THE RETURN FROM THE FIESTA
The sure-footed mules, braced hard against the weight of the carriage,
slid down a steep descent across slippery stones when Clare, who wondered
what would happen if the worn-out harness broke, rode into Adexe.
Gleaming white houses rose one above another among feathery palms, with a
broad streak of darker green in their midst to mark the shady alameda.
Behind, the dark range towered against the sky; in front lay a
foam-fringed beach and the vast blue sweep of dazzling sea. Music came up
through the languid murmur of the surf, and the steep streets were filled
with people whose clothes made patches of brilliant color. The carriage
jolted safely down the hill, and Clare looked about with interest as they
turned into the central plaza, where the driver stopped.
"It's a picturesque little town and I'm glad you brought me," she said.
"But what does the fiesta they're holding celebrate?"
"I don't know; the first landing of the Spaniards, perhaps," Kenwardine
replied. "Anyhow, it's a popular function, and as everybody in the
neighborhood takes part in it, I came with the object of meeting some
people I do business with. In fact, I may have to leave you for a time
with the wife of a Spaniard whom I know."
When coming down the hillside Clare had noticed a sugar mill and an ugly
coaling wharf that ran out into the bay. Two steamers lay not far off,
rolling gently on the glittering swell, and several lighters were moored
against the wharf. Since she had never heard him speak of coal, she
imagined her father's business was with the sugar mill, but he seldom
talked to her about such matters and she did not ask. He took her to an
old, yellow house, with tarnished brass rails barring its lower windows
and a marble fountain in the patio, where brilliant creepers hung from
the balconies. The soft splash of falling water was soothing and the
spray cooled the air.
"It is very pretty," Clare said while they waited. "I wish we could make
our patio like this."
"We may be able to do so when Brandon and his friends bring us the
water," Kenwardine replied with a quick glance at the girl. "Have you
seen him recently?"
"Not for three or four weeks," said Clare.
There was nothing to be learned from her face, but Kenwardine noted a
hint of coldness in her voice. Next moment, however, a stout lady in a
black dress, and a thin, brown-faced Spaniard came down to meet them.
Kenwardine presented Clare, and for a time they sat on a balcony, talking
in a mixture of French and Castilian. Then a man came up the outside
staircase and took off his hat as he turned to Kenwardine. He had a
swarthy skin, but Clare carelessly remarked that the hollows about his
eyes were darker than the rest of his face, as if they had been
overlooked in a hurried wash, and his bare feet were covered with fine,
black dust.
"Don Martin waits you, señor," he said.
Kenwardine excused himself to his hostess, and after promising to return
before long went away with the man.
"Who is Don Martin, and does he own the coaling wharf?" Clare asked.
"No," said the Spaniard. "What makes you imagine so?"
"There was some coal-dust on his messenger."
The Spaniard laughed. "Your eyes are as keen as they are bright,
señorita, but your father spoke of business and he does not deal in
coal. They use it for the engine at the sugar mill."
"Could I follow him to the mill? I would like to see how they extract the
sugar from the cane."
"It is not a good day for that; the machinery will not be running," said
the Spaniard, who looked at his wife.
"I meant to take you to the cathedral. Everybody goes on the fiesta," the
lady broke in.
Clare agreed. She suspected that her father had not gone to the sugar
mill, but this did not matter, and she presently left the house with her
hostess. The small and rather dark cathedral was crowded, and Clare, who
understood very little of what went on, was impressed by the close rows
of kneeling figures, while the candles glimmering through the incense,
and the music, had their effect. She came out in a thoughtful mood,
partly dazzled by the change of light, and it was with something of a
shock she stopped to avoid collision with a man at the bottom of the
steps. It was Brandon, and she noted that he looked well again, but
although they were face to face and he waited with his eyes fixed on her,
she turned away and spoke to her companion. Dick crossed the street with
his hand clenched and his face hot, but felt that he had deserved his
rebuff. He could not expect Miss Kenwardine to meet him as a friend.
An hour or two later, Kenwardine returned to the house with Richter, the
German, and said he found he must drive to a village some distance off to
meet an official whom he had expected to see in the town. He doubted if
he could get back that night, but a sailing barquillo would take
passengers to Santa Brigida, and Clare could go home by her. The girl
made no objection when she heard that two French ladies, whom she knew,
were returning by the boat, and stayed with her hostess when Kenwardine
and Richter left. Towards evening the Spaniard came in and stated that
the barquillo had sailed earlier than had been announced, but a steam
launch was going to Santa Brigida with some friends of his on board and
he could get Clare a passage if she would sooner go. Señor Kenwardine,
he added, might drive home by another road without calling there again.
Half an hour later Clare went with him to the coaling wharf, where a
launch lay at some steps. A few people were already on board, and her
host left after putting her in charge of a Spanish lady. The girl
imagined that he was glad to get rid of her, and thought there was
something mysterious about her father's movements. Something he had not
expected must have happened, because he would not have brought her if he
had known he could not take her home. It was, however, not a long run to
Santa Brigida, by sea, and the launch, which had a powerful engine,
looked fast.
In another few minutes a man came down the steps and threw off a rope
before he jumped on board. Taking off his hat to the passengers, he
started the engine and sat down at the helm. Clare did not see his face
until the launch was gliding away from the wharf, and then hid her
annoyance and surprise, for it was Brandon. His eyes rested on her for a
moment as he glanced about the boat, but she saw he did not expect
recognition. Perhaps she had been wrong when she passed him outside the
cathedral, but it was now too late to change her attitude.
The water was smooth, the sun had sunk behind the range, and a warm
breeze that ruffled the shining surface with silky ripples blew off the
shore. The rumble of the surf came in a deep undertone through the throb
of the engine, and the launch sped on with a frothy wave curling at her
bows. Now and then Clare glanced quickly at the helmsman, who sat with
his arm thrown round the tiller. She thought he looked disturbed, and
felt sorry, though she told herself that she had done the proper thing.
After a time the launch swung in towards the beach and stopped at a rude
landing behind a reef. Houses showed among the trees not far off and
Clare thought this was the pueblo of Arenas. Then she was disturbed to
see that all her companions were going to land. When the Spanish lady
said good-by she got up, with the idea of following the rest, but Dick
stopped her.
"Do you expect Mr. Kenwardine to meet you?" he asked.
"No. I was told the launch was going to Santa Brigida, but didn't know
that she was yours."
Dick eyes twinkled. "I am going to Santa Brigida and the boat is one we
use, but my colored fireman refused to leave the fiesta. Now you can't
stay at Arenas, and I doubt if you can get a mule to take you home,
because they'll all have gone to Adexe. But, if you like, we'll go ashore
and try."
"You don't think I could find a carriage?" Clare asked irresolutely,
seeing that if she now showed herself determined to avoid him, it would
be humiliating to be forced to fall back upon his help.
"I don't. Besides, it's some distance to Santa Brigida over a rough,
steep road that you'd find very awkward in the dark, while as I can land
you in an hour, it seems unnecessary for you to leave the boat here."
"Yes," said Clare, "perhaps it is."
Dick threw some coal into the furnace, and restarted the launch. The
throb of the engine was quicker than before, and when a jet of steam blew
away from the escape-pipe Clare imagined that he meant to lose no time.
She glanced at him as he sat at the helm with a moody face; and then away
at the black hills that slid past. The silence was embarrassing and she
wondered whether he would break it. On the whole, she wanted him to do
so, but would give him no help.
"Of course," he said at length, "you needn't talk if you'd sooner not.
But you gave me the cut direct in Adexe, and although I may have deserved
it, it hurt."
"I don't see why it should hurt," Clare answered coldly.
"Don't you?" he asked. "Well, you have the right to choose your
acquaintances; but I once thought we were pretty good friends and I
mightn't have got better if you hadn't taken care of me. That ought to
count for something."
Clare blushed, but her eyes sparkled and her glance was steady. "If we
are to have an explanation, it must be complete and without reserve. Very
well! Why did you change when you were getting better? And why did you
hint that I must know you hadn't stolen the plans?"
Dick studied her with some surprise. He had thought her gentle and
trustful, but saw that she burned with imperious anger. It certainly was
not acting and contradicted the supposition of her guilt.
"If I did hint anything of the kind, I must have been a bit light-headed,"
he answered awkwardly. "You get morbid fancies when you have fever."
"The fever had nearly gone. You were braver then than you seem to be
now."
"I suppose that's true. Sometimes a shock gives you pluck and I got a
nasty one as I began to remember things."
Both were silent for the next few moments. Clare's pose was tense and her
look strained, but her anger had vanished. Dick thought she was calmer
than himself, but after all, she was, so to speak, on her defense and her
part was easier than his. He had forgiven her for robbing him; Kenwardine
had forced her to do so, and Dick regretted he had not hidden his
knowledge of the deed she must have hated. It was bodily weakness that
had led him to show his suspicion, but he knew that if they were to be
friends again no reserve was possible. As Clare had said, the explanation
must be complete. It was strange, after what had happened, that he should
want her friendship, but he did want it, more than anything else. Yet she
must be told plainly what he had thought her. He shrank from the task.
"What did you remember?" Clare asked, forcing herself to look at him.
"That I had the plans in the left, top pocket of my uniform when I
reached your house; I felt to see if they were there as I came up the
drive," he answered doggedly. "Soon afterward, you slipped as we went
down the steps into the garden and in clutching me your hand caught and
pulled the pocket open. It was a deep pocket and the papers could not
have fallen out."
"So you concluded that I had stolen them!" Clare said in a cold, strained
voice, though her face flushed crimson.
"What else could I think?"
Then, though she tried to hide the breakdown, Clare's nerve gave way. She
had forced the crisis in order to clear herself, but saw that she could
not do so. Dick's statement was convincing; the papers had been stolen
while he was in their house, and she had a horrible suspicion that her
father was the thief. It came with a shock, though she had already been
tormented by a vague fear of the truth that she had resolutely refused to
face. She remembered the men who were at the house on the eventful night.
They were somewhat dissipated young sportsmen and not remarkable for
intelligence. None of them was likely to take part in such a plot.
"You must understand what a serious thing you are saying," she faltered,
trying to doubt him and finding that she could not.
"I do," he said, regarding her with gravely pitiful eyes. "Still, you
rather forced it out of me. Perhaps this is a weak excuse, because I had
meant to forget the matter."
"But didn't you want to clear yourself and get taken back?"
"No; I knew it was too late. I'd shown I couldn't be trusted with an
important job; and I'd made a fresh start here."
His answer touched the girl, and after a quick half-ashamed glance, she
thought she had misjudged him. It was not her physical charm that had
made him willing to condone her offense, for he showed none of the bold
admiration she had shrunk from in other men. Instead, he was
compassionate and, she imagined, anxious to save her pain.
She did not answer and turning her head, vacantly watched the shore slide
past. The mountains were growing blacker, trails of mist that looked like
gauze gathered in the ravines, and specks of light began to pierce the
gloom ahead. They marked Santa Brigida, and something must still be said
before the launch reached port. It was painful that Brandon should take
her guilt for granted, but she feared to declare her innocence.
"You were hurt when I passed you at Adexe," she remarked, without looking
at him. "You must, however, see that friendship between us is impossible
while you think me a thief."
"I must try to explain," Dick said slowly. "When I recovered my senses at
your house after being ill, I felt I must get away as soon as possible,
though I ought to have remembered only that you had taken care of me.
Still, you see, my mind was weak just then. Afterwards I realized how
ungratefully I had behaved. The plans didn't matter; they weren't really
of much importance, and I knew if you had taken them, it was because you
were forced. That made all the difference; in a way, you were not to
blame. I'm afraid," he concluded lamely, "I haven't made it very clear."
Clare was moved by his naïve honesty, which seemed to be guarded by
something finer than common sense. After all, he had made things clear.
He owned that he believed she had taken the plans, and yet he did not
think her a thief. On the surface, this was rather involved, but she saw
what he meant. Still, it did not carry them very far.
"It is not long since you warned Mr. Fuller against us," she resumed.
"Not against you; that would have been absurd. However, Jake's something
of a gambler and your father's friends play for high stakes. The lad was
put in my hands by people who trusted me to look after him. I had to
justify their confidence."
"Of course. But you must understand that my father and I stand together.
What touches him, touches me."
Dick glanced ahead. The lights of Santa Brigida had drawn out in a broken
line, and those near the beach were large and bright. A hundred yards
away, two twinkling, yellow tracks stretched across the water from the
shadowy bulk of a big cargo boat. Farther on, he could see the black end
of the mole washed by frothy surf. There was little time for further talk
and no excuse for stopping the launch.
"That's true in a sense," he agreed with forced quietness. "I've done you
an injustice, Miss Kenwardine; so much is obvious, but I can't understand
the rest just yet. I suppose I mustn't ask you to forget the line I
took?"
"We can't be friends as if nothing had happened."
Dick made a gesture of moody acquiescence. "Well, perhaps something will
clear up the matter by and by. I must wait, because while it's difficult
now, I feel it will come right."
A minute or two later he ran the launch alongside a flight of steps on
the mole, and helping Clare to land went with her to her house. They said
nothing on the way, but she gave him her hand when he left her at the
door.