Lizzie had guessed correctly when she said that Maraquita’s infidelity
would prove its own punishment. The honeymoon at Santa Lucia was not
a very satisfactory one, at least for the bride. So long as the day
endured, and Quita’s frivolous soul could be gorged on flattery, and
the servile congratulations paid her by her husband’s guests, she was
contented with her lot, and disposed to believe it would turn out all
she had prognosticated for herself. To feel she was the woman of most
importance in the island, and that she had horses and carriages, and
servants at her command, and that a military guard accompanied her
wherever she went, and everybody turned to gaze after her, and said to
one another, ‘There goes the Governor’s bride,’ was quite sufficient
to inflate her foolish little heart with pride, and make her forget,
for the time being, the penalty attached to it all. But one cannot pass
one’s entire life in public, and when the hours of domestic happiness
arrived, they were very trying. _Then_, if she had had a handsome
young husband suited to herself in age and disposition waiting on her
every look and smile while he whispered words of love in her ear, how
delighted would Maraquita have been to fly to the sacred recesses of
her own apartments, and shut the world and its hollow compliments
outside. But now such moments became torture. Sir Russell had been
sufficiently trying as a lover, but as a husband he became simply
unendurable. His middle-aged ecstasies over his new possession, his
fussy attentions, his twaddling conversation about things and people of
which she had never heard, soon bored his young wife to extinction. And
he was not slow to find out that he did not interest her. He noted the
vacant look, the wandering attention, the deep sighs that occasionally
interrupted their intercourse, and commenced to feel the first twinges
of jealousy, and to wonder if there had been any other admirer in the
background whom Lady Johnstone had not entirely forgotten.
If he could only have read her thoughts as she sat by his side when
they were alone together, or lay for hours during the silent watches
of the night gazing open-eyed at the dark blue heaven with its myriad
clusters of stars, how unpleasantly satisfied he would have been.
It was at those times that the newly-made Lady Johnstone’s thoughts
returned to the past which she had so pertinaciously thrust from her,
and that she longed (with the contradiction of human nature) to be
able to take back again to her heart the fate which she had held in
her hand, without the moral courage to grasp it. It was then that the
glorious dark eyes of Henri de Courcelles seemed to gaze into her own
like twin stars, just as they used to look at those heavenly moments
when they sat together on the bench in the Oleander Thicket, and her
lover’s arms were folded closely round her, as though to shield her
from all harm.
Henri de Courcelles had innumerable faults, but he had loved this girl
with all his heart, and, now that it was too late, Maraquita seemed
to realise it for the first time. There was another regret, too, that
intruded itself into her married life, a regret that seemed to grow
with the days, and assume such inconceivable proportions that she was
tempted to cry out that she could bear it no longer, but must at all
risks rush back to San Diego and see _her child_. Sometimes the unhappy
young mother would dream that the infant was dying, and wake up with
the tears upon her cheek; sometimes that it really belonged to Lizzie,
and she had lost the right to call it hers; and sometimes that she
held it to her heart, and was proud and fond of it like other mothers,
until she discovered it was a poisonous asp, stinging the bosom on
which it lay. Such thoughts and dreams were not good for the young
bride to indulge in, and she grew paler and thinner every day. Sir
Russell called in a doctor, who declared Lady Johnstone’s condition
to be due to weakness, consequent on her late attack of fever, and
advised her immediate return to San Diego, as possessing a higher and
more bracing air than Santa Lucia. Sir Russell sought his wife’s rooms,
all fuss and anxiety on account of her low spirits, and communicated
the medical man’s opinion to her. They had been married now for three
weeks, and the Governor had already come to the conclusion that a
domestic life was not all roses. He found his beautiful Maraquita
rather petulant at times, and disposed to have her own way. She was not
very affectionate either, and flouted his attempts at love-making in a
manner sufficient to cure the most ardent lover. He was disappointed
certainly; he had imagined women were more open to their husbands’
advances; but, after all, he knew very little about the sex, and
was quite ready, as yet, to lay the failure at his own door. He was
not fit, he told himself, to be the companion of such an innocent,
guileless creature; she felt the difference between his society and
that she had left behind her. The position was new and strange to
her. She would be her own sweet self again when they returned to San
Diego and she was restored to her parents’ arms. The alacrity with
which Maraquita assented to his proposal to go home, confirmed his
sentiments upon the subject. It would have been somewhat of a shock to
him could he have read her thoughts on the occasion; but how few of
us could afford to read the mind of our dearest friend, without fear.
Maraquita’s face glowed, and her heart beat faster, as she pictured
herself settled at Government House. She would have a chance then of
seeing Lizzie again--perhaps of seeing Henri de Courcelles. Whilst
it lay in his power to deprive her of her promised dignity, she had
dreaded his presence, and hoped he was far away from San Diego; but
now that her position as Lady Johnstone was secure, and no one could
dethrone her, she began to crave for the excitement of seeing her lover
again. Weak and vacillating as she had been as Maraquita Courtney,
she was even worse as Lady Johnstone, for now her weakness threatened
to become a crime. Her depression of spirits and her feverish anxiety
were so patent, that the first time Mrs Courtney was alone with her
daughter, she taxed her with the change.
‘Whatever is the matter with you, my dear child?’ she exclaimed; ‘you
don’t seem half so happy as I expected to see you. Here you are, the
Governor’s wife, and the lady of highest rank in San Diego, and yet
you seem quite melancholy. You don’t mean to tell me that you are
disappointed, or that your marriage has not proved all you expected it
to be?’
‘Oh, no, mamma! I suppose it’s all right! I’ve got the position and
the money, and no one can have been such a fool as to think I married
a bald-headed stupid old man like Sir Russell for anything else.’
Mrs Courtney lifted her hands and eyebrows in surprise.
‘My dear! my dear! remember he’s the Governor!’
‘How can I forget it? Isn’t it dinned into my ears from sunrise to
sunset! Of course he’s the Governor! I am sure he need be, for he’s
very little else! But I’m afraid that fact is not sufficient for one’s
happiness.’
‘My darling, what more can you possibly want? A splendid house, and
number of servants, equipages, and horses, jewels, dresses, ornaments,
and the whole island at your feet! Why, I think you are the luckiest
girl I ever heard of.’
But her eloquence was interrupted by Maraquita flinging herself
headlong on a couch, and sobbing out,--
‘I’m not! I’m not! I’m as unhappy as I can be! I wish I had never
consented to give up my poor Henri! I dream of him every night!’
But at that confession, her mother’s attempt at consolation changed to
righteous scorn.
‘Then you must be the wickedest girl alive, Maraquita! Dreaming of any
man but your husband, and not married a month yet! You ought to be
ashamed to mention such a thing, even to your mother! And that wretched
low-born overseer too--a half-caste Spaniard, with neither birth nor
money. I am utterly surprised at you!’
‘Mamma, you sha’n’t abuse him! He may be everything you say, but he’s
gloriously handsome; and he loved me, and I ought to have married him!
Why didn’t you manage it some way? You knew all about us, and you could
have persuaded papa to settle something on him, and let us live with
you at Beauregard, and then it would have been all right, and I should
have been much happier there with him and my poor little baby--’
‘Maraquita! are you _mad_?’ cried her mother, clapping her hand before
her daughter’s mouth; ‘or do you want every official in Government
House to hear your shameful secret? Good heavens, it is enough to make
me regret I ever interfered to save you from your own folly! If you
confess the truth now, you will make matters a thousand times worse
than if you had made the low marriage you seem to hanker after. It
would be a nice scandal for the island, to hear that the Governor
had repudiated you on account of your former light conduct! _Then_
you would lose everything--reputation, position, and wealth, and gain
nothing in exchange.’
‘I could go to Henri,’ said Maraquita doggedly, for she possessed
one of those persistent natures that can work themselves up into a
belief, and she was working herself up to believe that she was still
passionately in love with De Courcelles, and ready to sacrifice
everything for him.
‘That you certainly could not,’ returned Mrs Courtney, determined to
cut her folly in the bud, ‘for he is not in San Diego.’
‘Where is he then?’ exclaimed Quita, raising herself from the sofa
cushion.
‘He has gone to America,’ replied her mother, ignoring her regard for
truth so long as she drove this nonsense out of Maraquita’s mind.
‘_To America!_’ repeated the girl. ‘Oh, why did he go there? What is he
going to do?’
‘That is his business, not ours; but I believe his family live in the
States. However, he will never return to San Diego, and so you see how
little you will gain, and how much you may lose, by indulging in this
sentimental folly. Indeed, I cannot understand you, Quita! Your one
desire last month was to hear that this most objectionable young man
had left the island, and now you are moaning after him as if he had
been your dearest friend instead of your worst enemy.’
‘He loved me!’ sobbed Maraquita.
‘I don’t think he _did_ love you,’ rejoined Mrs Courtney. ‘No man who
loved you would have treated you in so dishonourable a manner. However,
he has been ready enough to run away from you, and now the best thing
you can do is to forget all about him. Indeed, you must _compel_
yourself to do so, my dear. You owe it not only to your husband, but
to your father and mother. And just think what a wicked thing you are
doing too--crying after another man when you are Sir Russell’s wife.
You horrify and grieve me beyond measure!’
Yes, Mrs Courtney was perfectly right!
It was both weak and wicked of Lady Johnstone to let old memories
obtrude themselves upon her wedded life, but she had been far weaker
and wickeder when she gave them up against her inclination. An eligible
marriage is no cure for an ill-placed love, and the laws neither of
God nor man have any power to quench passion in the human heart. They
may help the victim to keep it under, but it is the one feeling that
refuses to be silent until it has died a natural death. Whilst poor
faulty Maraquita believed that Henri de Courcelles was lying in ambush
somewhere ready to appear before her at any moment, holding the pledge
of their love in his arms, as he did upon her wedding-day, she had had
a great fear mingled with her insane desire to see him again; but now
that her mother assured her he had left San Diego for ever, and she
should never be able to ask his forgiveness, her dread of him vanished,
to give place to a morbid regret. She wept so much and ate so little
during the first days of her installation at Government House, that
Mrs Courtney (who had been invited by Sir Russell to stay with her
daughter) became quite seriously alarmed for the consequences of her
grief, and tried all she could to rouse her by a description of the
splendid preparations which were being made for the ball to be given in
honour of their return.
‘My dear girl, I never saw anything like it! Sir Russell is certainly
the most generous of men, and the whole island is talking of him. He
has given a _carte blanche_ order for all the white flowers procurable,
and the ballroom will be decorated with nothing else. It will look like
a huge bridal bouquet.’
‘Or a funeral shroud,’ suggested Quita, with a disagreeable laugh.
‘My darling! what a strange thing to say. We won’t have it _too_ white,
if you have such unpleasant comparisons to make. I will suggest to
Sir Russell to have the wreaths tied with blue ribbons; or pink roses
interspersed with the white ones, would look very pretty.’
‘I’m sure I shouldn’t take the trouble, if I were you, mamma! Let him
have his own way. What does it signify what it looks like?’
‘I think it signifies a great deal,’ returned Mrs Courtney warmly; ‘and
when I come to consider the matter, white will not set off the dresses
as a little colour would do. For most of the ladies will be in white;
and you will wear your wedding-dress, of course, Maraquita.’
‘I suppose so, mamma.’
‘You will have to open the ball with Colonel Symonds, being the next
gentleman in rank to the Governor on the island, and Sir Russell must
lead out Mrs Symonds. It will be a magnificent sight, with all the
officers in full uniform, and the military bands in the orchestra. The
supper-tables are to be laid for three hundred, though I don’t know
where they are all to come from; but Sir Russell is _so_ generous.
It will be the proudest day of my life--next to your wedding-day,
Maraquita.’
‘I shall be very glad if you enjoy it, mamma.’
‘Come, come, my dear girl, I won’t have you speak of it in that
uninterested tone, as if you were an old woman of eighty, past all
thoughts of dancing and admiration. Why, there’s not a girl in the
island that dances better than you do, Quita; and think how every eye
will be fixed upon you, and how the women will envy your dress and your
beautiful jewels, and wish they had your luck. Why, there’s not a girl
in San Diego but would give her eyes to stand in your shoes.’
‘I daresay! but they pinch sometimes,’ said Quita, with a yawn.
‘My darling, all wives’ shoes pinch sometimes,’ replied her mother.
‘Marriage is not a bed of roses, any more than any other condition. But
it is necessary to a woman’s well-doing, and you have drawn a splendid
prize in the matrimonial lottery. And now what time will your ladyship
please to drive this afternoon?’
Quita smiled. She liked to be called ‘your ladyship.’ If there was one
thing above another that reconciled her to the step she had taken, it
was to hear herself addressed by that much-coveted title. What children
most women are, after all, and how easily caught with glittering
baubles. Jewels and a title make up the sum total of domestic
happiness for the majority of the sex. Maraquita believed herself to be
wretched for the loss of Henri de Courcelles, but had she been put to
the test, she would not have given up her newly-acquired dignity, nor
one of her sets of ornaments, to bring him to her feet again. She would
sit for hours with her jewel cases in her lap, fingering the bracelets,
and rings, and necklaces that Sir Russell had given her, and holding
up the blood-red rubies, and the grass-green emeralds, and the deep
blue sapphires, and the pure white diamonds to the light, laughing to
see them catch the sun’s rays, and shoot out a thousand little stars
of fire to meet them. And as the day for the grand ball drew near, she
seemed to recover her cheerfulness. Mrs Courtney was delighted to see
the interest she suddenly evinced about her dress, and the ornaments
she was to wear with it, and the manner in which she should arrange
her hair; and when the evening arrived, she was as flushed with
excitement, and as eager for the festivities to be a success, as any
one could have wished to see her. It was a proud moment for Mr and Mrs
Courtney when they stood by the side of the dais which had been erected
for the convenience of the newly-married pair to receive their numerous
guests. Sir Russell, in his Governor’s uniform, looked imposing if
not handsome; and Maraquita, arrayed in her wedding garments, stood
by his side like a dainty fairy. All San Diego--that is, all the
respectable portion of it--passed before them in single file, to offer
their congratulations before the ball commenced, and there was but one
opinion of the appearance of the bride--that she was the handsomest
woman on the island. Mr and Mrs Courtney swelled with pride as they
overheard the various comments on her appearance, and felt rewarded at
last for all the trouble and anxiety their wayward daughter had given
them. The ballroom at Government House was a long apartment, with five
or six windows on either side, all open on account of the heat. The
spaces between these windows were hidden with trophies of flags, and
flowers, so that it looked like a vast bower of leaves and blossoms,
open at intervals to the outer air. Six large chandeliers pendant
from the ceiling, and laden with wax candles, made the ballroom a
blaze of light, and rendered it a conspicuous object from the outside.
That the poorer part of the population should not consider themselves
entirely shut out from the wedding festivities, Sir Russell had ordered
a handsome display of fireworks to be sent up from the Fort at ten
o’clock, and hundreds of coloured people were waiting around, in
anticipation of the display. The supper, which had taken many days to
prepare, was laid in another room on the same floor, on a series of
tables, which were glittering with knives, and forks, and glass, and
silver; and everything promised to go as merrily as the proverbial
marriage bell. As soon as they had received their guests, Sir Russell
and Lady Johnstone opened the ball with the two people of highest rank
present, and dancing became general.
Maraquita, who was passionately fond of the exercise, did not miss
a single turn. Her card was naturally soon filled up, for every man
present tried to secure a waltz with the bride, and she flew all over
the room like a beautiful Bacchante, flushed and smiling, whilst her
parents looked on with admiring complacency, and one at least thanked
Heaven secretly that the threatened danger was at an end, and her
child had begun at last to properly appreciate the benefits of her
high position. The evening had waxed towards midnight, and though
the dancers gave no signs of fatigue, Sir Russell had just made his
way towards Mr and Mrs Courtney to consult them whether it would not
be wise to give the signal for supper, when a loud cry of alarm and
sounds of confusion were heard to proceed from the apartment where it
was laid. Sir Russell turned pale. He had heard something of the sort
before, and guessed its import; but he had no time to communicate his
fears to his friends, when a crowd of natives rushed into the room,
armed with pistols and knives, and every open window was simultaneously
blocked with dusky faces, ready to bar all egress, or to leap inside
at a moment’s notice. The band stopped playing at once--the dancers
screamed with alarm--all the men felt their hearts stop, and many of
the women fainted without warning. But Sir Russell was English bred,
and rose to the occasion at once. He looked almost majestic as he met
the oncoming horde of mutineers with an uplifted hand, as though he
challenged them to advance one step further, and demanded in a voice of
thunder what they required in his private apartments.
‘_Your life!_’ shrieked one of the mob, ‘and de lives ob all dese d--d
white trash. And we’ll hab them too! On wid you, darkies! Cut ’em down
like de dogs what dey are.’
‘I’ll shoot the first man who tries to pass me!’ shouted Sir Russell,
as he drew a revolver from his pocket; and then turning to his
father-in-law, he exclaimed quickly,--‘Mrs Courtney--Maraquita, get
them away, for God’s sake!’
Maraquita had already flown to her parents for protection, and was
clinging to her mother in an agony of tears.
‘Mamma! mamma! what will they do to us? Oh, we shall all be killed! Why
did I ever leave Beauregard!’
‘Hush! hush! my darling! it will be all right. There must be some
mistake,’ replied her mother, although she was shaking so violently
that she could hardly stand.
But if it was a mistake, it was a very terrible one, for the next
moment the sound of several shots, and a piercing scream, proved that
the rebels had already commenced their murderous work.
‘This way, Nita,’ said Mr Courtney hurriedly, pushing his wife and
daughter before him. ‘Keep close to the wall, and escape by the door
into the library. It is your best chance.’
But before they had gone many paces, elbowing their way frantically
through the crowd that pressed on them from every side, the dark faces
that had guarded the open windows perceived their means of exit, and
with a cry of fiendish delight, leapt into the room to prevent it.
‘We are lost!’ cried Mrs Courtney. ‘Oh, Mr Courtney, in Heaven’s name,
what are we to do?’
‘Stand before Quita. Conceal her at all risks, and I will help you,’
replied the father, as he ranged himself by the side of his trembling
wife, and in front of his daughter; and then he whispered, ‘Have no
fear, Nita; they can have no object in wounding _us_. Their malice is
against Sir Russell and our poor child. Spread your skirts over her,
for Heaven’s sake.’
Meanwhile the slaughter became general. The rebels rushed hither and
thither in search of Maraquita, wounding or killing every girl they
thought to be the bride, with, in most instances, the men who resented
the murder, until the ballroom reeked with blood, and the screams of
the unhappy victims were appalling. But the alarm had been given at
once, and in a few minutes the opposition shots of the military forces
were heard, and scores of the rebels bit the dust, whilst many more
were taken prisoners. Amongst the latter was a young and handsome
Spanish half-caste, whose dark eyes were on fire with the lust for
revenge, but who made no effort to free himself from his captors.
‘The danger is past! Thank God that you are both safe!’ exclaimed Mr
Courtney, as he turned to embrace his wife and daughter.
Sir Russell had been wounded in the wrist by a slash from one of his
own dinner knives; but the Fort physician had bound it up, and, now
that the first alarm was over, he was able to go in search of his bride.
‘Maraquita, my dearest!’ he exclaimed fervently, as he saw the pale
little figure which Mr Courtney was supporting, ‘this is a terrible
affair, but, thank God, the brutes have not injured you, nor your
parents! You must come away from here at once, my love. Take her, Mr
Courtney, I beg of you, to her own apartments. This is no sight for
her.’
Quita closed her eyes, and shuddered as her glance fell on the
prostrate corpses, both black and white, that lay on the ballroom
floor, and heard the moans of those to whom the surgeon was already
attending; and she was quite willing to go away with her parents, and
try and forget the terrible business in sleep.
‘Yes, yes,’ she murmured, clinging to her father; ‘take me away at
once, papa--I cannot bear it.’
But when she had advanced a few paces into the room, her eyes opened
again from sheer horror, and fell on a sight which paralysed her.
There, standing before her, though held back by the pinioning arms
of his captors, was Henri de Courcelles, whom she believed to be in
America, with such hatred and fury in his glance as she had never seen
before.
‘_Henri!_’ she shrieked involuntarily, before she could prevent herself.
‘So you have _escaped_!--curse you?’ he answered, glaring at her like
a fiend. ‘Then what am I doing here? I must be free, to live to avenge
myself on you.’ And without another word, and a sudden effort that
took the men who held him completely by surprise, Henri de Courcelles
wrenched himself away, and rushed to the open window, leapt into the
darkness and was gone.
‘He must have killed himself!’ exclaimed one of the soldiers, looking
out upon the night. ‘There is a fall here of about twenty feet.’
‘Order the guard round to take him prisoner!’ shouted Sir Russell. ‘The
wall beneath the window is sixteen feet high. They will take him like
a rat in a trap. And if not, tell them to shoot him like a dog.’
‘No, no!’ cried Maraquita wildly. ‘They _must_ not--they _shall_
not--he--he--’
But there she fainted, and fell in a heap at her husband’s feet.
‘He is the ringleader of the whole mutiny,--the greatest rascal of them
all! What can she know of him?’ demanded Sir Russell, with a frown.
‘Nothing; she never saw him before,’ replied Mrs Courtney boldly,
though she was shaking with fear lest Maraquita should betray herself.
‘But she called him “Henri.” I heard her,’ said the Governor.
‘He was a servant on Beauregard once, Sir Russell. I forgot that when
I said Maraquita had never seen him. But really this terrible business
has shaken me so that I don’t know what I’m saying. But my poor
darling must be carried to her room. She is not fit to walk. I hope
this shocking affair may not unsettle her reason.’
‘It seems as if it had done so already, when one hears her pleading for
the life of a murderer,’ said Sir Russell, as he assisted Mrs Courtney
to carry the unconscious girl to her own apartments. ‘And now, Mrs
Courtney, I will leave my wife in your charge. This is a very serious
matter, and may necessitate my sitting up all night. The rebellion is
quelled for the moment, but I must not rest until measures have been
taken to prevent its recurrence. My guests murdered before my very
eyes! It is incredible that such a thing should happen in Her Majesty’s
dominions. And we must crush the mutiny, if we string them all up to
the Fort gates. And this ringleader, this old servant (as you say)
of yours, shall be the first to suffer. I will give him lynch law as
soon as ever the dawn rises. I will teach him what the penalty is of
addressing the Governor’s wife as he has dared to do.’
And with this threat upon his lips, Sir Russell stalked gloomily away.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]