THE LONELY HILL
With Paulette gone, Don Felipe only a casual caller, and Tomás
engrossed in his own love affair, Patty felt lonelier than she had
believed she could. Doña Martina was often busy and just now a
little anxious about her husband who had rather overstepped the mark
in working too constantly on the book he was preparing for print,
therefore Patty was left a great deal to herself. For the past two or
three days she had seen nothing of Perdita. Tomás was absent, as well,
having gone to Oviedo on a business trip for his brother, and the girl
resorted to long rides in the little donkey-cart as her best means of
amusement.
One afternoon she started forth, her mind set upon a certain point from
which there was a fine view of sea and mountains. That morning had
brought a letter from Paulette, a complacent sort of epistle which had
somehow irritated Patty. Mlle. Delambre had met Mons. Adolph Busson.
They were mutually pleased. The betrothal had taken place and the
marriage would be a little later. She hoped her dear friend, Patty,
would be present at the wedding, unless superior attractions detained
her in Spain. She wished so good an arrangement as hers might be made
for her friend, yet it was only in France that these matters could be
properly managed. She hoped American methods would not lead to her
Patty’s remaining an old maid; that would be so unfortunate. How was
the sly Tomás? and what of that other one, the Englishman, who had
seemed so attentive for the moment? As for the old don, he was far too
antiquated even for Patty.
“I’d like to know what the ‘even for Patty’ means,” meditated the
girl, her thoughts on the letter as she took her place in the little
cart. She remembered the day when Paulette had announced this possible
arrangement of affairs and the train of thought carried her to the
earrings which she had not remembered. Where had they gone? She could
accuse Perdita, but perhaps she had seen them that day and could
tell her, if they were really where Patty believed she had put them.
Perhaps, after all, it would be better to hunt up Perdita and see if
anything were wrong with her since she had not been to the house for
several days. She might be ill, or her grandmother.
Guido’s head was therefore turned in the direction of the little farm,
and before the low white house Patty halted. There was no sign of life
except from the chickens picking around, and to the girl’s knock
there was no reply. There was then nothing to do but to turn the cart
around again and go in the direction she had first decided upon. This
led toward the sea, though not along the road she generally used, but
rather one further from the village with the mountains on the left. It
was a tortuous way and a rough one. So steep at last did it become that
Patty decided to leave the cart and try the rest of the ascent on foot.
“If it were not for the cart, Guido,” she said, “I would let you go,
too, for you can climb these hills and pick your way better than I. You
are a good little _burro_, Guido, and I have not been disappointed in
you. After all, you are much less disappointing than some human beings
who profess a great deal and then--I wonder if he thought that by the
gift of you he was simply making a graceful return for hospitality--not
that you can be called graceful, Guido; far from it--At all events I’d
like to know if it were that, or if he did it merely because he felt
sorry for you, or whether it were another reason. Oh, me, there is no
use wondering. This is a very lonely hill and I don’t know why I came
to it, except that I am rather hugging my loneliness these days. I
suppose Juan and Tina would be horrified to know I came here by myself,
and I must confess, it was rather a venturesome thing to do. Guido, I
will tie you so you can get at the grass and things, for now that I
have come this far I may as well go on.”
She left the little gray beast safely tethered and started off up the
steep path. It was seldom used and at times almost lost itself in
thickets of brakes and briars. There was a low stone wall to climb
then at last the height was reached, and Patty, panting a little,
looked around her. A blue crescent of sea lay in front of her; behind
her the circle of the horizon was completed by the mountains. “What a
view!” the girl exclaimed. “It was worth the climb.” Her eye roved over
distant objects, clusters of houses forming small pueblos, half a dozen
groups or more, nearer houses isolated from the rest, and nearer still
the masses of grass and brambles with here and there a blossom dotting
the green.
Suddenly her eye lighted on a figure lying face down in the high grass,
a girl in peasant dress. Was she asleep? and what was she doing here
so far from house or road? Perhaps she was ill or hurt. Moving nearer
Patty stopped as she noticed a slight movement of the figure. The
crackling of the bushes as Patty made her way through caused the girl
to raise her head, showing a face tear-stained and wet-eyed.
“Perdita!” cried Patty. “It is you? What is the matter?”
“Oh, señorita,” Perdita sat up, “I have a sad heart.”
“And why?” Patty made a place by Perdita’s side. “Tell me all about
it. You are not grieving because Tomás has gone away, are you? He will
be back in a few days. Did you think he was going to stay?”
“Oh, no, señorita, it is not that. It is I who am going away to stay.”
“You? Why, where are you going?”
“Into a convent, señorita.”
“Not to stay?” Patty was aghast. It seemed a tragedy to her to shut up
this young creature behind convent walls. “You are not going to become
a nun?”
“No, señorita, but I am to be gone two years and it seems forever.”
“Oh, but it will soon pass. I was two years in a convent and as I look
back it does not seem long. But, Perdita, why are you going? Is it your
grandmother who sends you?”
“It was my grandmother who told me I was to go. I am to go to get an
education, to become more of a lady.”
“Oh, now that is not to be wept over. Why, the other day you were
longing for such advantages.”
Perdita made no answer except to draw a long sigh.
“Is it because of Tomás? Does your grandmother know?” Patty still plied
her with questions.
“No, I do not think it is that. If my grandmother knows she has not
said so. She said, ‘some one wishes you to go to a convent for two
years; at the end of that time we shall see what we shall see.’”
“Oh, Perdita, it must be just as we hoped, and your father is coming
back after having made a fortune. Are you not glad? Shall you not be
happy to see him?”
“Maybe, though you know, señorita, he is but a stranger to me, and what
if he should want to separate me from Tomás, or what if while I am
away, some other should take his fancy and I should return to find no
Tomás for me? It would break my heart, señorita. I should die.”
“That is showing very little faith in Tomás. I do not believe he is
the inconstant sort for there was Paulette and here was--” she stopped
short.
“Yourself. Yes. I know, and if he did not love anyone so dear and
lovely as you I should have more faith, but I cannot help my fears.
Can anyone who loves as I do? If you had a lover, señorita, would you
not fear to leave him for two years, to know that in all that time you
could not write to him nor hear from him?”
“But can you not see him?”
“No, my grandmother says I am not to leave the convent. She cannot even
come to see me herself, and that is a great sacrifice for her to make,
she says.”
“But what will she do without you?”
“Someone is to come to take charge of the farm and to look after my
grandmother. I do not like that, either, señorita. I do not like
to think of others attending to my animals, to count my sheep, my
chickens. I do not want to go away from my own _pueblo_. I want to be
as free as I am to-day.” She stretched her arms wide and raised her
face to the skies. “That is why I came here,” she went on, “because it
is so large and free up here and one can see the whole world.”
“Yes, I understand that feeling,” murmured Patty.
“Then, too, there is another thing,” Perdita continued. “Tomás was
telling me that his brother has spoken of sending him to America. What
if he goes and never comes back?”
“Yes, I know there has been some talk of it,” said Patty, thoughtfully.
She remembered that it was to further Tomás’s success and enable him
to marry that his brother had proposed the going to America. Alas, she
was the cause of much trouble. “How soon do you go to the convent,
Perdita?” she asked presently.
“Next month, señorita. I am to go to Llanes first and there I am to
lay aside my peasant dress and be clothed as others are at the convent
school.”
“And when you come away I have no doubt you will have pretty frocks
like that you put on the other day and you will be very fine, Perdita,
so that my sister and brother can have no objection to your becoming
one of the family. It will really do much to make the future clear for
you and Tomás.”
Perdita shook her head sadly. The two years seemed a lifetime in her
young eyes and this parting from her lover the end of all things.
“I shall miss you,” said Patty, after a moment. “Everyone is leaving,
it seems, and I shall be very lonely. I had a little present for you,
Perdita, but it has been lost.” Then she told of what had happened,
Perdita assuring her that she had not noticed the earrings upon the
table.
“Oh, señorita, I will pray San Antonio for you,” she said, “and if you
would take a figure of the saint and hang it down the well I am sure he
would send back the earrings.”
Patty laughed outright, starting up some birds from the underbrush.
Perdita crossed herself. “Oh, but señorita, it is so, I have known it
to happen.”
“Then I will get St. Anthony from the chapel and try it,” said Patty,
the amusement still in her eyes. “Come, Perdita, don’t be so downcast.
Why, I think your prospects are fine. So long as I am here I will keep
a sharp eye on Tomás and if I see him casting sheep’s eyes--how do you
call it?--_mirada al soslayo_, is that it? Oh, yes; very well, I will
go at him with a vengeance. I don’t know how to say that exactly--_con
venganza_, you understand?”
Perdita did and smiled faintly. It was something to leave behind her
such a champion of her rights.
“Now,” said Patty, getting up. “I will take you as far as your turning
off. Don’t be unhappy, Perdita. I will attend to St. Anthony and if
there is any other one I can tackle who will make Master Tomás keep to
his colors, I’ll attend to him, too.” She said this last in English,
but the name of Tomás sounded encouraging and Perdita felt more
comfortable.
“Was it because of all this you have been staying away?” Patty
inquired, when they had started Guido on his homeward way.
“Yes, señorita. I was so troubled that I did not want anyone to see,
and I knew I could not remember my lesson or think of anything as I
should.”
“But you must not give up coming now that the time is so short, for
even if we have no French we can converse in Spanish. I have learned
much Spanish, have I not?”
“Yes, señorita; it is wonderful how in three months you have learned to
speak so well.”
“I have worked very hard and have taken advantage of speaking whenever
I could. One learns very fast in doing that. Is it three months?”
“Very nearly, señorita. It was at the feast of San Juan you saw me
first and soon it will be the feast of San Matea, so that I know.”
They passed out of the lonely by-road to the _carretera_, and jogged
along to where Perdita must take the path home. Just as they reached
this point Don Felipe came riding by in the opposite direction. He
stopped a moment, doffed his hat, gave the two girls a sharp scrutiny
and rode on. A little later he overtook Patty. She was alone and was
driving Guido leisurely toward home. Don Felipe slackened his pace.
“Good evening, señorita,” he said, “so your companion has left you.”
“Yes, señor, she has gone to her home. She is a beautiful girl, is she
not?”
“Very beautiful.”
“Did you recognize her that day when I presented her as the Señorita
Gonzalez?”
“Not at once, for I do not notice peasants as a rule, then I
recollected having seen her, or someone like her.”
“I don’t think Perdita should exactly be classed among the peasants.”
“Why so?”
“She is so gentle and good, so like a lady and with a very bright mind.”
“So I have been told.”
“She would grace any position in life with the proper education. She is
very quick to learn.”
“Do you say so? Rather surprising in one of her class, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps, but you know she comes of good stock, of an old family which
has deteriorated. I have been giving her French lessons and I have
had an opportunity to observe her quickness. It seems she is to have
a chance now, for she is going into a convent school. Her father, I
believe, is sending her.”
“Her father? So she has one.”
“Yes, it seems she has, and she thinks he is in America and will return
after a while.”
“Ah, she is fortunate in having someone who is not a mere tiller of the
soil. So you think she will do him credit?”
“She would do anyone credit. I am much interested in her, and hope I
may always keep her as a friend.”
“She certainly is most beautiful,” said the old don, musingly. “Here is
your gate, señorita. I will come in, if you will permit. I should like
a word with your good sister.”
He entered the house as Patty, driving around to the side, saw Guido
was handed over to the men at the stables. Don Felipe was in earnest
conversation with her sister when she returned. “Come over, Patty,”
Doña Martina invited her, “and give us your opinion on a most important
subject.”
“Yes, señorita, I beg of you.” Don Felipe arose and handed her a
chair. “There is no one whose opinion is of more importance to me. I
am thinking of making a few alterations and repairs to my old house
which you have honored with your presence. I am also thinking of
refurnishing and decorating some of the rooms. This will come later,
for I shall make haste slowly, yet I should like your ideas on the
subject. Which rooms, in your estimation, would a lady prefer for her
apartments?”
“Oh, I should think those looking over toward the garden and the
mountains.”
Don Felipe nodded. “And not those on the front?”
“No, one gets tired of droves of oxen and cow-carts passing on the
_carretera_, whereas the mountains are ever changing and the birds come
and go among the flowers in the garden so that one has always something
pleasant to look at.”
“Then those rooms without question.”
“Unless the lady cares for none of those things.”
“I think her taste would be much like yours. Later on I shall ask your
valuable suggestions in the matter of furnishing. I have a lot of old
stuff, but--”
“Oh, do use all you can of it, for it is so much better suited to that
fine old place than any modern things could be, or, if you must get
new, let it be as little as possible.”
“Your taste is excellent, señorita, but do not young ladies generally
prefer something brighter and lighter, more in keeping with their
charming selves?”
“Those qualities can be considered in the frescoes and the draperies.”
“Oh, I see. When it comes to that point I shall, if I may, ask your
invaluable aid in selecting the proper stuffs. Your sister tells me
that Mlle. Delambre, is fiancée to a young Frenchman.”
“Yes, and quite happy.”
“She is rather an attractive girl, but there are others far more so. I
prefer a dark type of beauty myself.”
Patty glanced at her sister whose face was a study. Then Don Juan
entered and the talk fell upon the respective values of certain
antiques, and the two ladies left the men in the heart of an animated
discussion.
“What do you suppose he is going to do?” Patty asked her sister when
they were safe outside.
“You goose, he is thinking of marrying, of course.”
“But whom is he going to marry?”
Her sister laughed. “I should think it pretty evident whom he had in
mind.”
Patty looked puzzled and ran over the conversation. “You surely don’t
mean me?” she said, after a pause.
“Who else?”
“I am sure I don’t know, but oh, dear, after the way I have snubbed
him, he must be an idiot to think I can be picked out and carried home
like a door-knocker or an antique plate.”
“It is his conceit, my dear, which makes him think he can do just that
thing. When he is all ready he imagines all he will have to do will
be to call upon your proper guardians, present his request in proper
form and forthwith it will be granted with an appropriate degree of
gratitude for the honor. You must remember that he is a blue-blood
hidalgo, and that a simple little American girl like yourself could not
think of refusing him.”
“Then just let him go ahead and find out, the old silly thing. I hope
you will encourage him to spend all he will upon the house; it needs
it, heaven knows. I shall do my best to egg him on, and then see how
beautifully he will get fooled.”
“You are really in a temper about it.”
“Of course I am.”
“But fancy what a triumph to write to Paulette and announce that you
are to marry him. She was ready enough to become mistress of that old
_palacio_, for all she pretended the master was too old. I saw things,
my dear, and I know.”
Patty laughed. “You are actually scheming, yourself, but no Auld Robin
Grey for me, if you please.”
“You know I didn’t mean it, Patty. Of course, I couldn’t when there
is--Tomás.”
“Oh, yes,” Patty’s face clouded, “there is Tomás.”
“What has happened, Patty, child? I have noticed that you avoid him of
late. Have you quarreled?”
“No, but--”
“You feel conscious, dear child. Of course since you are aware that
we know how matters stand, I can appreciate how you might feel. Never
mind, Juan is doing his best to settle Tomás’s future and when all is
arranged you can be regularly engaged, Don Felipe or no Don Felipe.”
Patty put her arms around her sister. “Tina, you are a perfect darling,
and I am an ungrateful wretch. There is time enough to think about my
affairs, for I am ‘ower young to marry.’ I shall want my freedom for
years to come.”
“You are likely to have it,” returned her sister, gravely, “if Tomás
goes to seek his fortune in Mexico.”
Patty made no reply but her thoughts flew back to the lonely hill and
the girl lying prone on her face in the long grass.