After the departure of the bandits, a mournful tranquillity reigned in
the hacienda of Las Palmas. Gertrudis, asking herself at every moment
of the day whether Don Rafael really no longer loved her, could only
answer with certainty that she loved him, and should do so for ever.
One afternoon--it was the third after Arroyo had gone--she sat looking
over the plain as the sun was sinking slowly to the horizon. It was
just such an evening as that on which she had awaited the arrival of Don
Rafael. Now, however, the floods had retired, and the landscape had
assumed a more verdant and joyous aspect.
All at once, half-a-dozen horsemen appeared before her eyes, as if just
coming from the hills in the rear of the hacienda. The Spanish pennants
floating from their lances proclaimed them to be Royalist dragoons. One
rode a little in advance of the rest, evidently their leader. Several
other horsemen appeared, following them: until a large troop was seen
defiling across the plain.
Gertrudis heeded not those in rank. Her eyes were solely occupied by
the one who rode in front. He was too distant to be recognised by the
sight, but her heart told her who it was.
"I, too," murmured she to herself, "I have been rash in my words--in
pronouncing an anathema against those sons of our country who should
betray its cause. What matters it to the woman who loves, what flag her
beloved may fight under? His cause should be hers. Why did I not do as
my sister? Ah! why, indeed? Marianita is now happy, while I--" A sigh
choked her utterance, and with tears falling from her eyes she continued
silently to gaze after the horsemen, until their retreating forms melted
away into the golden haze of the sunset.
Not even once had their leader turned his face towards the hacienda, and
yet it was Don Rafael!
It was in reality the dragoon captain, going off in obedience to the
order he had received; and who, to conceal from his soldiers the anguish
of his spirit, had thus ridden past the hacienda without turning his
head to look back.
From this time it should have mattered little to Gertrudis where she
might reside. For her, Las Palmas had now only sad memories; but even
these seemed to attach her to the place; and she could not help
thinking, that her departure from Las Palmas would break the last link
that bound her to him she so devotedly loved.
When Don Rafael no longer breathed the same air with her, she found a
melancholy pleasure in taking care of his beautiful steed--the bay-brown
Roncador--that, having galloped off after the encounter with the men of
Arroyo, had been recaught by Don Mariano's vaqueros, and brought back to
the hacienda.
Shortly after the marriage of Marianita with Don Fernando de Lacarra was
celebrated. This union had been arranged, long previous to the breaking
out of the insurrection, and found no opposition on the part of Don
Mariano. Don Fernando was a Spaniard, it is true; but he had already
obtained the consent of the haciendado. Even under the changed
circumstances in which the revolution had placed the country, it would
not have been refused. Like many other Spaniards at this time, Don
Fernando had chosen for his country, that which held the object of his
affections; and his sympathies had become enlisted in favour of the land
of his adoption.
A few days after his marriage, he bore his young bride home with him to
the hacienda of San Carlos. His mansion was situated not far from the
hacienda of Del Valle, lying, as the latter did, on the banks of the
river Ostuta which separated the two estates, and not far from the lake
of the same name.
Most of the people on the estate of Don Fernando--less given to
insurrectionary views than those of Las Palmas--had remained faithful to
its owner. On this account, it appeared to offer a more secure abode
during the troublous times of the insurrection; and Don Fernando wished
to give an asylum to his father-in-law and his family. Don Mariano,
however, had declined the offer, in hopes that amidst the stirring life
and society of a large town he might find distraction for the melancholy
of Gertrudis. He preferred, therefore, retiring to Oajaca, and a few
days after his daughter's marriage had set out. Gertrudis refused to
use the _litera_ that had been prepared for her on the journey. She
preferred riding the beautiful bay-brown, that had so often carried Don
Rafael; and the fiery Roncador, as if conscious that he was object most
dear to his master, suffered himself to be guided with as much docility
by the fair frail hand of Gertrudis, as if his rein had been held in the
vigorous grasp of Don Rafael himself.
Contrary to Don Mariano's expectation, the sojourn in Oajaca proved
ineffectual in removing the melancholy under which his daughter
suffered. Insensible to all the attractions offered by the best society
of the place, the time hung heavily upon Gertrudis. One moment of
happiness she enjoyed: and that was when public rumour announced that
Colonel Tres-Villas, after capturing the town of Aguas Calientes, had
caused the hair to be shorn from the heads of three hundred women!
As Trujano had already hinted--having heard it from Marianita, at the
house of whose husband he had spent several days--this news had for a
moment filled the heart of the young Creole with happiness and pride.
Amidst the general surprise at this act of singular severity, she alone
knew why it had been accomplished. Don Rafael did not wish that she
should be the only woman who, by this insurrection, should lament the
loss of her hair. Gertrudis, nevertheless, did not fail to reproach
herself, for indulging in this moment of selfish happiness.
"_Pobres mujeres_!" (poor women!) exclaimed she, as she drew her
fingers through the ebony locks that already replaced the long luxuriant
tresses she had sacrificed. "_Pobres mujeres_! They have not had, as
I, the good fortune to make the sacrifice for the life of those they
loved."
After this occurrence, months passed, without her receiving any news of
Don Rafael; and her cheek, gradually growing paler, with the blue
circles darkening around her eyes, bore witness to the mental torment
she was enduring.
For the long period of two years this agony continued--the young girl in
vain endeavouring to stifle the passion that was devouring her life.
Both spirit and body, enfeebled by solitude, by silence, and the
sedentary character of the life she now led, had not the strength to
continue the struggle much longer.
Don Rafael had the advantage in this respect. He carried his grief from
one end of the kingdom to the other; and the constant change of scene,
along with the distraction caused by the excitement of battles, were to
him a species of relief.
Such advantages were wanting to Gertrudis. Happily, however, God has
granted to woman, in a large degree, the virtue of resignation--often
her sole defence against sorrow.
Gertrudis made no complaint, but suffered in silence--concealing, as
well as she could, the dark chagrin that was consuming her. In long
sleepless nights, when resignation appeared as if it would soon succumb,
a feeble ray of hope would sometimes break upon her spirit, and for the
moment restore its equanimity.
It was then she thought of her first resource--that which she intended
to make use of when her power of resistance should be gone--that supreme
resource that still existed in the tress of hair she had so carefully
cherished and preserved.
The sending back to Don Rafael his horse had already cost her a pang.
It had been a step on her part towards compromising the strife between
her love and pride. Still more painful would it be to resort to that
last measure, and avail herself of the permission, alas! so
prophetically asked for.