NEMESIS--DON LUIS
Manvers' reiterated question of how in the name of wonder Don Luis or
anybody else knew what he had done with Manuela's crucifix was answered
before the day was over; but not by Gil Perez or the advocate whom he
had engaged to defend the unhappy girl.
This personage gave him to understand without disguise that there was
very little chance for Manuela. The Judge, he said, had been
"instructed." He clung to that phrase. When Manvers said, "Let us
instruct him a little," he took snuff and replied that he feared
previous "instruction" might have created a prejudice. He undertook,
however, to see him privately before judgment was delivered, but
intimated that he must have a very free hand.
Manvers' rejoinder took the shape of a blank cheque with his signature
upon it. The advocate, fanning himself with it in an abstracted
manner, went on to advise the greatest candour in the witness-box.
"Beware of irritation, dear sir," he said. "The Judge will plant a
banderilla here and there, you may be sure. That is his method. You
learn more from an angry man than a cool one. For my own part," he
went on, "you know how we stand--without witnesses. I shall do what I
can, you may be sure."
"I hope you will get something useful from the prisoner," Manvers said.
"A little of Master Esteban's private history should be useful."
"It would be perfectly useless, if you will allow me to say so,"
replied the advocate. "The Judge will not hear a word against a family
like the Ramonez. So noble and so poor! Perhaps you are not aware
that the Archbishop of Toledo is Don Luis' first cousin? That is so."
"But is that allowed to justify his rip of a son in goading a girl on
to murder?" cried Manvers.
The advocate again took snuff, shrugging as he tapped his fingers on
the box. "The Ramonez say, you see, sir, that Don Bartolome may have
threatened her, moved by jealousy. Jealousy is a well-understood
passion here. The plea is valid and good."
"Might it not stand for Manuela too?" he was asked.
"I don't think we had better advance it, Don Osmundo," he said, after a
significant pause.
Gil Perez, pale and all on edge, had been walking the room like a caged
wolf. He swore to himself--but in English, out of politeness to his
master. "Thata dam thief! Ah, Juez of my soul, if I see you twist in
'ell is good for me." Presently he took Manvers aside and, his eyes
full of tears, asked him, "Sir, you escusa Manuela, if you please. She
maka story ver' bad to 'ear. She no like--I see 'er red as fire, burn
like the devil, sir. She ver' unfortunata girl--too beautiful to live.
And all these 'ogs--Oh, my God, what can she do?" He opened his arms,
and turned his pinched face to the sky. "What can she do, Oh, my God?"
he cried. "So beautiful as a rose, an' so poor, and so a child! You
sorry, sir, hey?" he asked, and Manvers said he was more sorry than he
could say.
That comforted him. He kissed his master's hand, and then told him
that Manuela was glad that he knew all about her. "She dam glad, sir,
that I know. She say to me las' night--'What I shall tell the Juez
will be the very truth. Senor Don Osmundo shall know what I am,' she
say. 'To 'im I could never say it. To thata Juez too easy say it.
To-morrow,' she say, ''e know me for what I am--too bad girl!'"
"I think she is a noble girl," said Manvers. "She's got more courage
in her little finger than I have in my body. She's a girl in a
thousand."
Gil Perez glowed, and lifted up his beaten head. "Esplendid--eh?" he
cried out. "By God, I serve 'er on my knees!"
On returning to the court, the beard and patient face of Fray Juan
greeted our friend. He had very little to testify, save that he was
sure the Englishman had known nothing of the crime. The prisoner had
told him her story without haste or passion. He had been struck by
that. She said that she killed. Don Bartolome in a hurry lest he
should kill both her and her benefactor. She had not informed him, nor
had he reported to the gentleman, that she was going to Madrid. The
Englishman said that he intended to find her, and witness had strongly
advised him against it. He had told him that his motives would be
misunderstood. "As, in fact, they have been, brother?" the advocate
suggested. Fray Juan raised his eyebrows, and sighed. "_Quien sabe?_"
was his answer.
Manvers then stood up and spoke his testimony. He gave the facts as
the reader knows then, and made it clear that Manuela was in terror of
Esteban from the moment he appeared, and even before he appeared. He
had noticed that she frequently glanced behind them as they rode, and
had asked her the reason. Her fear of him in the wood was manifest,
and he blamed himself greatly for leaving her alone with the young man.
"I was new to the country, you must understand," he said. "I could see
that there was some previous acquaintance between those two, but could
not guess that it was so serious. I thought, however, that they had
made up their differences and gone off together when I returned from
bathing. When Pray Juan showed me the body and told me what had been
done I was very much shocked. It had been, in one sense, my fault, for
if I had not rescued her, Esteban would not have suspected me, or
intended my death. That I saw at once; and my desire of meeting
Manuela again was that I might defend her from the consequences of an
act which I had, in that one sense, brought about--to which she had, at
any rate, been driven on my account."
"I will ask you, sir," said the Judge, "one question upon that. Was
that also your motive in having the crucifix set in pure gold?"
"No," said Manvers, "not altogether. I doubt if I can explain that to
you."
"I am of that opinion myself," said the Judge, with an elaborate bow.
"But the court will be interested to hear you."
The court was.
"This girl," Manvers said, "was plainly most unfortunate. She was
ragged, poorly fed, had been ill-used, and was being shamefully handled
when I first saw her. I snatched her out of the hands of the wretches
who would have torn her to pieces if I had not interfered. From
beginning to end I never saw more shocking treatment of a woman than I
saw at Palencia. Not to have interfered would have shamed me for life.
What then? I rescued her, as I say, and she showed herself grateful in
a variety of ways. Then Esteban Vincaz came up and chose to treat me
as her lover. I believe he knew better, and think that my horse and
haversack had more to do with it. Well, I left Manuela with him in the
wood--hardly, I may suggest, the act of a lover--and never saw Esteban
alive again. But I believe Manuela's story absolutely; I am certain
she would not lie at such a time, or to such a man as Fray Juan. The
facts were extraordinary, and her crime, done as it was in defence of
myself, was heroic--or I thought so. Her leaving of the crucifix was,
to me, a proof of her honest intention. I valued the gift, partly for
the sake of the giver, partly for the act which it commemorated. She
had received a small service from me, and had returned it fifty-fold by
an act of desperate courage. To crown her charity, she left me all
that she had in the world. I do not wonder myself at what I did. I
took the crucifix to a jeweller at Valladolid, had it set as I thought
it deserved--and I see now that I did her there a cruel wrong."
"Permit me to say, sir," said the triumphant Judge, "that you also did
Don Luis Ramonez a great service. Through your act, however intended,
he has been enabled to bring a criminal to justice."
"I beg pardon," said Manvers, "she brought herself to justice--so soon
as Don Luis Ramonez sent his assassin out to stab me in the back, and
in the dark. And this again was a proof of her heroism, since she
thought by these means to satisfy his craving for human blood."
Manvers spoke incisively and with severity. The court thrilled, and
the murmuring was on his side. The Judge was much disturbed. Manuela
alone maintained her calm, sitting like a pensive Hebe, her cheek upon
her hand.
The Judge's annoyance was extreme. It tempted him to wrangle.
"I beg you, sir, to restrain yourself. The court cannot listen to
extraneous matter. It is concerned with the consideration of a serious
crime. The illustrious gentleman of your reference mourns the loss of
his only son."
"I fail," said Manvers, "to see how my violent death can assuage his
grief." The Judge was not the only person in court to raise his
eyebrows; if Manvers had not been angry he would have seen the whole
assembly in the same act, and been certified that they were not with
him now. His advocate whispered him urgently to sit down. He did,
still mystified. The Judge immediately retired to consider his
judgment.
Manvers' advocate left the court and was away for an hour. He returned
very sedately to his place, with the plainly expressed intention of
saying nothing. The court buzzed with talk, much of it directed at the
beautiful prisoner, whose person, bearing, motives, and fate were
freely discussed. Oddly enough, at that moment, half the men in the
hall were ready to protect her.
Manvers felt his heart beating, but could neither think nor speak
coherently. If Manuela were to be condemned to death, what was he to
do? He knew not at all; but the crisis to which his own affairs and
his own life were now brought turned him cold. He dared not look at
Gil Perez. The minutes dragged on----
The Judge entered the court and sat in his chair. He looked very much
like a codfish--with his gaping mouth and foolish eyes. He pulled one
of his long whiskers and inspected the end of it; detected a split
hair, separated it from its happier fellows, shut his eyes, gave a
vicious wrench to it and gasped as it parted. Then he stared at the
assembly before him, as if to catch them laughing, frowned at Manvers,
who sat before him with folded arms; lastly he turned to the prisoner,
who stood up and looked him in the face.
"Manuela," he said, "you stand condemned upon your own confession of
murder in the first degree--murder of a gentleman who had been your
benefactor, of whose life and protection you desired, for reasons of
your own, to be ridded. The court is clear that you are guilty and
cannot give you any assurance that your surrender to justice has
assisted the ministers of justice. Those diligent guardians would have
found you sooner or later, you may be sure. If anyone is to be thanked
it is, perhaps, the foreign gentleman, whose candour"--and here he had
the assurance to make Manvers a bow--"whose candour, I say, has
favourably impressed the court. But, nevertheless, the court, in its
clemency, is willing to allow you the merits of your intention. It is
true that justice would have been done without your confession; but it
may be allowed that you desired to stand well with the laws, after
having violated them in an outrageous manner. It is this desire of
yours which inclines the court to mercy. I shall not inflict the last
penalty upon you, nor exact the uttermost farthing which your crime
deserves. The court is willing to believe that you are penitent, and
condemns you to perpetual seclusion in the Institution of the Recogidas
de Santa Maria Magdalena."
Manuela was seen to close her eyes; but she collected herself directly.
She looked once, piercingly, at Manvers, then surrendered herself to
him who touched her on the shoulder, turned, and went out of the court.
Everybody was against her now: they jeered, howled, hissed and cursed
her. A spoiled plaything had got its deserts. Manvers turned upon
them in a white fury. "Dogs," he cried, "will nothing shame you?" But
nobody seemed to hear or heed him at the moment, and Gil Perez
whispered in his ear, "That no good, master. This _canalla_ all the
same swine. You come with me, sir, I tell you dam good thing." He had
recovered his old jauntiness, and swaggered before his master, clearing
the way with oaths and threatenings.
Manvers followed him in a very stern mood. By the door he felt a touch
on the arm, and turning, saw a tall, elderly gentleman cloaked in
black. He recognised him at once by his hollow eye-sockets and
smouldering, deeply set eyes. "You will remember me, senor caballero,
in the shop of Sebastian the goldsmith," he said; and Manvers admitted
it. He received another bow, and the reminder. "We met again, I
think, in the Church of Las Angustias in Valladolid."
"Yes, indeed," Manvers said, "I remember you very well."
"Then you remember, no doubt, saying to me with regard to your
crucifix, which I had seen in Sebastian's hands, then in your own, that
it was a piece of extravagance on your part. You will not withdraw
that statement to-day, I suppose."
That which lay latent in his words was betrayed by the gleam of cold
fire in his eyes. Manvers coloured. "You have this advantage of me,
senor," he said, "that you know to whom you are speaking, and I do not."
"It is very true, senor Don Osmundo," the gentleman said severely. "I
will enlighten you. I am Don Luis Ramonez de Alavia, at your service."
Manvers turned white. He had indeed made Manuela pay double. So much
for sentiment in Spain.