Mr and Mrs Courtney could not sufficiently express their satisfaction
at receiving their daughter back again. Maraquita was their only child.
She had never had a brother nor a sister. All their hopes were centred
in her, and in their love they naturally exaggerated her beauty, and
were blind to her faults. Her father positively idolised her, and her
mother’s affection, though rather languid and uneffusive, was none the
less real. Had Mrs Courtney exercised a proper _surveillance_ over her
daughter, Quita could never have suffered the misfortune she had just
undergone; but it was not in her indolent Spanish nature to look after
anything. She had had a suspicion of Maraquita’s condition, but it was
only a suspicion, although the old black nurse Jessica had known it for
months past. But Jessica had suckled Maraquita from the moment of her
birth, and attended on her every hour of the day and night since, and
would have died sooner than have brought one word of blame on the head
of her young mistress. She had not even let the girl know that she had
guessed her terrible secret, and so Maraquita returned to her father’s
house with as proud a bearing as if she had done nothing to forfeit
the esteem of her fellow-creatures, and quite ready to accept all the
homage paid to her. She was carried straight from her palanquin to a
room redolent of flowers, and laid upon a couch, whilst the household
servants ran hither and thither, to bring her refreshment, or to do her
service.
Old Jessica was weeping for joy at the foot of her couch to think she
had got her young mistress safely back again, and Mr and Mrs Courtney
were almost as effusive in their gratitude for their good fortune.
Meanwhile Maraquita lay there, lovely and languid, pleased to see
how much pleasure she gave them by her recovery, and without a blush
of shame to remember how that recovery had been attained. Hers was a
frivolous, unthinking nature--easily scared by the approach of danger,
but ready to forget everything that was not immediately before her.
She was a very common type of our fallen humanity, intensely selfish,
and only disturbed by the misfortunes that threatened herself. And
now, she believed that she was safe. Her secret was known only to the
Doctor, and he had promised her, for her father’s sake, that it should
never rise up against her. So she reclined there, smiling, with one
white hand clasped in that of her father’s, and a bunch of orange
blossoms--emblems of woman’s purity--with which Jessica had presented
her, laid against her cheek.
‘How lovely our Quita is looking!’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney, who was
rocking herself in a cane chair opposite, whilst a negress fanned her
with a large palm leaf. ‘I really think her illness has improved her.
She was rather sallow before it. What would Sir Russell Johnstone say
if he could see her now.’
‘Sir Russell Johnstone,’ repeated Quita, whilst Mr Courtney glanced at
his wife with a look of warning.
‘Yes, dear, the new Governor! Your father and I have seen a good deal
of him lately, and he always inquires most particularly after you.’
‘Nita, my dear,’ interposed Mr Courtney, ‘you must not forget that our
child is still far from strong, and that Fellows cautioned us against
any excitement.’
‘I don’t believe that pleasurable excitement can hurt any one, Mr
Courtney, but if you think it desirable, I will drop the subject.’
‘No, no, mother, pray go on. What was it you were going to say? I want
to hear all your news. It seems as if I had been shut up so long. Tell
me everything you can think of about Sir Russell, and--and--our other
friends. It will do me good to listen.’
‘Sir Russell will have a great deal to say to you himself by-and-by
I expect, Maraquita,’ continued her mother, ‘and he will want us to
take you up to see Government House. It is such a beautiful place. You
have not seen half of it at the balls. And the furniture is something
superb. It will be a happy woman who is fortunate enough to be chosen
to reign over it.’
‘Is Sir Russell going to marry, then, mamma?’
‘He wishes to do so, Quita.’
‘And is the lady in San Diego?’
‘He has told your father so, my dear.’
‘Quita,’ exclaimed Mr Courtney, as the girl turned her lustrous eyes
upon him, ‘cannot you guess the truth? Sir Russell Johnstone is almost
as eager for your recovery as we are. He has proposed to me for your
hand, and he is impatient to have your answer.’
‘Sir Russell Johnstone, the Governor of San Diego, wants to marry
_me_!’ said Maraquita, in a dazed voice.
‘Yes, my dear. It is a great honour, but I will not have you biassed,’
returned her father. ‘You shall do exactly as you like about it.’
‘Sir Russell?’ repeated Quita, in the same dreamy tone. ‘But he is so
old, and so ugly.’
‘_Old!_’ cried Mrs Courtney. ‘Why, child, you are raving! He is not a
day over forty, and a very good-looking man, although somewhat bald.
But that has nothing to do with the matter. It is the position you
must look at, and the honour of the thing. Fancy being Lady Russell,
and at the head of all the ladies of San Diego, and then going,
by-and-by, to live in England, and see all the sights of London, and
the Queen, perhaps, and the Royal Family. Why, that chance alone would
be worth all the rest, in my estimation!’
‘Nita! I won’t have our daughter persuaded to do anything against her
inclinations.’
‘Dear me, Mr Courtney, I am not trying to persuade her! I am only
showing her the proper way in which to consider Sir Russell’s proposal.
Why, he’s the highest match in the island, and Quita will never get
such another chance if she lives to be a hundred!’
‘That’s true enough,’ replied her husband, ‘but she shouldn’t marry the
Prince of Wales himself, if she hadn’t a fancy for him, whilst I have
the money to keep her.’
‘But stop, father,’ interrupted Quita, ‘there is no harm in talking it
over with mother, and I like to talk of it. It’s a great compliment,
isn’t it? I wonder whatever made Sir Russell think of me?’
‘Oh, my dear girl, don’t talk such nonsense!’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney.
‘You _must_ know how pretty you are, even if nobody’s told you so, and
that there’s not another woman in San Diego can compare with you. Sir
Russell has got a pair of eyes in his head like other men, and he sees
you will make the handsomest Governor’s lady in the West Indies. And so
you will, though it’s your mother says it.’
Maraquita was evidently much impressed by the news which had been told
her. She lay quiescent on her sofa, but her large eyes were gazing into
space, and a faint rose flush had mounted to her face.
‘Do you think he is _sure_ to take me to England?’ she inquired, after
a pause.
‘Why, naturally, my love, when his three years’ term is over here.
And he tells me he has a lovely place in the country there, and he’s
a Member of Parliament into the bargain, and knows all the grandest
people in London. Why, you would live like a queen, and be the luckiest
woman in the world.’
‘And _we_ should have to part with her,’ said Mr Courtney, with a sigh.
‘Well, I suppose that would come some day, in any case,’ replied his
wife, ‘and there’ll be plenty of time to think of it. Sir Russell has
only been in office six months, and by the time his term is ended, I
don’t see why _we_ shouldn’t visit England too, Mr Courtney. You’ve
promised to take me there, times out of mind.’
‘Yes, yes! unlikelier things have happened,’ said her husband,
brightening up.
‘And I should have a splendid wedding, shouldn’t I?’ mused Maraquita.
‘You should have the grandest wedding that’s ever been seen in San
Diego,’ replied her mother, ‘and everybody in the island, black and
white, to see it. It would be a universal holiday, and we would send
for your wedding dress to Paris, Quita. Monsieur de Courcelles was
telling me the other day that--’
But Mrs Courtney was summarily stopped in her recital by a burst of
hysterical tears from Maraquita.
‘Oh, no! I can’t do it; I don’t like him enough,’ she sobbed. ‘He is
old and ugly. I _won’t_ marry him. Don’t say any more about it.’
Of course both her parents were full of concern for her agitation.
‘I told you how it would be!’ exclaimed the father. ‘She is far too
weak to hear so exciting a topic. You should have held your tongue till
she is stronger, and able to decide the matter herself. Don’t cry,
my dearest child. Try and compose yourself, or I shall be obliged to
summon Dr Fellows.’
‘You should have more sense,’ said her mother decidedly. ‘No one
wishes you to do anything that is objectionable to you, Quita. There is
nothing to cry for at having a grand proposal made you. However, let
us drop the subject for to-day, and perhaps you had better lie down in
your own room and have a siesta. Jessica has prepared it for you.’
The two women supported the girl between them to her sleeping-chamber,
when Mrs Courtney despatched the black nurse for some iced lemonade.
‘Quita,’ she whispered, as she lifted her daughter on to the bed, ‘you
haven’t deceived me? There is a mystery about this illness of yours
which may ruin your whole life. Take my advice, my dear, and marry Sir
Russell Johnstone. It will be your salvation.’
‘But, mother,’ whispered Maraquita back again, with her face hidden in
her mother’s sleeve, ‘there--there is _some one else_.’
‘Do you suppose I don’t know that, and that I needn’t go far to find
him, either, Quita? But no woman ever married yet, my dear, without
there being “_some one else_.” But he will be no good to you, and you
must forget him as soon as you can. You’ve made a fool of yourself,
and your only remedy lies in marriage; but you can’t marry _him_. Your
father would never hear of such a thing. He looks high for you, and he
has a right to do so. He would as soon consent to your marrying Black
Sandie as--as--’
‘Hush, mother!’ cried Maraquita. ‘Don’t speak his name: I cannot bear
it.’
‘He has behaved like a villain to you, my dear, and you ought to
despise him for it. It is only for your sake that I have not had him
turned off the plantation. But if I hold my tongue, you must promise to
think well over the advantages of Sir Russell’s proposal.’
‘I will--I will--’
‘It is a perfect godsend, and you would be a fool to reject it. I can’t
understand your being so upset over a piece of good fortune,’ said Mrs
Courtney, as she bent over her. ‘I hope--I _hope_, Maraquita, that you
won’t let this folly interfere with it.’
She said so meaningly, for she had not failed to observe the manner
in which the young overseer and Maraquita had looked at each other on
the occasions of Henri de Courcelles’ visits to the White House. Her
daughter flushed slightly, and turned her head away.
‘Of course not,’ she answered pettishly. ‘But if I did, what of it,
mamma? My father says I am not to be biassed in my inclinations, and
that means I may choose for myself.’
‘So long as you choose an eligible person, Maraquita; but you quite
mistake your father if you imagine he will consent to your marriage
with any one beneath yourself. He is very particular on that score. You
are our only child, and will inherit all his fortune, and you have a
right to make a good match. Now, pray, my dear, don’t be foolish. All
girls have their little fancies, you know, but they learn to get over
them, and you must do the same, won’t you?’
‘I don’t know what you are talking about, mamma,’ replied Quita
uneasily. ‘All I have to think about now, I suppose, is whether I
shall marry Sir Russell Johnstone or not.’
‘My dear girl, you make me miserable by even suggesting a doubt on the
subject. I am sure of one thing,--if you _don’t_ marry him, you will
never cease to reproach yourself, and be ready to die of envy at seeing
Mademoiselle Julie Latreille or one of the other San Diego belles in
your place.’
‘_Julie Latreille!_’ cried Maraquita. ‘Why, she can’t hold a candle to
me! Every one said so at the last regimental ball.’
‘Of course she can’t, dear, and she wouldn’t know how to conduct
herself as the Governor’s lady either. But when a man is disappointed
in one direction, he is apt to try and console himself in another. And
Sir Russell is _very_ much in love with you, Maraquita; I never saw a
man more so.’
‘Well, he won’t expect me to be in love with him, I hope.’
‘What a silly thing to say, my dear! If you will only consent to marry
him, I’ll guarantee that Sir Russell will be satisfied with anything
you may choose to give him. Of course, you will be very grateful to
him, and kind and affectionate and all that,’ continued Mrs Courtney
as an afterthought; ‘but it is quite unnecessary that any young lady
should profess to be in love with her husband. You can leave all that
to the men.’
Maraquita sighed, and said nothing. She possessed a very warm
temperament, like most people born of a mixture of bloods, and the
prospect of being tied to a man for whom she did not care, was most
displeasing to her. Her thoughts reverted to another lover, whom a
marriage with the Governor would force her to give up, and the tears
gathered in her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks.
‘Come, my dear,’ exclaimed her mother hastily, as she watched the signs
of her emotion, ‘we will drop this subject for to-day, and you must try
and go to sleep. In a short time you will see all the advantages of Sir
Russell’s proposal, and be very grateful for them. But at present you
are weak, and must not think too much. I will leave you alone now, and
Jessica shall fan you to sleep.’
But it was very little sleep that visited Maraquita’s eyes that
day, and it was in vain that old Jessica closed the green jalousies
over her windows, and brought her cooling drinks, and fanned her
incessantly to keep off the flies. Quita’s large dark eyes were fixed
upon space, whilst she revolved the question in her mind whether she
could possibly marry Sir Russell Johnstone, and always came back to the
conclusion that it was impossible. When night arrived, her mother was
so distressed to find the symptoms of fever strong upon her, that she
wanted to send at once for Dr Fellows, but Quita entreated her not to
do so.
‘Mamma, dear, let me have my own way, and I shall be all right in the
morning. Let me sleep quite alone. Jessica fidgets me. She jumps up
twenty times in the night to see if I am asleep or want anything, and
when she sleeps herself she snores. She is a good old creature, but
I’d rather be left to myself.’
‘But, Quita, my dear, supposing you should be ill in the night, and no
one near you!’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney. ‘Why, I shouldn’t be able to
sleep myself for thinking of it. Let _me_ sleep in the next room to
yours, my darling. The curtain can be drawn over the open door, and you
will be as much alone as if it were shut. And I should be within call
if you required me.’
‘No, no,’ replied the girl fretfully. ‘That would be worse than having
Jessica in my room, for I should never be certain _when_ you were
coming. I want to be _alone_, mother--really and truly _alone_--and
when the darkness falls, I shall sleep soundly.’
‘Very well, my dear,’ said Mrs Courtney. ‘If it is your whim, you
shall be indulged in it, but I shall not dare tell your father that I
have consented, or he will insist on sitting up with you himself.’
She kissed her daughter then, and professed to leave her for the night,
but she whispered to old Jessica that after she had prepared everything
that was necessary, she was to lie down on the mat outside the door of
Maraquita’s chamber, and listen to every sound that issued from it.
The old negress obeyed with alacrity. She possessed the faculty,
common to coloured people, of staying awake for hours if necessary,
and even of sleeping with one eye open. The inner door of her young
mistress’s apartment opened on a corridor, paved with marble, but
there were two other doors to it which led out to the garden. Jessica
sat down on a white bear-skin mat in the corridor, and listened for a
possible summons. The night drew on apace. The lamps were extinguished
throughout the White House, and the master and mistress had retired to
rest. The coloured servants were sleeping on mats in the verandahs, and
everything was hushed in silence, when midnight struck from the large
clock over the stables. The old negress’s eyes were just about to close
in slumber, when she was startled into consciousness again by the fall
of a light footstep on the matted bedroom floor. Maraquita had left her
bed. Jessica sat up straight and listened. The light step became more
palpable. Quita had put on her shoes and stockings, and was passing
through the door that led to the plantation. Quick and stealthy as a
panther, and almost as noiselessly, old Jessica crept round another
way, just in time to see a dark-robed form walking down the path
towards the overseer’s bungalow.
‘I thinking so,’ mused the old woman; ‘I _sure_ dat man at de bottom of
it! Curse him! He’s stolen away my poor missy’s heart, and brought her
into all dis trouble, and now she’s out of it, she can’t rest without
him. Ah, if the massa only knew, he’d _kill him_. And _I’ll_ kill him
if he don’t let my missy alone. I’ll make him drink obeah water and he
shall die. My poor little missy to go through all dis trouble for a man
who don’t care for her no more than he do for Jerusha. If I only tell
Jerusha! _Dat_ would finish him once and for ever.’
Meanwhile, Maraquita (for it was indeed she) was making what haste
she could towards her lover’s home. She felt very weak as she tried to
walk, and her limbs trembled under her, but she would not give in, for
her reputation was at stake, and what will a woman _not_ do to save her
good name? Henri de Courcelles’ study or room of business was at the
back of the bungalow, and he was in the habit of sitting up there late
into the night, reading. Well did the poor girl know her way to that
room at the back of the house--well did she know her lover’s habits
and customs--too well, unfortunately, for her own peace of mind. Henri
de Courcelles was surprised and delighted--but not startled--when her
slight form passed through the open door, and stood before him. He knew
that she would come to him as soon as she was able, but he had hardly
expected she would have been able to do so so soon. He leapt from his
chair and clasped her in his arms.
‘Quita, my darling,’ he exclaimed, ‘you have returned to me at last!’
The girl did not speak, but she clung to his embrace as if she would
never leave it.
‘You are trembling, my dearest! You were imprudent, perhaps, to risk
visiting me so soon. Sit down, and let me lie at your feet and hear all
you have to tell me.’
He placed her in the chair from which he had risen, as he spoke, and
threw himself on his knees beside her.
‘Do you know what I have suffered during your illness?’ he exclaimed.
‘I thought the suspense would have driven me mad. And then the awful
fear lest you should betray yourself. But tell me, Quita, is all danger
over? Is our secret safe?’
‘Yes!’ she answered wearily. ‘It is over.’
‘Thank Heaven for that! And no one is the wiser.’
‘No one except Dr Fellows, of course. I couldn’t deceive _him_. But
even Liz does not know. No one knows except him--and you and me.’
‘And the child, dearest. Where is it?’
The girl gave a sudden gesture of repugnance.
‘Don’t speak of it: I cannot bear the thought. I am trying so hard to
forget everything. And yet, Henri, I _must_ speak, for this once only.
Dr Fellows has sent it away to some one up the hills, but I shall
never be happy till it is out of San Diego. Cannot you manage it for
me? Can’t you send it away to America or England, so that I may never
hear it spoken of again?’
‘Perhaps you would like me to drop it in the sea,’ he answered
gloomily. It cannot be pleasant for a man to hear a woman express
nothing but horror of the child she has borne to him.
‘I don’t know _what_ I want,’ rejoined Quita sadly, ‘only I am so
frightened of what may happen. If my father should ever come to hear of
it, I think he would _kill_ me.’
‘No one shall molest you!’ exclaimed De Courcelles sternly. ‘You are my
wife, Quita, and the man who injures you must answer for it to me.’
‘Ah, don’t talk nonsense!’ she said, shrinking a little from him. ‘You
know, Henri, that I am _not_ your wife.’
‘But why should you not be so, Maraquita? Why not take the bull by the
horns, and let me confess everything to your father?’
‘What are you thinking of?’ she cried, in a voice of terror. ‘You would
only bring down his wrath upon my head. He will never consent to my
marrying you.’
‘Then marry me without his consent, Quita. Surely that should not
be distasteful to you, after all that has passed between us. Come,
dearest, you love me, do you not? You have so often assured me so. Why
not cross with me to Santa Lucia, and we will break the news of our
marriage to your parents from there. Say “_Yes_,” Maraquita, for the
sake of our child,’ he whispered.
‘It is _impossible_!’ she said back again. ‘You are asking me to give
up my father and mother for you. It would break their hearts. They
would never speak to me again.’
‘But why not? They are wealthy, and you are their only child. They can
enrich any one on whom your happiness may be placed. They would be
angry at first, naturally, but they would soon come round, for they
could not live without you, Maraquita. A few weeks would see us all
together again.’
‘You are mistaken, Henri. My father loves me dearly, but his prejudices
are very strong. Only to-night, my mother was telling me that he would
never countenance my marriage to any one whom he did not consider an
equal match to myself.’
‘Heavens! Maraquita! Can Mrs Courtney suspect anything?’
‘God knows! She has not actually mentioned the subject to me, but her
words fell very much like a warning. Perhaps they were so. Perhaps she
intended to caution me on my future conduct. She has at any rate shown
me very decidedly that my father expects me to accede to the views he
has formed for me.’
De Courcelles turned pale.
‘What views?’ he stammered. ‘Mr Courtney gave me some hints the other
day that you were likely to make a grand marriage, but I felt--I
_knew_, that it could not be true.’
‘But it _is_ true, Henri. Sir Russell Johnstone, the Governor of the
island, has proposed for me, and my father insists on my accepting
him.’
‘And you _will_?’ cried De Courcelles, in a voice of anguish.
‘What am I to do?’ asked Maraquita wildly. ‘Can I go to my parents and
tell them I have disgraced myself? How would that benefit us? I have
already told you they would never consent to my marrying _you_. And
_this_ marriage will, at all events, shelter me from any risk in the
future. No one will be able to harm me when I am the Governor’s wife.’
‘You will do it!’ exclaimed Henri de Courcelles fiercely; ‘I feel that
you _will do it_!’
At that moment he saw the girl in her true colours--selfish, avaricious
and worldly-minded, yet, with the insane blindness of passion, he would
have wrested her from the hands of his rival, even though his victory
bound him to a life-long curse. His Nemesis had already overtaken him.
He had seized his prey, but he could not hold it. He had made Maraquita
(as he fondly believed) his own. In doing so, he had outraged every
law of morality and friendship. He had even thrown over Liz Fellows,
whom he knew loved him so purely and truly, and yet his sins had been
sinned in vain. Quita no more belonged to him than the plantation
of Beauregard did. She was straining at her fetters even now, and
before long she would burst them altogether, to become the wife of the
Governor of San Diego. As the truth struck home to him, De Courcelles’
pain turned to anger.
‘You cannot! You _dare not_!’ he continued. ‘You are in my power,
Maraquita, and I defy you to throw me over.’
Then her bravado changed to craven fear. She could lie and deceive, and
be selfish and ungrateful, this beautiful piece of feminine humanity,
but she was a terrible coward, and her lover’s Spanish eyes were
gleaming on her like two daggers.
‘Ah, don’t be angry with me, Henri!’ she exclaimed pitifully. ‘You know
how much I love you. Haven’t I given you good proof of my affection? Do
you think it possible that I could marry any one else of my own free
will?’
‘Then you will never marry any one else, Maraquita, for you shall not
be coerced into it whilst I live. But I don’t feel sure of you yet.
Will you promise me, if the Governor’s suit is pressed more closely
upon you, to save yourself by flying with me?’
‘I will!--on one condition, Henri.’
‘What is it?’
‘That you will shelter me from the shame you have brought upon me. _I_
dare not do anything in the matter, but you are cleverer than I am,
and may manage it without detection. Only get _it_--you know what I
mean--sent away from San Diego, or devise some plan by which it can
never be brought in judgment against me, and I--I--will do anything you
ask me.’
‘You give me your solemn word to that effect?’
‘My solemn word, Henri,’ she answered, with downcast eyes.
‘Then it shall be done--if I have to steal it away with my own hands.
But after we are married, surely _then_, Maraquita--’ he said wistfully.
‘Oh, don’t talk of that now!’ cried the girl hurriedly. ‘It will be
time enough to discuss what we shall do, when the time arrives. But I
must go now, Henri, or Jessica may miss me. Perhaps you will come up
and see me to-morrow.’
‘I will come up, without fail, whether they let me see you or not. One
kiss, my darling. Remember that I look upon you as _my wife_, and no
one shall wrest you from me.’
‘_No one_--no one!’ she answered feverishly, as she returned his
passionate kisses, and almost wished she had the courage to be true to
him. Yet as she crept back to her home through the shadowy, moonlit
paths--for she would not let De Courcelles accompany her, for fear
of being intercepted--she knew she had been lying, and had no more
intention of marrying him than before. She had used his entreaties as
a means to her own end, and if _that_ were accomplished, she would
have no hesitation in breaking the promise she had given him. She
could always fall back--so she thought--on the duty which she owed her
parents, and if the great misfortune of being found out befell her, and
the wrath of her father and mother proved too hard to bear, why, Henri
de Courcelles was ready and eager to marry her.
Maraquita did not argue with her own conscience in so many words, but
such were the thoughts that flitted through her brain as she traversed
the slight distance between the overseer’s bungalow and the White
House, and noiselessly re-entered her chamber. Jessica, who had
watched her go and return, never closed her faithful eyes in slumber
until she was assured that her young mistress was safely in her bed
again, and, for the first time since she had sought it, fast asleep.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]