CHAPTER VIII.
CUBA LIBRE.
"But, Marguerite, when I tell you that I _know_!"
"But, Rita, my dear, how _can_ you know?"
"Look at me; listen to me! Have you your senses?"
"Most of them, I hope."
"Very well, then, attend! When stupid, stupid Peggy--I love her,observe; she is my sister, but we must admit that she is stupid,--truth,Marguerite, is the jewel of my soul--when she stumbled against the door,when she screamed, we heard sounds, did we not?"
"We did!" Margaret admitted.
"Sounds,--and what sounds? Not the broom of a servant, not the rustle ofa dress,--no, we hear the step of a man! We enter, and a door closes atthe further end of the room; click, a lock snaps! I rush to the window;a figure disappears around the corner of the house; I cannot see whatit is, but I would swear it was no woman. I return,--we look about us atthis room, which never have we seen before. A gentleman's room, as aninfant could perceive. A private library, study, what you will,luxurious, enchanting. Books over which you sob with emotion,--or wouldsob, if your temperament permitted you expression; pictures that fill mysoul with enchantment; a writing-table, and on it papers--heaps andmounds of papers! Am I right? do I exaggerate? Alps, Pyrenees of papers!You saw them?"
"I didn't see anything higher than Mt. Washington," said Margaretsoberly. "There were a good many, I confess."
"They burst from drawers," pursued Rita, enjoying herself immensely;"they toppled like snow-drifts; they strewed the floor to a depth of--"
"Oh, Rita, Rita! do rein your Pegasus in, or he will fly awayaltogether. There certainly were a great many papers, and they confirmedour poor little Peggy in her belief that the man she had seen was HugoMontfort, making his ghostly search for the papers he lost. Whereas youthink--"
"Think! when I tell you that I _know_!"
"You think," Margaret went on calmly, "that it was John Strong, thegardener. Well, and what if it was?"
"What if it was? Marguerite, you are impossible; you have theintelligence of a babe new born. What! we find this man in his master'sroom, spying upon his private things, _romaging_--what is thatword?--_romaging_ his papers, most likely making himself possessed ofwhat he will, and you say, what of this? _Caramba_, I will tell you whatof this it would be in Cuba! String him up to the wall and give himquick fifty lashes; that would be of it!"
"Long Island is a good way from Cuba!" said Margaret. "I don't think wewill try anything of that sort here, Rita. And when you come to think ofit, my dear, we have been here a few weeks, and John Strong was herebefore we were born; Aunt Faith told me so. Don't you think he mayperhaps know what he is about rather better than we do?"
"Know what he is about!" Rita protested, with a shower of nods, that heknew very well what he was about. The question was, did their uncleknow? And the black velvet coat, what had Margaret to say to that? shedemanded. It was evident that this good man, this worthy servant, was inthe habit of wearing his master's clothes during his absence. Didgardeners habitually appear in black velvet? Ha! tell her that!
Margaret did not know that they did, but it was perfectly possible thatMr. Montfort might have given some of his old clothes, a cast-offsmoking-jacket, for example, to his gardener and confidential servant.There would be nothing remarkable in that, surely. Besides, were theyabsolutely certain that the mysterious individual was dressed in blackvelvet? Poor, dear Peggy was in such a state of excitement, she mightwell have fancied--and so on, and so on. The two cousins went over theground again and again, but could come to no decision.
"Say what you will, _tres chere_!" said Rita, finally; "glorify yourgardener, give him the family wardrobe, the family papers; I keep watchon him, that is all! Let Master Strong beware! Not for nothing was Ibrought up on a plantation. Have I not known overseers, to say nothingof hosts of servants, white, black, yellow? Your books, _chereMarguerite_, do they teach you the knowledge of persons? Let him beware!he knows not a Cuban!" and she nodded, and bent her brows so tragicallythat Margaret could hardly keep her countenance.
"Have you ever acted, Rita?" she asked, following the train of herthoughts. "I am sure you must do it so well."
"_Mi alma!_" cried Rita, "it was my joy! Conchita and I--_ahi_! whatplays we have acted in the myrtle-bower in the garden! Will you see meact? You shall."
John Strong and his iniquities were forgotten in a moment. BiddingMargaret call Peggy, and make themselves into an audience in the lowerhall, Rita whirled away to her own room, where they could hear hersinging to herself, and pulling open drawers with reckless ardour. Thetwo other girls ensconced themselves in a window-seat of the hall andwaited.
"Do you know what she is going to do?" asked Peggy.
Margaret shook her head. "Something pretty and graceful, no doubt. Sheis a born actress, you know."
"I never saw an actress," said Peggy. "She--she is awfully fascinating,Margaret, isn't she?"
Margaret assented warmly. There was no tinge of jealousy in hercomposition, or she might have felt a slight pang at the tone ofadmiring awe in which Peggy now spoke of her Cuban cousin. Things werechanged indeed since the night of their arrival.
"It isn't only that she is so awfully pretty," Peggy went on, "but shemoves so--and her voice is so soft, and--oh, Margaret, do you suppose Ican ever be the least like her, just the least bit in the world?"
She looked anxiously at Margaret, who gazed back affectionately at her,at the round, rosy childish face, the little tilted nose, the fluffy,fair hair. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to stroke andpat Peggy as if she were a kitten, but no one would think of pattingRita.
"Dear," said Margaret softly, "dear Peggy! I like you better as you are.Of course Rita is very beautiful, and neither you nor I could ever lookin the least like her, Peggy. But--it is a great deal better to looklike our own selves, isn't it, and learn to appear at our best in a waythat suits us? That is what I think. Now that you have learned to doyour hair so nicely, and to keep your dress neat--"
"You taught me that," said honest Peggy; "you taught me all that,Margaret. I was a perfect pig when I came here; you know I was."
"Don't call my cousin names, miss! I cannot permit it. But if I havetaught you anything, Peggy, it is Rita who has given you the littlegraces that you have been picking up. I never could have taught you tobow,--and really, you are quite superb since the last lesson. Then,these pretty dresses--"
"Oh, _do_ you think I ought to take them?" broke in Peggy. "Margaret, doyou think so? She brought them into my room, you know, and flung themdown in a heap, and said they were only fit for dust-cloths--you knowthe way she talks, dear thing. The lovely brown crepon, she said it wasthe most hideous thing she had ever seen, and that it was the deed ofan assassin to offer it to me. And when I said I couldn't take so many,she snatched up the scissors, and was going to cut them all up--shereally was, Margaret. What could I do?"
"Nothing, dear child, except take them, I really think. It was a realpleasure to Rita to give them to you, I am sure, and she could notpossibly wear a quarter of all the gowns she brought here. But see, herecomes our bird of paradise herself. Now we shall see something lovely!"
Rita came down the stairs, singing a little Spanish song. Her dress ofblack gauze fluttered in wide breezy folds, a gauze scarf floated fromher shoulders; she was indeed a vision of beauty, and the two cousinsgazed at her with delight. Advancing into the middle of the hall, sheswept a splendid courtesy, and suddenly unfurled a huge scarlet fan.With this, she proceeded to go through a series of astonishingperformances. She danced with it, she sang with it. She closed it, andit was a dagger, and she swooped upon an invisible enemy, and stabbedhim to the heart; she flung it open, and it became the messenger oflove, over which her black eyes gleamed and glowed in irresistiblecoquetry. All the time she kept up a dramatic chant, sometimes sinkingalmost to a whisper, again rising to a shriek of joy or passion.Suddenly she stopped.
"All this is play!" she said, turning to her rapt audience.
/> "Now you shall see the real thing: you shall see _Cuba libre_. But forthis I must have another person; it is impossible to do it alone.Margaret,--no! Peggy can better do this! Peggy, come, and you shall beSpain, the tyrant."
Peggy looked as if she would much rather be aspiring Cuba, but she cameforward obediently, and was bidden to put herself in an attitude ofinsolent defiance. Peggy scowled and doubled up her fists, thinking of apicture of a prizefighter that she had once seen.
"_Ahi!_" cried Rita, springing upon her. "Not thus! you have the air ofa cross child. Thus, do you see? Fold the arms upon the chest, abase thehead, bring the eyebrows down till you have to look through them! So!that is better! Now gnaw your under lip, and draw in your breath with ahiss, thus!" and Rita herself uttered a hiss so malignant that poorPeggy started back in affright. "But be still!" cried Rita, "you are nowperfect. You are an object--is she not, Marguerite?--to turn cold theblood." Margaret did not commit herself, being wholly occupied inkeeping back the smiles that Peggy's aspect called forth. She certainlywas an object, poor dear child, but Rita was so absorbed in her playthat she saw nothing absurd even in a tyrant scowling through flaxeneyebrows with a pair of helpless, frightened blue eyes. She now drewback, knelt, flung up her arms, and raised her eyes to heaven. Her lipsmoved; she was praying for the success of her cause. Rising, she cameforward, and with noble earnestness demanded her freedom. The tyrant wasbidden to look about on the ruin and desolation that he had wrought; hewas implored by all that was holy, all that was just and noble, towithdraw from the land where he had long ceased to have any real rightof ownership. Peggy, in obedience to whispered orders, shook her headwith stubborn violence, and stamped her foot. Cuba then, drawing herselfto her full height, threw down her gage of defiance (a tinypearl-covered glove) and declared war to extermination. The banner offreedom (the fan) was unfurled and waved on high, the national song waschanted, and the war began. Spain, the tyrant, now had a hard time ofit. She was pounced upon from one side, then from another; she wassurrounded, hustled this way and that; the fan was fluttered wide in herface, poked sharply between her ribs. A single straightforward blow fromher strong young arm would have laid the slender Cuba at her feet, butshe could strike no blow. She was only to hiss, and clutch the air inimpotent fury, and when she did this, Margaret had such anuncontrollable fit of coughing that it almost produced an armistice.
"CUBA LIBRE."]
Now Spain was told that she was growing weak, a decrepit, bleeding oldwoman. Her fate was upon her; let her die!
Obeying the imperious gesture, Peggy sank on her knees, and had thesatisfaction of hearing that "the old serpent died bravely." The fan didmore and more dreadful execution, and now she lay gasping, dying, on thefloor. Standing above her was a triumphant young goddess, waving theflag of _Cuba libre_, and declaring, with her foot on the neck of theprostrate tyrant, that despotism was dead, and that Freedom wasdescending from heaven, robed in the Cuban colours, and surrounded by achoir of angels, all singing the national anthem. And here Rita actuallypulled from her bosom a small flag showing the Cuban colours, and wavedit, crying that the blood-red banner of war (the fan) was now furledforever, and that Cuba and the United States, now twin sisters, wouldproceed to rule the world after the most approved methods. This endedthe scene, and the two actors stood before Margaret, one very red andsheepish, the other glowing like flame with pride and enthusiasm,awaiting her plaudits. Margaret clapped and shouted as loud as shecould, and expressed her admiration warmly enough; but Rita shook herhead and sighed.
"Ah, for an audience!" she cried. "To pour out one's heart, to live thelife of one's country, and have but one to see it,--it is sad, it istragic. Do I exaggerate, Marguerite?--it is death-dealing!" Then shepraised Peggy, and told her that she had made a magnificent tyrant, andhad died as game as possible. "Ah!" she said. "What it would be if youcould only do something real for Cuba! I would shed my blood, would pourout its ultimate drops (Rita's idioms were apt to become foreign whenshe was excited), but if you also could do something, my cousins, whatglory, what joy for you; and it may be possible. No, hush! not a word!At present, I breathe not a whisper, I am the grave. But there may comea day, an hour, when I shall call to you with the voice of a trumpet;and you,--you will awaken, halves of my heart; you will spring to myside, you will--Marguerite, you are laughing! At what, I ask you?"
"I beg your pardon, dear," said Margaret. "I was only thinking that atrumpet might really be needed, since a bell is not loud enough. Thedinner-bell rang five minutes ago, and Elizabeth has come to see what weare about."
But at sight of Elizabeth, standing demurely in the doorway, _Cubalibre_ vanished, and there remained only a very pretty young lady inthe sulks, who had to be coaxed for five minutes more before she wouldcome to her dinner.
"Am I seventeen, or thirty-seven?" thought Margaret, as she finally ledthe way to the dining-room.