CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
HOPES, FEARS, PERPLEXITIES, JOYS, AND EXPLANATIONS.
Two conversations took place shortly after the scene in the ballroom,and to these we now draw attention. The first was in the hotel--in theprivate apartment of Colonel Marchbanks.
Having got rid of the ladies, the fiery man of war led his victim--if wemay so style him--into the apartment referred to, and shut the door.Without asking Lawrence to be seated, he stalked into the middle of theroom.
"Now, senhor," he said, wheeling round suddenly, and confrontingLawrence with a tremendous frown, "what do you mean by this?"
The look and the tone were such as the youth would in ordinarycircumstances have resented, but he was far removed from ordinarycircumstances just then. He was a victim! As such he looked at hisquestioner with perplexity in his countenance, and said--
"I beg pardon?"
"What do you mean by your conduct, I say?" repeated the colonel,fiercely; for he mistook and was rendered more irritable by the youth'sapparent stupidity. "You have insulted my daughter in the ballroom--"
"Your daughter?" said Lawrence, with the air of a man whose eyes aredazzled by some sudden burst of strong light which he does not quiteunderstand.
"Yes, sir. You know quite well what I mean," cried the colonel, waxingangrier. "It may be true, for all I know or care, that you have savedher life more than once, as Pedro tells me, but--"
"I saved the life of an Indian girl," interrupted Lawrence, gently, andgazing wistfully in the colonel's angry face, as if he saw a distantlandscape of marvellous beauty through it, "the daughter of a greatchief, and a descendant of the Incas."
"A descendant of the Hottentots, sir!" exclaimed the colonel, becomingfurious, for he now thought the young man was attempting to jest; "thefact that my daughter--my daughter, sir, was persuaded to assume thatuseless and ridiculous disguise, and the fact that you rendered herassistance when so disguised, gives you no right to--to insult her inpublic, and--and--I have heard, sir, from Manuela herself, that--"
"Manuela!" interrupted the victim, in a soft, unbelieving voice, andwith an eager, wistful look at the exquisite landscape again,--"is itpossible?"
"Sir, you're a fool!" shouted the old soldier, unable to containhimself. "Pedro told me much about you, but he did not say you were afool!"
"Impossible! I knew it must be a dream," murmured Lawrence, as if tohimself, "I was never called a fool before. No gentleman would havedone it--least of all an English gentleman."
This shot, although not aimed, hit the mark fairly.
"Forgive me, senhor," said the colonel, modifying his tone, thoughevidently still much annoyed, "but your manners and language are sostrange that, really--"
He stopped, as a new light broke upon him.
"Surely," he said, "you cannot have been in ignorance all this time thatManuela _is_ my daughter?"
"Tell me," cried Lawrence, suddenly shaking off the dream of unbelief,advancing a step, and gazing so intensely into the colonel's eyes thatthe man of war made a quick, involuntary, motion with his right handtowards his sword,--"Tell me, Colonel Marchbanks--is Manuela, who, Ithought, was an Inca princess, _really_ your daughter!"
"I know nothing about the Inca princesses, senhor," replied the old man,sternly, but with a perplexed air; "all I know is that the disguisedgirl with whom you have been unfortunately travelling of late is _my_daughter, and, although your ignorance of the fact accounts in somedegree--"
He got no further, for Lawrence gave a full, free, shout of joy, such ashe had not vented since he was a schoolboy, raised himself to his fullheight, and threw up his arms, clearing off a very constellation ofcrystal gimcracks from a chandelier in the mighty stretch, andexclaimed--
"I'll have her: I'll have her! Yes, in spite of all--"
The door opened at that moment and he stood transfixed, for there wasSpotted Tiger--glaring horribly, and obviously charged with importanttidings.
"Come in," cried the colonel in Spanish.
"Come out," cried the savage in some other language, which Lawrence didnot understand, but which the colonel evidently did, for he clapped onhis hat, and, without a word of explanation, hurried with Tiger out ofthe room, leaving Lawrence to solitary meditation.
The other conversation that we have referred to was held in the gardenof the hotel, under a thick overhanging tree, between Pedro and thelovely lady who had been the cause of Lawrence's little affair with thecolonel.
"What have you done with her, Pedro?" asked the lovely lady.
"Taken her to the villa, where she will be well cared for."
"But why so quickly? Why not wait for me?" The voice was in very truththat of Manuela, though the countenance was that of a Spanish senhorina!
"Because time is precious. We have received news which calls for speedyaction, and I must be in close attendance on your father, Manuela. As Iam likely to have quarter of an hour to spare while he holds a palaverwith Tiger, I have sought you out to ask an explanation, for I'm eagerto know how and where my darling was found. I can wait as well as mostmen, but--"
"Yes, yes, _I_ know," said Manuela, drawing her mantilla a little moreclosely over her now fair face. "You shall hear. Listen. You knowthat my father loves you?"
Pedro smiled assent, and nodded.
"His is a loving and loveable nature," resumed our heroine.
("So is his daughter's," thought Pedro, but he did not say so.)
"And he never forgets a friend," continued Manuela. "He has often,often spoken to me about you, and your dear ones, and many a time in hismilitary wanderings has he made inquiries about the dear child who wasstolen so long ago--ten years now, is it not?"
"Ay, not far short of eleven. She was just turned five when last Ibeheld her angel face--no, not _last_, thank God."
"Well, Pedro, you may easily believe that we had many raisings of ourhopes, like yourself, and many, many disappointments, but these lastarose from our looking chiefly in wrong directions. It somehow neveroccurred to us that her lot might have fallen among people of rank andwealth. Yet so it was. One day when out on the Pampas not far fromBuenos Ayres, visiting a friend, and never thinking of dear Mariquita,we saw a young girl coming towards us down the garden walk.
"As she came near, my father stopped short, and laid his hand on myshoulder with such a grasp that I nearly cried out. I looked up insurprise, and never before saw such an expression of eager inquiry onhis face.
"`Manuela!' he said, in a low, tremulous voice, `if Mariquita is alive Isee her now. I see our friend Pedro in every line of her pretty face.'
"I looked, but could not see the likeness. You know how differentlypeople seem to be affected by the same face. I failed to see in thesweet countenance framed in curling fair hair, and in the slight girlishfigure of surpassing grace, my swarthy friend Pedro. She seemedstartled at first by my father's abrupt manner. He questioned her.What was her name--`Mariquita,' she said. `I was sure of it,' rejoinedmy father. `Your surname, my girl?'
"`Arnold, senhor,' she replied, with surprise.
"My dear father is very impulsive. His hopes sank as fast as they hadrisen. `Of course,' he said afterwards, `Mariquita is a common name,and should not have raised my expectations so quickly, but the likeness,you see, staggered me.'
"Dear father!" continued Manuela, casting down her eyes, and speaking ina pensive tone, "I _do_ love him so, because of his littleimperfections. They set off his good points to so much greateradvantage. I should not like to have a perfect father. Would you,Pedro?"
She raised her eyes to the guide's face with an arch look--and thoseeyes had become wonderfully lustrous since the skin had lost its brownhue.
"Really, Manuela," returned the impatient guide, "I have not yetconsidered what degree of perfection I should like in my father--but howabout--"
"Forgive me, yes--Mariquita. Well, finding that we were going to thehouse where she dwelt, Mariquita walked with us, and told us that shehad lived
with our English friends, Mr and Mrs Daulton, since she wasa little child. Did she remember her parents? we asked. Yes, sheremembered them perfectly, and tried to describe them, but we could makenothing of that for evidently she thought them handsomer, grander, andmore beautiful than any other people in the world. She did not rememberwhere they dwelt--except that it was in the woods and among mountains.
"`That corresponds exactly,' cried my father, becoming excited.`Forgive me, child; I am an eccentric old fellow, but--did you quit yourhome amid fire and smoke and yells--'
"My father was stopped at this point by our arrival at the house, andthe appearance of our friends. But he was too much roused by that timeto let the matter drop, so he carried Mrs Daulton off to the library,and learned from her that the child had been lent to her by a priest!
"`Lent, my dear madam?' said my father.
"`Yes, lent. The priest laughed when he presented her, but said thechild was the orphan daughter of a distant relation of his who had lefther to his care. He did not want her, or know what to do with her, andoffered to _give_ her to us. My husband said he could not accept such agift, but he would gladly accept her as a loan! We both disbelieved thepriest, for he was a bad man; but, as we were much in want of acompanion for our own little girl at the time, we accepted her, andbrought her here. The priest died suddenly, and as there was no oneelse to claim her, we have kept her ever since, and right glad we are tohave her.'
"`You won't have her long,' said my sweet father, in his usual blunt andpleasant way. `I am convinced that I know her father. Of course Arnoldis a name you gave her?' `No; when she came to us she said her name wasMariquita, but she knew of no other name. It was the priest who told,us her surname was Arnold.'
"Well, Pedro, to bring my story to an end, my father told the Daultonsall about you, and got them to lend Mariquita to us. That was two yearsago. Since then she has dwelt with us as my very dear sister. Myfather knew you were in Peru at the time, and his purpose was to waittill you should return, and present Mariquita unexpectedly to you to seeif you would recognise each other. Therefore he did not mention herwhen he wrote asking you so urgently to return here. Neither did hemention his suspicions to Mariquita herself. We just led her tounderstand that we found her company so pleasant that we wished her toremain with us for a long visit. Then came news of the illness of adear relation of mine in Chili. I was sent by my father to see andnurse her. At parting he told me if I should by any chance meet withyou, I was on no account to speak or even hint at this matter. Littledid either of us think at the time that I was destined to make so long ajourney under your care. And you know, Senhor Pedro, that I am not badat keeping secrets. I not only obeyed my father in this matter, but Ifaithfully obeyed yourself when you imposed on me the necessity ofkeeping my disguise secret from Senhor Armstrong."
"You did, Manuela, faithfully."
"And it was very hard to do, let me assure you, as well as needless,"returned Manuela, in a slightly hurt tone. "Over and over again I havebeen on the point of betraying myself. Why did you require me tomaintain such secrecy, and afflict myself with such constant care andwatchfulness?"
"Because I knew full well," replied Pedro, with a twinkle in his eye,"that if poor Senhor Armstrong knew your true character, he wouldinfallibly fall in love with you in spite of your brown skin."
"And pray, senhor, why should you object to Senhor Armstrong, or any oneelse, falling in love with me in spite of my brown skin?"
"You know very well, Manuela, that, your father being my friend, it ismy duty in all circumstances to be faithful to him. You are also awarethat your father entertains a strong objection to very young men, whohave no money or prospects, presuming to think of marriage with hisdaughter, and that he would never consent to your being engaged toSenhor Armstrong in present circumstances. It was my simple duty,therefore, when I saw the danger, to warn and protect you. Indeed Isaw, almost the first day after we met the youth, that I had made agreat mistake in asking him to join us; but it was too late then tochange, so I imposed secrecy on you, and admit that you have acted yourpart well; but my well-meant efforts have been utterly in vain."
"How so!"
"Why, because the poor wretch has fallen hopelessly in love with you inspite of your disguise--ay, and in spite of his own efforts to thecontrary, for I have watched him carefully, and regard him as anuncommonly fine specimen of an amiable, self-denying, and honourableman. And now, as I had feared, your father is furious at his presumingeven to think of you, though I have done my best to show him that he hasacted nobly all through our journey; that, after all, he may not reallycare for you at all, and that at all events you have given him noencouragement whatever, and do not care a straw for _him_."
Manuela flushed deeply at the last words, and there was the slightestpossible contraction of her fine eyebrows as she replied, somewhatloftily--
"Senhor Pedro, you are a kind friend and a faithful guide, but youpretend to a greater knowledge of these matters than you possess. Youdo not understand my beloved father as well as I do, and you are totallyignorant of the state of my feelings. However, I believe you have doneall for the best, and my earnest request now is that, having dischargedwhat you conceive to be your duty on this point, you will say and donothing more."
"Your will would be law in this matter, even if I were not under such adeep debt of gratitude to you," returned Pedro, "and it is all the moreeasy to obey you now that I have handed you over to your father and amno longer responsible. Are you aware that we start immediately inpursuit of the Indians who have attacked and murdered the poor people ofRolland's Ranch?"
"Yes, my father has told me all about it."
"Has he told you that you and Mariquita are to accompany the force sofar on the road, and that when we get beyond the disturbed district I amto carry you on with a small party to Buenos Ayres, while the main bodypursues the savages?"
"Yes, he told me that too," replied Manuela; "but," she added, with alittle hesitation, "he did not say who was to go with our smalldetachment."
The slightest possible twinkle in Pedro's eye indicated suppressedfeeling as he replied that he also was ignorant on that point--the onlythings which he was quite sure of being, that Senhor Armstrong andQuashy were to go with the main body.
"Indeed!" exclaimed the maiden in surprise. "I had thought SenhorArmstrong objected to fighting."
Pedro laughed. "So he does, senhorina; but when the rescue of captivewomen and children is in the case, he holds fighting to be a duty, asyou are aware. But I must go now," continued Pedro, becoming grave andearnest as he took the girl's hand. "Words can never express myfeelings towards you and your father, dear Manuela. Indeed I have neverbeen in the habit of saying much--least of all when I have felt much.Mariquita and I will bless you both to the latest hour of our lives.Adieu. We meet in the morning at the house in which you are staying--Lawrence has named it the house with the rustic porch--and we start fromthere. You are all ready, I suppose?"
"Yes. You know I have little luggage to look after," said Manuela, witha laugh, "and I shall continue to travel as an Indian girl--as an Incaprincess!"
"Indeed. Why so?"
"That, Senhor Pedro, is a matter with which you have nothing whatever todo!"