key and uncertain in measure, but even Robert Lisle was obliged
to confess them charming.
“No one but a true Spaniard can give them perfectly or even
acceptably,” declared Doña Martina. “All imitations are absolutely
colorless. We had some friends in Paris who tried them, but they did
not sound like the same thing. Very little of the Asturian music is
written, but Tomás has heard it all his life and knows it without
notes.”
“Now for the caves,” said Patty. “It will be slower walking at night,
and we’d better start, don’t you think?”
The night was soft and still, the mountain tops were faintly outlined
against a starry sky, but were lost to view where the winding woodpath
was entered. Tomás carried a lantern, yet they often stumbled over the
rough places. “It is such a foolish thing to do at night,” said Doña
Martina, pettishly. “I do hope, Patty, that you will not undertake any
more such adventures.”
“What is the use of coming to Spain if you can’t have adventures,”
Patty made reply. “You needn’t come when I feel the call of the wild,
Tina.”
“But I have to. What would people think if I allowed you to go around
unchaperoned?”
“Juan could go with me; he wouldn’t mind in the least.”
“As if he had time to follow your erratic movements. This coming
out to-night is a perfectly foolish thing. I don’t see the sense of
pretending you believe in _inxanos_ and such nonsense.”
“Oh, Tina, you haven’t any imagination, while as for myself, I always
did love make-believe plays.” Leaving her sister to the guardianship of
Don Juan, Patty hurried ahead with Robert Lisle, in entire disregard of
Tomás’ beacon light.
“It isn’t dark under the stars,” she remarked to her companion.
“It could never be dark where you are,” he replied.
“What a nice speech, quite as if you were a real Kentuckian. Isn’t it
now the time and place to tell of the blossoming branch? Who put it in
the window?”
“I did.”
“For--Paulette?”
“For you.”
“Oh!” Patty suddenly felt a little afraid--of what? She didn’t stop to
question, but in her inattention to the path, she unwarily stumbled
against a stone in the way and gave a sudden cry.
Robert caught her hand to steady her, and he held it for a moment. A
mad fire seemed to race through his veins and he said unsteadily, “I am
not taking good care of you. I am afraid you have hurt yourself, when I
would rather have been battered to bits than that you should feel the
slightest pain.”
“Oh, it was nothing,” Patty answered faintly. “I think--I think maybe
we’d better wait for the light.”
He released her hand and they stood silent till the others came up. “Oh
dear,” Patty was saying to herself. “Oh dear!”
The caves were not much further ahead, for the splash of waves beating
upon the sands was now heard distinctly. Doña Martina refused to cross
the stretch of pebbly beach which lay between the wooded path and the
sea. “Juan and I will wait here while you silly children go ahead,” she
said.
“I’ve just thought,” said Patty to Robert, “that I’ve written my wishes
in English. Do you suppose the _inxanos_ understand anything but
Spanish?”
“Genii ought to understand everything,” returned he. “Mine are in
English, too.”
“Well there is some comfort in that, for if they can’t read mine,
neither can they yours, and if you are denied your wishes so shall I
be. There is the moon, Tomás; we shall not need the lantern. Leave it
with Juan and Tina; it is much more romantic without it.”
They reached the caves without difficulty. Strange structures they
were; great archways rising each side the opening to the beach and
obstructing a clear view of the sea till one had passed under or beyond
them. “What wonderful little people the _inxanos_ must be to build such
places,” said Patty’s companion as they solemnly deposited their wishes
in a crevice of the caverns.
“We shall think them more wonderful if they grant our wishes,” she
said. Then she touched Tomás softly on the arm. “Come,” she said to him
in Spanish.
He followed willingly and they disappeared around the corner of the
rocks. “Let us explore a little further,” said Patty. “I don’t want to
go just yet. You know the place well, don’t you, Tomás?”
“Perfectly.”
“Then let us watch the moon on the water for a few minutes. If they get
tired they can go on. They know it is light enough for us to find the
way without the lantern. Do you mind, Tomás?”
“When you have given me the flower from your hair?”
“Don’t get sentimental. That was only a little joke. You see you are a
sort of brother and I can ask you to do things because we seem both to
be of one family.”
“Yes, that is it of course. You have no other reason?”
“Certainly I have not. Now, Tomás, don’t try to look heart-broken. You
know it is simply pretense.”
“How do I know? I am not at all sure.”
“Oh, yes you are, and if you are not you must be, for I am perfectly
sure we don’t want to spoil our fun by any silliness. Just peep around
the rocks and see if they have started yet. If they have we will
follow. I hope the _inxanos_ will be good to us. You see I am doing
this--I mean I wanted to wait here as a sort of propitiation to the
_inxanos_, so they would know I am really in earnest. Do you think
there could be any _inxanos_ there in that cave? I see some little
shadowy thing.”
Tomás fell in with her mood. “Shall we go see?”
“If you like. They do appear to people, you know.” This conversation
carried on partly in Spanish and partly in English was not perfectly
understood on either side, but each managed to get the gist of what the
other was saying.
They clambered down the crags to enter the caves, a lofty aperture in
the rocks, open on two sides. The shadowy form resolved itself into
gray stone as they approached. They passed through to the pebbly-strewn
stretch of sand on the further edge of which they had left Doña
Martina. The four were standing there parleying.
As the two figures came out from the cave Doña Martina called to them,
“We are going.”
“So are we,” returned Patty. “Don’t wait. We will follow.” And the
party took up its tramp back through the woods by the winding stream.
Robert Lisle did not tarry when the house was reached, but cutting his
adieux short at the gate, strode off down the road.
Patty looked after him pensively. “It was so romantic,” she remarked.
“I wish Don Felipe had been there.”
“Patty,” her sister began.
“What, dear,” said Patty sweetly.
“I am displeased with you.”
“Dear me, what have I done?”
Her sister took her arm and walked with her to the house. The others
had gone on ahead. “Don’t you know it wasn’t the thing for you and
Tomás to go flocking off by yourselves in that way?”
“I asked him.”
“So much the worse; it was very marked.”
“And who was there to criticize?”
“Mr. Lisle and Paulette.”
“Oh, they don’t count. When you go seeking _inxanos_ you can’t be
conventional, Tina. There is no sense in getting vexed over a little
thing like that. Wait till I do something really outrageous.”
“Which I suppose you are bound to do if you keep on.”
“Rather than disappoint you, I will try, my dear. At present I don’t
feel the least ‘compuncted,’ as Tomás said to-day. He is getting on,
that Tomás.”
“You mean--?”
“With his English. We begin to understand each other at last.”
“Oh, Patty, why will you?”
“What will I?”
“Flirt with Tomás.”
“My dear girl, just because I say we are beginning to converse
intelligently you put that construction upon the matter. Such a
suspicious old gooseberry as you are.”
“I wish I could believe there were no grounds for my suspicion.”
“There aren’t any. If I am to flirt at all it will be with Don Felipe.
He is well seasoned and can stand it. Good night, beloved. Don’t lie
awake thinking over my peccadilloes. They are really the most harmless
in the world. Good night,” and Patty flitted up the stairway in the
wake of Paulette.
“Did you have a pleasant walk home?” Patty asked her friend.
“No,” was the reply. “Your Englishman was as mopey as an owl. He knows
no French and is none too talkative in English. Why did you permit him
to walk with me when he does not know my language?”
“I thought a change would be good for him,” returned Patty.
“But not for me.”
“For you, too, perhaps. Why don’t you teach him French? He ought to
know it.”
“No, thank you, I have all I can do with Spanish.”
“So I think have I,” responded Patty. “One would have to be very fluent
to direct a houseful of servants properly, wouldn’t one?”
Paulette vouchsafed no answer to this, and Patty saw that she was none
too well satisfied with her evening.