CHAPTER X.
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.
We will now resume our story again at the point where we broke off. DonMelchior, after his short appearance in the saloon, hastily proceededto a retired suite of rooms in the right wing of the hacienda. We willprecede him and go in a few minutes before him.
This suite only consisted of two rooms, furnished with that severeluxury which the Spaniards so well understand, and which is appropriateto their grave and melancholy character. The first room, serving aswithdrawing room, was hung with stamped Cordovan leather. Oak chairs,which had grown black with time, and were also covered with leather,were drawn up against the walls. In the centre of the room was a table,over which a green cloth was thrown. A crucifix of yellow ivory, threefeet high, before which stood a curiously carved oak prie-dieu, facedone of those enormous Louis XIII. clocks, whose case could easily havecontained a man, and, in a corner, was a species of oratory, surmountedby a white marble statue of the Virgin of Suffering, whose brow wasgirt with a crown of white roses, while before it burned a silver lamp,shaped like a censer, and suspended from the ceiling by a chain.
In this room, which looked more like an oratory than a drawing room,and which opened on a bedroom, the furniture of which was extremelyplain, two ladies were seated near a window, and conversing in a lowvoice, at the moment when the exigencies of our narrative compel usto join them. Of these two, one had passed the age of thirty--thatcritical period for Spanish women; but although her face was pale asmarble, and her features were worn with sorrow, it was easy to perceivethat she must have been very lovely once. The person who kept hercompany was a light-haired, graceful, pale, and delicate girl. Shewas endowed with the ideal and dreamy beauty which renders paintersdesperate and which German poets have alone been able to describe. Inher calm, pensive features were found again the dreamy, restless, andchaste physiognomy of Goethe's Marguerite, and the intoxicating andimpassioned smile of Schiller's pale creations.
These two ladies were mother and daughter. Dona Emilia de Saldibar andDona Diana. Their dress, through its severe simplicity, harmonizedperfectly with the expression of sorrow and melancholy spread overtheir whole persons. They wore long gowns of black velvet, withoutembroidery or ornaments, fastened round the waist by girdles of thesame colour. A rebozo of black lace covered their neck and chest, andcould, if necessary, be thrown over their heads, and hide their faces.They were conversing in a low voice, looking out now and then absentlyinto the courtyard, in which were assembled the numerous peons of thehacenderos who had responded to Don Anibal's summons.
"No," Dona Emilia said, "no, my child, it is better to remain silent,for this information is anything but positive."
"Still, mother," the young lady answered, "the man seemed thoroughlyacquainted with the whole story; and it appears to me, on thecontrary--"
"You are wrong, Diana," her mother interrupted, with some sternnessin her voice. "I know better than you what should be done under thecircumstances. Be careful, Nina. You take the affair too much to heart,and let yourself be carried away."
The girl blushed, and bit her lips.
"You know how I love you, my child," Dona Emilia continued directly;"so do not try to thwart what I do, as you are well aware I have butone object, your happiness, so let me act as I think proper."
"My dear mother!" the young lady said affectionately.
"Yes," Dona Emilia replied with a cold smile, "I am your dear motherwhen I yield to your importunities."
"Oh, do not say that, mother! You know what deep love I have for you."
"Yes I know it, and I know too that I do not alone occupy your heart."
Dona Diana turned her head away to hide the blush that suffused herface at this remark; but her mother did not notice this emotion,and continued, as if speaking to herself, instead of addressing herdaughter--
"But why should I complain? Ought it not always to be so? Woman is bornto love, as the bird is to fly in the air. Love, my poor, dear child;for love constitutes a woman's entire life, for it enables her to learnjoy and sorrow."
Her voice gradually grew weaker, and these words were spokenindistinctly. There was a rather long silence, which the girl did notventure to disturb by an indiscreet question. Respecting the sorrowfulreverie into which her mother had fallen, her eyes were fixed moreattentively on the courtyard. All at once she started.
"Ah!" she said, at once glad and troubled, "Here is Don Melchior."
"What did you say, Nina?" her mother asked, raising her head eagerly."I think you mentioned the name of Don Melchior?"
"Yes, I did, mother," she answered timidly.
"Well, what did you say about him?"
"Nothing, mother, except that I just saw him in the yard, and I thinkhe is coming here."
"He will be welcome, for I am anxiously expecting him. So soon as hecomes in, Nina, you will be good enough to retire to your bedroom, andnot come back till I call you. I have important matters to discuss withthis young man, which it is unnecessary for you to hear."
"You shall be obeyed, mother," the young lady said as she rose. "I hearhis footstep in the corridor, so I will withdraw, for he will be heredirectly."
"Go, my child; I shall soon recall you."
The girl bent over her mother, whose forehead she kissed, and ran away,light as a bird, at the moment when two raps on the door announced avisitor. Dona Emilia waited till the door of her daughter's bedroom wasclosed, and then cried, "Come in!" The door swung back slowly on itshinges, and Melchior appeared. So soon as the young man entered theroom he doffed his hat, and walked respectfully toward Dona Emilia,who, without leaving her seat by the window, half turned and made him asign to approach.
"You did me the honour of sending for me, madam," he said, as hestopped three or four yards from Dona Emilia.
"Yes, caballero," she replied. "You know that I have been absent fromthe hacienda for several days, and only returned a few hours ago;consequently I am ignorant of all that is going on, and thought youcould give me the information I desire."
"You know, madam, that I am completely at your service for anything youmay please to order."
"I doubt neither your courtesy nor your devotion, Don Melchior, and Ithink I have given you sufficient proof of that."
"Madam," the young man answered warmly, "your kindness to me has knownno bounds. I feel for you the veneration I should have for a mother,for you have acted as such to me."
"I did what my religion commanded for an abandoned orphan. But enoughon this head: tell me what there is new at the hacienda."
"When you left the house without warning me, contrary to your habit,madam, to get ready to accompany you, I was at first very sad, for Iwas afraid that I had displeased you; then, on reflection, and afterseeking in my mind what the motive could be that urged you to exile mefrom your presence, I supposed that I should be more useful to you herethan if I followed you."
"Quite right," she answered, with a smile. "Go on; but first sit downhere by my side," she added, affectionately.
The young man bowed respectfully, and took the chair pointed out to him.
"I need not tell you, madam," he continued, "what is the motive of thisday's meeting, or who the persons present are."
"No, pass over that."
"But among these persons there is one whose presence you are assuredlyfar from suspecting."
"Who is it?"
"Father Sandoval."
"Father Sandoval!" she exclaimed, with a start. "Impossible! He is aprisoner of the Spaniards."
"It is he, madam."
"That is strange. How is it that I have not been informed of hispresence?"
"He arrived at the hacienda with Don Aurelio Gutierrez."
"But I was close to Don Aurelio: he only had with him Yankee orCanadian wood rangers and two Mexican peons."
"Well, madam, one of those peons was no other than Father Sandoval.The reverend father thought it wise to assume this disguise in order,probably, more easily to escape the Spanish s
pies."
"Yes, that must have been the reason; prudence commanded him to act so.Go on."
"Father Sandoval has made himself known to all our adherents, and hasbeen unanimously elected their chief."
"In truth, he alone possesses sufficient influence over the haughtyhacenderos to command them. And what measures have been adopted?"
"Pardon me, madam, but I must tell you of another person whose presencewas neither expected nor desired, and who arrived suddenly."
"The Count de Melgosa, I suppose. I was aware that he was coming. Hewas doubtless the bearer of some tremendous message. Has he gone again?"
"Not yet, madam; he will not leave the hacienda till sunrise tomorrow,accompanied by Colonel Don Oliver Clary, one of the Canadianadventurers brought by Don Aurelio, whom Father Sandoval has entrustedwith his answer to the governor's manifesto."
"Very good, we have time before us; we will set out tonight. You willaccompany us, Melchior; so be careful that everything is prepared formidnight, and our departure kept secret."
"You shall be obeyed, madam."
"And the majordomo?"
This question was asked in a tone which showed what importance DonaEmilia attached to it.
"Still impenetrable, madam," he answered; "ever full of zeal anddevotion. His conduct does not offer the slightest pretext to suspecthim of treachery."
"Strange," she murmured; "still it is evident to me that this man is atraitor, and playing a double part. How can I unmask him? Oh, a proof,a proof, however slight it be. Still it cannot always be so; heavenwill not permit it. Patience, patience! I thank you, Don Melchior,for the zeal you have displayed; continue to be faithful. Now you canwithdraw."
The young man rose.
"Madam," he ventured, timidly, "will you allow me to ask you onequestion."
"Speak."
"I have not had the happiness," he continued, with hesitation, "to seeDona Diana since her return. I trust that the fatigue she must havefelt has not made her ill, and that her precious health is still good."
Dona Emilia frowned, and a cloud of dissatisfaction spread over herface; but at once recovering herself, she replied, gently--
"Dona Diana is well, Melchior."
"Oh, all the better, madam," he said, with an outburst of passionatejoy which he could not repress.
Then, bowing deeply to Dona Emilia, he fell back to leave the room.
"Poor boy!" Dona Emilia murmured, as she looked after him.
At the moment when he reached the door, she called him back.
"I forgot," she said; "be kind enough to tell Father Sandoval that,if his occupations permit, I should like to speak with him for a fewmoments after oracion this evening."
"I will tell him, madam. Have you any further commands for me?"
"No, you can go."
The young man bowed for the last time, and went out. Dona Emilia washardly alone ere her daughter rushed from her bedroom, and ran up toher.
"Well," she said, "what is the meaning of this, Nina? Why have you comewithout being called?"
"Oh, mother," she answered, as she threw herself into her arms,"forgive me, but I was suffering too greatly."
Dona Emilia recoiled, and looked her daughter in the face.
"What is the meaning of these words, senorita!" she said to her,sternly. "To what are you alluding?"
The girl, ashamed of the confession she had allowed to escape her,buried her head in her hands, and burst into tears.
"Diana, Diana!" her mother said, with ineffable sadness, as she drewher daughter gently to her heart, "You are preparing great sufferingboth for yourself and me."
"Mother!" she murmured, with a sob.
"Silence, Nina!" Dona Emilia quickly interrupted, "Do not add a wordwhich might, perhaps, cause, irreparable misfortunes. I know nothing,and wish to know nothing. Dry those tears which burn my heart, andtake your place again by my side."
"Yes, mother," she answered, in a voice choked by sobs and trying toobey.
"Diana!" Dona Emilia continued presently, in a firm voice, "Rememberthat we have a mission of vengeance to accomplish against the Indians,and that they are the cause of the terrible misfortunes which haveoverwhelmed us."
These words were uttered in a tone which admitted of no reply. Themaiden shuddered and hung her head sadly with no strength to answer.Her mother regarded her for a moment with an expression of pity, love,and grief impossible to describe, and pointed to the statue of theVirgin placed in a corner of the room.
"Pray to her who has drunk to the dregs the bitter cup of sorrow; shewill have pity on you and give you the necessary courage to endure thegrief which overwhelms you."
The maiden rose slowly; she went to the chapel, and kneeling downpiously before the statue, to which she raised her tear-laden eyes, sheprayed fervently; then, at a sign from her mother, she withdrew to herbedroom. In the evening, Dona Emilia had a conversation with FatherSandoval, which was carried on far into the night. This conversation,doubtless, very important, but which we will not describe here, lefta sweet and consoling impression on the mind of Dona Emilia, for herfeatures grew calmer, and, before retiring to rest, she gave herdaughter's pale forehead a kiss full of maternal tenderness, as shemurmured in a low voice--
"Hope!"
The girl started in her sleep, and a faint smile played round her rosylips.