XXVI.
The next morning Casa Grande was thrown into consternation. ValenciaMenendez was in a raging fever, and had to be held in her bed.
After breakfast I sent for Estenega and told him of what I had seen.In the first place I had to tell some one, and in the second I thoughtto end his infatuation and avert further trouble. "You firebrand!" Iexclaimed, in conclusion. "You see the mischief you have worked! Youwill go, now, thank heaven--and go cured."
"I will go,--for a time," he said. "This mood of hers must wearitself out. But, if I loved her before, I worship her now. She ismagnificent!--a woman with the passions of hell and the sweetness ofan angel. She is the woman I have waited for all my life,--the onlywoman I have ever known. Some day I will take her in my arms and tellher that I understand her."
"Diego," I said, divided between despair and curiosity, "you havefancied many women: wherein does your feeling for Chonita differ? Howcan you be sure that this is love? What is your idea of love?"
He sat down and was silent for a moment, then spoke thoughtfully:"Love is not passion, for one may feel that for many women; notaffection, for friendship demands that. Not even sympathy andcomradeship; one can find either with men. Nor all, for I have feltall, yet something was lacking. Love is the mysterious turning of oneheart to another with the promise of a magnetic harmony, a strangeoriginal delight, a deep satisfaction, a surety of permanence, whichdid either heart roam the world it never would find again. It is theknowledge that did the living body turn to corruption, the spiritwithin would still hold and sway the steel which had rushed unerringlyto its magnet. It is the knowledge that weakness will only arousetenderness, never disgust, as when the fancy reigns and the heartsleeps; that faults will clothe themselves in the individuality of theowner and become treasures to the loving mind that sees, but worships.It is the development of the highest form of selfishness, thepassionate and abiding desire to sacrifice one's self to the happinessof one beloved. Above all, it is the impossibility to cease to love,no matter what reason, or prudence, or jealousy, or disapproval, orterrible discoveries, may dictate. Let the mind sit on high and arguethe soul's mate out of doors, it will rebound, when all is said anddone, like a rubber ball when the pressure of the finger is removed.As for Chonita she is the lost part of me."
He left that day, and without seeing Chonita again. Valencia was inwildest delirium for a week; at the end of the second every hair onher head, her brows, and her eyelashes had fallen. She looked like awhite mummy, a ghastly pitiful caricature of the beautiful woman whosearrows quivered in so many hearts. They rolled her in a blanket andtook her home; and then I sought Chonita, who had barely left herroom and never gone to Valencia's. I told her that I had witnessed thecurse, and described the result.
"Have you no remorse?" I asked.
"None."
"You have ruined the beauty, the happiness, the fortune, of anotherwoman."
"I have done what I intended."
"Do you realize that again you have raised a barrier between yourselfand your religion? You do not look very repentant."
"Revenge is sweeter than religion."
Then in a burst of anger I confessed that I had told Estenega. For amoment I thought her terrible hatred was about to hurl its vengeanceat me; but she only asked,--
"What did he say?"
Unwillingly, I repeated it, but word for word. And as I spoke, herface softened, the austerity left her features, an expression ofpassionate gratitude came into her eyes.
"Did he say that, Eustaquia?"
"He did."
"Say it again, please."
I did so. And then she put her hands to her face, and cried, andcried, and cried.
The Doomswoman: An Historical Romance of Old California Page 26