La Diche viene quando no se aguarda.
--Spanish Proverb.
(Good lack comes when it is not looked for.)
Roland looked for some minutes in the direction by which Maritaña had
gone, and then, with a sudden start, as if of some newly taken resolve,
took the path towards the villa. He had not gone far when, at the turn
of the way, he came in front of Enrique, who, with hasty steps, was
advancing towards him.
“Lost, everything lost!” exclaimed the latter, with a mournful gesture
of his hands.
“All gone!” cried Roland.
“Every crown in the world!”
“Be it so; there is an end of gambling, at least!”
“You bear your losses nobly, senhor!” said Enrique, sneeringly; “and,
before a fitting audience, might claim the merit of an accomplished
gamester. I am, however, most unworthy to witness such fine philosophy.
I recognize in beggary nothing but disgrace!”
“Bear it, then, and the whole load, too!” said Roland, sneeringly. “To
your solicitations only I yielded in taking my place at that accursed
table. I had neither a passion for play, nor the lust for money-getting;
you thought to teach me both, and, peradventure, you have made me
despise them more than ever.”
“What a moralist!” cried Enrique, laughing insolently, “who discovers
that he has cared neither for his mistress nor his money till he has
lost both.”
“What do you mean?” said Roland, trembling with passion.
“I never speak in riddles,” was the cool reply.
“This, then, is meant as insult,” said Roland, approaching closer,
and speaking in a still lower voice; “or is it merely the passion of a
disappointed gambler?”
“And if it were, _amigo mio_,” retorted the other, “what more fitting
stake to set against the anger of a rejected lover?”
“Be it so!” cried Roland, fiercely; “you never caught up a man more
disposed to indulge your humor. Shall it be now?”
“Could not so much courage keep warm till daylight?” said Enrique,
calmly. “Below the fountains there is a very quiet spot.”
“At sunrise?”
“At sunrise,” echoed Enrique, bowing with affected courtesy, till the
streamers from his hat touched the ground.
“Now for my worthy father-in-law elect,” said Roland; “and to see him
before he may hear of this business, or I may find it difficult to
obtain my divorce.” When the youth arrived at the villa, the party were
assembled at supper. The great saloon, crowded with guests and hurrying
menials, was a scene of joyous but reckless conviviality, the loud
laughter and the louder voices of the company striking on Roland's ear
with a grating discordance he had never experienced before. The sounds
of that festivity he had been wont to recognize as the pleasant evidence
of free and high-souled enjoyment, now jarred heavily on his senses, and
he wondered within himself how long he had lived in such companionship.
Well knowing that the supper-party would not remain long at table, while
high play continued to have its hold upon the guests, he strolled into
one of the shady alleys, watching from time to time for the breaking up
of the entertainment At last some two or three arose, and, preceded by
servants with lighted flambeaux, took the way towards the gaming-table.
They were speedily followed by others, so that in a brief space--except
by the usual group of hard-drinking souls, who ventured upon no stake
save that of health--the room was deserted.
He looked eagerly for Don Pedro, but could not see him, as it was
occasionally his practice to retire to his library long before his
guests sought their repose. Roland made a circuit of the villa, and
soon came to the door of this apartment, which led into a small
flower-garden. Tapping gently here, he received a summons to enter, and
found himself before Don Pedro, who, seated before a table, appeared
deeply immersed in matters of business.
Roland did not need the cold and almost stern reception of his host to
make him feel his intrusion very painfully; and he hastened to express
his extreme regret that he should be compelled by any circumstances
to trespass on leisure so evidently destined for privacy. “But a few
moments' patient hearing,” continued he, “will show that, to me at
least, the object of this visit did not admit of delay.”
“Be seated, senhor; and, if I may ask it without incivility, be brief,
for I have weighty matters before me.”
“I will endeavor to be so,” said Roland, civilly, and resumed: “This
evening, Don Pedro, has seen the last of twenty-eight thousand Spanish
dollars, which, five weeks since, I carried here along with me. They
were my share, as commander of the 'Esmeralda,' when she captured
a Mexican bark, in May last. They were won with hard blows and some
danger; they were squandered in disgrace at the gaming-table.”
“Forgive me,” said Don Pedro: “you can scarcely adhere to your pledge
of brevity if you permit yourself to be led away by moralizing; just say
how this event concerns me, and wherefore the present visit.”
Roland became red with anger and shame, and when he resumed it was in
a voice tremulous with ill-suppressed passion. “I did not come here
for your sympathy, senhor. If the circumstance I have mentioned had no
relation to yourself, you had not seen me here. I say that I have now
lost all that I was possessed of in the world.”
“Again I must interrupt you, Senhor Roland, by saying that these are
details for Geizheimer, not for me. He, as you well know, transacts
all matters of money, and if you desire a loan, or are in want of any
immediate assistance, I 'm sure you 'll find him in every way disposed
to meet your wishes.”
“Thanks, senhor, but I am not inclined for such aid. I will neither
mortgage my blood nor my courage, nor promise three hundred per cent for
the means of a night at the gambling-table.”
“Then pray, sir, how am I to understand your visit? Is it intended for
the sake of retailing to me your want of fortune at play, and charging
me with the results of your want of skill or luck?”
“Far from it, senhor. It is simply to make known that I am ruined; that
I have nothing left me in the world; and that, as one whose fortune has
deserted him, I have come to ask back that bond by which I accepted your
daughter's hand in betrothal.”
A burst of laughter from Don Pedro here stopped the speaker, who, with
flushed cheek and glaring eyeballs, stared at this sudden outbreak. “Do
you know for what you ask me, senhor?” said Rica, smiling insolently.
“Yes, I ask for what you never could think to enforce,--to make me, a
beggar, the husband of your daughter.”
“Most true; I never thought of such an alliance. I believe you were told
that Columbian law gives these contracts the force of a legal claim,
in the event of survivorship; and you flattered yourself, perhaps too
hastily, that other ties more binding still might grow from it. If
Fortune was as fickle with you here as at the card-table, the fault is
not in me.”
“But of what avail is it now?” said Roland, passionately. “If I died
to-morrow, there is not sufficient substance left to buy a suit of
mourning for my poor widow.”
“She could, perhaps, dispense with outward grief,” said Pedro,
sneeringly.
“I say again,” cried Roland, with increased agitation, “this bond is
not worth the paper it is written on. I leave the service; I sail into
another latitude, and it is invalid,--a mere mockery!”
“Not so fast, sir,” said Pedro, slowly: “there is a redeeming clause,
by which you, on paying seventy thousand doubloons, are released of your
contract, with my concurrence. Mark that well,--with my concurrence it
must be. Now, I have the opinion of learned counsel, in countries where
mayhap your adventurous fancy has already carried you, that this clause
embraces the option which side of the contract I should desire to
enforce.”
“Such may be your law here; I can have little doubt that any infamy may
pass for justice in this favored region,” said Roland; “but I 'll never
believe that so base a judgment could be uttered where civilization
prevails. At all events, I 'll try the case. I now tell you frankly,
that, tomorrow, I mean to resign my rank and commission in this service;
I mean to quit this country, with no intention ever to revisit it. If
you still choose to retain a contract whose illegality needs no stronger
proof than that it affects to bind one party only, I 'll not waste
further time by thinking of it.”
“I will keep it, senhor,” interrupted Pedro, calmly. “I knew a youth,
once, who had as humble an opinion of his fortunes as you have now; and
yet he died,--not in this service, indeed, but in these seas,--and his
fortune well requited the trouble of its claimant.”
“I have no right to trespass longer on you, sir,” said Roland, bowing.
“I wish I could thank you for all your hospitality to me with a more
fitting courtesy; I must confess myself your debtor without hope of
repayment.”
“Have you signified to Don Gomez Noronja your intention to resign?”
“I shall do it within half an hour.”
“You forget that your resignation must be accepted by the Minister; that
no peremptory permission can be accorded by a captain in commission,
save under a guarantee of ten thousand crowns for a captain, and seven
for a lieutenant, the sum to be estreated if the individual quit the
service without leave. This, at least, is law you cannot dispute.”
Roland hung down his head, thunderstruck by an announcement which,
at one swoop, dashed away all his hopes. As he stood silent and
overwhelmed, Don Pedro continued, “You see, sir, that the service
knows how to value its officers, even when they set little store by the
service. Knowing that young men are fickle and fanciful, with caprices
that carry them faster than sound judgment, they have made the enactment
I speak of. And, even were you to give the preliminary notice, where
will you be when the time expires? In what parallel south of Cape Horn?
Among the islands of the Southern Pacific; perhaps upon the coast of
Africa? No, no; take my advice: do not abandon your career; it is one
in which you have already won distinction. Losses at play are easily
repaired in these seas. Our navy--”
“Is nothing better than a system of piracy!” broke in Roland, savagely.
“So long as, in ignorance of its real character, I walked beneath your
flag, the heaviest crime which could be imputed to me was but the folly
of a rash-brained boy. I feel that I know better now; I'll serve under
it no more.”
“Dangerous words, these, senhor, if reported in the quarter where they
would be noticed.”
Roland turned an indignant glance at him as he uttered this threat,
and with an expression so full of passion that Rica, for a few seconds,
seemed to feel that he had gone too far. “I did but suggest caution,
senhor,” said he, timidly.
“Take care that you practise as well as preach the habit,” muttered
Roland, “or you'll find that you have exploded your own mine.”
This, which he uttered as he left the room, was in reality nothing more
than a vague menace; but it was understood in a very different sense by
Pedro, who stood pale and trembling with agitation, gazing at the door
by which the youth departed. At last he moved forward, and opening
it, called out, “Senhor Roland! Roland, come back! Let me speak to you
again.” But already he was far beyond hearing, as with all his speed he
hastened down the alley.
Don Pedro's resolves were soon formed; he rang his bell at once, and,
summoning a servant, asked if Don Gomez Noronja was still at table?
“He has retired to his room, senhor,” was the reply.
A few momenta after, Rica entered the chamber of his guest, where he
remained in close conversation till nigh daybreak. As he reached his own
apartment the sound of horses' feet and carriage wheels was heard upon
the gravel, and, throwing up the window, Rica called out,--
“Is that Don Enrique?”
“Yes, senhor, taking French leave, as you would call it. A bad return
for a Spanish welcome; but duty leaves no alternative.”
“Are you for the coast, then?”
“With all speed. Our captain received important despatches in the night
We shall be afloat before forty hours. Adios!”
The farewell was cordially re-echoed by Rica, who closed the window,
muttering to himself, “So! all will go well at last.”
While Enrique was making all the speed towards the seashore a light
calèche and four horses could accomplish, Roland was pacing with
impatient steps the little plot of grass where so soon he expected to
find himself in deadly conflict with his enemy.
Never was a man's mind more suited to the purpose for which he waited.
Dejected, insulted, and ruined in one night, he had little to live for,
and felt far less eager to be revenged of his adversary, than to rid
himself of a hated existence. It was to no purpose that he could say,
and say truly, that he had never cared for any of these things, of which
he now saw himself stripped. His liking for Maritaña had never gone
beyond great admiration for her beauty, and a certain spiteful pleasure
in exciting those bursts of passion over which she exercised not the
slightest control. It was caprice, not love; the delight of a schoolboy
in the power to torment, without the wish to retain. His self-love,
then, it was, was wounded on finding that she, with whose temper he had
sported, could turn so terribly upon himself. The same feeling was
outraged by Enrique, who seemed to know and exult over his defeat. These
sources of bitterness, being all aggravated by the insulting manner of
Don Pedro, made up a mass of indignant and angry feelings which warred
and goaded him almost to madness.
The long-expected dawn broke slowly, and although, a few moments after
sunrise, the whole sky became of a rich rose color, these few moments
seemed like an age to the impatient thoughts of him who thirsted for his
vengeance.
He walked hastily up and down the space, waiting now and again to
listen, and then, disappointed, resumed his path, with some gesture of
impatience. At last he heard footsteps approaching. They came nearer and
nearer; and now he could hear the branches of the trees bend and crack,
as some one forced a passage through them. A swelling feeling about the
heart bespoke the anxiety with which he listened, when a figure
appeared which even at a glance he knew to be not Enrique's. As the man
approached be took off his hat respectfully and presented a letter.
“From Don Enrique?” said Roland, and then, tearing open the paper, he
read,--
Amigo Mio,--Not mine the fault that I do not stand before
you now instead of these few lines; but Noronja has
received news of these Chilian fellows, and sent me to get
the craft ready for sea at once. We shall meet, then, in a
few hours; and, if so, let it be as comrades. The service
and our own rules forbid a duel so long as we are afloat and
on duty. Whatever be your humor when next we touch shore
again, rely upon finding me ready to meet it, either as an
enemy or as
Your friend,
Enrique da Cordova.
A single exclamation of disappointment broke from Roland, but the moment
after all former anger was gone. The old spirit of comrade-affection
began to seek its accustomed channels, and he left the spot, happy to
think how different had been his feeling than if he were quitting it
with the blood of his shipmate on his hands.
Although he now saw that his continuance in the service for the present
was inevitable, he had fully made up his mind to leave it, and, with it,
habits of life whose low excesses had now become intolerable. So long as
the spirit of adventure and daring sustained him, so long the respite of
a few months' shore life was a season of pleasure and delight; but as by
degrees the real character of his associates became clearer, and he saw
in them men who cared for enterprise no further than for its gain, and
calculated each hazardous exploit by its profit, he felt that he was
now following the career of a bravo who hires out his arm and sells
his courage. This revolted every sentiment of his mind, and, come what
would, he resolved to abandon it. In these day-dreams of a new existence
the memory of two years passed in the Pampas constantly mingled, and he
could not help contrasting the happy and healthful contentment of the
simple hunter with the voluptuous but cankered pleasures of the wealthy
buccaneer. Once more beneath the wooded shades of the tall banana, he
thought how free and peaceful his days would glide by, free from the
rude conflicts he now witnessed, and the miserable jealousies of these
ill-assorted companionships. For some hours he wandered, revolving
thoughts like these; and at length turned his steps towards the villa,
determined, so long as his captain remained, that he would take up his
quarters at Barcelonetta, nor in future accept of the hospitality of Don
Rica's house. With this intention he was returning to arrange for the
removal of his luggage, when his attention was excited by the loud
cracking of whips, and the shrill cries that accompanied the sounds of
“The post! the post!”
In a moment every window of the villa was thrown open, and beads, in
every species of night-gear, and every stage of sleepy astonishment,
thrust out; for the post, be it observed, was but a monthly phenomenon,
and the arrival of letters was very often the signal for a total
break-up of the whole household.
The long wagon, drawn by four black mules, and driven by a fellow whose
wide-tasselled sombrero and long moustaches seemed to savor more of
the character of a melodrama than real life, stopped before the chief
entrance of the villa, and was immediately surrounded by the guests,
whose hurried wardrobe could only be excused in so mild a climate.
“Anything for me, Truxillo?” cried one, holding up a dollar temptingly
between finger and thumb.
“Where are my cigarettes?”
“And my mantle?”
“And my gun?”
“And the senhora's embroidered slippers?” cried a maid, as she ransacked
every corner where the packages lay.
The driver, however, paid little attention to these various demands,
but, loosening the bridles of his beasts, he proceeded to wash their
mouths with some water fetched from the fountain, coolly telling the
applicants that they might help themselves, only to spare something for
the people of Barcelonetta, for he knew there was a letter or two for
that place.
“What have we here?” cried one of the guests, as a mass of something
enveloped in a horse-sheet lay rolled up in the foot of the calèche,
where the driver sat.
“Ah, par Dios!” cried the man, laughing, “I had nearly forgotten that
fellow. He is asleep, poor devil! He nearly died of cold in the night!”
“Who is he--what is he?”
“A traveller from beyond San Luis in search of Don Pedro.”
“Of me?” said Don Pedro, whose agitation became, in spite of all his
efforts, visible to every one; at the same instant that, pulling back
the cloak rudely, he gazed at the sleeping stranger,--“I never saw him
before.”
“Come, awake--stir up, senhor!” said the driver, poking the passenger
very unceremoniously with his whip. “We are arrived; this is the Villa
de las Noches Entretenidas; here is Don Pedro himself!”
“The Lord be praised!” said a short, round-faced little man, who, with a
nightcap drawn over his ears, and a huge cravat enveloping his chin, now
struggled to look around him. “At last!” sighed he; “I 'm sure I almost
gave up all hope of it.” These words were spoken in English; but even
that evidence was not necessary to show that the little plump figure in
drab gaiters and shorts was not a Spaniard.
“Are you Don Peter, sir,--are you really Don Peter?” said he, rubbing
his eyes, and looking hurriedly around to assure himself he was not
dreaming.
“What is your business with me--or have you any?” said Rica, in a voice
barely above a whisper.
“Have I!--Did I come six thousand miles in search of you? Oh, dear! oh,
dear! I can scarcely think it all over, even now. But still there may be
nothing done if he isn't here.”
“What do you mean?” said Rica, impatiently.
“Mr. Roland Cashel; Roland Cashel, Esq., I should call him now, sir.”
“That 's my name!” said the youth, forcing his way through the crowd,
and standing in front of the traveller.
The little man put his hand into a breast-pocket, and drew out a little
book, opening which he began to read, comparing the detail, as he went
on, with the object before him:--
“Six foot and an inch in height, at least, olive-brown complexion, dark
eyes and hair, straight nose, short upper lip, frowns slightly when he
speaks;--just talk a little, will you?”
Cashel could not help smiling at the request; when the other added,
“Shows his teeth greatly when he laughs.”
“Am I a runaway negro from New Orleans that you have taken my portrait
so accurately, sir?”
“Got that at Demerara,” said the little man, putting up the book, “and
must say it was very near indeed!”
“I have been at Demerara,” said Cashel, hoping by the admission to
obtain some further insight into the traveller's intentions.
“I know that,” said the little man. “I tracked you thence to St Kitts,
then to Antigua. I lost you there, but I got up the scent again in
Honduras, but only for a short time, and had to try Demerara again;
then I dodged down the coast by Pernambuco, but lost you entirely in
June,--some damned Indian expedition, I believe. But I met a fellow
at New Orleans who had seen you at St. Louis, and so I tracked away
south--”
“And, in one word, having found me, what was the cause of so much
solicitude, sir?” said Cashel, who felt by no means comfortable at such
a hot and unwearied pursuit.
“This can all be better said in the house,” interposed Don Rica, who,
relieved of any uneasiness on his own account, had suddenly resumed his
habitual quiet demeanor.
“So I 'm thinking too!” said the traveller; “but let me first land my
portmanteau; all the papers are there. I have not lost sight of it since
I started.”
The parcels were carefully removed under his own inspection, and,
accompanied by Don Pedro Rica and Roland, the little man entered the
villa.
There could be no greater contrast than that between the calm and
placid bearing Don Pedro had now assumed, and the agitated and anxious
appearance which Cashel exhibited. The very last interview he had
sustained in that same spot still dwelt upon his mind; and when he
declined Don Pedro's polite request to be seated, and stood with folded
arms before the table, which the traveller had now covered with his
papers, a prisoner awaiting the words of his judgment could not have
endured a more intense feeling of anxiety.
“'Roland Cashel, born in York, a. d. 18--, son of Godfrey Cashel and
Sarah, his wife,'” read the little man; then murmured to himself,
“Certificate of baptism, signed by Joshua Gorgeous, Prebendary of the
Cathedral; all right, so far. Now we come to the wanderings. Your father
was quartered at Port-au-Prince, in the year 18--, I believe?”
“He was. I was then nine years old,” said Cashel.
“Quite correct; he died there, I understand?”
Cashel assented by a nod.
“Upon which event you joined, or was supposed to join, the 'Brown Peg,'
a sloop in the African trade, wrecked off Fernando Po same winter?”
“Yes; she was scuttled by the second mate, in a mutiny. But what has
all this secret history of me to mean? Did you come here, sir, to glean
particulars to write my life and adventures?”
“I crave your pardon most humbly, Mr. Cashel,” said the little man, in
a perfect agony of humiliation. “I was only recapitulating a
few collateral circumstances, by way of proof. I was, so to say,
testing--that is, I was--”
“Satisfying yourself as to this gentleman's identity,” added Don Pedro.
“Exactly so, sir; the very words upon the tip of my tongue,--satisfying
myself that you were the individual alluded to here”--as he spoke,
he drew forth a copy of the “Times” newspaper, whose well-worn and
much-thumbed edges bespoke frequent reference--“in this advertisement,”
said he, handing the paper to Don Pedro, who at once read aloud,--
“Reward of £500.--Any person giving such information as may
lead to the discovery of a young gentleman named Roland
Cashel, who served for some years on board of various
merchant vessels in the Levant, the African, and the West
India trade, and was seen in New Orleans in the autumn of
18--, will receive the above reward. He was last heard of in
Mexico, but it is believed that he has since entered the
Chilian or Columbian service. He is well known in the
Spanish Main, and in many of the cities on the coast, as the
Caballero.”
Cashel's face was one burning surface of scarlet as he heard the words
of an advertisement which, in his ideas, at once associated him with
runaway negroes and escaped felons; and it was with something like
suffocation that he restrained his temper as he asked why, and by whose
authority, he was thus described?
The little man looked amazed and confounded at a question which, it
would seem, he believed his information had long since anticipated.
“Mr. Cashel wishes to know the object of this inquiry,--who sent you
hither, in fact,” said Don Rica, beginning himself to lose patience at
the slowness of the stranger's apprehension.
“Mr. Kennyfeck, of Dublin, the law agent, sent me.”
“Upon what grounds,--with what purpose?”
“To tell him that the suit is gained; that he is now the rightful owner
of the whole of the Godfrey and Godfrey Browne estates, and lands of Ben
Currig, Tulough Callaghan, Knock Swinery, Kildallooran, Tullimeoran,
Ballycanderigan, with all the manorial rights, privileges, and
perquisites appertaining to,--in a word, sir, for I see your impatience,
to something, a mere trifle, under seventeen thousand per annum, not to
speak of a sum, at present not exactly known, in bank, besides foreign
bonds and securities to a large amount.”
While Mr. Simms recited this, with the practised volubility of one who
had often gone over the same catalogue before, Cashel stood amazed, and
almost stupefied, unable to grasp in his mind the full extent of his
good fortune, but catching, here and there, glimpses of the truth, in
the few circumstances of family history alluded to. Not so, Don Rica;
neither confusion nor hesitation troubled the free working of his acute
faculties, but he sat still, patiently watching the effect of this
intelligence on the youth before him. At length, perceiving that he did
not speak, he himself turned towards the stranger, and said,--
“You are, doubtless, a man of the world, sir, and need no apologies for
my remarking that good news demands a scrutiny not less searching than
its opposite. As the _friend_ of Senhor Cashel,”--here he turned a
glance beneath his heavy brows at the youth, who, however, seemed not
to notice the word,--“as his friend, I repeat, deeply interested in
whatever affects him, I may, perhaps, be permitted to ask the details of
this very remarkable event.”
“If you mean the trial, sir,--or rather the trials, for there were three
at bar, not to mention a suit in equity and a bill of discovery--”
“No, I should be sorry to trespass so far upon you,” interrupted Rica.
“What I meant was something in the shape of an assurance,--something
like satisfactory proof that this narrative, so agreeable to believe,
should have all the foundation we wish it.”
“Nothing easier,” said Mr. Simms, producing an enormous black leather
pocket-book from the breast of his coat, and opening it leisurely on
the table before him. “Here are, I fancy, documents quite sufficient to
answer all your inquiries. This is the memorandum of the verdict taken
at Bath, with the note of the Attorney-General, and the point reserved,
in which motion for a new trial was made.”
“What is this?” asked Cashel, now speaking for the first time, as he
took up a small book of strange shape, and looked curiously at it.
“Check-book of the bank of Fordyce and Grange, Lombard Street,” replied
Simms; “and here, the authority by which you are at liberty to draw on
the firm for the balance already in their hands, amounting to--let me
see “--here he rapidly set down certain figures on the corner of a
piece of paper, and with the speed of lightning performed a sum in
arithmetic--“the sum of one hundred and twenty-three thousand pounds
seven and elevenpence, errors excepted.”
“This sum is mine!” cried Cashel, as his eyes flashed fire, and his dark
cheek grew darker with excitement.
“It is only a moiety of your funded property,” said Simms. “Castellan
and Biggen, the notaries, certify to a much larger amount in the Three
per Cents.”
“And I am at liberty to draw at once for whatever amount I require?”
“Within that sum, certainly. Though, if you desire more, I 'm sure they
'll not refuse your order.”
“Leave us for a moment, sir,” said Cashel, in an accent whose trembling
eagerness bespoke the agitation he labored under. “I have something of
importance to tell this gentleman.”
“If you will step this way, sir,” said Don Rica, politely. “I have
ordered some refreshment in this room, and I believe you will find it
awaiting you.”
Mr. Simms gladly accepted the offered hospitality, and retired. The door
was not well closed, when Don Rica Advanced with extended hands towards
Cashel, and said:
“With all my heart I give you joy; such good fortune as this may,
indeed, obliterate every little cloud that has passed between us, and
make us once more the friends we have ever been.”
Cashel crossed his arms on his breast, and coldly replied, “I thank you.
But a few hours back, and one-half as much kindness would have made a
child of me in feeling. Now it serves only to arouse my indignation and
my Anger.”
“Are you indeed so unjust, so ungenerous as this!” exclaimed Rica, in a
tone whose anguish seemed wrung from the very heart.
“Unjust,--ungenerous! how?” cried Cashel, passionately.
“Both, sir,” said Rica, in a voice of almost commanding severity.
“Unjust to suppose that in thwarting your last resolve to leave a
service in which you have already won fame and honor, I was not your
best and truest friend; that in offering every opposition in my power to
such a hot-headed resolution, I was not consulting your best interests;
ungenerous to imagine that I could feel any other sentiment than delight
at your altered fortunes, I, who gave you all that was dearest and
nearest to me on earth, my child,--my Maritaña.”
Had it not been for the passionate emotion of the last few words,
Cashel's anger would have suggested a reply not less indignant than his
question; but the sight of the hard, the stern, the unflinching Pedro
Rica, as he now stood,--his face covered by his hands, while his strong
chest heaved and throbbed with convulsive energy,--this was more than
he felt prepared to look on. It was then only by a great effort he could
say, “You seem to forget, Senhor Rica, how differently you interpreted
this same contract but a few hours ago. You told me then--I think I hear
the words still ringing in my ears--that you never thought of such an
alliance; that your calculation took a less flattering estimate of my
relationship.”
“I spoke in anger, Roland,--anger caused by your passionate resolve.
Remember, too, that I preferred holding you to your contract, in
preference to allowing you to redeem it by paying the penalty.”
“Easy alternative,” said Cashel, with a scornful laugh; “you scarcely
expected a beggar, a ruined gambler, could pay seventy thousand
doubloons. But times are changed, sir. I am rich now,--rich enough to
double the sum you stipulated for. Although I well know the contract is
not worth the pen that wrote it, I am willing to recognize it, at least
so far as the forfeit is concerned.”
“My poor child, my darling Maritaña,” said Pedro, but in a voice barely
audible. The words seemed the feeble utterance of a breaking heart.
“Sorrow not for her, senhor,” said Cashel, hastily. “She has no griefs
herself on such a score. It is but a few hours since she told me so.”
Don Pedro was silent; but a mournful shake of the head and a still more
mournful smile seemed to intimate his dissent.
“I tell you, sir, that your own scorn of my alliance was inferior to
hers!” cried Cashel, in a voice of deep exasperation. “She even went so
far as to say that she was a party to the contract only on the condition
of its utter worthlessness. Do not, then, let me hear of regrets for
_her_.”
“And you believe this?”
“I believe what I have myself witnessed.”
“What, then, if you be a witness to the very opposite? What if your ears
reveal to you the evidence as strongly against, as now you deem it in
favor of, your opinion?”
“I do not catch your meaning.”
“I would say, what if from Maritaña's own lips you heard an avowal of her
affection, would you conceive yourself at liberty to redeem a contract
to which you were only one party, and by mere money--I care not how
large you call the sum--to reject the heart you have made your own?”
“No, no, this cannot be,” cried Cashel, struggling in a conflict of
uncertainty and fear.
“I know my daughter, sir,” said Pedro, with an air of pride he well knew
when and how to assume.
“If I but thought so,” muttered Cashel to himself; and low as the words
were, Rica heard them.
“I ask you for nothing short of your own conviction,--the conviction of
your own ears and eyes. You shall, if you please, remain concealed in
her apartment while I question her on the subject of this attachment. If
you ever supposed me base enough to coerce her judgment, you know _her_
too well to believe it to be possible. But I will not insult myself by
either supposition. I offer you this test of what I have said: accept
it if you will, and with this condition, that you shall then be free to
tear this contract, if you like, but never believe that I can barter the
acknowledged affection of my child, and take money for her misery.”
Cashel was moved by the truth-like energy of the words he heard; the
very aspect of emotion in one he had never seen save calm, cold, and
self-possessed, had its influence on him, and he replied, “I consent.”
So faintly, however, were the words uttered that he was obliged to
repeat them ere they reached Don Pedro's ears.
“I will come for you after supper this evening,” said Rica. “Let me find
you in the arbor at the end of the 'hacienda.' Till then, _adios_.” So
saying, he motioned to Cashel to follow the stranger. Roland obeyed the
suggestion, and they parted.