When Felisa had seen Agueda disappear below the hillside she turned to
Beltran.
"What is it, cousin?" asked Felisa, leaning heavily upon his shoulder.
He put his arm round her.
"You must get down, little lady. I have a summons from a friend; I must
go home at once."
"But if I choose not to go home?" said Felisa, pouting.
"All the same, we must go," said Beltran.
"But if I will not go?"
"Then I shall have to carry you. You must go, Felisa, and I must, at
once."
For answer Felisa leant over and looked into the eyes that were so near
her own. She laid her arm round Beltran's shoulders, the faint fragrance
that had no name, but was rather a memory of carefully cared for
_lingerie_, was wafted across his nostrils for the hundredth time. One
could not imagine Felisa without that evanescent thing that was part of
her and yet had no place in her contrivance, hardly any place in her
consciousness.
Beltran took her in his arms and lifted her to the ground. The tree,
released, sprang in air.
"Ah! there goes my stirrup. You must get it for me, Beltran."
The gay scarf, having been utilized as a stirrup, had been left to shake
and shiver high above them, with the tremors of the tree, which was
endeavouring to straighten its bent bark and wood to their normal
upright position.
"I can send for that; we must not wait," said Beltran.
"Send for it, indeed! Do you know that I got the scarf in Naples,
cousin?--that a Princess Pallavicini gave it to me? Send for it, indeed!
Do you think that I would have one of your grimy peons lay his black
finger upon that scarf? You pulled the tree down before, bend it down
again."
For answer, Beltran leaped in air, trying to seize the scarf. He failed
to reach it. Then he climbed the tree, and soon his weight had bent the
slight young sapling to earth again. Felisa sat underneath a ceiba,
watching Beltran's efforts. At each failure she laughed aloud. She was
obviously regretful when finally he released the scarf and handed it to
her.
Beltran urged haste with Felisa, but by one pretext or another she
delayed him.
"Sit down under this tree, and tell me what is in that letter, cousin."
Beltran stood before her.
"It is from my old friend, Silencio; he needs me--"
"I cannot hear, cousin; that mocking-bird sings so loud. Sit down here
and tell me--"
"It is from my friend, Silen--"
"I cannot hear, cousin. You must sit here by me, and tell me all about
it."
Beltran threw himself upon the ground with a sigh. She forced his head
to her knee, and played with the rings of his hair.
"Now tell me, cousin, and then I shall decide the question for you."
Beltran lay in bliss. Delilah had him within her grasp; still there was
firmness in the tone which said:
"I have already decided the question, Sweet. I promised him that I would
go to him when he should need me. The time has come, and I must go
to-night."
"And leave me?" said Felisa, her delicate face clouding under this news.
"And what shall I do if we are attacked while you are away?"
"There is no question of your being attacked, little cousin. Silencio
has an enemy, Escobeda, who, he thinks, will attack him to-morrow at
daylight. In fact, Felisa, you may as well hear the entire story. Then
you will understand why I must go. Silencio is a sort of cousin of mine.
He has married the niece of as great a villain as ever went unhung, and
he, the uncle, Escobeda, will attack Silencio to recover his niece. He
is clearly without the law, for Silencio is married as fast as the padre
can make him. But there may be sharp work; there is no time to get
government aid, and I doubt if under the circumstances it would be
forthcoming. So I must go to Silencio's help." Beltran made a motion as
if to rise.
Felisa now clasped her fingers round his throat. It was the first time
that she had voluntarily made such a demonstration, and Beltran's pulses
quickened under her touch. He relaxed his efforts, turned his face over
in her lap, and kissed the folds of her dress.
"Vida mia, vida mia! you will not keep me," he murmured through a mass
of lace and muslin.
"Indeed, that will I! Do you suppose that I am going to remain at that
lonely casa of yours, quaking in every limb, dreading the sound of each
footstep, while you are away protecting some one else? No, indeed! You
had no right to ask us here, if you meant to go away and leave us to
your cut-throat peons. I will not stay without you."
"But my peons are not cut-throats, Felisa. They will guard you as their
own lives, if I tell them that I must be gone."
"Do you mean to go alone?"
"No, I mean to take half a dozen good men with me, and leave the rest at
San Isidro. There is no cause to protect you, Felisa, little cousin; but
should you need protection, you shall have it."
"I shall not need it, for I will not let you leave me, Beltran. Suppose
that dreadful man, Escobeda, as you call him, becomes angry at seeing
you on the side of your friend, and starts without your knowledge, and
comes to San Isidro. He might take me away in the place of that niece of
his, to force you to get the Señor Silencio to give his niece back to
him."
"What nonsense are you conjuring up, Felisa, child! That is too absurd!
Escobeda's quarrel is with Silencio, not with me. Do not fear, little
one."
"And did I not hear you say that this Señor Escobeda hated your father,
and also hated you?"
"Yes, I did say that," admitted Beltran, reluctantly, as he struggled to
rise without hurting her; "but he will be very careful how he quarrels
openly with me. My friends in the government are as powerful as his
own."
"Well, you cannot go," said Felisa, decisively, "and let that end the
matter."
They went homeward slowly, much as they had come, Felisa delaying
Beltran by some new pretext at every step. She kept a watchful eye upon
him, to see that he did not drop her bridle rein and canter away at the
cross roads.
When they reached the picnic ground they found that Uncle Noé had
departed, and Beltran must, perforce, see his cousin safely within the
precincts of San Isidro. She did not leave the veranda after
dismounting, but seated herself upon the top step, which was now shaded
from the sun, and watched every movement of master and servants. Beltran
had disappeared within doors, but he could not leave the place on foot.
After a while he emerged from his room; behind him hobbled old Juana,
carrying a small portmanteau. As he came toward the steps, Felisa arose
and stood in his way.
"Why do you go to-night?" she said.
"Because he needs me at daybreak."
"I need you more." Felisa looked out from under the fringe of pale
sunshine. "You will not leave me, Beltran--cousin?"
"It is only for a few hours, dear child."
"Is this Silencio more to you than I am, then, Beltran?"
"Good God! No, child, but I shall return before you have had your dip in
the river."
"I do not like to be left here alone, cousin. I want you--"
"I _must_ go, and at once, Felisa. Silencio depends upon me. Good by,
good by! You will see me at breakfast."
Felisa arose. The time for pleading was past.
"You shall _not_ go," said she, holding his sleeve with her small
fingers.
"I must!" He pulled the sleeve gently away. She clasped it again
persistently. Then she said, resolutely and with emphasis, "So sure as
you do, I take the first steamer for home."
"You would not do that?"
"That is my firm intention."
"But Silencio needs me."
"I need you more."
Felisa withdrew her small hands from his sleeve and started down the
veranda, toward her room. Her little shoes tick-tacked as she walked.