Morning was breaking on the high road to San Jose. The long lines of
dusty, level track were beginning to extend their vanishing point in
the growing light; on either side the awakening fields of wheat and
oats were stretching out and broadening to the sky. In the east and
south the stars were receding before the coming day; in the west a few
still glimmered, caught among the bosky hills of the canada del
Raimundo, where night seemed to linger. Thither some obscure,
low-flying birds were slowly winging; thither a gray coyote, overtaken
by the morning, was awkwardly limping. And thither a tramping wayfarer
turned, plowing through the dust of the highway still unslaked by the
dewless night, to climb the fence and likewise seek the distant cover.
For some moments man and beast kept an equal pace and gait with a
strange similarity of appearance and expression; the coyote bearing
that resemblance to his more civilized and harmless congener, the dog,
which the tramp bore to the ordinary pedestrians, but both exhibiting
the same characteristics of lazy vagabondage and semi-lawlessness; the
coyote's slouching amble and uneasy stealthiness being repeated in the
tramp's shuffling step and sidelong glances. Both were young, and
physically vigorous, but both displayed the same vacillating and
awkward disinclination to direct effort. They continued thus half a
mile apart unconscious of each other, until the superior faculties of
the brute warned him of the contiguity of aggressive civilization, and
he cantered off suddenly to the right, fully five minutes before the
barking of dogs caused the man to make a detour to the left to avoid
entrance upon a cultivated domain that lay before him.
The trail he took led to one of the scant water-courses that issued,
half spent, from the canada, to fade out utterly on the hot June plain.
It was thickly bordered with willows and alders, that made an arbored
and feasible path through the dense woods and undergrowth. He
continued along it as if aimlessly; stopping from time to time to look
at different objects in a dull mechanical fashion, as if rather to
prolong his useless hours, than from any curious instinct, and to
occasionally dip in the unfrequent pools of water the few crusts of
bread he had taken from his pocket. Even this appeared to be suggested
more by coincidence of material in the bread and water, than from the
promptings of hunger. At last he reached a cup-like hollow in the
hills lined with wild clover and thick with resinous odors. Here he
crept under a manzanita-bush and disposed himself to sleep. The act
showed he was already familiar with the local habits of his class, who
used the unfailing dry starlit nights for their wanderings, and spent
the hours of glaring sunshine asleep or resting in some wayside shadow.
Meanwhile the light quickened, and gradually disclosed the form and
outline of the adjacent domain. An avenue cut through a park-like
wood, carefully cleared of the undergrowth of gigantic ferns peculiar
to the locality, led to the entrance of the canada. Here began a vast
terrace of lawn, broken up by enormous bouquets of flower-beds
bewildering in color and profusion, from which again rose the flowering
vines and trailing shrubs that hid pillars, veranda, and even the long
facade of a great and dominant mansion. But the delicacy of floral
outlines running to the capitals of columns and at times mounting to
the pediment of the roof, the opulence of flashing color or the massing
of tropical foliage, could not deprive it of the imperious dignity of
size and space. Much of this was due to the fact that the original
casa--an adobe house of no mean pretensions, dating back to the early
Spanish occupation--had been kept intact, sheathed in a shell of
dark-red wood, and still retaining its patio; or inner court-yard,
surrounded by low galleries, while additions, greater in extent than
the main building, had been erected--not as wings and projections, but
massed upon it on either side, changing its rigid square outlines to a
vague parallelogram. While the patio retained the Spanish conception
of al fresco seclusion, a vast colonnade of veranda on the southern
side was a concession to American taste, and its breadth gave that
depth of shadow to the inner rooms which had been lost in the thinner
shell of the new erection. Its cloistered gloom was lightened by the
red fires of cardinal flowers dropping from the roof, by the yellow
sunshine of the jessamine creeping up the columns, by billows of
heliotropes breaking over its base as a purple sea. Nowhere else did
the opulence of this climate of blossoms show itself as vividly. Even
the Castilian roses, that grew as vines along the east front, the
fuchsias, that attained the dignity of trees, in the patio, or the four
or five monster passion-vines that bestarred the low western wall, and
told over and over again their mystic story--paled before the sensuous
glory of the south veranda.
As the sun arose, that part of the quiet house first touched by its
light seemed to waken. A few lounging peons and servants made their
appearance at the entrance of the patio, occasionally reinforced by an
earlier life from the gardens and stables. But the south facade of the
building had not apparently gone to bed at all: lights were still
burning dimly in the large ball-room; a tray with glasses stood upon
the veranda near one of the open French windows, and further on, a
half-shut yellow fan lay like a fallen leaf. The sound of
carriage-wheels on the gravel terrace brought with it voices and
laughter and the swiftly passing vision of a char-a-bancs filled with
muffled figures bending low to avoid the direct advances of the sun.
As the carriage rolled away, four men lounged out of a window on the
veranda, shading their eyes against the level beams. One was still in
evening dress, and one in the uniform of a captain of artillery; the
others had already changed their gala attire, the elder of the party
having assumed those extravagant tweeds which the tourist from Great
Britain usually offers as a gentle concession to inferior yet more
florid civilization. Nevertheless, he beamed back heartily on the sun,
and remarked, in a pleasant Scotch accent, that: Did they know it was
very extraordinary how clear the morning was, so free from clouds and
mist and fog? The young man in evening dress fluently agreed to the
facts, and suggested, in idiomatic French-English, that one
comprehended that the bed was an insult to one's higher nature and an
ingratitude to their gracious hostess, who had spread out this lovely
garden and walks for their pleasure; that nothing was more beautiful
than the dew sparkling on the rose, or the matin song of the little
birds.
The other young man here felt called upon to point out the fact that
there was no dew in California, and that the birds did not sing in that
part of the country. The foreign young gentleman received this
statement with pain and astonishment as to the fact, with passionate
remorse as to his own ignorance. But still, as it was a charming day,
would not his gallant friend, the Captain here, accept the challenge of
the brave Englishman, and "walk him" for the glory of his flag and a
thousand pounds?
The gallant Captain, unfortunately, believed that if he walked out in
his uniform he would suffer some delay from being interrogated by
wayfarers as to the locality of the circus he would be pleasantly
supposed to represent, even if he escaped being shot as a rare
California bird by the foreign sporting contingent. In these
circumstances, he would simply lounge around the house until his
carriage was ready.
Much as it pained him to withdraw from such amusing companions, the
foreign young gentleman here felt that he, too, would retire for the
present to change his garments, and glided back through the window at
the same moment that the young officer carelessly stepped from the
veranda and lounged towards the shrubbery.
"They've been watching each other for the last hour. I wonder what's
up?" said the young man who remained.
The remark, without being confidential, was so clearly the first
sentence of natural conversation that the Scotchman, although relieved,
said, "Eh, man?" a little cautiously.
"It's as clear as this sunshine that Captain Carroll and Garnier are
each particularly anxious to know what the other is doing or intends to
do this morning."
"Why did they separate, then?" asked the other.
"That's a mere blind. Garnier's looking through his window now at
Carroll, and Carroll is aware of it."
"Eh!" said the Scotchman, with good-humored curiosity. "Is it a
quarrel? Nothing serious, I hope. No revolvers and bowie-knives, man,
before breakfast, eh?"
"No," laughed the younger man. "No! To do Maruja justice, she
generally makes a fellow too preposterous to fight. I see you don't
understand. You're a stranger; I'm an old habitue of the house--let me
explain. Both of these men are in love with Maruja; or, worse than
that, they firmly believe her to be in love with THEM."
"But Miss Maruja is the eldest daughter of our hostess, is she not?"
said the Scotchman; "and I understood from one of the young ladies that
the Captain had come down from the Fort particularly to pay court to
Miss Amita, the beauty."
"Possibly. But that wouldn't prevent Maruja from flirting with him."
"Eh! but are you not mistaken, Mr. Raymond? Certainly a more quiet,
modest, and demure young lassie I never met."
"That's because she sat out two waltzes with you, and let you do the
talking, while she simply listened."
The elder man's fresh color for an instant heightened, but he recovered
himself with a good-humored laugh. "Likely--likely. She's a capital
good listener."
"You're not the first man that found her eloquent. Stanton, your
banking friend, who never talks of anything but mines and stocks, says
she's the only woman who has any conversation; and we can all swear
that she never said two words to him the whole time she sat next to him
at dinner. But she looked at him as if she had. Why, man, woman, and
child all give her credit for any grace that pleases themselves. And
why? Because she's clever enough not to practice any one of them--as
graces. I don't know the girl that claims less and gets more. For
instance, you don't call her pretty?" ...
"Wait a bit. Ye'll not get on so fast, my young friend; I'm not
prepared to say that she's not," returned the Scotchman, with
good-humored yet serious caution.
"But you would have been prepared yesterday, and have said it. She can
produce the effect of the prettiest girl here, and without challenging
comparison. Nobody thinks of her--everybody experiences her."
"You're an enthusiast, Mr. Raymond. As an habitue of the house, of
course, you--"
"Oh, my time came with the rest," laughed the young man, with
unaffected frankness. "It's about two years ago now."
"I see--you were not a marrying man."
"Pardon me--it was because I was."
The Scotchman looked at him curiously.
"Maruja is an heiress. I am a mining engineer."
"But, my dear fellow, I thought that in your country--"
"In MY country, yes. But we are standing on a bit of old Spain. This
land was given to Dona Maria Saltonstall's ancestors by Charles V.
Look around you. This veranda, this larger shell of the ancient casa,
is the work of the old Salem whaling captain that she married, and is
all that is American here. But the heart of the house, as well as the
life that circles around the old patio, is Spanish. The Dona's family,
the Estudillos and Guitierrez, always looked down upon this alliance
with the Yankee captain, though it brought improvement to the land, and
increased its value forty-fold, and since his death ever opposed any
further foreign intervention. Not that that would weigh much with
Maruja if she took a fancy to any one; Spanish as she is throughout, in
thought and grace and feature, there is enough of the old Salem
witches' blood in her to defy law and authority in following an
unhallowed worship. There are no sons; she is the sole heiress of the
house and estate--though, according to the native custom, her sisters
will be separately portioned from the other property, which is very
large."
"Then the Captain might still make a pretty penny on Amita," said the
Scotchman.
"If he did not risk and lose it all on Maruja. There is enough of the
old Spanish jealousy in the blood to make even the gentle Amita never
forgive his momentary defection."
Something in his manner made the Scotchman think that Raymond spoke
from baleful experience. How else could this attractive young fellow,
educated abroad and a rising man in his profession, have failed to
profit by his contiguity to such advantages, and the fact of his being
an evident favorite?
"But with this opposition on the part of the relatives to any further
alliances with your countrymen, why does our hostess expose her
daughters to their fascinating influence?" said the elder man, glancing
at his companion. "The girls seem to have the usual American freedom."
"Perhaps they are therefore the less likely to give it up to the first
man who asks them. But the Spanish duenna still survives in the
family--the more awful because invisible. It's a mysterious fact that
as soon as a fellow becomes particularly attached to any one--except
Maruja--he receives some intimation from Pereo."
"What! the butler? That Indian-looking fellow? A servant?"
"Pardon me--the mayordomo. The old confidential servitor who stands in
loco parentis. No one knows what he says. If the victim appeals to
the mistress, she is indisposed; you know she has such bad health. If
in his madness he makes a confidante of Maruja, that finishes him."
"How?"
"Why, he ends by transferring his young affections to her--with the
usual result."
"Then you don't think our friend the Captain has had this confidential
butler ask his intentions yet?"
"I don't think it will be necessary," said the other, dryly.
"Umph! Meantime, the Captain has just vanished through yon shrubbery.
I suppose that's the end of the mysterious espionage you have
discovered. No! De'il take it! but there's that Frenchman popping out
of the myrtlebush. How did the fellow get there? And, bless me!
here's our lassie, too!"
"Yes!" said Raymond, in a changed voice, "It's Maruja!"
She had approached so noiselessly along the bank that bordered the
veranda, gliding from pillar to pillar as she paused before each to
search for some particular flower, that both men felt an uneasy
consciousness. But she betrayed no indication of their presence by
look or gesture. So absorbed and abstracted she seemed that, by a
common instinct, they both drew nearer the window, and silently waited
for her to pass or recognize them.
She halted a few paces off to fasten a flower in her girdle. A small
youthful figure, in a pale yellow dress, lacking even the maturity of
womanly outline. The full oval of her face, the straight line of her
back, a slight boyishness in the contour of her hips, the infantine
smallness of her sandaled feet and narrow hands, were all suggestive of
fresh, innocent, amiable youth--and nothing more.
Forgetting himself, the elder man mischievously crushed his companion
against the wall in mock virtuous indignation. "Eh, sir," he
whispered, with an accent that broadened with his feelings. "Eh, but
look at the puir wee lassie! Will ye no be ashamed o' yerself for
putting the tricks of a Circe on sic a honest gentle bairn? Why, man,
you'll be seein' the sign of a limb of Satan in a bit thing with the
mother's milk not yet out of her! She a flirt, speerin' at men, with
that modest downcast air? I'm ashamed of ye, Mister Raymond. She's
only thinking of her breakfast, puir thing, and not of yon callant.
Another sacrilegious word and I'll expose you to her. Have ye no pity
on youth and innocence?"
"Let me up," groaned Raymond, feebly, "and I'll tell you how old she
is. Hush--she's looking."
The two men straightened themselves. She had, indeed, lifted her eyes
towards the window. They were beautiful eyes, and charged with
something more than their own beauty. With a deep brunette setting
even to the darkened cornea, the pupils were blue as the sky above
them. But they were lit with another intelligence. The soul of the
Salem whaler looked out of the passion-darkened orbits of the mother,
and was resistless.
She smiled recognition of the two men with sedate girlishness and a
foreign inclination of the head over the flowers she was holding. Her
straight, curveless mouth became suddenly charming with the parting of
her lips over her white teeth, and left the impress of the smile in a
lighting of the whole face even after it had passed. Then she moved
away. At the same moment Garnier approached her.
"Come away, man, and have our walk," said the Scotchman, seizing
Raymond's arm. "We'll not spoil that fellow's sport."
"No; but she will, I fear. Look, Mr. Buchanan, if she hasn't given him
her flowers to carry to the house while she waits here for the Captain!"
"Come away, scoffer!" said Buchanan, good-humoredly, locking his arm in
the young man's and dragging him from the veranda towards the avenue,
"and keep your observations for breakfast."