MY CROSS
Upon my return I found the Lieutenant so preoccupied over an intended
visit to Salcedo that one or two vague answers satisfied his curiosity
about my early morning excursion. He started out at last, an hour or so
before noon, when I contrived with the help of old Caesar to wash my
wound and dress it in proper manner. Lest the Lieutenant or any one else
should notice something amiss and make inquiries, I told Caesar he might
say I had been bitten by a scorpion, of which, truth to tell, there were
enough and to spare in and about Chihuahua.
The Lieutenant returned much sooner than I had expected. He had been
informed that His Excellency was closeted with Father Rocus, and could
see no callers. This he took as an unfavorable indication of Salcedo's
temper, until I assured him I had reason to believe that the padre was a
friend and had called on the Governor-General in our behalf. The
confirmation came during the afternoon in the form of a polite message,
brought by Walker, requesting Pike to call at the _palacio_ that evening
without ceremony.
When he returned, it was with the news that all was settled except as to
myself. The papers of the expedition were to be held, but Pike and the
six men with him were to march for Natchitoches in three or four days,
to be followed shortly by the detachment under Sergeant Meek, which all
this time had been carefully held back somewhere on the El Paso road.
The Lieutenant was inclined to be anxious over my fate, but I could not
but trust to the good offices of Father Rocus.
He met the padre at Salcedo's table the following noon, and answered in
his usual fearless manner the adroit questions put to him by His
Reverence. This, I believe, must have proved the last straw to the
Governor-General, for that evening, while we were visiting Malgares,
Walker brought word that I was free to accompany Pike. In his
excitement, he spoke of the padre's cleverness in mollifying His
Excellency over the death of Medina, but Malgares averted a disclosure
of my share in the affair by the laconic statement to Pike that he had
killed the aide during a duel.
Such a happy termination of the affair would have given me great
satisfaction had I not been distressed over my failure to hear a word
either of or from Alisanda. Even Dona Dolores was still refused
admittance to her.
This was on a Sunday. Monday we spent in our preparations for marching.
I had need of all the diversion I could find, to keep down the maddening
thought that I should have to go without seeing my lady. In my despair I
called upon Father Rocus, who counselled patience, and promised to do
what he could to obtain for me a last meeting. But he warned me that
even should he succeed, I could expect to see her only in the presence
of the family. I begged him to give me some hope for the future. But he
shook his head.
"_Sabe Dios!--Quien sabe?_" he said. "All that I can now say is that, if
she cannot follow you to your free republic, she will take the veil."
"No!" I cried. "I cannot give her up!"
"You can if you must, my son. There are few mortals who at some time
during their lives do not have to bear a heavy cross. If this one is
laid upon your shoulders, you will bear it with manly strength. But
there is still a hope for you. I shall advise with her before you pay
your farewell call at Senor Vallois's. If there seems a way of escape,
you will receive a message either from her or from myself."
I thanked the good padre, and left him, my heart in a tumult between
fondest hope and blackest despair.
In the morning, which was that of the twenty-eighth of April, the day
set for us to march, we visited about the city to say farewell to all
our friends. But when we came to Don Pedro's I informed the Lieutenant
that I wished him to make only a brief call and then go without me.
Malgares, who was to march in charge of our escort, and with whom we had
called upon the weeping Dona Dolores, assented to my request no less
heartily than did Pike.
As I had expected, Don Pedro and Dona Marguerite received us with the
utmost cordiality--but alone. In the midst of our call Father Rocus
entered in a casual manner, but, unlike the Vallois, he greeted us with
a marked coolness. I was seized with the dreadful suspicion that he had
all along been playing double with me. Yet there was the memory of that
meeting at the _Parroquia_ to shame my doubt.
Before I could calm my thoughts, Pike and Malgares rose to leave. I
followed them slowly to the door, then suddenly turned back and bent
upon one knee to take the hand of Dona Marguerite.
"Senora," I begged, "for the love of God, give me a last word with her!
I am going away all those thousands of miles--I fear I shall never again
see her--have pity upon me! One word, senora!"
"_Ave Maria purisima!_" she murmured, bowing her head and sighing.
I had touched her heart. Another plea might have persuaded her. But Don
Pedro came hastening back, his face as cold and hard as a stone.
"Your friends will be delayed, Senor Robinson," he said.
"Senor," I replied, rising to face him, "at the least have the justice
to hear me out. You know that I love your niece with my whole heart and
body and soul. You know that she loves me with a love that will last as
long as life itself. Our love was born the first time we looked into
each other's eyes; since then our love has never wavered. It drew me to
her over deserts and mountains, through wildernesses before known only
to the red savages; it forced me to face singly the soldiers and
prisons and garrottes of your tyrannical rulers. I know now that I
cannot hope for you to turn from your cruel purpose. Yet for the sake of
the friendship you once professed to bear me and for the sake of her
love, give me at least a moment's farewell--a word of parting!"
Despite the desperate earnestness of my plea, he stood throughout
without a trace of relentment in his cold face. But Dona Marguerite was
a woman, and I had spoken from the depths of my heart.
"_Santisima Virgen!_" she cried. "It is only for a last moment's
adieu!--Padre! padre, advise us!"
My heart gave a leap of wild hope as I saw Don Pedro look about at the
padre with respectful attention.
"It is a hard question to decide, my children," deliberated Father
Rocus. "It may well cause her more sorrow than relief. And yet--and
yet--"
He paused and seemed to sink into prayerful meditation. Don Pedro and
Dona Marguerite bowed their heads and murmured "_Ave!_" I stood waiting,
in a tremendous stress of doubt and joy, of hope and despair. At last
the padre raised his head, and pronounced his opinion: "As her guardian,
Don Pedro, yours is the decision. Yet as her confessor, I advise, for
the good of her soul, that you do not deprive her of this last
consolation. Even the meekest will rebel if pressed too hard, and she
has a high spirit."
"Since you advise it, padre," acquiesced Don Pedro, though with evident
reluctance. "For the good of her soul, they may say adieu. But it must
be here, in our presence."
Dona Marguerite hastened to pull the bell-cord. Chita appeared.
"Prepare your mistress to say adieu to Senor Robinson."
Chita darted away. We waited, I burning with impatience, the others
murmuring prayers. At last my sweet lady appeared in the curtained
doorway. Though she sought to smile, her face was wan and sad, and her
beautiful eyes heavy as if she had wept much and slept little. Had not
Dona Marguerite taken the precaution to lay a restraining hand on my
wrist, I should have rushed forward and clasped the poor oppressed
darling in my arms.
We were permitted to approach each other. I bent on one knee and pressed
my lips to the little white hand she gave me. The others watched our
every movement and listened for every word. Yet I could not restrain
myself from speaking out the love with which my heart overflowed.
"Dearest one!" I murmured, "it seems that we must now part--it may be
forever! I do not see how I can bear to lose you, my darling. But, as
the good padre says, we all have our crosses, and it may be that
strength will be given to me to endure. Yet most of all my heart aches
for your grief, Alisanda. God grant you surcease of sorrow!"
My voice failed me. I heard Dona Marguerite sob. But Alisanda neither
wept nor sobbed. She gazed upward, with a spiritual glow in her dark
eyes.
"God will do unto us according to His holy will!" she said.
"_Ave Maria de los Dolores!_" sobbed Dona Marguerite.
Alisanda looked down at me with the gaze which opened to me those
fathomless wells of mystery.
"Juan," she said, "they tell me we can never wed. If such be the will of
God, we must submit. But--" She held up the gold crucifix of the rosary
which hung about her neck--"by _la vera cruz_ I vow to you, beloved, I
will wed none other mortal than yourself. If I may not be your bride, I
will become the bride of Christ!"
"_Caramba!_" swore Don Pedro. "Recall that vow! I command you!"
"God has heard it!" she answered.
"The vow is registered in heaven," confirmed Father Rocus.
"Absolve her!" demanded the don, fairly beside himself with chagrin at
this sudden turn that threatened to frustrate all his designs.
"Peace, peace," soothed the padre. "I will consider the matter with
prayer and meditation."
"_Satanas!_" cried Don Pedro, turning upon me in a rage. "But for you,
she would not have vowed! Go!--"
"_Nada!_" I rejoined. "You said I could bid her farewell. I hold you to
your word as a gentleman."
He turned on his heel, and strode over to stand beside Father Rocus,
doubtless fearful that he could not otherwise restrain himself from
attacking me.
"Be quick!" urged Dona Marguerite.
Alisanda took the rosary from about her white throat and held it out to
me. Her voice kept to the same clear, brave note: "Adieu, my Juan! We
part. You are not a Christian, I know, yet as a sign for the guidance of
your faith, I give you this golden symbol--_la vera cruz_!"
As her dear hand placed the cross in my palm, my love and despair burst
all bounds. Forgetful of all else, I caught her to me and pressed my
lips to hers in passionate grief. But in a moment she was torn from me
by Don Pedro, who carried her off, half fainting, from the room. I would
have followed had not Dona Marguerite and Father Rocus clung to me on
either side and implored me to leave before the return of Don Pedro.
Half stupefied with despair, I permitted them to lead me to the
stairway, where Dona Marguerite sobbed out an "_Adios!_" and turned
back. The padre hurried me down the stairway and out into the street,
where, after a hasty benediction, he hastened back to pacify the
violence of Don Pedro.