The Velvet Glove

by Henry Seton Merriman

  CHAPTER XXI

  JUANITA GROWS UPMarcos' horse, the Moor, had performed the journey to Pampeluna once inthe last twelve hours. He was a strong horse accustomed to long journeys.But Marcos chose another, an older and staider animal of less value,better fitted for night work.

  He wished to do the journey quickly and return by breakfast-time; he wasnot in a mood to spare his beast. Men who live in stirring times and meetdeath face to face quite familiarly from day to day, as Englishmen meetthe rain, soon acquire the philosophy which consists in taking the goodthings the gods send them, unhesitatingly and thankfully.

  Juanita was at Torre Garda at last--after months of patient waiting andwatching, after dangers foreseen and faced--that was enough for Marcos deSarrion.

  He therefore pressed his horse. Although he was alert and watchfulbecause it was his habit to be so, he was less careful perhaps thanusual; he rode at a greater pace than was prudent on such a road, by sodark a night.

  The spring comes early on the Southern slope of the Pyrenees. It was awarm night and there had been no rain for some days. The dust lay thicklyon the road, muffling the beat of the horse's feet. The Wolf roared inits narrow bed. The road, only recently made practicable for carriages atSarrion's expense, was not a safe one. It hung like a cornice on theleft-hand bank of the river and at certain corners the stones fell fromthe mountain heights almost continuously. In other places the heavy stonebuttresses had been undermined by the action of the river. It was a roadthat needed continuous watching and repair. But Marcos had ridden over ita few hours earlier and there had been no change of weather since.

  He knew the weak places and passed them carefully. Three miles below thevillage, the river passes through a gorge and the road mounts to the lipof the overhanging cliffs. There is no danger here; for there are nofalling stones from above. It is to this passage that the Wolf owes itsname and in a narrow place invisible from the road the water seems togrowl after the manner of a wild beast at meat.

  Marcos' horse knew the road well enough, which, moreover, was easy here.For it is cut from the rock on the left-hand side, while its outerboundary is marked at intervals by white stones. The horse was perhapstoo cautious. By night a rider must leave to his mount the decision as towhat hills may be descended at a trot. Marcos knew that the old horsebeneath him invariably decided to walk down the easiest declivity. At thesummit of the road the horse was trotting at a long, regular stride. Onthe turn of the hill he proposed to stop, although he must have knownthat the descent was easy. Marcos touched him with the spur and hestarted forward. The next instant he fell so suddenly and badly that hisforehead scraped the road.

  Marcos was thrown so hard and so far that he fell on his head andshoulder three feet in front of the horse. It was the narrowest place inthe whole road, and the knowledge of this flashed through Marcos' mind ashe fell. He struck one of the white stones that mark the boundary of theroad, and heard his collar-bone snap like a dry stick. Then he rolledover the edge of the precipice into the blackness filled by the roar ofthe river.

  He still had one hand whole and ready, though the skin was scraped fromit, and the fingers of this hand were firmly twisted into the bridle. Hehung for a moment jerked hither and thither by the efforts of the horseto pick himself up on the road above. A stronger jerk lifted him to theedge of the road, and Marcos, hanging there for an instant, found aninsecure foothold for one foot in the root of an overhanging bush. Butthe horse was nearer to the edge now; he was half over and might fall atany moment.

  It flashed through Marcos' mind that he must live at all costs. There wasno one to care for Juanita in the troubled times that were coming.Juanita was his only thought. And he fought for his life with skill andthat quickness of perception which is the real secret of success in humanaffairs.

  He jerked on the bridle with all the strength of his iron muscle; jerkedhimself up on the road and the horse over into the gorge. As the horsefell it lashed out wildly; its hind foot touched the back of Marcos' headand seemed almost to break his spine.

  He rolled over on his side, choking. He did not lose consciousness atonce, but knew that oblivion was coming. Perro, the dog, had beenexcitedly skirmishing round, keeping clear of the horse's heels and doinglittle else. He now looked over after the horse and Marcos saw his leanbody outlined against the sky. He had let the reins go and found that hewas grasping a stone in his bleeding fingers instead. He threw the stoneat Perro and hit him. The surprised yelp was the last sound he heard asthe night of unconsciousness closed over him.

  Juanita had gone to bed very tired. She slept the profound sleep of youthand physical fatigue for an hour. In the ordinary way she would haveslept thus all night. But at midnight she found herself wide-awake again.The first fatigue of the body was past, and the busy mind asserted itsrights again. She was not conscious of having anything to think about.But the moment she was half awake the thoughts leapt into her mind andawoke her completely.

  She remembered again the startling silence of Torre Garda, which was insome degree intensified by the low voice of the river. She lifted herhead to listen and caught her breath at the instant realisation of thesound quite near at hand. It was the patter of feet on the terrace belowher window. Perro had returned. Marcos must therefore be back again. Shedropped her head sleepily on the pillow, expecting to hear some sound inthe house indicative of Marcos' return, but not intending to lie awake tolisten for it.

  She did not fall asleep again, however, and Perro continued to patterabout on the terrace below as if he were going from window to windowseeking an entrance. Juanita began to listen to his movements, expectinghim to whimper, and in a few moments he fulfilled her anticipation bygiving a little uneasy sound between his teeth. In a moment Juanita wasout of bed and at the open window. Perro would awake Sarrion and Marcos,who must be very tired. It was a woman's instinct. Juanita was growingup.

  Perro heard her, and in obedience to her whispered injunction stoodstill, looking up at her and wagging his uncouth tail slowly. But he gaveforth the uneasy sound again between his teeth.

  Juanita went back into her room; found her slippers and dressing-gown.But she did not light a candle. She had acquired a certain familiaritywith the night from Marcos, and it seemed natural at Torre Garda to fallinto the habits of those who lived there. She went the whole length ofthe balcony to Marcos' room, which was at the other end of the house,while Perro conscientiously kept pace with her on the terrace below.

  Marcos' window was shut, which meant that he was not there. When he wasat home his window stood open by night or day, winter or summer.

  Juanita returned to Sarrion's room, which was next to her own. The windowwas ajar. The Spaniards have the habit of the open air more than anyother nation of Europe. She pushed the window open.

  "Uncle Ramon," she whispered. But Sarrion was asleep. She went into theroom, which was large and sparsely furnished, and, finding the bed, shookhim by the shoulder.

  "Uncle Ramon," she said, "Perro has come back ... alone."

  "That is nothing," he replied, reassuringly, at once. "Marcos, no doubt,sent him home. Go back to bed."

  She obeyed him, going slowly back to the open window. But she pausedthere.

  "Listen," she said, with an uneasy laugh. "He has something on his mind.He is whimpering. That is why I woke you."

  "He often whimpers when Marcos is away. Tell him to be quiet, and then goback to bed," said Sarrion.

  She obeyed him, setting the window and the jalousie ajar after her as shehad found them. But Sarrion did not go to sleep again. He listened forsome time. Perro was still pattering to and fro on the terrace, givingfrom time to time his little plaint of uneasiness between his closedteeth.

  At length Sarrion rose and struck a light. It was one o'clock. He dressedquickly and noiselessly and went down-stairs, candle in hand. The stableat Torre Garda stands at the side of the house, a few feet behind itagainst the hillside. In this remote spot, with but one egress to theouter world, bolts and locks are not co
nsidered a necessity of life.Sarrion opened the door of the house where the grooms and their familieslived, and went in.

  In a few moments he returned to the stable-yard, accompanied by the manwho had driven Juanita and Cousin Peligros from Pampeluna a few hoursearlier. Together they got out the same carriage and a pair of horses. Bythe light of a stable lantern they adjusted the harness. Then Sarrionreturned to the house for his cloak and hat. He brought with him Marcos'rifle which stood in a rack in the hall and laid it on the seat of thecarriage. The man was already on the box, yawning audibly and withoutrestraint.

  As Sarrion seated himself in the carriage he glanced upwards. Juanita wasstanding on the balcony, at the corner by Marcos' window, looking down athim, watching him silently. Perro was already out of the gate in thedarkness, leading the way.

  They were not long absent. Perro was no genius, but what he did know, heknew thoroughly, which for practical purposes is almost as good. He ledthem to the spot little more than three miles down the valley, whereMarcos lay at the side of the road, which is white and dusty. It wasquite easy to perceive the dark form lying there, and Perro's lean limbsshaking over it.

  When the carriage returned Juanita was standing at the open door. She hadlighted the lamp in the hall and carried in her hand a lantern which shemust have found in the kitchen. But she had awakened none of theservants, and was alone, still in her dressing-gown, with her dark hairflying in the breeze.

  She came forward to the carriage and held up the lantern.

  "Is he dead?" she asked quietly.

  Sarrion did not answer at once. He was sitting in one corner of thecarriage, with Marcos' head and shoulders resting on his knees.

  "I do not know how badly he is hurt," he answered at length. "We calledat the chemist's as we came through the village and awoke him. He hasbeen an army servant and is as good as a doctor--"

  "If the Senorita will hold the horses," interrupted the coachman, pushingJuanita gently aside, "we will carry him up-stairs."

  And something in the man's manner made her think that Marcos was dead.She was compelled to wait there at least ten minutes, holding the horses.When at length he returned she did not wait to ask questions, but lefthim and ran up-stairs.

  In Marcos' room she found Sarrion lighting a lamp. Marcos had been laidon the bed. She glanced at him, holding her lower lip between her teeth.His face was covered with dust and blood. One blood-stained hand layacross his chest, the other was stretched by his side, unnaturallystraight.

  Sarrion looked up at her and was about to speak when she forestalled him.

  "It is no good telling me to go away," she said, "because I won't."

  Then she turned to get a sponge and water. Sarrion was already busy atMarcos' collar, which he had unbuttoned. Suddenly he changed his mind andturned away.

  "Undo his collar," he said. "I will go down-stairs and get some warmwater."

  He took the candle and left Juanita alone with Marcos. She did as she wastold and bent over him. Her fingers had caught in a string fastened roundMarcos' neck. She brought the lamp nearer. It was her own wedding ring,which she had returned to him after so brief a use of it through the barsof the little window looking on to the Calle de la Dormitaleria atPampeluna.

  She tried to undo the knot, but failed to do so. She turned quickly, andtook the scissors from the dressing-table and cut the cord, which was apiece of old fishing-line, frayed and worn by friction against the rocksof the river. Juanita hastily thrust the cord into her pocket and drewthe ring less quickly on to that finger for which it had been destined.

  When Sarrion returned to the room a minute later she was carefully andslowly cutting the sleeve of the injured arm.

  "Do you know, Uncle Ramon," she said cheerfully, "I am sure--I ampositively certain he will recover, poor old Marcos."

  Sarrion glanced at her sharply, as if he had detected a new note in hervoice. And his eye fell on her left hand. He made no answer.