A sigh of regret escaped the company as the dance ceased. Blanch turned
to speak to Don Felipe, but he was no longer by her side--he had
vanished. The musicians struck up a waltz. It was now the turn of the
guests to dance if they chose; a privilege of which they were not slow
to avail themselves.
Captain Forest crossed over to where Chiquita sat, resting after the
exertion of the dance.
"I'm sure you've had enough dancing this evening, Señorita," he said,
handing her her fan. "Let us go into the garden; it's quieter there."
His words filled her with a tumult of emotion. She realized that the
moment for which she had been waiting had arrived. She looked up at him
without replying, then rose from her seat, and the two quietly left the
_patio_, disappearing among the shrubbery and the shadows.
Neither spoke. Each guessed the other's thoughts, and they walked on in
silence until they came to an open circular space surrounded by trees
and flooded by moonlight, where, as if moved by a common impulse, they
halted. Without a word he turned and silently folded her in his arms.
"Jack--" she murmured.
"Chiquita _mia_," he said at length, gazing down into her upturned face
where the dusk and the moon-fire met and blended in a radiance of
unearthly beauty, "is it not wonderful that, all unwittingly and
unconscious of each other's existence, we have been brought together
from the ends of the earth?" She was about to reply when a voice, close
at hand, cut her short. It was Don Felipe's.
"A pretty sentiment, Captain Forest," he said, stepping out into the
light before them. "I wish I might congratulate you, but you will never
marry her."
"How dare you!" cried the Captain furiously, advancing toward him with
flushed face and clenched hands. Chiquita started violently at the sound
of Don Felipe's voice. The apprehension of an impending catastrophe that
had oppressed her during the day, but which she had forgotten during the
excitement of the dance, again took possession of her.
"I apologize most humbly for intruding on your privacy," answered Don
Felipe, meeting the Captain's gaze unflinchingly, "but as one who wishes
you well, I could not stand quietly by and see a man like you cunningly
tricked by this woman."
"What do you mean?" asked the Captain, his eyes blazing and his voice
almost beyond control.
"Chance or fortune, which ever you may choose to call it, has recently
placed certain information in my possession which will entirely preclude
any thought on your part of marrying her." What can he mean, Chiquita
asked herself. She had expected an attack on the Captain and was
prepared for it, but this--what was it?
"You perhaps already know," continued Don Felipe coolly, "that this
woman and I were once betrothed to one another, but had I at that time
known what I now know of her, such a thing as a betrothal would have
been out of the question."
"And this information?" interrogated the Captain.
"It is very simple, Captain Forest," replied Don Felipe, slowly and
firmly. "The Señorita Chiquita is--the mother of a child."
"The mother of a child?" cried Chiquita in astonishment. "You lie!" His
words were like a blow in the face to the Captain. For an instant the
world seemed to swim before his eyes, but only for an instant. Had he
rushed upon Don Felipe then and there as he felt impelled, it would have
been what the latter most wished him to do. He would have then had
sufficient provocation to kill him on the spot. But a lion never springs
before he has taken the measure of his leap.
"Don Felipe Ramirez," said Captain Forest at length, in a hoarse,
half-audible voice, "unless you give me instant proof of what you say,
either you or I shall never leave this place alive! Understand," he
continued, "that when I ask you for proof, it is not because I doubt
this woman, but that your life and mine are at stake."
"Well spoken, Captain Forest," returned Don Felipe. "'Tis the answer I
expected; the utterance of a gentleman, a _Caballero_! You shall have
the proof you desire--the living proof, Captain Forest," he added with
emphasis.
"Proof?" exclaimed Chiquita in amazement. "Are you bereft of your
senses, Don Felipe Ramirez?"
"Ah! you have played your part well these many years, Señorita. It is
now my turn to cut the cards. If you will return to the _patio_--" he
continued, turning to the Captain.
"Why not here?" asked the latter.
"Because the proof which you desire awaits you there." The Captain was
about to protest further, when Chiquita interposed.
"Come!" she said, and without further words, turned and silently led the
way back to the _patio_ followed by Don Felipe and the Captain, the
latter scarcely able to control his desire to seize Don Felipe by the
throat and choke the breath out of his body. She knew that Don Felipe
had laid a most ingenious trap for her; that was to be expected. But
what form it would take, she was at a loss to divine until they reached
the _patio_; then it all came over her at once. She was to be publicly
accused. Don Felipe was capable of that, and she shuddered as she
pictured to herself the scene it would be certain to create.
There was a pause in the dancing. The musicians were playing an
interlude, and as the three reëntered the _patio_, the eyes of all
present immediately became centered upon them. Just opposite to where
they halted sat Blanch and Padre Antonio, conversing together.
"I would much prefer to spare you a public humiliation," said Don
Felipe, addressing the Captain in a low tone. "It is not too late. But
if you still insist on having the proof at this time--"
"The proof by all means!" exclaimed Chiquita without giving the Captain
time to answer, her eyes blazing with indignation.
"Very well, since you insist," replied Don Felipe, glancing for an
instant in the direction of Blanch. As he did so, both the Captain and
Chiquita noticed that she let fall, as if by accident, the pink rose she
held in her hand. Instantly Don Felipe turned and clapped his hands,
whereupon, an old Indian woman, bowed with age and supporting herself
with a stick, and accompanied by a pretty little Indian girl of five or
six years of age, emerged from one of the doors of the house and paused,
bewildered by the unusual sight that greeted their eyes; the lights and
flowers, the music and gayly dressed men and women. Chiquita started and
uttered a low cry as her gaze fell upon the old woman and the child.
Captain Forest noted the ashen hue of her face and felt her hand tremble
as she involuntarily clutched at his arm as if for support. Then she
suddenly seemed to recover her composure.
"That?" she exclaimed, and began to laugh, almost hysterically. It was
evident to the others that something unusual had occurred. The music
suddenly ceased, and save for the murmur of the fountain in the center
of the court, not a sound was to be heard. All eyes were now turned upon
the old woman and the child who still stood silent and motionless,
gazing in bewilderment upon the strange scene before them. Suddenly the
child uttered a cry of joy.
"Madre! Madre _mia_!" she cried, and running across the court, flung
herself into Chiquita's arms. Then it was that the latter grasped the
full significance and gravity of the situation. What could have been
more compromising and humiliating for her?
[Illustration: "'Madre! Madre _mia_!' she cried, and flung herself into
Chiquita's arms."]
"Marieta, _niña mia_!" she exclaimed, stooping and kissing the child,
without realizing that her words and action only compromised her the
more.
"Is this the beautiful garden you told me of, Mother--which you said you
would one day take me to see?" asked the child, gazing delightedly about
her.
"Yes, yes, _cara mia_!" she answered hastily, holding the child close to
her. Instinctively the others began to draw near the little group.
"What brings you here, Juana?" she asked sternly of the old woman who by
this time had crossed the court and stood before her, leaning on her
stick.
"They said you sent for us, Señorita, and compelled us to come."
"I never sent for you!" answered Chiquita.
"Do you wish for further proof?" asked Don Felipe, addressing the
Captain. "You see, the child found no difficulty in recognizing its
mother," he added sarcastically.
"'Tis a lie!" cried Chiquita. Captain Forest was speechless, stunned. As
for Don Felipe, he only laughed at Chiquita's impotent rage.
"Between five and six years ago," he began, "the Señorita and one
Joaquin Flores brought this child late one night to the Indian _pueblo_,
Onava, and placed it in charge of this woman with whom it has lived ever
since. Is it not so?" he asked, turning to the old Indian woman.
"It is, Señor," she answered in confusion.
"And has not the Señorita visited the child each month and provided for
its wants ever since the day it was given into your charge?" Again the
old woman answered in the affirmative. "And has not the child,"
continued Don Felipe, "always called her mother ever since it has been
able to speak, and have you not always thought her to be its mother?"
The old woman hesitated and glanced nervously about her as though
seeking a way of escape.
"Speak, Juana!" commanded Don Felipe sharply. "Onava lies within my
domain. Unless you speak the truth, I'll have you and the rest of your
family driven to the desert to starve."
"It is so, Señor!" sobbed the old woman, thoroughly frightened by Don
Felipe's threat, yet not daring to raise her eyes to those of Chiquita.
"You now know why the Señorita Chiquita danced in public during the
_Fiesta_. It was to provide for the wants of her child," he added with a
sneer.
"I can't believe it!" exclaimed Captain Forest contemptuously, breaking
the long silence he had preserved. "The introduction of this child and
woman doesn't prove anything that I can see."
"Every Indian in the village," interrupted Don Felipe, "will
substantiate what you have just heard. Why, the Señorita herself taught
this child to call her mother. But there are still other things which
you shall learn in due time."
"Chiquita," said the Captain without heeding Don Felipe's words, "speak!
I know you can explain." She glanced up at him for a moment and then
cast her eyes down at the child.
"I must first send to La Jara for Joaquin and Manuelita Flores," she
answered. "When they come, I shall be able to tell something definite
concerning this child."
"You can spare yourself the trouble," broke in Don Felipe. "They are
both dead."
"Dead?" she cried, starting violently. "Joaquin and Manuelita dead?"
"Their bodies, together with those of their horses and wagon, were
discovered early this morning at the foot of the _mesa_ which lies
between here and La Jara, directly below the point where the road winds
along the rim of the cliff. Doubtless their horses became frightened in
the dark and jumped over the cliff before they could save themselves."
Chiquita uttered a low cry. "You've done your work well, Don Felipe
Ramirez," she said at length, suddenly straightening and stiffening as
she faced him, the expression on her face changing to one of hatred and
contempt.
"It was no easy task to run you to earth, I'll admit," he retorted with
the same sneering look of triumph on his countenance.
The only two persons upon whom she could rely, who could corroborate
what she had to say concerning the child, were dead. No, there was one
other, a man, but he too was gone--no one knew where. She saw the
hopelessness of her plight. Nothing she could say or do could alter the
opinion of the world toward her. She might continue to deny the charge,
protest her innocence, accuse others, but to what avail? Without the
actual proof, all must believe that which they were so ready and willing
to believe. Had not the child recognized her, called her mother before
the world? Even though the charge might never be actually proven, and
Captain Forest refuse to believe it, there would always be this thing
between them which she could never explain satisfactorily. It was not
natural to suppose that he could possibly forget it or continue to
believe in her protestations of innocence without the corroboration of
others. The hour must surely come in which he would be assailed by
doubts. She felt she had lost him, and with the knowledge of her
failure, was seized with a sickening sensation and an acute pain at the
heart. A misty veil rose between her and the world and she swayed
unsteadily as though about to fall. She knew she must not faint. She
drew her hand across her eyes, then, putting all her remaining strength
into the effort, she slowly drew herself up.
Strange, that she and Don Felipe should have been created to become the
nemesis of one another! The child, awed by the silence and grave faces
of the bystanders, instinctively divined that there was something wrong
between her and them, and clung mutely to Chiquita's skirt, a frightened
look on her face.
Chiquita, meanwhile, stood gazing straight out before her, her head
slightly inclined forwards, her face white and set, her heart burning
with shame. It was not so much the question of guilt or innocence that
affected her now, but the shame of it all. What must the Americans
think of her? She felt the burning, searching gaze of those about her
and the joy they experienced at her discomfiture. Never had she been at
a loss to know which way to turn to extricate herself from a difficulty;
but now, how helpless she was. She nervously tapped the palm of her left
hand with her fan, vainly racking her brain in an effort to find a
solution. Dick, who had been watching her narrowly the while, saw a
strange light begin to play in her eyes in which he read Don Felipe's
death as plainly as though it were written across the heavens in letters
of flame.
"Chiquita, you must say something," said Captain Forest. "I tell you
again, I don't believe it, but for your own sake--speak!"
"Yes, my child, speak!" entreated Padre Antonio, stepping before her.
"Can't you see your silence is condemning you?" She looked up at him and
saw that his face was ashen, colorless like the Captain's--that he
seemed to have suddenly aged. Notwithstanding, there was the same kindly
expression in his eyes she had always known, and she felt that, even
though the world refused to believe in her, he might; he might even
forgive her. She saw in her present humiliation and shame, a direct
punishment for the betrayal of the Padre's confidence. Had she confided
her secret to him, this could not have come upon her. Now, however, it
was too late. She had no right to expect sympathy even from him.
"Chiquita, for the last time, I ask you to speak!" pleaded Captain
Forest, racked between doubt and belief in the woman he loved. Just
then, little Marieta began to cry.
"Madre, madre!" she gasped between her sobs. "I'm afraid of these
people. Take me away--take me home again!"
"Be not afraid, my little one, they cannot harm you," she answered,
drawing the child closer to her and laying one hand on its shoulder.
Another embarrassing silence, broken only by the low sobs of Marieta,
followed.
"Chiquita," demanded Padre Antonio at length, "has this child the right
to call you mother?" There was a stern ring in his voice and she knew
her last moment of grace had come; that it was useless to hesitate
longer. She glanced at the Captain, then at the Padre and then down at
the pretty, tear-stained face of the clinging child. Again she felt that
peculiar pain at the heart and thought she was going to faint as she
struggled with herself between honor, her love and respect for Captain
Forest and Padre Antonio and her devotion to the child whose life, she
knew, depended upon her answer. Up to that moment she had been
completely at a loss to know what to say or how to act, but that
invisible something which until then had deprived her of speech, now
seemed to impel her to answer in the affirmative.
It was the supreme moment of her life. After all the years she could not
abandon the child now; the woman in her forbade it. She must go on to
the end. Again she glanced down at Marieta, and then raising her head
and looking into Padre Antonio's eyes, said quietly: "Yes, she has that
right."
"It's not true; I don't believe it!" cried Captain Forest in a tone in
which was expressed all the shame and disgust he experienced on seeing
the woman he loved dragged into the mire before his eyes.
"Captain Forest, you have heard the truth," answered Chiquita.
"Then there is nothing further to be said!" broke in Padre Antonio who
was anxious to end a scene that was growing more painful each moment.
Without a word, the Captain whirled on his heel and walked toward the
garden. Clearly, the effects of the drop of poison instilled so adroitly
into their lives by Don Felipe were beginning to be felt.
It is doubtful whether Blanch would have given Don Felipe the signal
could she have foreseen the consequences. Her rival could have been
exposed without being publicly humiliated. Nevertheless, an ineffable
joy filled her soul. She knew now that Jack either must return to her,
or he would never marry. His sensitive, overwrought mind frenzied and
made desperate by despair might even drive him to kill himself in the
end, but what did it really matter so long as no other woman possessed
him?
Don Felipe fairly reveled in his revenge and took no pains to conceal
it. It was the sweetest moment of his life. At last she too knew what it
was to be struck to earth, to lie prone with one's face in the dust, the
jeers of the world ringing in her ears. Of a truth, to quote Dick's
words, "Had the devil raked hell with a fine-tooth comb, he could not
have produced a more accomplished villain than Don Felipe Ramirez."