As soon as the Governor had disappeared, Mrs Courtney tried hard to get
her husband out of the room; but he was obstinately bent on remaining
until his daughter had recovered her consciousness, and so, when
Maraquita opened her eyes, both her father and mother were bending over
her.
‘Where am I?’ she exclaimed, as the world broke indistinctly upon her
again.
‘In your own room, my darling. Lie down, Quita. Don’t attempt to rise.
You are quite safe. No one can hurt you here.’
‘_Safe!_’ repeated the girl, in a bewildered tone. ‘Ah, I remember
now! The ballroom--the blood--those dreadful cries! Oh, mamma, mamma,’
she continued, clinging to her mother, ‘I shall never forget it! And
Julie Latreille too. I saw her murdered at my side. It is too, _too_
horrible!’
‘No, no, my dearest. You are mistaken. Julie is not dead. She was
wounded, and they have taken her to the hospital. But don’t think of it
any more to-night. Let me undress you, that you may try and get some
sleep.’
‘_Not think of it!_’ said Maraquita, with staring bloodshot eyes, as
she sat up on the couch in her white lace dress, all crumpled and
spattered with blood, ‘not think of it. Why, I shall never cease
to think of it. And there was something else too. What was it? Ah,
_Henri_! and he cursed me!’
‘Mr Courtney, I must request you to leave us!’ exclaimed his wife
hurriedly. ‘You see the excitable condition she is in, and I can do
nothing with her whilst you are hanging over her like this. The less
people she has with her the better! You must positively go, and leave
her to Jessica and me.’
‘Well, my dear, if you think it necessary, of course I will go; but you
will lose no time, I hope, in getting the poor child into bed.’
‘Do you suppose I don’t know what is best for her, Mr Courtney? I am
only waiting till you are gone, to undress her.’
‘And you will send me word how she goes on--I shall not retire till I
hear she has recovered her composure, and is in a fair way to sleep.’
‘I will send Jessica to you in half an hour. By that time, I hope we
shall both have somewhat overcome this terrible shock. I shall stay
with her all night, and you had better go and tell Sir Russell so.’
And Mrs Courtney, who had been carrying on this colloquy just inside
the bedroom door, opened it, and gently pushing her husband into the
passage, reclosed and locked it, with a sigh of relief.
‘Thank Heaven!’ she said to old Jessica, ‘we are safe! I trembled for
what she might say next.’
‘Allays dat cussed oberseer,’ observed the old negress, who stood by
Quita’s head.
The girl herself was still sitting up on the couch when her mother
returned to her, staring into vacancy, and repeating the word
‘_Henri_’ in a low voice.
‘Maraquita!’ said Mrs Courtney firmly, as she shook the girl to rouse
her to a sense of her position, ‘who are you talking to? There is no
one here! You are quite alone with Jessica and me. You are perfectly
safe. All the danger is over, and Government House is guarded by the
soldiery on every side. Come to bed now, like a good child, and try to
sleep.’
‘But _he_--where is _he_?’ asked Maraquita wildly. ‘Did they fire on
him? Is he hurt?’
‘Sir Russell, my darling? Well, nothing to signify! The brutes slashed
at him with their knives, and caught him on the wrist, but the doctor
says it will be all right again in a few days, and he will come and see
you by-and-by, dear.’
‘Not _him_! I don’t want _him_!’ returned Maraquita fretfully, ‘but
Henri--where is my Henri? He jumped out of the window, and Sir Russell
ordered them to kill him. Oh, tell me, in Heaven’s name, is he _dead_?’
Mrs Courtney did not know what to answer, but Jessica was ready with
the information.
‘No, Missy Quita, he not dead. Governor’s Sambo tell me all de news
just now. De guard go after him, and take him prisoner, and shut him up
in Fort cell, where he can’t come out. And so my missy quite safe, and
can go to sleep comfortable.’
‘There, my darling, you hear what old Jessica says,’ interposed Mrs
Courtney soothingly. ‘They have got him in prison. It was like his
insolence to speak to you as he did; but you have given him so
much encouragement, that the creature is beside himself. But he has
overleapt the mark this time, and will never trouble you again.’
‘Will they--_kill_ him?’ said Quita, with a shiver.
‘I hope so, I’m sure. It would be the best thing for all of us, and
drive this romantic nonsense out of your head, Maraquita. Why, what
is this, my dear? You are surely not weeping for the fate of this
_murderer_, who has instigated his fellows to kill half your friends,
and would have killed you, and your husband, and your parents, if he
had had the opportunity? I shall begin to think you have very little
love for your father or myself, if you can prefer _his_ life to ours.’
‘Oh, no, mamma, it isn’t that! I am very thankful to think you are all
safe. Only--only--Henri, who used to love me so--_to die_! Oh, it must
not be! It is _too_ shocking!’
‘If a man sets all the laws of his country at naught, he must pay the
penalty of his wrong-doing,’ said Mrs Courtney sententiously.
‘Yes; but there is some excuse for him, mamma. Think of his grief for
my loss, his jealousy, his revenge. It was _I_ who drove him to it. I
should have been true to him at all hazards, and then this terrible
business would never have happened. Oh, mamma, he must not die, or his
spirit will haunt me all my days,’ said Quita, trembling, with closed
eyes.
‘Maraquita, you are exaggerating the blame that is due to you in
this matter. In the first place, we don’t know that the mutiny was
organised on your account at all. The negroes are disaffected, I am
sorry to say, all over San Diego. And if it were, it is an outrage
which should call forth nothing but resentment on your part. You have
been foolishly weak in former times with regard to this man; but he
must have been insane if he ever believed you would marry him. You
followed your parents’ wishes in accepting Sir Russell Johnstone, and
have nothing to reproach yourself with in regard to it. Now, leave the
rest of the matter to him, and don’t worry your head about it. You may
depend upon it, the Governor will do what is just and right, and such a
dreadful affair will never be allowed to happen again.’
‘But Henri--what will they do to Henri?’ moaned Maraquita.
‘Oh, this is unbearable! You are past all reason!’ cried Mrs Courtney
impatiently. ‘Here, Jessica, help me off with her ladyship’s things,
and let us put her into bed.’
She pulled off the various garments of cambric and lace, almost
roughly, in her indignation at her daughter’s weakness; and having seen
Maraquita laid in bed, she left her in her old nurse’s care, whilst she
went to ask the doctor for a sleeping draught.
Jessica had been installed at Government House as she had desired,
and her wages had been raised to nearly double their former sum. Lady
Russell had felt uncomfortable at first to remember that there was some
one beside her who knew all about her maiden life, but in her present
extremity she turned to her old servant with a feeling of security
that she need hide nothing from her. As her mother left the room, she
moved on her pillow with a heavy sigh, and laid her little white hand
in Jessica’s dark palm. The negro nature, if vindictive and revengeful
under injustice, is also very affectionate and easily conciliated. This
caressing action on Maraquita’s part touched her old nurse’s heart. It
was some time since her little missy had shown any token of love for
her, and it won her over on the instant to her side.
‘Jessica,’ sighed Quita, ‘I’m very unhappy.’
‘I know you is, poor missy,’ responded the negress. ‘You’se feelin’
berry bad to-night. And, sakes! it’s no wonder. But it’ll be all right
bime-by, missy.’
‘I loved him, Jessica, very much,’ continued her young mistress. ‘You
knew all about us, and how I used to slip out when everybody was
asleep, and go to meet him in the Oleander thicket.’
‘Ah, yes, missy, Jessica knew. Many’s the night I’ve sot up, and
watched and waited for you to come back; but it was generally daylight
before you came. Ah! you used to love de oberseer in dose days, Missy
Quita, pretty strong.’
‘And I love him still, Nurse! I can’t help it!’ cried Quita feverishly,
as she sat up in bed, with her dark hair floating about her, and stared
at the negress with dilated eyes. ‘I have loved him all along; and if
they kill him, they will kill me too.’
‘No, no, missy; Governor not killing Massa Courcelles. Only keep him in
prison little while, and den let him go free. Lie down, missy, and go
sleep. All right bime-by.’
‘But I want to see him!’ exclaimed Quita excitedly. ‘I want to
hear everything they are going to do to him; and I want to ask his
forgiveness for having married Sir Russell. I _must_ see him, Jessica.
I shall go mad if I don’t.’
‘Den missy _shall_ see him,’ replied the servant soothingly.
‘Will you manage it for me, Jessica?’ asked the girl eagerly; ‘and
without saying a word to mamma. Will you find out where Monsieur
de Courcelles has been taken, and if I can possibly get permission
to visit him, and if there will be a trial, and _when_? Find out
everything, Jessica, and let me know to-morrow morning, and you shall
have the pair of gold bangles papa gave me last birthday. Stay! you
shall have them now,’ continued Quita, as she sprang from her bed and
took the ornaments off her dressing-table. ‘Put them on your wrists,
Jessica, and remember you are to find out _everything_!’
‘Missy berry good to ole Jessica,’ said the negress, as she clasped the
glittering circlets on her dusky arms, and feasted her eyes on them;
‘and I’ll know de whole truth by to-morrow morning. Only missy must lie
down again now, and keep all dis berry dark, or de ole missus nebber
let me tell nuffin.’
The entrance of Mrs Courtney at this juncture with the opiate draught
put a stop to further confidence, and Maraquita, having obediently
swallowed it, soon lost sight of her troubles in sleep. Mrs Courtney
dismissed Jessica for the night, and lay down by her daughter’s side;
but it was long before she followed her example. She trembled not only
for the fright she had gone through, but for the influence she feared
it might have upon Maraquita’s future.
‘Poor child!’ she thought, as she contemplated the lovely face, now
tranquil in slumber on the pillow beside her, ‘she is passing through
a terrible ordeal. I only trust it may not cause a rupture between
Sir Russell and herself. I am certain he suspects something. I did
not half like the look with which he received my explanation of the
matter. It was the most unfortunate thing in the world that that fellow
should have been planted right in Maraquita’s way as she left the room.
Two minutes sooner or later, and she would not have seen him. Now, I
hardly dare to think how it may end. If he is condemned to death, she
certainly must not hear of it: I must invent some reason to Sir Russell
for taking her away. Her emotional nature would break down altogether
under such a strain. What an awful thing it is that she should ever
have fallen into his clutches!’ And Mrs Courtney sighed over it until
she fell asleep.
As soon as the morning broke, Maraquita having passed a good night,
and everything being tranquil at Government House, she accompanied
her husband to Beauregard for the day, for all the planters were
entertaining grave fears for the continued submission of their coolie
hands, and it was not thought advisable to leave the estates for long
at a time without a ruling eye. Her departure was the signal for a
long conference between Lady Russell and old Jessica. The negress had
ascertained that it was possible for the friends of the prisoners to
obtain access to them through a written order from the Governor, but
that the privilege would only be extended in the case of relations.
‘That renders it impossible!’ exclaimed Quita despairingly, for she was
not a woman with the wit to overcome difficulties.
‘How so, missy?’ demanded Jessica. ‘Why impossible? _I_ can get order
quick enough.’
‘_You_, Jessica? But Sir Russell knows you. Besides, he would never
believe you were related to Monsieur de Courcelles.’
‘Oh, missy, I not going work dat way at all. Course he not gib it to
_me_; but if missy gib me five-dollar note, dat half-caste woman Rosita
will go swaer she’s de oberseer’s aunt, or his moder, and want speak to
him with her daughter--dat’s _you_, missy. Den you put veil over your
face, and big cloak, and go with Rosita and see de oberseer.’
‘But Rosita may tell,’ said Maraquita, shrinking from the idea.
Jessica shrugged her shoulders contemptuously.
‘Rosita not tell--what good her telling? but if missy ’fraid, gib her
_ten_ dollars ’stead of five! den I swear she not tell.’
‘And what else did you hear, Jessica?’
‘Sambo say de Governor would hab hung all de mutineers dis morning,
same like dogs, only de Colonel ob de forces tell him dat berry bad
plan, and make big fight, and he better have proper martials. So dat am
fixed for to-morrow, and den dey will be hung at sunset fire--dat what
Sambo says.’
‘And--and--what more, Jessica?’
‘Dat’s pretty well all, missy, only de corpses hab been cleared away,
and will be buried dis evening. And Missy Latreille berry bad in
hospital, and both de Missy Burns dead, and dere fader hab sworn if
Governor don’t hang de rebels, _he_ will.’
‘Oh, it is terrible!’ sighed Maraquita. ‘I shall never have the courage
to visit the cells. I am so afraid of being found out.’
‘Den missy better not go.’
‘But, Jessica, he will die without my seeing him, and I shall never
forgive myself. I don’t know _what_ to do.’
She vacillated, like the weak creature she was, between two opinions,
until it was almost too late for Jessica to arrange the matter for
her; but finally, under the dread of her mother’s speedy return
from Beauregard, she made up her mind to visit De Courcelles, and
Jessica was despatched with a ten dollar note to make the necessary
preparations.
When the afternoon sun was somewhat on the wane, and Sir Russell
Johnstone, having passed a sleepless night, and believing his wife to
be safe in her own apartments, had thrown himself down on a couch to
obtain some rest, Maraquita, effectually disguised with veil and cloak,
stole down the back staircase of Government House, in company with the
negress, and sought the abode of the half-caste woman Rosita, who had
been fully instructed in the part she had to play. Leaving Jessica
behind them, the two women immediately set out for the Fort, where they
were received by the officer commanding the prison guard. He threw one
glance on the Governor’s signature, and gave them immediate admittance.
‘Friends to see the prisoner No. 14, by the Governor’s permission,’
he shouted to the warder, who, unlocking a heavy iron-clamped door,
ushered the visitors into a stone passage, from which there seemed
to be no possibility of egress. Maraquita’s feeble courage was fast
failing her, and had it not been for the cool nerve and determination
of Rosita, she would have probably betrayed herself. But the half-caste
woman was quite equal to the emergency.
‘Ah, sir, tell me!’ she exclaimed, as soon as they were alone with the
warder, ‘will they really kill my poor nephew? Is there no chance of a
reprieve?’
‘Don’t think so, ma’am,’ was the official’s answer; ‘but no one can
tell for certain till after the court-martial to-morrow. Your nephew,
you say?’
‘Yes! and this poor girl, my daughter, was to have been married to him
before long. It’s a terrible trial for her! I don’t know how she’ll
stand the interview.’
‘She’d better not see him. ’Twon’t do no good,’ said the warder
roughly; ‘though she’s had a lucky escape from such a rascal.’
‘But I’ve come on her account alone. She can’t rest till she’s seen her
cousin. Now, Clara, my dear, you’d better go in by yourself first, and
then when the time’s up, the warder will let you know.’
All this had been pre-arranged between them, but Rosita played her
part much better than Maraquita had the power to do. Her large eyes
glanced up almost appealingly when No. 14 was reached, and the gaoler’s
keys rattled in the door, and had not her companion pushed her into
the cell, she would have turned round and run away. But it was done,
and her retreat was cut off. She stood in the same room as Henri de
Courcelles.
‘Friends for No. 14,’ sung out the warder, as he opened the door; ‘only
fifteen minutes allowed, so make the most of them.’
Henri de Courcelles looked up in amazement as the order sounded on his
ear. He knew of no friends to visit him in his trouble. He was sitting
in a small whitewashed room, which contained a pallet, a table, and a
couple of wooden chairs. His day’s rations were before him, but he had
not touched them. He was still in his usual attire, for it had not been
thought worth while to put him into prison clothes, and notwithstanding
an unshorn face and unkempt hair, he was looking as handsome--perhaps
handsomer, than ever, for disorder suited his gipsy style of beauty. As
he caught sight of Maraquita’s shrouded and veiled figure, he started a
little, but he never supposed for a moment it could be she, until she
lifted her veil, and gazed at him with scared and mournful eyes.
‘Henri,’ she exclaimed, in a piteous voice, ‘I have come to see you!’
In her vanity, she had believed she had only to stand before him, and
look miserable, to bring him to her feet again. She had forgotten
the deadly insult she had put upon the man by marrying Sir Russell
Johnstone; the lies with which she had attempted to deceive him to the
very end; the treachery by which she and her mother had procured his
dismissal from Beauregard. She trusted, like many another of her sex,
too much to the power of her beauty to sway the minds of men. But mere
loveliness cannot supply the place of truth and fidelity, and she had
become nothing in the eyes of her former lover but a whited sepulchre,
and was the last person upon earth he desired to see. He sprang to his
feet as her voice fell on his ear, and looked at her with ineffable
scorn.
‘_You_ have come to see _me_, and why?’
‘Oh, Henri, how can you ask? Do you think I am made of stone, that
I have entirely forgotten? When I saw you amongst those terrible
mutineers last night, it nearly killed me.’
‘It’s a pity it didn’t _quite_ kill you,’ he replied, ‘for women
such as you are not fit to live! Do you know _why_ I was there,--why
I headed their numbers, and incited them on to rebellion and
slaughter?--_in order that I might kill you_,--in order that you
should not live to deceive other men, and drive them to desperation, as
you have driven me.’
‘Oh, Henri, Henri,’ she exclaimed, panting with fear, ‘you are raving!
You would not injure _me_! Think, Henri, think of the hours I have lain
with my head on your breast and my lips to yours; think how you have
loved me,--of the tie between us, and I am sure that you would die
sooner than hurt a hair of my head.’
‘_Think of it!_’ he repeated, with a bitter laugh; ‘haven’t I thought
of it until it has turned my brain, and made me lust for your blood? To
think of all your professions of love, and how they have ended, is to
hate and despise you. _The tie between us!_ It had better die, and rot
where it lies, than grow up with one tithe of its mother’s falsehood.
No, Maraquita, the time for my belief in you is past. If you came here
to hear compliments, you have wasted your time, for I have nothing but
loathing and hatred to give you.’
‘Oh, Henri!’ she said, shivering, with her face hidden in her hands,
‘don’t speak to me like that! I will go away, and never attempt to
cross your path again, only promise me that neither you nor your
friends shall hurt me. It was not my fault, indeed it wasn’t. I married
at the command of my parents, and I have been so miserable since,
Henri. I have dreamt of you almost every night, and longed to see you
again. Oh, don’t look at me like that! Kiss me, and say you forgive me,
or I shall never know another happy moment.’
‘_Kiss you! Forgive you!_’ he repeated witheringly. ‘Never! Neither in
this life, nor the life to come. You escaped me last night, Maraquita,
but you shall not escape me for ever. I have sworn to have your life,
in return for all that was precious to me in mine, and I will have it
yet. I only bide my time.’
Then her fancied passion died out beneath his threats and blazing eyes,
and she turned and taunted him with his inability to carry out his
intentions.
‘_You will have my life?_ What are you thinking of, to talk in so
absurd a manner? Do you forget where you are? Are you aware that you
will be brought up for trial to-morrow morning, and that if I give the
Governor one hint of this conversation, sunset will see your execution.
How will you be able to carry out your threats against me then?’
‘And so _this_ is the woman who will never know another happy moment
without my forgiveness!’ he returned sarcastically,--‘who can calmly
contemplate my possible execution as the means of her own deliverance,
and hint that she may expedite it! I thank you, madam, for showing me
your true nature so openly, else I might have been weak enough, in
these last moments, to believe you had really preserved some little
feeling for the man who should have been your husband. But I have a
word to say to you in return. I shall _not_ die to-morrow--I shall live
until I have the weapon in my hand wherewith to strike you down. And
then I shall not care how soon I go too. But in hell, Maraquita--even
in hell--I shall be beside you, to haunt you with the treachery which
sent us both there?’
‘Oh, have pity!--have pity on me!’ she cried, upon her knees.
‘I have no pity,’ he answered, in a low voice; ‘and I shall have none.
You have left me only one feeling with regard to you,--determination
to carry out my revenge. When I think of it, I feel as if I had the
strength of ten thousand devils in me, and could tear these walls
asunder with my bare hands, and set myself free, only to be revenged on
you.’
‘Time’s up,’ called the warder from outside the door.
‘Henri, will you not speak one word to me?--give me one look before I
go?’ wailed Maraquita.
He advanced upon her with the eyes of a demoniac.
‘Speak to you? Look at you?’ he exclaimed. ‘What have I to say to you
that I have not already said? Leave this cell, as you value a few more
days’ existence, or I shall tear you to pieces where you stand.’
And at the sight of his uplifted hands and glowering eyes, Maraquita
gave a low cry, and hastened through the open doorway.
‘Not a very pleasant interview, I guess,’ observed the warder, as Quita
walked down the stone passage again, sobbing as if her heart would
break, and clinging to Rosita’s arm. ‘I told you you’d better not see
him. He’s more mad than sane, and I was half afraid he might do you
some harm.’
‘Is there,’ demanded Maraquita, as soon as she could command her voice
sufficiently to speak, ‘is there any chance of his being able to escape
from prison?’
The gaoler laughed.
‘_Escape?_ Well, no. I wouldn’t set my heart on that, if I was you,
miss. ’Twould take a better man than he--though he’s a powerful fellow,
too--to break through these walls, when he’s once inside them. He’ll
never leave them again, unless it’s by the Governor’s orders--you may
take your oath of that.’
At Rosita’s house, Jessica received her weeping young mistress again,
and conducted her safely back to her own apartments; but it was long
before Maraquita could make up her mind whether she should speak to Sir
Russell on the subject of De Courcelles or not. Some suspicion might
attach to her doing so, though she trusted to her native cunning to
make a good story of it. But if she said nothing, and the court took
a lenient view of the part he had maintained in the mutiny, Henri de
Courcelles might be set at large again, and accomplish his wicked
designs upon her life. The love of living, so strong in every human
breast, finally outweighed all other considerations, and Maraquita,
after a night of painful deliberation, asked Jessica to summon Sir
Russell to her side.
The Governor, unused to such amenities on the part of his bride, came
with alacrity, and full of tender solicitude for the apprehension and
terror she had passed through.
‘You must try and dismiss it all from your mind now, my darling, for
the danger is really past. We try the mutineers to-day, and I have very
little doubt of the sentence which will be passed upon them.’
‘There is _one_--the man who spoke to me the other night,’ said
Maraquita, trembling; ‘what will they do to him?’
The Governor frowned.
‘You mean the ringleader? I cannot tell; but if _I_ had to decide, I
should say that hanging was too good for him. Why do you ask, my dear?
Surely you are not interested in his fate.’
‘Oh, no, no! I am afraid of him,’ replied his wife. ‘He was papa’s
overseer once, and he--he--presumed to fall in love with me; and
because--because I married you instead, he has sworn to kill me; and he
_will_, Sir Russell, I am _sure_ he will, if they let him go free!’
‘He shall _not_ go free!’ exclaimed her husband indignantly. ‘Such
outrages from the half-caste population against European settlers are
not to be tolerated. I am glad you have told me this, Quita; it will go
greatly against him, if the court should be disposed to show him any
favour.’
‘Oh, _do_ send him away--get rid of him at all risks. He frightens me.
I shall die of fear,’ she whispered, clinging to Sir Russell’s arm.
‘He shall never frighten you again, my darling. I will take care of
that,’ replied the Governor decidedly, as he pressed her to him. But
as he was embracing her, Jessica entered the bedroom, with an official
paper.
‘Orderly from Fort bring for Governor,’ she ejaculated.
Sir Russell glanced over its contents.
‘Good heavens!’ he cried, ‘he has escaped us!’
‘Who--_who_?’ demanded Maraquita.
‘The very man you were speaking of--Henri de Courcelles. He has broken,
by some miraculous means, out of his prison cell, and is missing. I
must order out the mounted police at once to follow him. Don’t be
afraid, Maraquita. It is impossible that he can escape the vigilance of
the law, in such a little place as San Diego.’
‘He will--he _will_!’ exclaimed the unhappy girl, as her husband rushed
out of the room. ‘He will live, as he said, to murder me.’ And with
that she fell back unconscious on her pillows.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]