A GRAVE IRREGULARITY
The day wore in the mill-house of Sarria precisely as many thousands of
days had done before. The foreman came for the keys from his master's
bedroom at six of the clock. He wondered at the unwonted sight of his
patron up and fully dressed at that hour, and still more at the tall
young foreigner who sat with his book so studiously silent at the table
opposite his master. The old gipsy woman Elvira, too, was gone and
another in her place. But after all it was none of his business, and the
mill must go on. For the dam had filled up and there was much corn to
grind. Old withered Elisa, the goatherd "patrona," led her tinkling
flock past the door a score of yards and then returned with her pail as
was her wont. She saw Senor Fernandez at his window, and he made a
strange appealing motion with his hands to her, then glanced over his
shoulder.
Perhaps (so she thought) the poor man had taken to drinking at night as
that wicked brother of his used to do down at the _venta_. But the true
nature of the Senor's complaint did not dawn upon her till later.
From nine till half-past eleven none outside of the mill-house saw Senor
Luis. The stranger also was absent upon his occasions, and the doctor,
coming early to see his patient, found only the gipsy woman, who did not
appear to have understood the directions he had given her the day
before. The Senor himself was out of the way, but the doctor, glad to
find his patient so quiescent and apparently in such good condition,
soon took his leave, and in the mill-house La Giralda ruled alone.
* * * * *
With Rollo now for a time the tale runs more briskly. He set off for the
_venta_, where he found Etienne and John Mortimer sitting at meat.
Etienne was breaking his fast sparely upon a cup of chocolate and a
glass of water, while John Mortimer had by hook or crook evolved
something resembling a frying-pan, in which he had achieved the cooking
of some bacon and eggs together with a couple of mutton chops. He was
browning some bread before the fire to serve for English toast as Rollo
entered, looking as fresh as if he had been newly roused from a twelve
hour's sleep.
"Good morning, friends of mine," he cried; "you are in excellent case, I
see. John, I have made arrangements for you to go and visit some
vineyards to-day. Old Gaspar will guide you with his gun over his
valiant shoulder. You can pick up points about wine-buying, without
doubt. As to you, Etienne, _mon vieux_, I have found your Concha, and I
am going to see her myself in half an hour. Shall I give her your love?"
"What!" cried Saint Pierre; "you jest. It cannot be my cruel, cruel
little Conchita, she who fled from me and would not take the smallest
notice of all my letters and messages? Where is she?"
"She is at the nunnery of the Sisters of Mercy outside the village.
Poor Etienne! I am indeed sorry for you. With your religious views, it
will be impossible for you to make love to a nun!"
"Would I not?" cried Etienne, eagerly; "_mon Dieu_, only procure me a
chance, and I will let you see! But a nunnery is a hard nut to crack.
How do you propose to manage it?"
"I intend to make friends with the Lady Superior," said Rollo,
confidently.
"You have a letter of introduction to her, doubtless?" said Etienne.
"I do not at present even know her name; but all in good time!" said the
youth, coolly.
"For stark assurance commend me to a Scot," cried Etienne, with
enthusiasm. "You take to adventure as if it were chess. We poor French
take the most ordinary affairs as if they were dram-drinking, and so are
old and _ennuyes_ at thirty."
"And the English?" asked Rollo.
"Oh," laughed Etienne, "the English take to adventure as our friend
there takes to his breakfast, and that perhaps is the best way of all."
He pointed with a smile to where, at the table's end, John Mortimer of
Chorley, having made all preparations with the utmost seriousness for
his repast, was on the point of turning on the operating mill. The cook
of the _venta_, who had been much interested in John's culinary
operations, had come up to see how he would deal with the result when
completed.
John had brewed himself some tea from a small parcel he carried in his
saddle-bags. This, made in a coffee-pot, was arranged at a certain
distance from his dexter elbow. The bacon and eggs were on a platter
exactly in front, flanked on the left by the smoking mutton chops,
while the toast was stuck erect in an empty cruet-stand. In fact a
Chorley breakfast-table was reproduced as exactly as circumstances would
admit.
Then John Mortimer bent his head a moment over his plate, murmured
something in memory of his father, the Primitive Methodist, in lieu of a
blessing, said "Hem" in a loud gruff tone, hitched his chair forward a
little, squared his shoulders, and fell to.
"That is why we French have no colonies!" said Etienne, admiringly. "In
this little Spanish village he has found all the materials of an English
breakfast."
"And that is why _I_ shall never make any money," said Rollo, and
proceeded to break his fast on a couple of eggs dropped into white wine,
before setting out for the convent.
"Etienne," said Rollo, suddenly checking his glass in mid-air as an idea
occurred to him, "lend me that ring of your sainted uncle's, the one
with the picture of Don Carlos."
The young Frenchman indolently drew it from his hand, laid it on the
polished marble top of the table, and with his forefinger flipped it
across to Rollo.
"Who is the girl?" he said simply.
But Rollo with equal simplicity ignored his question, and did not even
pause to thank him for the loan. It was a way these young men had with
one another. Like the early Christians, they had all things in common.
It was their single point of resemblance to the primitive Church.
"What shall I say to your Concha--that is, if I chance to see her?" said
Rollo, as he brushed his clothes and saw to the neatness of his neck
ribbon.
Etienne held down his head.
"Indeed," he said a little reluctantly, "I am not so anxious that you
should say anything at all about me. The little minx did not treat me so
very well when I came this way on my last visit to my uncle. And to tell
the truth, there is an exceedingly pretty girl living only three doors
from the _venta_. I have already spoken to her, and she has smiled at me
thrice over the fence."
"Take my advice, and stick to the little Andaluse," said Rollo,
laughing. "They do not understand that kind of thing here, dear Etienne.
Remember Master Rafael, who got a knife somewhere between his
shoulder-blades in this same village."
"I shall bear in mind what you say, my good Rollo," said Etienne;
"meantime I shall dress myself afresh and walk in the gardens. They are,
as it seems to me, contiguous. Perhaps it may chance that I shall
see--_her_!"
"That leaves me a freer hand with Concha, then," murmured Rollo to
himself, as he stuck his hat on the back of his head, and strode out
into the stable yard smiling to himself.
He had his horse brought out and saddled. Then he mounted and rode down
the village street towards the convent of the pious Sisters of Mercy.
The plan he meant to adopt had entered his mind, as it were, with the
eggs and white wine. He had not given the matter a thought before. He
smiled to himself as he rode, for he wondered how he would succeed with
this good Mother Superior, and what manner of girl he would find that
wicked, tricksome Concha to be, whose name was in all men's mouths with
a certain approving flavour, as of a pleasant naughtiness to be
alternately scolded and cajoled. One thing this Master Rollo was as sure
of as that he was a Scot. And that was--he never could, would, or should
fall in love with such a girl.
So Rollo rode with a clatter of spurs and accoutrement up to the gate of
the convent. Dismounting, he advanced briskly to the gate and knocked
loudly upon it with his riding-whip.
In a few moments a sour-faced portress opened the little square wicket
and looked through at him. The diamond-shaped lattice bars, which cut
her features into minute lozenges, did not improve her good looks.
"I must see the Mother Superior immediately on important business!"
quoth the brisk youth, slapping his waistcoat and settling the hilt of
his sword in a businesslike manner, as if he had all his life been in
the habit of making early morning calls upon Mothers Superior.
The portress laughed.
"A likely story," she said, "that I am to trail across the yard and
leave my business here, to fetch the Lady Superior from her devotions to
see a young man at the outer gate."
"If you do not admit me," Rollo went on, unabashed, "not only the Lady
Superior will suffer, but the cause which all good Christians have at
heart."
He suddenly thrust his bare hand close to the wicket and showed the ring
which Etienne had given him.
"Do you know this?" he said.
At his first threatening motion the woman had mechanically withdrawn,
but now curiosity brought her again closer to the grating, on
perceiving that Rollo made no attempt to intrude his hand within.
"These are the royal arms of Spain, are they not?" she said, and dropped
an involuntary curtsy.
Then Rollo played his trump card. The ring was made with a certain
secret spring beneath the stone, which when touched sprang up like the
lid of a box, and a beautiful little miniature was revealed, encircled
with hair of a dark brown colour.
"Do you know who that is?" he said.
"His absolute Majesty Carlos Quinto!" said the portress with a deep
reverence.
"Well, then," Rollo went on, "take this ring, and with it the hair of
the anointed and Christian King. It is a great trust, but I give it into
your hands. Carry it reverently as a token to the Lady Superior that a
messenger from the King waits to speak a word with her!"
The head of the portress disappeared from the young man's sight with the
profundity and compass of the reverence with which she received the
image of the sovereign of all true Catholic hearts. She went off
immediately, and by standing on tiptoe in the white dust, Rollo could
see her heavy black skirts playing bo-peep with a pair of very thick
ankles.
As the young man stood drumming his fingers upon the window-sill, with
his nail he detached flake after flake of plaster, and filliped each as
it fell into the courtyard. He had only occupied himself with this
amusement for five minutes, when suddenly the most piquant face in the
world appeared at the wicket.
"Better that you should look to your horse," a pair of red lips said in
the soft Southland speech of Andalucia, "he is chafing himself to pieces
on a too tight curb!"
"Thank you, Senorita!" said Rollo, his heart instantly disturbed within
him, for he was a merciful man by nature and consistently kind to his
beast. Then he turned about, loosened the curb, and, looking over his
horse, noticed that the tail strap also lathered the animal, whereupon
he eased that. Then with a smiling countenance he turned for approval to
the face at the wicket, but he was too late. His mentor had vanished.
He waited full ten minutes in the glaring sunshine, till indeed he
well-nigh staggered as he felt the hot beams reflected full upon him
from the whitewashed brick and painted door. There was not a handbreadth
of shade anywhere, and the iron handles and girds of the barred windows
were nearly red-hot.
Presently, however, through the breathless noonday he heard heavy
footsteps approaching, accompanied by a most raucous and asthmatical
breathing. The door of the porter's lodge was opened, and he caught
again the heavy rustle of cloth clogging itself about unwontedly hasty
ankles.
"The Mother Superior waits!" gasped the portress, opening the great door
suddenly, and the young man found himself forthwith within the Convent
of the Holy Innocents.
The Lady Superior proved to be a woman of about fifty-five or sixty
years of age, in person stout and rubicund, a smile of good humour
habitually repressed upon her lips, and a mouth slightly pulled down at
the corners, contradicting the first impression of her jovial
countenance.
"You are young, Colonel," she said, frowning upon Rollo's good looks
with a certain affectation of gloom quite foreign to her nature, "very
young to be the messenger of a King!"
"I can, indeed, hardly claim that honour," said Rollo, smiling and
bowing, "but I have the honour to belong to the army of Carlos Quinto,
and to be entrusted with a most serious mission on his behalf. My good
friend Don Baltasar Varela, Prior of the Abbey of Montblanch, a name
probably known to you----"
"He is my cousin germane--my good and honoured friend," said the Lady
Superior.
Rollo bowed.
"He has given me a general introduction to all religious houses where
the name of the true King is held in reverence. You will observe that
the mandate bears the seal of the Propaganda of the Faith and is dated
from Rome itself!"
The Lady Superior looked again at the great and pious names upon Rollo's
commission, and marvelled yet more.
"So young," she said, "so boyish almost--yet so highly honoured! It is
wonderful!"
Then she handed the parchment back to him.
"How can I assist you?" she said. "Command me. There is nothing
consistent with the order and discipline of this house that I will not
grant to you!"
Rollo bowed grandly.
"I thank you in the name of my master," he said; "the King will not
forget fitly to reward his faithful servants. I ask what is indeed
somewhat irregular, but is nevertheless necessary. There is a man of
this place, who for the King's cause has become an outlaw, one Ramon
Garcia----"
The Prioress rose from her seat indignantly.
"He is a murderer--in intent, if not in act," she said. "He is no true
man, but a villain----"
"Many men have been called so," said Rollo, gravely, "who for the King's
sake have borne reproach gladly--of whom this Ramon, called El Sarria,
is one. What he has done has been by order of our Don Carlos----"
"Indeed, that is true, my lady," interjected a very pretty and
unconventual young person, rising suddenly from behind certain frames of
embroidery where she had been at work unseen, "the gentleman refers to
that same Ramon Garcia, whose letters recommendatory I had the honour of
submitting to you this morning. To kill in the King's name is surely no
sin, else were soldiering a sin, and your reverend worthiness knows
that, shriven or unshriven, the soldiers of Carlos Quinto go straight to
heaven. And none can deny that, while on earth, a handsome uniform
covers a multitude of sins!"
"Hush, child, hush!" cried the Abbess, holding up her hands in horror;
"your talk savours of the world. And indeed, that reminds me--how in the
world came you here?"
"I was seated at the embroidery," said the girl, demurely; "you set me
the task yourself to be ready for our Lady of the Pillar's festival on
Tuesday next."
"Well, child, well--you can go now," said the Abbess, with a nod of
dismission; "I would speak with this young man alone!"
The girl cast a look at Rollo which remained with him long. It seemed to
say, "I would gladly talk more with you, for your person is somewhat to
my mind, and I do not think that further converse with me would prove
entirely disagreeable to you!"
This message was conveyed in a single glance, and Rollo, not the most
impressionable of youths, read it every syllable without the slightest
difficulty.
He held up his hand almost involuntarily.
"If this damosel is by any chance the Senorita Concha Cabezos, as I have
some reason to suppose, though I have never before seen the young lady,
it might be advantageous if she remained. She was formerly, as I am
informed, in the family of Don Ramon Garcia, and can assist my mission
very materially."
Then Rollo opened out his plans in so far as they concerned Dolores,
showing the Prioress how important it was, for the success of the
arduous mission on which they had been despatched, that El Sarria should
leave no anxieties behind him, and beseeching her for the sake of the
King's cause, to receive Dolores within the convent as she had already
received her child.
The Prioress considered a while, and after many dubious shakings of the
head, finally agreed.
"It is indeed gravely irregular," she said, "but in these untoward
circumstances the King's service overrides all. I will receive Dolores
Garcia."
"And if it be your will I will arrange the details with the Senorita
Concha," said Rollo, promptly. "I need not, in that case, further detain
the noble and reverend Prioress!"
The Lady Superior bent a quick sharp look upon the pair, but Rollo was
grave and high of demeanour as became the envoy of a King, while Concha
sat at her embroidery as demure as a mouse. She had gone back to her
frame and was engaged in elaborating the wings of a cherub of
exceedingly celestial aspect, in whom all the parts below the
shoulder-blades had been suppressed by order of the Lady Superior of
the Convent of the Holy Innocents.
"You will do your best, Concha," she said gravely, admonishing that
maiden with her forefinger, "to further the objects of this young man.
And, above all, be sure to show him the deference due to his rank and
mission!"
"Yes, my Lady Superior!" said little Concha Cabezos, "I will treat him
as if he were the King's own high majesty in person!"
"A very proper spirit!" said the Prioress, nodding and going out;
"cultivate it, my young friend!"
"I will!" said little Concha, and dropped a curtsey behind her back,
which, alas! was not without a certain wicked suggestion of contempt for
kings and dignitaries and their emissaries.