For the Soul of Rafael Part 29

Quickly as a cat of the hills, the padre crossed the hall and stood where he could see the open window and the kneeling man, and the hand of Raquel on his bent head.

"Every night when the dusk comes it will be our time of the day," she was saying. "They told me you were dead, else--but you know. I think the mad hours have gone by for me; I can go on living if--if you do not forget."

The listening priest could not hear what the man said, but she heard, and smiled, and sighed.

"There is one thing," she said, hesitatingly: "the ring, you have worn it a year--and--"

"I know," and he lifted his head. "We need no visible emblem, you and I.

I put it back on your finger, my lady of the spirit,--Dona Espiritu;--a pledge of renunciation, and a reminder of the rosary of the dusk."

She took from her right hand the little gold band and gave it to him, and in its place he slipped the onyx ring of the Aztec eagle and serpent.

"I did not tell you what that ring means to my people," she said, as he kissed it in its new resting-place. "Maybe I never can tell you. I--I thought I could be stronger if I wore it on my own hand, for--for the reason that my heart went out of my bosom to follow it, and--and I rode my horse as fast and as far as I could from you, because I--was afraid."

"Good G.o.d!" whispered the man. "You don't know what you are saying.

Remember that I dare not touch your lips, and that I love you--love you--love you!"

Then the nestling birds in the gold-of-Ophir rose were startled from their repose by the man who strode through the open window and walked blindly out into the garden.

The padre watched the girl's face on the pillow for a moment, and heard her sobs, and retreated softly to the hall, where he met the others; and at Dona Ana, when they were alone a moment, he smiled with a certain elation.

"Look distressed no longer, little one," he said, rea.s.suringly. "You have helped me to a good day's work, very good. Listen! I like your new American friend very much, and when you go to San Juan I count on you to help to make him welcome there. He is going to do me a good turn with Rafael Arteaga, and I forgive him all the horses he helped to save for the army men. He does not know it, but he is going to be my good friend, that fine Americano. He is so fine and so strong, Ana, that he thinks he can put a woman he loves in a niche of the memory, as we put statues of the saints in the niches of the altar-places."

"What do you say?" she queried, perplexed by his smile and words.

"And that though the woman loves him so much that she kisses her own hands where his lips have been, and though he loves her so much that he is half mad at denial, yet he will leave her always there in the little niche of the altar,--just above his head, but in reach of his hands; and the hands will never try to lift her down, Anita. He will only look at her as he rides past, and leave her there to remember."

"I think you have gone mad," said Ana, sharply. "What did the Indian witch tell you in the hall?"

"Ask her!" he suggested. But when Ana did so, she met only scowls and gutturals. And even the sound sleep of Raquel, and the absolute freedom from delirium, brought nothing but suspicion to the heart of old Polonia. It was witchcraft, like all the rest, and the padre should have put the malediction on the Americano when he had so good a chance. Above all, he should not have let him ride away in safety.

[Music: _Indian Reveille._]

CHAPTER XIV

The padre himself rode away very early. Don Enrico lent him a horse to ride to San Juan, and wondered a little that the San Gabriel people had not done as much; but times were changing in the land. One could not expect the old customs to live when so many strangers were crowding into the country.

The offered horse was accepted gratefully, and the padre breakfasted with the vaqueros, and left for the south before the family were astir.

Bryton watched him go, but lingered for a sight of Ana, that he might hear how the night had pa.s.sed inside the window of the golden rose.

And Ana was the last to join the party at breakfast, but was a very happy creature, compared with the nervous, pale woman of the night before. All were astonished at the fact that Raquel announced that she had slept like a child and all the illness and fever were forgotten. She was not sure but that she could ride to San Juan, and above all things she was grateful to Ana, and wished both the girls to go with her and visit in the old Mission.

The servants were again the quiet listless folk they had been before the finding of the witch charm. But as Bryton rode out of the patio after many farewells and blessings from Dona Refugia, and cordial invitations from Don Enrico to ride back that way, and consider the place as his own home, there were sullen scowls among the dark people.

On the veranda Juanita stood alone and waved an adios to him. Back of her was the open window of the golden rose, and a slender girlish figure swayed toward him for an instant and then stood erect, and their eyes met and lingered, while he swept his sombrero to the stirrup.

Juanita wondered, since he saluted so gallantly and rode with his face turned toward her veranda until the hedge intervened, why he did not smile; she was accustomed to gayer caballeros. She realized that she must have looked very pretty in her pink gown framed in the blossoming vines, and she turned away with a pout and a shrug. After all, Fernando was right: American men did not know how to make love.

Raquel was rather pale and very quiet that morning, but insisted upon staying up; she even remembered to ask what the loud calling and running of many feet had meant the evening before; or had she dreamed it? She supposed it was a stampede of horses--was it? Was any one hurt? She had heard the voices of women.

Ana told her it was only the breaking loose of part of a wild herd, but that no one was injured. Old Polonia heard, and blinked and scowled at Ana, but said nothing.

It was noon when Rafael reached the ranch and caught sight of Raquel in a porch-chair under the vines. She paled slightly at sight of him, and turned the onyx ring so that the carving did not show, and by the time he had crossed the patio and walked to join them, her face was a serene mask. The only surprise she betrayed was at the dark look he cast on Ana.

"Are you two in a politician's pay, that you bring me from Los Angeles in a fright of life and death, when I am needed every minute there for the business matters?" he demanded, and saw in a moment that his wife did not understand. Ana only laughed.

"I did it," she acknowledged. "I sent the boy with some truths for you.

Your wife was like to die the first night she came. It is by the grace of G.o.d she has been saved from a siege of fever. She does not know in the least how ill she was, but if you had heard her gabbling of blood-stained altars and strange wedding-rings, and floods sweeping over her until she screamed to be saved from them,--well, Don Rafael, you might well have forgotten to spare your horse. Three hours would have brought a lover here, but it takes thirty for the husband."

"Why do you two quarrel always?" asked Raquel, indifferently. "I did not know she had sent for you. I was very tired, and the hot sun--something--oh yes, I was ill, and wakened myself screaming. But it is all gone. I can go home."

Rafael tramped the veranda and sulked.

"A fine laugh you have made for me in Los Angeles! They will think you were sick, that I follow my wife!" he said, frowning at Ana. "G.o.d of my soul! Why do you not get another husband to worry into the grave, and let your neighbors alone?"

She only laughed again, and bent over her embroidery frame, where white b.u.t.terflies were being woven on the drawn threads of linen.

"Because no fine, manly, handsome caballero like yourself rides this way to ask me," she retorted. "All the most desirable men are always married."

"The Senor Bryton was here for the night," remarked Juanita.

"Oh, he was? Alone?" asked Rafael.

Juanita nodded. "And a priest," she added. "They both rode south."

"Bryton alone?" mused Rafael. "I thought perhaps--Did any strangers ride south last night,--a large party?"

No one had heard of any one pa.s.sing.

"Dona Maria comes in a carriage by this morning," he remarked, "and Mrs.

Bryton. I suppose they will want you to travel in their carriage, if you feel equal to the drive to San Juan."

"Oh, she must not go to-day--not for anything!" decided Dona Refugia, who had come from the hall and overheard. "Dona Maria and her friend can stop here a few days, and then perhaps if your wife is strong enough--"

"Certainly, that is the best, the very best," a.s.sented Rafael, with a smile of relief. Dona Refugia was making it necessary that Raquel should at least meet the friends of Dona Maria. All was turning out well, after all.

Raquel made no remark, only looked out idly across the garden to the fields, yellow where the mustard bloom glowed. She knew she could not bear it just yet. Later, perhaps, she could grow strong enough to see Bryton's wife, and hear her voice cut across the days and the dusks here, where his whispers had awakened her to life--some day, perhaps; but she knew it could not be either to-day or to-morrow.

Her husband watched her curiously. If she would only give some sign of what she felt, as another woman would do! How was a man to read a woman who stared out on life like a sphinx, seeing nothing and hearing nothing?

In the same way, she had seemed a bit of wood over that old legend of the curse on San Juan: it had not changed in the least her determination to go back there; yet, since she had screamed of it in a fever, who was to know what feeling it had awakened back of those fathomless violet eyes?

Rafael turned this theory over in his mind, and smoked several cigarros to help to solve the problem, but it was of no use. It had been a very fine marriage for him. Her visit to Los Angeles had further emphasized that fact; but he had the galling feeling of being only prince-consort to the queen, and it was not so pleasant to a man who had been shown favor of a different sort by many women who would have been glad to give him the king's place.