They returned to San Salvador the next day. The sun had set when they
reached the town, and the streets were full. Elena and Dylar dismounted
at the college; but Dylar insisted that Tacita should ride to the
Arcade, and he walked there by her side. She made her little progress
with a blushing modesty, ashamed of being the only person in town who
was not on foot.
At the door of the Arcade Dylar took leave.
“I am sure that you will not go to the assembly this evening,” he said,
“and I shall not go. Rest yourself well, and to-morrow I will take you
to hear one of our story-tellers. To-night I—I want to remember!”
He murmured the words lowly as he lifted her from the saddle, and she
answered them with a little half sigh. She also wanted to remember.
Supper was over; and she and Elena had theirs alone in the dining-room,
talking quietly over their journey.
“You are happy, child?” Elena asked.
“I never dreamed of being so happy!” Tacita answered. And they looked
into each other’s eyes, and understood.
Going to the salon, they found Iona waiting there.
“I suppose that you are not going to the assembly to-night,” she said.
“But I hope that you are not too tired to tell me how you like the
Olives.”
“The little glimpse I was allowed was charming. I never saw such
verdure. The foliage, the fruit, were in billows, in drifts, in heaps.
And how I longed to go to one of those great white houses, and sit on
the roof under the palm-shadows. I said to the prince, ‘Why have we no
palms in San Salvador?’ and he is going to have some. I thought of the
Basilica as a proper site; but he doubted a little. It is not decided.
He said, we worship Christ as King, and shrink from holding the impious
insult of his martyrdom forever before his eyes. And the palm is for the
martyr. But the palms will grow somewhere, and will be my special
garden; and the first person who dies in the effort to serve or save San
Salvador shall be carried to his grave with a waving of palm branches,
and a song of hosannas, and a palm-leaf shall be entombed with him, and
one cut in the marble that bears his name. For that, I would almost wish
to die a martyr.”
“For that?” said Iona coldly. “The martyr, I fancy, is not thinking of
the crown when he throws his life into the breach.”
“I was thinking of the people’s love,” said Tacita, faltering, her eyes
cast down to hide the tears that started. She was so happy that she
could not bear a check. Her heart had unclosed itself without a thought,
a fear, and it shrank at the little icy breath of Iona’s answer.
“But why do not you ask me how I like your castle?” she said, recovering
herself quickly.
“My castle?”
“Yes; the prince told me the story.”
“It is very true that the original owner would never have sold his
castle if he had known that there was a mine of gold within a stone’s
throw of it,” Iona said. “But neither did the purchaser know. All was
done in honor; and the Dylar have spent time, thought, and money, in
compensating my family. I do not hold that I have a shadow of a claim;
yet if I should to-day ask Dylar for a house and an independent
competence outside, I should have it.”
Tacita had already felt more than once that, however welcome her
presence might be to every one else in San Salvador, Iona regarded it
with a feeling that could scarcely be called by any warmer name than
indifference. To-night her manner was more than usually stately, though
she talked as much as ever, was, in fact, rather more voluble than her
wont. But her talk was like an intrenchment behind which her real self
was withdrawn.
Presently she began to question Tacita concerning her first journey to
San Salvador, and especially that part of it made in the company of
Dylar. Where had she first met him? Had she seen much of him? Were they
long in Madrid together?
Surprised, Tacita answered with what frankness she could, and tried not
to feel offended. She said nothing of the hymn under their balcony in
Venice, nor of the picture in the Madrid gallery. The details of the
rest were meagre enough. She had not realized how little there was to
tell when the story was divested of those glances, tones, and movements
which in her imagination filled out the gracious and perfect memory.
Those few facts had been to her like the pale and scattered stars of a
constellation which to the mind’s eye vivify all the blue air between.
She tried to think that in the freedom and confidence of this life such
questions were not intrusive, and that Iona, from her position, had a
peculiar interest, and even right, in knowing all that concerned Castle
Dylar and its master. But in spite of her self-exhortation a troubled
thought would come. Could it be possible that Iona would set herself
against her friendship with Dylar? Did she suspect anything more than an
ordinary friendship between them?
Their conversation grew dry, and Iona rose to retire, with a
leave-taking which could have been kinder, but not more elaborately
polite. Looking out, Tacita saw her go toward the assembly-rooms, and
was glad to remember that Dylar would not be there. It was twilight, and
at the highest point of the college she saw his light shine out like a
beacon.
Seeing that light made her forget everything else.
“Perhaps he will look for my light,” she thought, and drew her curtain
quickly, and lighted a lamp. “I wonder if he will look!” Blushing, she
passed slowly between the curtain and the light, then covered her face
with her hands, ashamed of herself as if she had committed a sin. “I
hope that he didn’t see me!” she whispered.
Soon after she extinguished her lamp, and sat down by the open window.
At that hour of early evening San Salvador was as gay and crowded as it
was silent and deserted in the morning. There was a sound of violins
from the Star-house; and underneath her window two girls were dancing,
trying to keep time to the music that was smothered by the sound of
their steps. There was a murmur of talk from some of the near housetops,
and the voice of a child singing itself to sleep. Leaning out the
window, she could see a little farther up the road an open lighted booth
where two men sat playing chess with a group of men and women watching
the game. An old man wearing a scarlet fez sat close beside the players,
intent on the game. The light on their faces made them look golden, and
the fez was like a ruby.
“How beautiful it is! And how happy I am!” murmured Tacita.