Produced by Daniel Lowe, Melissa McDaniel and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive)
Miss Fairfax of Virginia
A ROMANCE OF LOVE AND ADVENTURE UNDER THE PALMETTOS
BY ST. GEORGE RATHBORNE
AUTHOR OF
"Doctor Jack," "A Fair Revolutionist," "A Sailor's Sweetheart,""A Chase for a Bride," etc.
Publisher's stamp]
NEW YORK STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS 238 WILLIAM STREET
COPYRIGHT. 1899, BY STREET & SMITH.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. PERHAPS LOVERS ONCE, STRANGERS NOW. CHAPTER II. ALAS! FOR THE GAME THAT FAILED TO WORK. CHAPTER III. AT DAGGERS' POINTS. CHAPTER IV. MILLIONS MAY NOT PURCHASE LOVE. CHAPTER V. RODERIC'S REPENTANCE. CHAPTER VI. ON THE BORDERS OF PARADISE. CHAPTER VII. THE SWORD DUEL IN THE EAST INDIAN BUNGALOW. CHAPTER VIII. "ADIOS, BELOVED!" CHAPTER IX. DOWN THE IRISH COAST. CHAPTER X. FOR ONE NIGHT AT THE AZORES. CHAPTER XI. THE LADY ON THE QUARTER DECK. CHAPTER XII. THE MAN WHO MADE SIGNS. CHAPTER XIII. ADONIS ON A NEW TACK. CHAPTER XIV. A CHASE TO THE YACHT. CHAPTER XV. CAPTAIN BOB GUESSES NOT. CHAPTER XVI. THE INVASION OF SAN JUAN. CHAPTER XVII. THE BOLERO DANCER WITH THE GYPSY BLOOD. CHAPTER XVIII. JULIO DECLARES FOR WAR. CHAPTER XIX. BY WAY OF THE BALCONY. CHAPTER XX. A RENDEZVOUS AT THE TOBACCONIST'S. CHAPTER XXI. THE MONSTER COMES AGAIN. CHAPTER XXII. TO THE OLD FORTRESS. CHAPTER XXIII. HOW THEY WENT IN. CHAPTER XXIV. THE STRANGE MEETING IN THE DUNGEON. CHAPTER XXV. WHEN THE OFFICER OF THE GUARD CAME. CHAPTER XXVI. A RACE TO THE BOAT. CHAPTER XXVII. WHEN THE SPANISH FLAG LEFT PORTO RICO FOREVER.
Miss Fairfax of Virginia
CHAPTER I.
PERHAPS LOVERS ONCE, STRANGERS NOW.
The genial summer sun had long since dropped behind the Irish hills,and the glowing lights of old Dublin were set like rare jewels upon thedark bosom of mother earth when Roderic Owen, with a fragrant cigarbetween his teeth, walked to and fro under the shadow of Nelson'scolumn in historic Sackville street, now better known among loyalcitizens under the name of O'Connell.
Owen only arrived from Liverpool on the Holyhead steamer that veryday and had passed some hours upon various tramcars, surveying thoseportions of the famous city they traversed.
It may have given him a thrill of satisfaction to realize that he oncemore stood on his native heath, which land the exile had not seensince, a child of tender years, he left it in company with his heartbroken parents; but two decades in the atmosphere of free America hadmade a full-fledged Yankee out of him, and his heart was wholly pledgedto the interests of America.
Business had more to do with his flying visit across the Irish seathan a desire to look upon the scenes of childhood--these tenderrecollections might be all very good in their way, but when his countrywas at war with one of the old world powers, young Owen's heart andsoul were wrapped up in the interests he represented, and the statemission that had taken him over the Atlantic.
The public will never learn more than a small portion of the unwrittenhistory of the Hispano-American war, since these memoirs are snuglyreposing in the archives at Washington, where they will rest untildusty with age.
Secret agents were employed in many European capitals in the endeavorto discover the true sentiments of the powers most interested, sothat in case unhappy Spain seemed in a way to secure an ally, promptmeasures might be taken to head off the threatened blow by a sudden_coup d'etat_, in which our good friend Great Britain stood ready to doher part.
Roderic Owen, being peculiarly gifted by nature with rare abilitiesin the line of diplomacy, had been remarkably useful in Berlin, Parisand Vienna, and was now suddenly transferred to another famous capitalbecause it appeared as though Dublin might be the theatre of a littlegathering where matters of intense moment were to be discussed.
It was evident from his manner that he had made the Nelson column arendezvous. His eyes followed each tramcar that passed, and never ajaunting-car jogged by that he did not survey with growing interest.A hot blooded Spanish lover awaiting the coming of the black-eyedsenorita with whom he had made a tryst could hardly have appeared moreanxious.
He had just tossed away the remnant of his weed and was feeling for hiscigar case to draw out another when the expected happened.
"At last!" he muttered, with a sigh of relief.
Still he made no abrupt forward movement--caution had been one ofthe fruits of long diplomatic service. "Everything comes to him whowaits--and works," is the leading maxim of their craft.
A woman dismounted from a Rathmines car that had just arrived at theterminus of its journey. She was garbed in the sombre black habilimentsof a religious recluse belonging to one of the many orders in Dublin.These nuns, serving often in the capacity of Sisters of Charity, comeand go with the utmost freedom, respected by the humble classes to whomthey are often angelic messengers in times of distress or sickness.
Just as he expected the sombre robed passenger came slowly toward himas though endeavoring to make sure of his identity ere accosting him.
Owen could _feel_ a pair of eager eyes fastened upon his face, forthere is such a sensation, and it surprised him to experience it.
Then came a low voice breathing his name, and somehow it had neverbefore sounded just the same to him, nor had he known there was musicin its bare utterance.
"I have waited about half an hour for you," remarked the American,complacently.
"Ah! senor, I am sorry. It was not my fault I assure you," sheexclaimed, eagerly.
"I am certain of that, lady. Besides, I have no right to complain whenone whom I do not even know goes to this great trouble in order to dome a service."
She moved uneasily at his words, and as if fearful lest his ardent gazemight penetrate beneath the veil she wore, one little white hand creptout from the folds of her sable robe to rearrange the crepe.
Owen smiled, for this act of caution had revealed much to him--uponthose plump fingers shone rings set with flashing gems, such as nomember of a holy order would dare wear.
Thus, without asking a question, he knew his _vis-à-vis_ to be indisguise.
More than this, the unconscious desire to make sure that her face wasconcealed gave him the impression that they must have met before. Asyet her voice had only sounded in low, whispered cadence, but it wasrich and musical, and somehow seemed to arouse dim, uncertain memorieswhich in good time after much groping, he would doubtless be able toplace.
She looked around with some concern, for the locality being central wasnever quiet, upon which he said:
"Let us walk toward O'Connell bridge, and you can explain more fullythe meaning of your note, as you promised. I assure you the interesttaken in my welfare is appreciated, and if I can return the favor youhave only to speak."
"You mistake, senor--I do not seek a reward. Chancing to know that youwere the object of a base plot, I thought it only my duty to warn you."
"Because your vows constrained you?"
She appeared somewhat annoyed.
"Because heaven inspires every honest heart to desire the confusion ofevil schemes."
"Pardon--I was foolish for an instant to believe my personality couldhave anything to do with it. Undoubtedly your love of fair play musthave impelled you to do the same for any poor devil."
"Senor, you have no right to question my motives."
"I am a brute--you are an angel come to my assistance.
Let us thenproceed to business. From whence does this threatening danger come--inwhich quarter am I to guard against secret foes?"
"You do not seem to be alarmed?"
"Does that surprise you, lady? Surely then you are not well acquaintedwith Anglo-Saxon blood. We who sup with danger, learn to despise it. Isay this deliberately and without boasting."
"Ah! yes, I had forgotten your mission abroad. Your government wouldnever have sent any but a brave cavalier to take such desperatechances. _Hola!_ it is a pleasure to meet a man who does not shrinkfrom a hazard."
"Pardon the curiosity--but are you not Spanish?" he asked, steadily--itwas of considerable importance that he should know this fact, for themost able diplomat may well look to his laurels when pitted against afemale Richelieu.
She answered frankly, almost eagerly.
"My people are of Spanish blood, but I have only once seen Spain. I am_hija de Puerto Rico_."
How proudly she declared it.
"A daughter of Porto Rico--I am pleased to know it, for that lovelyisland will soon rest beneath the starry banner. A grand future awaitsher under the new dispensation. I have been in San Juan myself, andshall never cease to remember that quaint city."
Perhaps the evening breeze brought with it a breath of chilly fog fromoff old Dublin bay--at any rate the wearer of the sombre nun's garbshivered a little and seemed to shrink back from the American.
"Now," continued Owen, cheerily, as though his quick eye had not notedwith considerable surprise this peculiar action on her part, "we havereached the bridge. Tell me whence comes this danger?"
"There is one whom you have believed a friend, Senor Owen. Trust himnot, for he has sworn to work your downfall."
"Which is very interesting, to say the least. Am I to be arrested asa Fenian suspect, come over the big pond to duplicate the Burke andCavendish tragedy of Phœnix park? Or is this sly schemer a Spanishsympathizer in the pay of Sagasta?"
"You have said it, senor--the last is the truth. But there ismore--another reason why he hates you."
"Perhaps you wouldn't mind mentioning it?"
"His name first--it is Jerome Wellington."
Owen seemed startled.
"Confusion--I never suspected that _he_ was in Sagasta's pay. LuckilyI have made it a rule to be as close mouthed as an oyster with regardto all state secrets. So friend Jerome has a private grudge against me.When have I trod upon his toes? Kindly enlighten me, good angel?"
"It is on her account--the dashing Senorita Cleo," came the muffledanswer, and again Owen knew the eyes back of the veil were fastenedintently upon him as though to read his secret.
Thereupon he pursed up his mustached lip and emitted a low, incredulouswhistle.
"Cleo Fairfax, my independent cousin, the daughter of ten millions,what has she to do with the case? Is Jerome jealous--does he seek herhand--well, let him sail in and win. I shall not stand in the way, forit has never occurred to me to fall in love with my cousin."
"Ah! senor, that is very well, but this man who is as handsome as anAdonis hates you because he knows the American senorita loves you."
"What! Cleo loves me--incredible--impossible."
"More, she adores you."
"Senorita, you surely jest or dream."
"I speak what I know, and the fact is patent to everyone that you havebut to declare a word to bring this lovely girl and her millions toyour arms."
"God forbid that I should ever speak that word, unless I truly lovedher as a man should the girl he means to make his wife. It is, I sayagain, impossible that such a thing can be."
"Few things are impossible, senor."
"But--there are impediments in the way."
"Perhaps none that might not be swept aside."
"Above all, I do not love her--it is ridiculous, and never enteredinto my mind. And so Jerome has conjured up a delightful hatred forme because, by Jove, he chooses to _imagine_--you see I lay especialemphasis on that word, for I can't believe it possible--that thisfavored daughter of fortune gives me more than cousinly regard. Well,if it pleases Jerome to indulge in such capers, I'm not the one tocry quits. My duty as well as my privilege is to meet him half way. Iimagine you may be in a position to tell me how he means to strike. Itis awful kind of you to take such trouble."
The thought had suddenly occurred to him that perhaps she might havecome from Cleo, and he winced at the verbatim report of his declarationshe must necessarily take back; but it was the truth, and Roderic Owenhad always made a point to stick to his guns in action.
She was growing uneasy, as though fearful lest he might allow hiscuriosity respecting her identity get the better of his gentlemanlyinstincts. So when she spoke again it was hurriedly, her mannerbetraying a desire to end the interview.
"I have gone so far that it only remains for me to tell you the natureof the plot whereby this jealous fortune seeker hopes not only to ruinyou in the eyes of the Senorita Cleo, but before your government aswell.
"You are staying at the Shelbourne hotel. Your room overlooks thecascade in St. Stevens green. You have arranged to meet one at the parkgate at twelve to-night, expecting to receive information respectingthe clique of Spanish sympathizers at present sojourning in Dublin asa city least suspected of harboring America's foes. They have comehere in the hope of arousing the slumbering Fenian spirit should GreatBritain join the states against France or Germany.
"Your expected informant is in their pay--he intends to suddenly pounceupon you and, aided by allies in hiding carry you off. It will be madeto appear that you have abandoned your patriotic mission, and fled witha well known adventuress to the gaming tables of Monte Carlo."
"The duse! This is a nice kettle of fish. And only for you I might havefallen a victim of the plot. But forewarned is forearmed. Some oneshall take my place, since it would be a pity they should have theirlabor for nothing. It shall be diamond cut diamond from this hour. Andnow, believe me, I am duly sensible of the great service you had doneme, lady. God knows it would give me pleasure to reciprocate should theoccasion ever arise."
"I believe it--I know it, Senor Owen," she said, with some confusion.
"I do not ask your name--that you wish it to remain a secret is enoughfor me. But at least you will shake hands before we part. It is a partof an American's code, you know--add one more obligation to those youhave heaped upon me. Do not refuse, I beg."
She had shrunk back as though alarmed at the prospect, but his_debonair_ manner, together with the absurdity of the fear that almostoverwhelmed her seemed to force her to meet his friendly advances, anda little hand crept shyly out from among the dusky robes, advancinghalf way.
Roderic Owen clasped it in his own, and was conscious of a mostremarkable sensation that seemed to flash along his arm until itfinally brought up in the region of his heart.
It may have been electricity, or some kindred element, but all the samehe considered it exceeding queer.
Perhaps in his warmth he pressed her hand so that the setting of herrings inflicted pain. At any rate she gave a little exclamation.
"Forgive me; I forgot your rings, idiot that I am," and with agallantry he must have inherited from ancestors who once ruled in thisever green isle he hastily raised the bruised digits to his lips.
This caused her to snatch away her hand and with a hasty "_buenosnoches_" hurry to meet a tramcar coming from the monument.
Before Owen could fully recover from his surprise she had entered thedouble decked vehicle of transportation, and was lost to his sight.
He stood there, leaning against the stone railing of O'Connell bridgeand looking after the car, a very much puzzled man.
"Ah!" he ejaculated, as snatching out his handkerchief he waved itvigorously in response to the one that fluttered from the open windowof the humble tramcar.
Then the man from over the sea mechanically drew out his cigar case,selected a weed, struck a match on the stone coping of the bridge, andbegan to puff away as though he might in this manner free his brain
ofthe mental cobwebs that seemed to clog his clear reasoning.
At the same time he started in the direction of Trinity College,swinging a stout cane, and musing upon the singular events that had onthis night opened a new chapter in his experience.
And somehow it seemed to the adventurous Owen that they bore a definiteconnection with his past--again he heard that voice sounding as withthe music of sweet birds--its dim echo, so familiar and yet eludinghis grasp like a fluttering will-o'-the-wisp, how exasperating it was.Where had he met this seeming nun in the sable robe, and who was she?
Then suddenly he saw a great light--the confused memories drifted intoone clear vision. Again he stood on the brilliantly lighted GrandPlaza of the Porto Rican capital with surging crowds of officers andcivilians around him, while a really excellent military band playedthe beautiful, voluptuous airs of sunny Spain--again he heard a voice,sweet as that of a lark, floating upon the night air from an openwindow, and singing a serenade--Roderic was carried back two years inhis life to scenes that had been marked by stormy passion, and therealization gave him a tremendous shock.
He had reached the vicinity of Trinity's bold Campanile when this boltwent home, and the effect was so great as to actually bring him to afull stop, with held breath.
"By Jove! to think I never suspected the amazing truth when talkingwith her. Now I know it, I can swear to it--the same voice, which Ihave never heard equaled. And she has done this thing for _me_, RodericOwen, whom possibly she has reason to hate. Heavens! there is somefatality back of it all, and we are but puppets on life's great stage,playing our little parts automatically. God alone sees the end. Yes,that was Georgia de Brabant, the charming maid of San Juan, over whomhalf the Spanish officers raved, about whom more than a few duels werefought, and with whose fate my own life thread became entangled ina way that has forever prevented my loving cousin Cleo or any otherwoman. The past then is _not_ dead--again she enters my life--she comeslike an angel of light to save me from being made the victim of afoul plot. That would indicate anything but hate. What lies before memortal cannot guess, but my duty is clear, and come weal come woe, I ambound to serve my country first, last and always, no matter what thesacrifice. And ye gods, I kissed the hand whereon perhaps dazzled _his_rings."