A SOUTHERN PEARL.
"Mariquita! Ma--ri--kee--tah!"
A woman's voice, shrill and quavering, with an accent of anger that
increased each time the summons was repeated.
"What's come of the young vixen?" went on the speaker, addressing her
husband, the Tio Pedro, who sat with her behind the counter of a small
tobacconist's shop--an ugly beldame, shrank and shrivelled, with grey
elf-locks, sunk cheeks, and parchment complexion, looking ninety, yet
little more than half that age. Women ripen early, are soon at their
prime, and fade prematurely, under this quickening Southern sun.
The husband was older, yet better preserved, than his wife--a large,
stout man, with a fierce face and black, baleful eyes. All cowered
before him except La Zandunga, as they called his wife here in
Bombardier Lane. He was at her mercy--a Spaniard resident on the Rock
by permit granted to his wife--a native of Gibraltar, and liable to be
expelled at any time unless she answered for him.
The shop and stock-in-trade were hers, not his, and she ruled him and
the whole place.
"Mariquita!" she called again and again, till at length, overflowing
with passion, she rushed from behind the counter into the premises at
the back of the shop.
She entered a small but well-lighted room, communicating with a few
square feet of garden. At the end was a low fence; beyond this the
roadway intervening between the garden and the Line wall, or seaward
fortifications.
La Zandunga looked hastily round the room. It contained half-a-dozen
small low tables, drawn near the window and open door, and at these
sat a posse of girls, busy with deft, nimble fingers, making
cigarettes and cigars. These workpeople were under the immediate
control of Mariquita, the mistress's niece. She was popular with them,
evidently, for no one would answer when La Zandunga shrieked out an
angry inquiry to each.
No answer was needed. There was Mariquita at the end of the garden,
gossiping across the fence with young Sergeant McKay.
It was quite an accident, of course. The serjeant, returning to his
quarters from Waterport, had seen Mariquita within, and made her a
signal she could not mistake.
"I knew you would come out," he said, pleasantly, when she appeared,
shy and shrinking, yet with a glad light in her eyes.
"_Vaya!_ what conceit! I was seeking a flower in the garden," she
answered demurely; but her low voice and heightened colour plainly
showed that she was ready to come to him whenever he called--to follow
him, indeed, all over the world.
She spoke in Spanish, with its high-flown epithets and exaggerated
metaphor, a language in which Stanislas McKay, from his natural
aptitude and this charming tutorship, had made excellent progress.
"My life, my jewel, my pearl!" he cried.
A pearl, indeed, incomparable and above price for all who could
appreciate the charms and graces of bright blooming girlhood.
Mariquita Hidalgo was still in her teens--a woman full grown, but with
the frank, innocent face of a child. A slender figure, tall, but
well-rounded and beautifully poised, having the free, elastic movement
of her Spanish ancestors, whose women are the best walkers in the
world. She had, too, the olive complexion as clear and transparent as
wax, the full crimson lips, the magnificent eyes, dark and lustrous,
the indices of an ardent temperament capable of the deepest passion,
the strongest love, or fiercest hate.
A very gracious figure indeed was this splendid specimen of a handsome
race, as she stood there coyly talking to the man of her choice.
The contrast was strongly marked between them. She, with raven hair,
dark skin, and soft brown eyes, was a perfect Southern brunette:
quick, impatient, impulsive, easily moved. He, fresh-coloured,
blue-eyed, with flaxen moustache, stalwart in frame, self-possessed,
reserved, almost cold and impassive in demeanour, was as excellent a
type of a native of the North.
"What brings you this way, Señor don Sargento, at this time of day?"
said Mariquita. "Was it to see me? It was unwise, indiscreet; my
aunt--"
"I have been on duty at Waterport," replied McKay, with a rather
ungallant frankness that made Mariquita pout.
"It is plain I am only second in your thoughts. Duty--always duty. Why
did not you come last night to the Alameda when the band played?"
"I could not, star of my soul! I was on guard."
"Did I not say so?--duty again! And to-morrow? It is Sunday; you
promised to take me to Europa to see the great cave. Is that, too,
impossible?"
McKay shook his head laughingly, and said--
"You must not be angry with me, Mariquita; our visit to Europa must be
deferred; I am on duty every day. They have made me orderly--"
"I do not believe you," interrupted the girl, pettishly. "Go about
your business! Do not trouble to come here again, Don Stanislas.
Benito will take me where I want to go."
"I will break Benito's head whenever I catch him in your company,"
said the young serjeant, with so much energy that Mariquita was
obliged to laugh. "Come, dearest, be more reasonable. It is not my
fault, you know; I am never happy away from your side. But, remember,
I am a soldier, and must obey the orders I receive."
"I was wrong to love a soldier," said Mariquita, growing sad and
serious all at once. "Some day you will get orders to march--to India,
Constantinople, Russia--where can any one say?--and I shall never see
you more."
This trouble of parting near at hand had already arisen, and
half-spoilt McKay's delight at the prospect of sailing for the East.
"Do you think I shall ever forget you? If I go, it will be to win
promotion, fame--a better, higher, more honourable position for you to
share."
It was at this moment that La Zandunga interrupted the lovers with her
resonant, unpleasant voice.
"My aunt! my aunt! Run, Stanislas! do not let her see you, in Heaven's
name!"
The Serjeant disappeared promptly, but the old virago caught a glimpse
of his retreating figure.
"With whom were you gossiping there, good-for-nothing?" cried La
Zandunga, fiercely. "I seemed to catch the colour of his coat. If I
thought it was that son of Satan, the serjeant, who is ever
philandering and following you about--Who was it, I say?"
Mariquita would not answer.
"In with you, shameless, idle daughter of pauper parents, who died in
my debt, leaving you on my hands! Is it thus that you repay me my
bounty--the home I give you--the bread you eat? Go in, jade, and earn
it, or I'll put you into the street."
The girl, bending submissively under this storm of invective and
bitter reproach, walked slowly towards the house. Her aunt followed,
growling fiercely.
"Cursed red-coat!--common, beggarly soldier! How can you, an Hidalgo
of the best blue blood, whose ancestors were settled here before the
English robbers stole the fortress--before the English?--before the
Moors! You, an Hidalgo, to take up with a base-born hireling
cut-throat--"
"No more, aunt!" Mariquita turned on her with flashing eyes. "Call me
what you like, you shall not abuse him--my affianced lover--the man to
whom I have given my troth!"
"What!" screamed the old crone, now furious with rage. "Do you dare
tell me that--to my face? Never, impudent huzzy--never, while I have
strength and spirit and power to say you no--shall you wed this hated
English mercenary--"
"I will wed no one else."
"That will we see. Is not your hand promised--"
"Not with my consent."
"--Promised, formally, to Benito Villegas--my husband's cousin?"
"I have not consented. Never shall I agree. Benito is a villain. I
hate and detest him!"
"Tell him so to his face, evil-tongued slut!--tell him if you dare! He
is now in the house. That is why I came to fetch you. I saw him
approaching."
"He knows my opinion of him, but if you wish it, aunt, he shall hear
it again," said the young girl, undaunted; and she walked on through
the workroom, straight into the little shop.
Benito was seated at the counter, talking confidentially, and in a
very low voice, with Tio Pedro.
"Are the bales ready, uncle? In two days from now we can run them
through like oil in a tube."
"Have you settled the terms?"
"On both sides. Here the inspectors were difficult, but I oiled their
palms. On the other side the Custom-house officers are my friends. All
is straight and easy. The tobacco must be shipped to-morrow--"
"In the same _falucha_?"
"Yes; for Estepona. Be ready, then, at gunfire--"
He stopped suddenly as Mariquita came in.
"Beautiful as a star!" was his greeting; and in a fulsome, familiar
tone he went on--"You are like the sun at noon, my beauty, and burn
my heart with your bright eyes."
"Insolent!" retorted Mariquita. "Hold your tongue."
"What! cross-grained and out of humour, sweetest? Come, sit here on my
knee and listen, while I whisper some good news."
"Unless you address me more decently, Benito Villegas, I shall not
speak to you at all."
"Good news! what then?" put in Tio Pedro, in a coaxing voice.
"My fortune is made. I have found powerful friends here upon the Rock.
Within a few days now, through their help, I shall be part owner of la
Hermandad Stable; and I can marry when I please."
"Fortunate girl!" said Tio Pedro, turning to Mariquita.
"It does not affect me," replied the girl, with chilling contempt.
"Had you the wealth of the Indies, Benito Villegas, and a dukedom to
offer, you should never call me yours."
Benito's face grew black as thunder at this unequivocal reply.
"Don't mind her, my son," said the old man. "She has lost her senses:
the evil one has bitten her."
"Say, rather, one of those accursed red-coats," interposed his wife,
"who has cast a spell over her. I thought I saw him at the garden just
now. If I was only certain--"
"Silly girl, beware!" cried Benito, with bitter meaning. "I know him:
hateful, despicable hound! He is only trifling with you. He cares
nothing for you; you are not to his taste. What! He, a Northern
pale-faced boor, choose you, with your dark skin and black hair!
Never! I know better. Only to-day I saw him with the woman he
prefers--a fair beauty light-complexioned like himself."
He had touched the Southern woman's most sensitive chord. Jealousy
flashed from her eyes; a pang of painful doubt shot through her,
though she calmly answered--
"It is not true."
"Ask him yourself. I tell you I saw them together: first near our
stables, and then down by Waterport--a splendid woman!"
Waterport! McKay had told her he was returning from that part of the
Rock. There was something in it, then. Was he playing her false? No.
She would trust him still.
"I do not believe you, Benito. Such suspicions are worthy only of a
place in your false, black heart!" and with these words Mariquita
rushed away.