THE SLEEPER AWAKENED
Manvers returned whistling from his bath, at peace with all the world
of Spain, in a large mood of benevolence and charitable judgment. His
mind dwelt pleasantly on Manuela, but pity mixed with his thought; and
he added some prudence on his own account. "That child--she's no
more--I must do something for her. Not a bad 'un, I'll swear, not
fundamentally bad. I don't doubt her as I doubt the male: he's too
glib by half... She's distractingly pretty--what nectarine colour!
The mouth of a child--that droop at the corners--and as soft as a
child's too." He shook his head. "No more kissing or I shall be in a
mess."
When he reached his tree and his luncheon, to find his companions gone,
he was a little taken aback. His genial proposals were suddenly
chilled. "Queer couple--I had a notion that they knew something of
each other. So they've made a match of it."
Then he saw a brass crucifix lying in the middle of his plate.
"Hulloa!" He stooped to pick it up. It was still warm. He smiled and
felt a glow come back. "Now that's charming of her. That's a pretty
touch--from a pretty girl. She's no baggage, depend upon it." The
string had plainly hung the thing round her neck, the warmth was that
of her bosom. He held it tenderly while he turned it about. "I'll
warrant now, that was all she had upon her. Not a maravedi beside. I
know it's the last thing to leave 'em. I'm repaid, more than repaid.
I'll wear you for a bit, my friend, if you won't scorch a heretic."
Here he slipped the string over his head, and dropped the cross within
his collar. "I'll treat you to a chain in Valladolid," was his final
thought before he consigned Manuela to his cabinet of memories.
He poured and drank, hacked at his ham-bone and ate. "By the Lord," he
went on commenting, "they've not had bite or sup. Too busy with their
match-making? Too delicate to feast without invitation? Which?" He
pondered the puzzle. He had invited Manuela, he was sure: had he
included her swain? If not, the thing was clear. She wouldn't eat
without him, and he couldn't eat without his host. It was the best
thing he knew of Esteban.
He finished his meal, filled and lit a pipe, smoked half of it
drowsily, then lay and slept. Nothing disturbed his three hours' rest,
not even the gathering cloud of flies, whose droning over a
neighbouring thicket must have kept awake a lighter sleeper. But
Manvers was so fast that he did not hear footsteps in the wood, nor the
sound of picking in the peaty ground.
It was four o'clock and more when he awoke, sat up and looked at his
watch. Yawning and stretching at ease, he then became aware of a
friar, with a brown shaven head and fine black beard, who was digging
near by. This man, whose eyes had been upon him, waiting for
recognition, immediately stopped his toil, struck his spade into the
ground, and came towards him, bowing as he came.
"Good evening, senor caballero," he said. "I am Fray Juan de la Cruz,
at your service; from the convent of N. S. de la Pena near by. I have
to be my own grave-digger; but will you be so obliging as to commit the
body while I read the office?"
To this abrupt invitation Manvers could only reply by staring. Fray
Juan apologised.
"I imagined that you had perceived my business," he said, "which truly
is none of yours. It will be an act of charity on your part--therefore
its own reward."
"May I ask you," said Manvers, now on his feet, "what, or whom, you are
burying?"
"Come," the friar replied. "I will show you the body." Manvers
followed him into the thicket.
"Good God, what's this?" The staring light eyes of Esteban Vincaz had
no reply for him. He had to turn away, sick at the sight.
Fray Juan de la Cruz told him what he knew. A young girl, riding an
ass, had come to the church of the convent, where he happened to be,
cleaning the sanctuary. The Reverend Prior was absent, the brothers
were afield. She was in haste, she said, and the matter would not
allow of delay. She reported that she had killed a man in the wood of
La Huerca, to save the life of a gentleman who had been kind to her,
who had, indeed, but recently imperilled his own for hers. "If you
doubt me," she had said, "go to the forest, to such and such a part.
There you will find the gentleman asleep. He has a crucifix of mine.
The dead man lies not far away, with his own knife near him, with which
I killed him. Now," she had said, "I trust you to report all I have
said to that gentleman, for I must be off."
"Good God!" said Manvers again.
"God indeed is the only good," said Fray Juan, "and His ways past
finding out. But I have no reason to doubt this girl's story. She
told me, moreover, the name of the man--or his names, as you may say."
"Had he more than one then?" Manvers asked him, but without interest.
The dead was nothing to him, but the deed was much. This wild girl,
who had been sleek and kissing but a few hours before, now stood robed
in tragic weeds, fell purpose in her green eyes! And her child's
mouth--stretched to murder! And her youth--hardy enough to stab!
"The unfortunate young man," said Fray Juan, "was the son of a more
unfortunate father; but the name that he used was not that of his
house. His father, it seems----" but Manvers stopped him.
"Excuse me--I don't care about his father or his names. Tell me
anything more that the girl had to say."
"I have told you everything, senor caballero," said Fray Juan; "and I
will only add that you are not to suppose that I am violating the
confidences of God. Far from that. She made no confession in the true
sense, though she promised me that she would not fail to do so at the
earliest moment. I had it urgently from herself that I should seek you
out with her tale, and rehearse it to you. In justice to her, I am now
to ask you if it is true, so far as you are concerned in it?"
Manvers replied, "It's perfectly true. I found her in bad company at
Palencia; a pack of ruffians was about her, and she might have been
killed. I got her out of their hands, knocked about and wounded, and
brought her so far on the road to the first convent I could come at.
That poor devil there overtook us about a league from the wood. She
had nothing to say to him, nor he to her, but I remember noticing that
she didn't seem happy after he had joined us. He had been her lover, I
suppose?"
"She gave me to understand that," said Fray Juan gravely. Manvers here
started at a memory.
"By the Lord," he cried, "I'll tell you something. When we got to the
wood I wanted to bathe in the river, and was going to leave those two
together. Well, she was in a taking about that. She wanted to come
with me--there was something of a scene." He recalled her terror, and
Esteban's snarling lip. "I might have saved all this--but how was I to
know? I blame myself. But what puzzles me still is why the man should
have wanted my life. Can you explain that?"
Fray Juan was discreet. "Robbery," he suggested, but Manvers laughed.
"I travel light," he said. "He must have seen that I was not his game.
No, no," he shook his head. "It couldn't have been robbery."
Fray Juan, I say, was discreet; and it was no business of his.... But
it was certainly in his mind to say that Esteban need not have been the
robber, nor Manvers' portmanteau the booty. However, he was silent,
until the Englishman muttered, "God in Heaven, what a country!" and
then he took up his parable.
"All countries are very much the same, as I take it, since God made
them all together, and put man up to be the master of them, and took
the woman out of his side to be his blessing and curse at once. The
place whence she was taken, they say, can never fully be healed until
she is restored to it; and when that is done, it is not a certain cure.
Such being the plan of this world, it does not become us to quarrel
with its manifestations here or there. Senor caballero, if you are
ready I will proceed. Assistance at the feet, a handful of earth at
the proper moment are all I shall ask of you." He slipped a surplice
over his head. The office was said.
"Fray Juan," said Manvers at the end, "will you take this trifle from
me? A mass, I suppose, for that poor devil's soul would not come
amiss."
Fray Juan took that as a sign of grace, and was glad that he had held
his tongue. "Far from it," he said, "it would be extremely proper. It
shall be offered, I promise you."
"Now," said Manvers after a pause, "I wonder if you can tell me this.
Which way did she go off?"
Fray Juan shook his head. "No lo se. She came to me in the church,
and spoke, and passed like the angel of death. May she go with God!"
"I hope so," said Manvers. Then he looked into the placid face of the
brown friar. "But I must find her somehow." Upon that addition he
shut his mouth with a snap. The survey which he had to endure from
Fray Juan's patient eyes was the best answer to it.
"Oh, but I must, you know," he said.
"Better not, my son," said Fray Juan. "It seems to me that you have
seen enough. Your motives will be misunderstood."
Manvers laughed. "They are rather obscure to me--but I can't let her
pay for my fault."
"You may make her pay double," said Fray Juan.
"No," said Manvers decisively, "I won't. It's my turn to pay now."
The Friar shrugged. "It is usually the woman who pays. But _lo que ha
de ser_...!"
The everlasting phrase! "That proverb serves you well in Spain, Fray
Juan," said Manvers, who was in a staring fit.
"It is all we have that matters. Other nations have to learn it; here
we know it."
Manvers mounted his horse and stooping from the saddle, offered his
hand. "Adios, Fray Juan."
"Vaya V|d| con Dios!" said the friar, and watched him away.
"Pobrecita!" he said to himself--"unhappy Manuela!"