For some moments I was undecided whether to go or stay. She had
evidently withdrawn from the front of the building, though she was still
upon the azotea. Some one had joined her; and I could hear voices in
conversation; her own contrasting with the harsher tones of a man.
Perhaps her father--perhaps--that other _relative_--less agreeable
supposition!
I was about to ride off, when it occurred to me that I had better first
master the contents of the "papelcito." Perhaps it might throw some
light on the situation, and enable me to adopt the more pleasant
alternative of remaining a while longer upon the premises.
I had thrust the _billet_ into the breast of my frock; and now looked
around for some place where I might draw it forth and peruse it
unobserved. The great arched gateway, shadowy and tenantless, offered
the desired accommodation; and heading my horse to it, I once more rode
inside the saguan.
Facing around so as to hide my front from the _cocineras_, I drew forth
the strip of folded paper, and spread it open before me. Though written
in pencil, and evidently in a hurried impromptu, I had no difficulty in
deciphering it. My heart throbbed exultingly as I read:--
"Capitan! I know you will pardon our dry hospitality? A cup of cold
water--ha! ha! ha! Remember what I told you yesterday: we fear our
_friends_ more than our _foes_, and we have a _guest in the house my
father dreads more than you and your terrible filibusteros_. I am not
angry with you for my pet, but you have carried off my lazo as well.
Ah, capitan! would you rob me of _everything_?--Adios!
"Isolina."
Thrusting the paper back into my bosom, I sat for some time pondering
upon its contents. Part was clear enough--the remaining part full of
mystery.
"We fear our _friends_ more than _our foes_." I was behind the scenes
sufficiently to comprehend what was intended by that cunningly worded
phrase. It simply meant that Don Ramon de Vargas was _Ayankieado_--in
other words, a friend to the American cause, or, as some loud demagogues
would have pronounced him, a "traitor to his country." It did not
follow, however, that he was anything of the kind. He might have wished
success to the American arms, and still remained a true friend to his
country--not one of those blind bigots whose standard displays the
brigand motto, "Our country right or wrong;" but an enlightened patriot,
who desired more to see Mexico enjoy peace and happiness under foreign
domination, than that it should continue in anarchy under the iron rule
of native despots. What is there in the empty title of _independence_,
without peace, without liberty? After all, patriotism in its ordinary
sense is but a doubtful virtue--perhaps nearer to a crime! It will one
day appear so; one day in the far future it will be supplanted by a
virtue of higher order--the patriotism that knows no boundaries of
nations, but whose _country_ is the whole earth. That, however, would
_not_ be "patriotism!"
Was Don Ramon de Vargas a patriot in this sense--a man of progress, who
cared not that the _name_ of "Mexico" should be blotted from the map, so
long as peace and prosperity should be given to his country under
another name? Was Don Ramon one of these? It might be. There were
many such in Mexico at that time, and these principally of the class to
which Senor de Vargas belonged--the _ricos_, or proprietors. It is easy
enough to explain why the Ayankieados were of the class of ricos.
Perhaps the affection of Don Ramon for the American cause had less lofty
motives; perhaps the five thousand beeves may have had something to do
with it? Whether or no, I could not tell; nor did I stay to consider.
I only reflected upon the matter at all as offering an explanation to
the ambiguous phrase now twice used by his fair daughter--"We fear our
_friends_ more than our _foes_." On either supposition, the meaning was
clear.
What followed was far from being equally perspicuous. _A guest in the
house dreaded by her father_? Here was mystery indeed. Who could that
guest be?--who but _Ijurra_?
But Ijurra was her cousin--she had said so. If a cousin, why should he
be dreaded? Was there still another guest in the house? That might be:
I had not been inside to see. The mansion was large enough to
accommodate another--half a score of others. For all that, my thoughts
constantly turned upon Ijurra, why I know not, but I could not resist
the belief that he was the person pointed at--the guest that was
"dreaded!"
The behaviour which I had noticed on the day before--the first and only
time I had ever seen the man--his angry speech and looks addressed to
Isolina--her apparent fear of him: these it was, no doubt, that guided
my instincts; and I at length came to the conviction that he was the
fiend dreaded by Don Ramon. And she too feared him! "God grant she do
not also _love_ him!"
Such was my mental ejaculation, as I passed on to consider the closing
sentences of the hastily written note. In these I also encountered
ambiguity of expression; whether I construed it aright, time would tell.
Perhaps my wish was too much parent to my thoughts: but it was with an
exulting heart I read the closing sentence and rode forth from the
gateway.