CHAPTER X
ORMSGILL ASKS A FAVOR
A silver lamp burned on the little table where two diminutive cups ofbitter coffee were set out, but its indifferent light was scarcelyneeded in the open-fronted upper room of Dom Clemente's house. A fullmoon hung above the Atlantic, and the clear radiance that rested onthe glittering harbor streamed in between the fretted arches andslender pillars. Throughout tropical Africa all there is of grace andbeauty in man's handiwork bears the stamp of the unchanging East, andone finds something faintly suggestive of the art of olden days wherethe eye rests with pleasure on any of its sweltering towns, which is,however, not often the case. It is incontrovertible that most of thetowns are characterized by native squalor and that some of them areunpleasantly filthy, but, after all, filth and squalor are usual inthe East, and serve by contrast to enhance the elusive beauty of itscities.
It was almost cool that evening, and Ormsgill, looking down betweenthe slim pillars across the white walls and flat roofs, though somewere ridged and tiled, towards the blaze of moonlight on the harbor,was well content to be where he was after his journey through thesteamy bush and across the sun-scorched littoral. He had arrived thatafternoon, and had spent the last hour with Benicia Figuera, who hadshown herself gracious to him. She lay not far away from him in a bigMadeira chair, loosely draped in diaphanous white attire whichenhanced the violet depths of her eyes and the duskiness of her hair,and her face showed in the moonlight the clear pallor of ivory.Ormsgill fancied that her attendant the Senora Castro sat in the roombehind them from which a soft light streamed out through quaintlypatterned wooden lattices, though he had seen nothing of the latterlady since the comida had been cleared away.
He had said very little about his journey, though he intended to tellDom Clemente rather more, but he presently became conscious thatBenicia was regarding him with a little smile. He also noticed, andwas somewhat annoyed with himself for thinking of it, that she hadlips like the crimson pulp of the pomegranate, the grandadilla whichfigures in the imagery of the Iberian Peninsula as well as in that ofparts of Africa, where it is seldom grown. Ormsgill was quite aware ofthis, and it had its associations of Eastern mysticism and sensuality,for he was a man of education and the outcasts he had lived with hadnot all been of low degree. Among them there had been a certaingreen-turbaned Moslem who had taught him things unknown to his kind athome. He felt that it was advisable to put a restraint upon himself.
"You are not sorry you have come back to us?" said Benicia.
Ormsgill was by no means sorry, and permitted himself to admit asmuch. He had accomplished part, at least, of his purposesuccessfully, and that in itself had a tranquilizing effect on him,while after the weary marches through tall grass and tangled bushunder scorching heat it was distinctly pleasant to sit there cleanlyclad, in the cool air with such a companion. Benicia, it almostseemed, guessed his thoughts, for she laughed softly.
"It is comforting to feel that one has done what he has undertaken,"she said. "Still, you were, at least, not alone by those campfires inthe bush."
Ormsgill flushed a little, though he contrived not to start. He hadnaturally not considered it necessary to tell Miss Figuera anythingabout Anita.
"No," he said simply. "I don't know how you could have heard about it,but I was not alone."
It was characteristic of him that he offered no explanation, and wascontent to leave what he had done open to misconception. In fact, hehad a vague but unpleasant feeling that the latter course might be thewiser one. Benicia turned her dark eyes full upon him, and there was afaint sparkle in the depths of them.
"My friend, I hear of almost everything," she said. "As it happens, Iknow what you went up into the bush for."
"Well," said Ormsgill reflectively, "perhaps, I should not besurprised at that. It was only natural that I should be watched."
He met her gaze without wavering, and, though he was not aware ofthis, his eyes had a question in them. It was one he could not haveasked directly even if he had wished, but remembering that Anita wasto live in that city he took a bold course.
"I wonder if one could venture to mention that your interest in thewoman I brought down from the bush would go a long way?" he said. "Itis, I think, deserved, and in case of any difficulty would ensure herbeing left in quietness here, though, perhaps, the favor is too muchto expect."
"No," said the girl, "not when you make the request. Frankly, in thecase of others I should have found what I have heard incredible. Itsuggests the Knight of La Mancha. Are there many in your country whowould do such things?"
Ormsgill felt his face grow a trifle hot. After all, Benicia Figuerawas, in that land, at least, a great lady, and he remembered that hisown people had doubted him. He laughed somewhat bitterly.
"If I remember correctly, the famous cavalier was more or less crazy,"he said.
The girl turned a trifle in her chair, and he saw a little gleamkindle in her dark eyes.
"Ah," she said, "perhaps it is a pity there are so many who are whollysensible."
She sat very close to him, dressed in filmy white which flowed insweeping lines about a form of the statuesque modeling that is one ofthe characteristics of the women of The Peninsula, but it wassomething in her eyes which held Ormsgill's attention. They were Irisheyes, with the inconsequent daring of the Celt in them, though she hadalso the lips of the Iberian, full and red and passionate. The hotblood of the South was in her, and, though she never forgot whollywho and what she was, and there was a certain elusive stateliness inher pose, it was clear to the man that she was one who could onoccasion fling petty prudence to the winds and ride as reckless a tiltat conventionalities and cramping customs as he had done. Such a womanhe felt would not expect to be safeguarded by a man, but would bearthe stress of the conflict with him, if she loved him, not because hisquarrel might be an honorable one but because it was his. Then shemade him a little grave inclination.
"I venture to make you my compliments, Senor Ormsgill," she said.
The man set his lips for a moment, and she saw it with a little thrillof triumph. It was borne in upon her that she desired the love of thisquiet Englishman who for a whimsical idea had undertaken such a task.She also felt that she could take it, for she had seen the woman hewas pledged to, and knew, if he did not, that he would never besatisfied with her. Then she suddenly remembered her pride, andquietly straightened herself again. Ormsgill sat still looking at her,and though the signs of restraint were plain on his lined face, shesaw a curious little glint creep into his eyes. Still, she felt thathe did not know it was there.
"What shall I say?" he asked. "I don't think there are many people whowould see anything commendable in what I have done. In fact, those whoheard about it would probably consider it a piece of futile rashness,and it is very likely that they would be right. After all, therestraints of the city may become intolerable to the girl."
"Then why did you undertake it?"
Ormsgill laughed, though there was a faint ring in his voice, for hesaw that she had not asked out of idle curiosity. "I don't exactlyknow. For one thing, I had made a promise, but to be candid I thinkthere were other reasons. You see, I have borne the burden myself. Ihave been plundered of my earnings, driven to exhaustion, and havefought against long odds for my life. It left me with a bitternessagainst any custom which makes the grinding of the helpless possible.One can't help a natural longing to strike back now and then."
Benicia nodded. It was not surprising that there was a certain vein ofvindictiveness in her, which rendered it easy for her to sympathizewith him, and once more the man noticed that where Ada Ratcliffe wouldin all probability have listened with half-disdainful impatience sheshowed comprehension.
"Still," she said, "in a struggle of this kind you have so muchagainst you. After all, you are only one man."
"I almost think there are a few more of us even in Africa and, asFather Tiebout says, it is, perhaps, possible that one man may bepermitted to do--something--here and there."
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br /> He spoke with a grave simplicity which curiously stirred the girl. Itis possible that the sorrows of the oppressed did not in themselvesgreatly interest her, for she had certainly never borne the burden,but the attitude of this quiet man who, it seemed, had taken up theircause, and was ready to ride a tilt against the powers that be,appealed to her. She had, at least, courage and imagination, and therewas Irish blood in her.
"Ah," she said, "the fight is an unequal one, but though there will beso many against you I think you have also a few good friends--as wellas the Senor Desmond."
Ormsgill started. Her knowledge of his affairs was disconcerting, buthe forgot his annoyance at it when she leaned forward a trifle lookingat him. Her mere physical beauty had its effect on him, and the softmoonlight and her clinging white draperies enhanced and etherealizedit, but it was not that which set his heart beating a trifle fasterand sent a faint thrill through him. It was once more her eyes helooked at, and what he saw there made it clear that the reckless,all-daring something that was in her nature was wholly in sympathywith him. He also understood that she had asked him to count her asone of his friends. His manner was, however, a little quieter thanusual.
"It is a matter of gratification to me to feel that I have," he said."Still, what do you know about Desmond?"
Benicia laughed. "Not a great deal, but I can guess rather more.Still, I do not think you need fear that I will betray you. In themeantime I venture to believe that this is another of your friends."
She rose and turned towards the door as her father came in. He shookhands with Ormsgill, and then taking off his kepi drew forward achair. Benicia said nothing further, but went out and left themtogether. Dom Clemente lighted a cigarette before he turned to hisguest with a little dry smile.
"Trade," he said, "is not brisk up yonder?"
"I do not know if it is or not," said Ormsgill simply.
"Then, perhaps, you have accomplished the purpose that took youthere?"
"A part of it. Because I have ventured to ask your daughter's interestin a native woman I brought down I will tell you what it was."
He did so, and the olive-faced soldier nodded. "I think you have donewisely in making me your confidant," he said. "At least, the womanwill be safe here. It is also possible that I shall have a few wordsto speak to our friend Herrero some day." Then his tone grew a triflesharper. "I have heard that there are rifles in the hands of some ofthe bushmen up yonder."
Ormsgill took a cartridge from his pocket and pointed to the dint inthe rim. "One might consider this as a proof of it. You will noticethe caliber, and I fancy I should recognize the rifle it was fired outof. In that case the man who carries it will have an account to renderme."
"Ah," said the little soldier quietly, "it is a confirmation ofseveral things I have heard of lately. I think I mentioned that thebush was not a desirable place for you to wander in. Still, you areprobably going back there again?"
"I believe I am."
His companion looked at him with a little smile. "It is what one wouldexpect from you. One may, perhaps, venture to recall the circumstancesunder which I first met you. Two soldiers brought you before me--and,as it happened, I had, fortunately, finished breakfast. You madecertain damaging admissions with a candor which, though it might havehad a different effect a little earlier, saved you a good deal ofunpleasantness. I said here is an unwise man whose word can bedepended on. You know what the people of this city say of me?"
"That you are a great soldier."
Dom Clemente's eyes twinkled. "Also that like the rest I am willing toabuse my office if it will line my pockets. The latter, it seems, isthe purpose which influences me in the unpopular things I do. I makeno protestations, but after all it is possible that I may have anotherone. In any case, I have received you into my house, and admitted acertain indebtedness to you. In return, I ask for your usualfrankness. You have heard of a native rising up yonder?"
The question was sharp and incisive, and Ormsgill nodded.
"To be precise," he said, "I heard of two."
"Then we will have your views about the first one. It is not what onecould call spontaneous?"
"At least, it is scarcely likely to take place without a littlejudicious encouragement. The results, it is expected, would berepression and reprisal. It seems that a lenient native policy doesnot please everybody."
This time Dom Clemente nodded with the twinkle a trifle plainer in hiseyes. "There are, one may admit, certain trading gentlemen in thiscity who do not like it, but I will tell you a secret," he said."There are also a few well meaning people of some influence in mycountry who can not be brought to believe that commercial interestsshould count for everything. They seem to consider one has a certainresponsibility towards the negro. I do not say how far my viewscoincide with theirs. That may become apparent some day. But thesecond rising?"
"Will, at least, be genuine, and, I almost fancy, formidable. It is alittle curious that the people who are most interested in the other donot seem to foresee it. It may break upon them before they are quiteready with the bogus one."
Dom Clemente smoked out his cigarette before he answered, and then hewaved one of his hands.
"Now and then," he said, "things happen that way. Perhaps, the Powerswho direct our little comedy can smile on occasion. At least, wefrequently afford them the opportunity. It is certain that there is nofool like the over-cunning man. But we will talk of something else. Inthe meantime, and while you stay here, you will consider this house ofmine your home, and those in it your friends and servants."
"Thanks," said Ormsgill. "And when I go away?"
His host made a little gesture. "Then it will depend upon where you goand what you do. We may be friends still, or our ideas of what isexpected from us may render that impossible. Perhaps, it isunfortunate when one has any ideas upon that point at all. Still, thatis a subject one must leave to the priests and those who reckon ourwork up afterwards. Being simply a soldier, I do not know."