CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
LIGHT AND SHADE.
The house we inhabited stood in a quadrangular inclosure that slopeddown to the banks of the river, the Del Norte. This inclosure was agarden or shrubbery, guarded on all sides by high, thick walls of adobe.Along the summit of these walls had been planted rows of the cactus,that threw out huge, thorny limbs, forming an impassablechevaux-de-frise. There was but one entrance to the house and garden,through a strong wicket gate, which I had noticed was always shut andbarred. I had no desire to go abroad. The garden, a large one,hitherto had formed the limit of my walk; and through this I oftenrambled with Zoe and her mother, but oftener with Zoe alone.
There were many objects of interest about the place. It was a ruin; andthe house itself bore evidences of better times. It was a largebuilding in the Moro-Spanish style, with flat roof (azotea), and notchedparapet running along the front. Here and there the little stoneturrets of this parapet had fallen off, showing evidence of neglect anddecay.
The walls of the garden impinged upon the river, and there ended; forthe bank was steep and vertical, and the deep, still water that ranunder it formed a sufficient protection on that side.
A thick grove of cotton-woods fringed the bank of the river, and undertheir shade had been erected a number of seats of japanned mason-work,in a style peculiar to Spanish countries. There were steps cut in theface of the bank, overhung with drooping shrubs, and leading to thewater's edge. I had noticed a small skiff moored under the willows,where these steps went down to the water.
From this point only could you see beyond the limits of the inclosure.The view was magnificent, and commanded the windings of the Del Nortefor a distance of miles.
Evening after evening we sought the grove of cotton-woods, and, seatedupon one of the benches, together watched the glowing sunset. At thistime of the day we were ever alone, I and my little companion.
One evening, as usual, we sat under the solemn shadow of the grove. Wehad brought with us the guitar and bandolin; but, after a few notes hadbeen struck, the music was forgotten, and the instruments lay upon thegrass at our feet. We loved to listen to the music of our own voices.We preferred the utterance of our own thoughts to the sentiments of anysong, however sweet. There was music enough around us; the hum of thewild bee as it bade farewell to the closing corolla; the whoop of thegruya in the distant sedge; and the soft cooing of the doves as they satin pairs upon the adjacent branches, like us whispering their mutualloves.
Autumn had now painted the woods, and the frondage was of every hue.The shadows of the tall trees dappled the surface of the water, as thestream rolled silently on. The sun was far down, and the spire of ElPaso gleamed like a golden star under the parting kiss of his beams.Our eyes wandered, and rested upon the glittering vane.
"The church!" half soliloquised my companion; "I hardly know what it islike, it is so long since I saw it."
"How long?"
"Oh, many, many years; I was very young then."
"And you have not been beyond these walls since then?"
"Oh yes! Papa has taken us down the river in the boat, mamma andmyself, often, but not lately."
"And have you no wish to go abroad through these gay woods?"
"I do not desire it; I am contented here."
"And will you always be contented here?"
"And why not, Enrique? When you are near me, why should I not behappy?"
"But when--"
A dark shadow seemed to cross her thoughts. Benighted with love, shehad never reflected upon the probability of my leaving her, nor indeedhad I. Her cheeks became suddenly pale; and I could see the agonygathering in her eyes, as she fixed them upon me. But the words wereout--
"When I must leave you?"
She threw herself on my breast, with a short, sharp scream, as thoughshe had been stung to the heart, and in an impassioned voice criedaloud--
"Oh! my God, my God! leave me! leave me! Oh! you will not leave me?You who have taught me to love! Oh! Enrique, why did you tell me thatyou loved me? Why did you teach me to love?"
"Zoe!"
"Enrique, Enrique! say you will not leave me!"
"Never! Zoe! I swear it; never, never!" I fancied at this moment Iheard the stroke of an oar; but the wild tumult of my feelings preventedme from rising to look over the bank. I was raising my head when anobject, appearing above the bank, caught my eye. It was a blacksombrero with its golden band. I knew the wearer at a glance: Seguin!In a moment, he was beside us.
"Papa!" exclaimed Zoe, rising up and reaching forward to embrace him.The father put her to one side, at the same time tightly grasping herhand in his. For a moment he remained silent, bending his eyes upon mewith an expression I cannot depict. There was in it a mixture ofreproach, sorrow, and indignation. I had risen to confront him, but Iquailed under that singular glance, and stood abashed and silent.
"And this is the way you have thanked me for saving your life? A bravereturn, good sir; what think you?"
I made no reply.
"Sir!" continued he, in a voice trembling with emotion, "you have deeplywronged me."
"I know it not; I have not wronged you."
"What call you this? Trifling with my child!"
"Trifling!" I exclaimed, roused to boldness by the accusation.
"Ay, trifling! Have you not won her affections?"
"I won them fairly."
"Pshaw, sir! This is a child, not a woman. Won them fairly! What canshe know of love?"
"Papa! I do know love. I have felt it for many days. Do not be angrywith Enrique, for I love him; oh, papa! in my heart I love him!"
He turned to her with a look of astonishment.
"Hear this!" he exclaimed. "Oh, heavens! my child, my child!"
His voice stung me, for it was full of sorrow.
"Listen, sir!" I cried, placing myself directly before him. "I havewon the affections of your daughter. I have given mine in return. I amher equal in rank, as she is mine. What crime, then, have I committed?Wherein have I wronged you?"
He looked at me for some moments without making any reply.
"You would marry her, then?" he said, at length, with an evident changein his manner.
"Had I permitted our love thus far, without that intention, I shouldhave merited your reproaches. I should have been `trifling,' as youhave said."
"Marry me!" exclaimed Zoe, with a look of bewilderment.
"Listen! Poor child! she knows not the meaning of the word!"
"Ay, lovely Zoe! I will; else my heart, like yours, shall be wreckedfor ever! Oh, sir!"
"Come, sir, enough of this. You have won her from herself; you have yetto win her from me. I will sound the depth of your affection. I willput you to the proof."
"Put me to any proof!"
"We shall see; come! let us in. Here, Zoe!"
And, taking her by the hand, he led her towards the house. I followedclose behind.
As we passed through a clump of wild orange trees, the path narrowed;and the father, letting go her hand, walked on ahead. Zoe was betweenus; and as we reached the middle of the grove, she turned suddenly, andlaying her hand upon mine, whispered in a trembling voice, "Enrique,tell me, what is `to marry'?"
"Dearest Zoe! not now: it is too difficult to explain; another time,I--"
"Come, Zoe! your hand, child!"
"Papa, I am coming!"