That night I had but little sleep.
About an hour after midnight there was a great stir in the house and the
sound of opening doors and hurrying footsteps. The unwonted noises
terrified me. I leaned against the door, with a heart beating thickly,
and I listened. What evil tidings did those sounds portend? There was a
loud outcry in a woman's voice,--the voice of Doña Orosia.
I felt that I must know what havoc Fate had wrought in the last hours. I
looked at Barbara--she slumbered peacefully on her hard pallet; the
moonlight, streaming through the barred window, showed me her withered
face relaxed in almost childlike peacefulness. I would not rouse
her,--'twas a blessed thing to sleep and forget; but _I_ dared not
sleep, for I knew not what would be the horror of my waking. With my
cheek pressed close against the door I waited a moment longer. Perhaps
only those planks intervened 'twixt me and my life's tragedy!
I laid my hand upon the latch. I feared to know the truth,--and yet, if
I did not hear it, I must die of dread. Slowly I turned the key and
raised the bars: the door swung open.
I stepped out upon the balcony that overhung the court and I looked
over. There was no one in sight; the white moonlight lay over
everything, and a strong perfume floated up from the flowers in the
garden beyond.
I crept down the stair and stood still in the centre of the empty court.
Voices sounded near me, but I knew not whence they came. Trembling
still, I moved toward the passage that led to the outer door, and I saw
that it was bright as day. The door stood ajar. Those who had last gone
out had been strangely forgetful--or greatly agitated.
Scarce knowing what I did, I crossed the threshold and hurried down the
street in the direction of the fort.
A group of three men stood upon the corner. At the sight of them I
paused and hid in the shadow of the wall; but, one of them turning his
face toward me, I recognized Captain Baulk, and, going quickly forward,
I laid my hand upon his arm.
"How is he? Where have they taken him?" I whispered.
"What! is't Mistress Tudor? Have they turned you adrift, then? Lor',
'tis a frail craft to be out o' harbour such foul weather!"
"How is he?" I repeated, tightening my grasp upon his sleeve.
"Dead as a pickled herring, poor lad!"
My head struck heavily against the wall as I fell, but I made no outcry.
"Sink me! but the poor lassie thought I meant Mr. Rivers!" I heard the
old sailor exclaim as he dropped on his knees beside me,--and the words
stayed my failing senses.
"Whom did you mean?" I gasped.
"Young Poole has been done to death, Mistress Margaret. As honest a lad
as ever lived, too,--more's the pity!"
I struggled to raise myself, crying: "What do you tell me? Have they
killed the lad in pure spite against his master? And where is Mr.
Rivers?"
They made me no answer.
"He is dead, then! I knew it, my heart told me so!"
"Eh! poor lass! 'Tis not so bad as that--yet bad enough. They've hung
chains enough upon him to anchor a man-o'-war, and moored him fast in
the dungeon of the fort. D--n 'em for a crew o' dastard furriners!--an'
he own cousin to an English earl!"
"Can you not tell me a straight tale?" I cried. "What has he done to be
so ill served? And whose the enmity behind it all,--Melinza's, or the
Governor's?"
"Lor'!" exclaimed one of the sailors, "the young Don is past revenge,
mistress. If he lives out the night 'tis more than I look to see."
"Here, now, let me tell the tale, lad," the old captain interposed.
"'Twas a duel began it, Mistress Tudor. The young bloods were so keen
after fighting they could not wait for sunrise, but must needs have it
out by moonlight on the beach. 'Twas over yonder, in the lee of the
castle walls."
"Mr. Rivers and Don Pedro?"
"Aye, mistress. The Governor was not by,--'tis likely he knew naught of
it."
"Not so!" I cried, "he had his share in the quarrel, and they left the
house in company."
"Mayhap," said Captain Baulk, "I'd not gainsay it--for I trust no one o'
them; but he chose to go with his weather eye shut rather than take
precaution 'gainst the squall. So they had it out all by their
selves,--and none of us a whit the wiser, saving young Poole, who had
guessed somewhat was amiss and followed his master."
"What then? Speak quickly! Was Mr. Rivers wounded?"
"Not he! That's to say, not by any thrust of the Don's. Lor', but it
must ha' been a pretty fight! Pity no man saw it that lives to tell!"
"In the name of mercy, sir, speak plainly!"
"Aye, my young mistress, but give me time an' I will. Mr. Rivers ere
long did get in such a thrust that the Don went down before it as
suddenly as a ship with all her hull stove in. He lay stranded, with the
blood flowing away in a dark stream over the white sands. Our young
gentleman, gallant heart, did throw away his sword and fall down beside
the Spaniard and strive to staunch his wounds, crying aloud most lustily
for aid. Who should hear him but young Poole and that yellow devil of a
Tomas! They came from opposite quarters, and Poole was in the shadow, so
the other saw him not. The mulatto ran up alongside, and, seeing 'twas
the Don who had fallen, he whipped out a knife from his belt and struck
at our young master as he knelt there on the ground. Nay, now, do not
take on so! Did I not say he was but little hurt? Had the blow struck
him fairly in the back, as it was meant to do, doubtless it would have
put an end to him; but Poole was to the rescue, poor lad! He threw
himself on the mulatto in the nick o' time. The knife had barely grazed
Mr. Rivers on the shoulder; but young Tomas never let go his hold of it.
He and the faithful lad rolled together on the ground--and Poole never
rose again. His body was stabbed through in a dozen places. Mr. Rivers
had no time to interfere; ere he could rise from his knees, or even put
out a hand to take his sword, a dozen soldiers had laid hands on him.
That devil of a Tomas finished his evil work, and then picked himself up
and walked away; never a one laid a finger on him or cried shame on the
foul deed!"
The old sailor paused, and each man of the group breathed a curse
through his clinched teeth.
"They have taken Mr. Rivers to the dungeon of the fort?" I whispered.
"Aye, so they tell us. None of us were there, which is perhaps for the
good of our necks,--yet I would we had had a chance to strike a blow in
defence of the poor lad."
"And the Spaniard--Don Pedro?"
"They carried him into the Governor's own house a while since. I think
his wound is mortal."
"Then he has brought his death upon himself, for he forced Mr. Rivers
into the quarrel," I declared hastily.
"'Twas bound to come," admitted Captain Baulk, "there has been bad
blood between them from the very first. But what are we to do with you,
mistress? Did they put you out in anger?"
"Nay," I exclaimed, "I heard a great disturbance and hastened out to
seek the cause. The outer door was left unbarred."
"Why then, mistress, we would best make for it again before 'tis shut!
This is no hour and no place for a young maid to be out alone." Taking
me by the hand he led me back the way I had come; but we were too late.
The entrance was closed and barred against us.
"Now, what's to do?" exclaimed the old sailor in dismay.
I had been too crushed and dazed by the ill news to think before of my
imprudence; but now I realized how very unwisely I had acted. I turned
hastily to the old captain.
"Go and leave me, my good friend," I said. "Already there has been
enough trouble of my making. Do not let me have to answer for more. I
will wait here and call for some one to open for me. 'Tis better for me
to say what is the truth--that I wandered out in my anxiety. Go, I pray
you, and be discrete in your conduct, that they may have no just cause
to imprison you also."
He saw the wisdom of it and went away out of sight, while I beat with
all my might upon the door.
In a moment steps sounded within, the bars fell, and the door was drawn
back. It was the Governor himself who stood there. He looked at me in
astonishment as he drew aside for me to pass.
I attempted no explanation; for I knew he could not understand me.
Doubtless he would tell his lady and she would hold me to account.
Slowly I mounted to the balcony above and pushed open the door of my
chamber.
The dame still slept peacefully. I went softly to the window and knelt
down. My heart was sick for the faithful lad who had died in defending
Mr. Rivers. Poor boy! He had no mother--I wonder if there was a little
lass anywhere whom he loved? But no, he was young for that. I think his
love was all his master's. And to die for those whom we love best is not
so sad a fate as to live for their undoing!
The hot tears ran down my face. I leaned my cheek against the bars and
set free my thoughts, which flew, as swift as homing pigeons, to my dear
love in his dungeon cell.
Oh! I would that all the prayers I pray, and all the tender thoughts I
think of him, had wings in very truth; and that after they had flown
heavenward they might bear thence some balm, some essence of divinest
pity, to cheer him in his loneliness! If it were so, then there would be
in never-ending flight, up from the barred window where I kneel, and
downward to the narrow slit in his prison wall, two shining lines of
fluttering white wings coming and going all these long nights through!