For the Soul of Rafael Part 36

He devoured her with sombre eyes of desire, and a glint of rage showing through their ardent depths.

"There will be a harbor, madama mia," he muttered. "By the G.o.d and all the saints, there will be a harbor here on the San Juan sh.o.r.e, and there will be an embarcodera! And the boat will--will not be a boat in a song or a dream, madama mia! I swear it, I swear it, I swear it!"

He dug his spurs viciously into his mount to emphasize the words, and the animal reared and plunged, and gave him a chance to vent his feelings somewhat, while the Dona Angela tried to laugh, and failed. A pa.s.sion like that was a very masterful force, and there had been times when she dared not treat it as a jest.

The shrewd, red-faced ranchman, riding in the carriage beside his swarthy wife, noted the little pantomime and nodded to Dona Maria.

"It is as you say, dear. It is better that Don Rafael be with his own wife. If anything should happen--"

"If one thing should happen, we should be blamed; even the bishop might blame us," said Dona Maria, fretfully. "She could marry with other men: what white devil in her turns her to that mad Rafael? The Arteaga men always have their own way. She should be married."

Her husband grunted a.s.sent, and regarded the fair figure of his kinswoman riding sedately along the green. She was such a fragile, childlike creature, he thought of her as a little yellow canary, pretty to see around the home after the many years lived among the dark people; but he never was certain in the least that he knew her, and he was beginning to consider some arrangement by which, for the good of the doll-like child asleep on the carriage cus.h.i.+ons, he could suggest that she return to the land of the Briton and abide there--with, of course, a comfortable little sum for maintenance. Don Eduardo was too much of a politician not to see the wisdom of buying off embarra.s.sing friends; the Dona Angela in her amus.e.m.e.nts might prove not only embarra.s.sing, but dangerous. He had plans concerning certain Arteaga holdings, and could not have even a charming woman enter into his scheme of things, if she suggested discord. And watching Rafael Arteaga's face and the reckless pa.s.sion in it, Don Eduardo decided that his fair countrywoman not only suggested discord, she was a living, breathing, alluring promise of it!

A sunset in San Juan is truly worth crossing either a continent or an ocean to witness, when the ranges toward La Paz are purple where the sage-brush is, and rose-color where the rains have washed the steep places to the clay, and over all of mesa and mountain the soft glory of golden haze. All that radiance touched the land and sea as the carriage of Don Eduardo, preceded by Rafael and Dona Angela, and followed by Fernando and Juanita, who had been a guest of Dona Maria, and back of all the rest the Indian servants and the nurse for the child on the carriage cus.h.i.+on. Amid the shrill calls of greeting, and gay exchange of words and laughter, the cavalcade pa.s.sed the Casa Grande of Don Juan Alvara, and drew up before the portal of the great white Mission. Rafael lifted Angela Bryton from the saddle first of all, and then with his own hand opened the door of the carriage for Dona Maria.

"My house is your own, senora," he said, with the debonair grace so charmingly his own. "I claim the privilege of carrying the child through the door myself. Dona Raquel will be here on the instant, and--"

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Music]

Vengo a tu ventana para decirte mi amore!

The padre, pipe in mouth, had been watching the arrival from his own door, but he drew nearer, and smiled grimly at Dona Maria as he interrupted the young man.

"Not quite on the instant, Don Rafael," he remarked. "The Dona Raquel is well on her way to San Joaquin ranch with Dona Ana Mendez. They rode good horses, and they started this evening, a few minutes before my own return."

The child in Rafael's arms uttered a little cry. He had suddenly gripped her very tightly indeed, and a strange Spanish oath broke from his lips.

The priest smiled, and the florid face of Don Eduardo flushed angrily.

"You--you sent Victorio Lopez--" he began, but Rafael gave him one silencing look, and stepped forward, offering his hand to Dona Maria.

"Will you honor my house by accepting it during your stay, senora?" he asked, smilingly. "My wife has not received the message that you would arrive this week. Sickness at the ranch, or some accident, has no doubt called the Dona Ana there, and Raquel would not let her go alone. But our house and my service are at your feet. Will you enter?"

There was not a moment's hesitation on the part of Dona Maria. Let her English husband feel as he might, she meant to enter the doors where only the most exclusive had been entertained, since the day of the new chatelaine had dawned. Raquel Estevan de Arteaga was too well bred to make a scene when she returned and found them there, and Dona Maria had too much of the blood of Mexican gamblers in her veins not to be willing to take all chances when she wanted a thing very much.

As to the fact that her host and her charmingly troublesome guest would be thrown together even more than in the south, it did not trouble her in the least. Even the bishop could not blame her for what occurred in the house of Raquel Arteaga! Let that lady stay at home and guard her own husband. And if she failed,--well, it might be well to have some of that cold, Indian-like pride of hers lowered.

The Dona Angela said nothing, only smiled a little, and pretended to understand none of the Spanish spoken, but the padre, watching her wide childish blue eyes, and her rosebud of a mouth, noticed also the one quick birdlike glance she flung toward Rafael, and felt, like Dona Maria, that the stubborn pride of Raquel Arteaga was at last to be lowered a little. She had been as an eagle swimming in the blue above all their heads, but this pet.i.te, golden-headed ladybird would sip more of honey from the blossoms of life, and touch more closely an Arteaga!

And when, after the very gay supper in the old refectory, Rafael brought a mantilla for Dona Angela, that its lacy film might protect her from the soft air of the starlight, the padre poured an extra gla.s.s of wine for the Dona Maria, the Don Eduardo, and himself, and held them in discussion. Fernando and Juanita and the other young people could go along and show the Dona Angela how beautiful were the arches and corridors after the sun was gone, but they, the older people, were content with the shelter of adobe walls after the night fell.

So they wandered forth, Fernando with a guitar, that the end of a perfect day should be celebrated in love-songs; and as he protested that they sounded better at a distance, he and Juanita strayed off into the night.

Dona Angela and Don Rafael, from a throne of sculptured stars and circles, suns and crescents,--all the Aztec symbols of light,--listened to the pa.s.sion expressed in "El Tormento de Amor" floating down to them from the tiled roof of the corridors, and later, when the doors were closed on the girls for the night, those two still listened together to the musical cadence of "Vengo a tu Ventana" sung under barred windows, and to other harmonies never written in music, but known as a compelling power to the tempestuous heart of the Mexican. Under the stars of that night, the b.u.t.terfly was made to feel that the beautiful tiger she had at first paraded as a trophy was not to be laughed at,--never any more!

And even when the dawn broke, she lay wide-eyed behind the iron bars of her window, wordless and frightened,--a magician who had raised a spirit stronger than her power to subdue. What a trifle it had been at first,--a mere flirtation for the sake of his handsome eyes, and now--

She told herself over and over that it was Keith Bryton's fault, and that wooden Mexican woman's fault. Why had she barred her out and raised the aggressive spirit in her? It was not in the beginning that she really meant to take her husband. And why should Keith betray his indifference in the way he did? It was so easy to show him that other men were not indifferent. And oh, the awful dismal tragedy of it! To think that by such a little, little chance she had missed being legitimate queen over this most royal domain!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "AFTER THE VERY GAY SUPPER"]

But that other woman, the Mexican, would hold it all, always! Another woman might win Rafael's smile and his love-songs, but the acres, the herds, the coin, and the jewels (he had allowed Dona Maria to show the latter to her guests that evening), all those things would be held always in the slender strong hand of Raquel Arteaga--Raquel Arteaga, who stood guard over even his soul, lest the heretics--

Then she smiled a little to herself, an involuntary smile of triumph.

Had he not said in the dusk of the corridor last night that his soul was at her feet? With that battle won from the intolerant Mexican girl, were the jewels and the coin out of reach? Had he not said a boat left no track on the ocean,--the boat he had sworn to find a harbor for,--sworn to?

Of course it was only a fleeting fancy, but it drifted across her brain as a sort of solace for her fretful, feverish rebellings against the uneven division of things, and it served its purpose, for she was at last lulled into slumber by the dream, though of course it was only a dream.

But dreams, when dreamed by two, suggest such alluring possibilities!

[Music: _Mi Corazon de Fuego_]

Mujer! Mujer! Mi corazon de fuego, Te adore con delirio y con ternura, Porque eres bella angelical criatura, Como los flores que adoran a' Dios;

Lejos de ti no me importa la existencia El mundo todo y sus mentidas glorias.

Lejos de ti la vida es ilusoria, Porque tu eres mi vida, Tu eres mi amada, Tu eres mi Dios!

[Music]

CHAPTER XVIII

It was two days later, before the sun was high, that Raquel Arteaga rode into the plaza, and, slipping from her horse, walked directly into the little private chapel and closed the door. From the other wing of the corridor Dona Maria and Dona Angela saw her, and exchanged startled glances. Their hostess had arrived, and had not even cast her eyes in their direction. They were both relieved when Rafael and Senor Downing emerged from the portal of the patio.

"Ah, she has arrived--my wife," remarked Rafael as he noticed her saddle-horse nibbling at the geraniums. "I sent an Indian messenger this morning. He has been quick; and, Santa Maria! so has she. Look at the horse!"

The animal was dripping, and as an Indian boy removed the saddle the water ran down his sides and made little pools in the dust.

"That will do him good," said Rafael. "Rub him well, and he will look like black satin. And the Dona Raquel is--"

"Your wife went to her own chapel; she saw no one," observed Dona Maria.

"I should go in, but if she is at prayers--"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THEIR HOSTESS HAD ARRIVED"]

If she had been, her prayers were ended, for as they spoke she opened the door and came out on the corridor. She was more pale than Rafael had ever seen her, and without greeting to anyone, she spoke.

"Rafael, two men have been hurt in the mountain, a priest and--the American who was missing from the vigilantes. I think--I understand that he saved the life of the padre--and both were hurt, and--they are bringing him here."

"The American? You mean Keith Bryton?"

"Yes, I mean Keith Bryton," she said, steadily. "I rode ahead. Ana is coming with them; she thinks he is very ill--and the padre also was hurt--and--"

"Keith!" cried Dona Angela, sharply. "He is hurt--and coming here--_here_?"

"There was no place else to send them," said Raquel, quietly. "There has always been room in the Mission for the sick or wounded--and in this case--"