For the Soul of Rafael Part 40

"The boat! You said it. Not even my hand shall you touch until it is in the harbor. Cousin Eduardo and Keith Bryton will send me away when she tells them; they will never let you see me again."

"Huh!" He flung back his head contemptuously. He had never quite gotten away from Teresa's conviction that Keith Bryton's impatience with Angela was born of jealousy. So it was Keith Bryton again!

"He gets you when he has killed me, not sooner," he muttered. "And they all know, eh? How is that?"

"Perhaps not, but they will. It is that Mendez woman and your wife! I will _not_ be sent like a pauper back to England! Cousin Edward spoke yesterday of that; of an allowance for Dolly and me. Now I know what it means! If I go, I will go in a manner they don't dream of,--alone in that boat! You can join me anywhere you say, on the coast. How you stare! It is not so difficult, and there will never, never, never be any other way we can be together."

"That is true; we will go."

"You want all the coin; you want the jewels; you want--"

"I want only you," he said.

"If you want me, you must give me what I ask. Those women must not--"

"To h.e.l.l with the women! We will go, and no one need guess we have gone together. I will send Victorio with a letter to San Pedro for a boat.

Your lips for that promise!"

"When the boat is in the harbor, and the jewels in my hand, Rafael," she replied, and darted like a bird through the door, and out into the garden. Later she came into the refectory with an armful of lilies,--symbols of innocence,--and asked Ana for an olla for them, and was very demure and sweetly appealing for the rest of the day.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "EACH WAY HE TURNED HE MET AN ALTAR OR A PRIEST"]

[Music: _La Noche esta Serena_.]

La noche 'sta serena, tranquillo el aquilon, Tu dulce sentinella, te guarda il corazon, Y en alas de los zefiros, que vagan por doquier, Volando van mis suplicas, a ti bella mujer, Volando van mis suplicas, a ti bella mujer!

De un corazon que te ama, recibe el tier no amor, No anmentes mas la llama, Piedad a un trobadour, Y si te mueve a lastima, Mi eterno padecer, Como te amo amame, bellisima mujer, Como te amo amame, bellisima mujer!

[Music]

CHAPTER XXI

What Padre Libertad saw or heard he did not particularize. But when Keith Bryton, the day of the Spanish dance, had arisen and dressed, and talked a little with all those known to him in the Mission, except the mistress of it, the bearded priest closed the door on them all, and came and sat beside him.

"To-morrow, my friend, we go," he said.

"Can I--will she speak to me--once?"

"What is there to say to a woman like that? G.o.d! To think that such a one should be Rafael Arteaga's wife!"

"No," agreed the other; "there is nothing to be said. Only I would like to see her face once, even though she should not know it. Could that be?"

"It is not wise; it sends you away with more of a heartache; but there is one place she goes each evening as the stars come out. There is one saint left in one niche of the old ruin. Since she rode with us from the hills, flowers are always there, and she goes from her own chapel there--to pray, perhaps. She has not said so, but--"

"I can see her there. Will you--will you try to manage that no one else comes? Oh, it will be brief enough, even if we speak. But the statue in the niche--I can't remember."

"It is in the shadow. The draperies of red are very faded, and so is the gilt of the embroideries now. Once it was very gorgeous, and it is called Maria Madalena."

Keith turned on the speaker with flaming eyes.

"She kneels there to pray--_she_? What mad fanaticism is that? Good G.o.d, man! _she_ is the soul of innocence!"

"What she knows of her own heart, she knows, my friend. This is not the thing to tell a man who is to her what you are; but there is--there may be some day, a thing that will leave her free; and if it come--"

Keith had covered his face with his hands. The weakness of the illness was still on him; he durst not leave his eyes unguarded. But after a little he looked up.

"You know something more?" he said.

"I know there is another woman who has Rafael tied hand and foot; I know she will take him away; the only thing I do not know is how long it will last. The bishop himself would help such a separation."

"G.o.d himself could not," said Keith, "unless he kill Rafael Arteaga.

When I heard what he said of her outside the window, I was tempted to kill him with my own hand. Nothing else would free her; I heard the oath she took!"

"To send to eternity the soul she is vowed to guard would not free her from the idea. If he should die suddenly, unshriven, it is a lost soul, just the same."

"It is the maddest fanaticism to bind a child like that to such a h.e.l.l; and she accepts it, as--as her people in the past accepted the order for sacrifices."

"What do you know of her people?"

"What do you?"

The two men looked into each other's eyes for a moment, and then Padre Libertad spoke:

"I saw her mother years ago in Mexico. I was only a boy, and I adored Estevan. I carried letters for their love-making. That helps me to understand their daughter. It is true; it is in the blood, and you must go, my friend, before worse happens. And if ever she should be free--"

Keith put out his hand.

"Don't tempt me with a hope like that! I want to be sane when I do see her!"

He saw Dona Angela first, a delightful vision of brocades and white mantilla. She had dressed early, that she might help to receive the guests.

She flinched a little under his keen glance as his eyes wandered from the pearl-trimmed bodice to the fair face.

"Oh, of course it is not mourning," she exclaimed, "if that is what you are thinking of! But at least I wear no color, and it is only for one night. I have not the least intention of dancing. The whole affair is only to show off the old costumes."

"You succeed very well," he remarked. "Let Dolly come around to see me when she has had supper. I leave early in the morning, and can't see her then to say good-bye."

"So soon--going?" She tried to keep the delight from her tone of surprise. He was the most unmanageable man she had ever known. His indifference had attracted her, even infatuated her, a year ago, but there were days since when she thought she hated him. "Yes, I will send Dolly. She loves you dearly, more even than she did poor Ted."

"We will not discuss my brother," he said, coldly. "But that will not prevent me caring for the child as he would have done."

"Irrespective of her mother?" she asked, halting in the door and looking over her shoulder at him.