A MIRAGE.
Inez de Aguilera always shared the sleeping-room of her grandmother,
and had often to minister during the night to the aged and imbecile
lady. It had never occurred to the Spanish girl to regard this duty as
a hardship, but she had never felt such sweet pleasure in its
performance as she did after listening to the words of her Heavenly
Master which had been read aloud by Alcala. He who had said, "_Love
one another as I have loved you_," would, Inez hoped, be pleased with
her care of the aged relative whom He had intrusted to her charge.
A trial to those who attended on Donna Benita was the poor old lady's
inability to understand the change in the circumstances of her family;
she who had come as a wealthy bride to a wealthy hidalgo, sorely
missed, and never ceased to expect, the luxuries connected with the
possession of riches. If Donna Benita desired to breathe the air in
the Prado, how was it that carriages with splendid horses were not
ready at her command? Where was the train of attendants that should
wait on the lady of a Spanish grandee? What had become of her jewels,
her bracelets of diamonds, her chaplet of pearls? Old Teresa lost
patience when she had to repeat for the hundredth time to her imbecile
mistress that her treasures had all been carried off, nearly fifty
years before, by the infidel French soldiers, who had dared to eat
their puchero and smoke their cigarillos in the patio of the palace of
the Aguileras.
Inez never lost her patience with the feeble invalid, but she was
pained when, on the morning following Alcala's first meeting for
family devotion, Donna Benita more fretfully than usual complained of
the want of the luxuries which her grandchildren had not the means of
providing.
"How I am neglected by all of you!" murmured the aged lady. "Have I
not told you these many times to bring me my goblet of chased gold,
filled with good Xeres wine? Where is it--why do you keep it from me?
There is no one to do my bidding,--no one cares to bring me the
delicate panada which is, as you know, my favourite dish. I am tired
of chocolate, and toast, and watery puchero! Every day seems a
fast-day here!"
"You shall have something nice, very nice, to-day, dear grandmother,"
said Inez, respectfully kissing the old lady's hand. "Teresa yesterday
brought home from the market a splendid basketful of good things." And
Inez glided out of the room, asking herself as she did so, "When shall
we find means of so filling that basket again?"
The kitchen, which was situated at the remotest part of the mansion of
the Aguileras, was very spacious, and from its emptiness now appeared
very dreary. There were scarcely as many utensils left in the place as
would have supplied the tent of a wandering Gitano. And yet in that
kitchen, in former days, banquets had been prepared to furnish a table
at which a hundred guests had sat down.
Teresa's bent, withered form was stooping over the fire, which, like
the inmates of the mansion, was very scantily fed. The step of Inez
was so light that the old woman did not hear it, and she was not aware
that the senorita was at her side, when she flung on the fagots a
small bound volume. Inez darted forward, with an exclamation of
indignation, just in time to snatch unharmed from the fire the New
Testament of her brother.
"Why do you presume to burn the treasured book of Don Alcala?"
exclaimed the maiden, pressing the volume to her breast.
"To save Don Alcala's life!" replied Teresa, raising her head with
angry surprise. "Did you not hear the threats of Father Bonifacio;
have you not been told of the warning sent out by our priests against
those who 'infest Catholic Seville with Bibles and _other pernicious
books_'?[18] Are you so ignorant, senorita, as to suppose that
Scripture readings can be safely carried on in a Christian country
like this?" Each question was asked in a tone more loud and shrill
than the last. "Every hour I am expecting the alguazils[19] to search
this house, this house polluted with heresy. Woe to Don Alcala de
Aguilera if that fatal book be found within it! He will be dragged out
of his bed, thrust into some loathsome prison which he will never quit
till his carcass be thrust forth to be flung like carrion into some
ditch! I'll not see it--I'll not see it," continued the old retainer
with a gesture of passionate grief; "Teresa's hand shall not be the
one to open the gate of this palace to those who come to arrest its
master! There's a _gran foncion_ to-day in honour of my patroness,
Santa Teresa; I will go and join the procession, and try if my prayers
cannot move the saint to save Don Alcala from the ruin which he is
bringing on himself and his house!"
Away hurried Teresa, leaving her young lady to do her work and think
over her warning.
The first occupation was easy enough: Inez had often prepared her
grandmother's meals. But while her slender fingers did their office,
the mind of the poor girl was painfully revolving the words of Teresa.
Might they not be only too true--might not Alcala have actually placed
himself within reach of the grasp of the law? Inez was constantly
turning in terror to listen for sounds that might announce the coming
of alguazils to seize on her brother, and search the house. The
horrors of a Spanish prison to a gentleman of refinement, who had not
yet recovered from the effects of a wound, and who was too poor to
bribe his jailers, might actually realize the picture drawn by Teresa.
The heart of Inez sank within her.
While Donna Benita was partaking of food so delicately prepared by her
grand-daughter, that not even the old lady's weak, fretful mind could
find in it subject for complaint, Inez was planning a little scheme
for Alcala's safety, in case a search-warrant should be issued.
"The Book must not be found in this house, at least not in my
brother's possession," thought Inez. "I will not destroy, but I will
conceal it. I will carefully wrap up the volume, and then bury it
deep, very deep, in the earth under the orange-trees which grow round
the fountain; no one will look for it there, and I will take it up
again when the danger is over. Alcala will spare it for a few days
when I tell him why I have buried the Book. He will miss it the less
since he knows, I believe, half of its contents by heart already."
It seemed a long time to Inez before Donna Benita concluded her
tedious repast; a long time before her grand-daughter could beat up
her pillow, shut out the daylight, and leave the old lady to enjoy the
siesta which always followed her morning meal.
Inez then hurriedly proceeded to the patio, and took, from a recess in
which she kept her few garden utensils, a spud with which she was wont
to weed her parterre. She noticed that her plants looked less
flourishing than they had done before her brother's illness; no one
had cared to water or tend them, and many a shrivelled leaf showed the
lack of a mistress's care. "Alcala must not find them thus," thought
Inez; "my chief joy in my garden comes from knowing that it gives
pleasure to him."
In haste to accomplish the work of burying the volume during the
absence of Teresa, Inez knelt down, and with her imperfect instrument
began to dig a hole in the earth which surrounded the fountain. The
maiden found the task more difficult than she had expected. The sod
was dry and hard; Inez had to bring water to saturate the earth before
she could make much impression upon it.
"A little deeper,--it will be safer to make the hole a little deeper,"
said Inez to herself, when she paused to take breath after labour
which the heat of the day made oppressive. The lady took up her garden
utensil again, and struck it, not down into deeper earth, but against
something hard which returned a metallic clink to the stroke.
"What can be here?" exclaimed the maiden. She removed more of the
earth, till a small pile of it was deposited on either side of the
hole which she had been digging. A little more scraping then revealed
to her view, as she bent over the opening, something like a wooden box
with a handle of metal. Stooping yet lower,--she was still on her
knees,--Inez took hold of the handle, and with an effort of her utmost
strength attempted to draw out the box; but she was unable even to
stir it.
"Can I help the senorita?" said Chico, who had been attracted to the
patio by the slight but unusual noise made by Inez when digging out
the earth. Since the death of poor Campeador, the bandy-legged groom
had found more time for idling about.
Inez started at the unexpected voice, threw back the long hair which
had fallen over her brow as she had stooped and laboured, and rose
from her kneeling position. Her first feeling was that of annoyance at
the intrusion of Chico; but as she was unable to accomplish her object
without assistance, she accepted the offer of his aid. The young lady
stood on the marble pavement watching while Chico, with considerable
labour and difficulty, disengaged the box from the earth in which it
had lain embedded, and, lifting it out of the hole, laid it heavily
down at her feet.
The box was not so large as an ordinary desk, but exceedingly heavy in
proportion to its size. It appeared to be made of walnut wood, with
hinges, lock, and handle of steel, and it was clamped with broad bands
of the same metal. But for many, many years that box had lain under
the earth, and now the steel was rusted, the wood was rotten. The
lock, indeed, was a good one still, but the hinges were eaten away
with rust, and had no power to resist the strong wrench with which
Chico, ere Inez could prevent him, tore off the lid of the box.
The sight of its contents, thus laid bare to the view, made Inez open
wide her dark eyes with surprise. The box was a little treasury in
itself, holding wealth packed up in the most portable shape. Rouleaus
of gold pieces, cases of jewels, a golden goblet filled with chains,
coins, snuff-boxes, all of the same precious metal, appeared before
the eyes of the wondering girl.
"Move nothing--touch nothing!" cried Inez to Chico, who, on his knees,
was gloating open-mouthed over the treasure, and about to lift the
goblet out of the box to explore what lay beneath it. "The Senor Don
Alcala must be the first to examine what is within."
Chico took out a piece of parchment and held it up to Inez, who read
on it the following words:--"_I, Don Pedro de Aguilera, before leaving
Seville to join the army, being apprehensive that the French may one
day possibly occupy this city, do bury this casket containing my
wife's most valuable jewels, and a portion of my family plate, 1810._"
"Heaven has sent help to us in our utmost need!" exclaimed Inez,
clasping her hands, and looking upwards with grateful joy.
But wealth is wont to bring care, and Inez had no sooner obtained
possession of the family treasure than she began uneasily to revolve
in her mind how she could best secure it. Her first impulse was to bid
Chico carry it at once to her brother's apartment, and place it under
the care of Alcala. But a moment's reflection made Inez doubt the
expediency of this course.
"Alcala is in peril already," thought Inez; "should I not greatly add
to his danger by placing in his room, which has not even a key to its
lock, a treasure like this? If the discovery of these rich jewels and
pieces of gold were bruited abroad in Seville, it would arouse the
cupidity of all the ruffians with whom this city abounds! My Alcala
might be murdered as well as robbed! Would I not act more wisely if I
buried the treasure again, only taking out, time by time, a few pieces
of money to supply our immediate need?"
Inez glanced down at Chico, who, in spite of her prohibition, seemed
unable to resist the temptation of fingering the gold with his coarse,
dirty hands. "I dare not trust Chico," thought Inez, in sore
perplexity; "if the treasure were buried, he at least would know the
secret, and there would be nothing to hinder him from abstracting
whatever he pleased from the box. I hope, I think that he is honest;
but the temptation might prove too great. The gold must be kept under
lock and key,--where can I place it in safety?" Inez raised her hand
to her brow, and reflected for several moments. It was so new a thing
to the maiden to be burdened with the care of riches! Presently an
expression of satisfaction came to the anxious young face.
"There is the armoury," thought Inez; "the door is strong, and the
lock is good. We will shut up the box within it, and give Alcala the
key."
The place which was called the armoury, from weapons and ammunition
having once been kept there, was little more than a deep recess in the
wall which enclosed the patio, closed in by a low strong door, which
had been so constructed as to attract little notice from without. A
stranger might have resided for months in the house of the Aguileras,
and have spent hours every day in the patio, without ever observing
that there was a door near to the ornamental grating--indeed, under
its shadow whenever the grating was thrown back. The small key of the
armoury had been left in the lock, for there had been no need to use
it, the place had been for many years empty of all but dust and
rubbish. There could be no better place in which to secure the
treasure.
"Chico," said Inez to her servant, who was still on his knees,
fumbling the gold, "mention to no one--not even to Teresa--the finding
of this box. You shall be well rewarded for your fidelity and your
silence. Now bear the box to the armoury yonder; I will first lock it
up there, and then take the key to Don Alcala, and tell him what I
have done."
Inez glided across the patio, glad that the grating was closed, so
that no stranger from the street could possibly see what was passing
within. Followed by Chico carrying the box, the lady reached the
armoury, opened the door, and tried the lock.
"Place the box there," said the maiden, pointing to the inmost corner
of the recess, close to the door of which she was standing.
Chico, instead of obeying, set down the heavy box on the pavement, and
then, by a movement so sudden that it took Inez completely by
surprise, he pushed the lady into the armoury, shut the door, and
locked it upon her!
Inez cried out aloud in her alarm, when she thus unexpectedly found
herself in darkness, a prisoner in her own home. With mingled threats,
entreaties, and promises she conjured the false Chico to open the
door. The traitor, however, thought time far too precious to wait
either to listen or to reply. He could not, indeed, pass through the
grating, of which Teresa had taken the key; but he easily made his way
out by the same passage as that through which he had entered, one
which communicated with the now empty stable.
Inez now exerted all her strength in the endeavour to force open the
door, but it resisted her utmost efforts. The air in the armoury was
close and confined. Inez could hardly breathe; she was faint with
exhaustion and terror. Her cries for help were not heard, though she
tried to call out loud enough for her voice to reach some passer-by in
the street. Inez at last, finding all her exertions vain, could only
await in discomfort and misery the return of Teresa, who would
liberate her from her prison.
How long, how intolerably wearisome was the time of waiting! What
painful companions to poor Inez in her solitude were her own
reflections! She could not doubt that the family had been robbed by
the worthless Chico,--robbed of their all at the very time when its
possession was most sorely needed. The short-lived hopes which the
sight of the treasure had raised in the mind of Inez, had vanished
from her view like some mirage in the desert before the thirsty
traveller's eyes. Poverty--destitution--appeared all the more dreadful
from contrast with abundance beheld, but not enjoyed.
The minor cares of the moment lent their weight to add to the pressure
of greater. Inez was uneasy at the thought of Donna Benita awaking
from her siesta, and being frightened at finding no one beside her.
Alcala, too, must need his lemonade, and would miss his Book,--the
precious volume which Inez had still in her bosom. Add to all this
the physical distress, the sense of suffocation consequent on
confinement in a place in which there was no circulation of air, and
some idea may be formed of the misery endured by Alcala's sister.
The impatience of Inez had risen to the point of agony long before, to
her intense relief, she heard in the vaulted passage the heavy step of
Teresa, wearily returning from her visit to the shrine of her patron
saint.
"Release me--oh, release me!" cried out Inez from her place of
confinement.
Teresa was so much astonished by hearing the cry for help, muffled as
it came through the closed door of the armoury, that she dropped the
key of the grating, which she was just about to open.
"Make haste--or I die!" gasped poor Inez.
Teresa made what haste her infirmities and her amazement would permit;
but she had to stoop and pick up the key, fit it into the hole, and
then push open the grating, and every moment thus employed was a
moment of torture to Inez. At length, guided by the voice of her
mistress, the old servant entered the patio, and turned round where
the armoury door stood close behind the grating. In another second
Inez, trembling and gasping for breath, was released from her terrible
prison.
"In the name of all the saints, how came you to be locked up here?"
exclaimed the wondering duenna.
"Chico has robbed us--I can say no more now!" faltered Inez, scarcely
able to speak. "Go quickly to Donna Benita,--she may want help,--while
I--" The sentence was never ended; for Inez, exhausted and faint as
she felt, was already on her way to her brother's apartment.
"Chico has robbed us!" echoed the bewildered Teresa, lifting up her
hands in amazement. "Robbed the house, and shut up the lady! I know
not what there was in the place that the poorest thief in Seville
would think it worth his while to take!"
Glancing around her, Teresa soon perceived the disordered state of the
patio; the marble round the parterre encumbered with heaps of dust and
earth, and in the ground under the bushes a hole large enough for an
infant's grave. Something had surely been dug out, something had been
carried away. Teresa was puzzling her brain to divine what could have
occurred during her absence, when she was alarmed by sounds,--but the
cause of these sounds must be reserved for the ensuing chapter.
FOOTNOTES:
[18] _Vide_ "Daybreak in Spain."
[19] A kind of police.