CHAPTER VIII.
THE PARTING SUPPER.
When Arthur Gordon issued out into the quiet court-yard, he found thePartisan tranquilly superintending the preparations of the dragoons,who had already lighted a fire near the fountain and having rubbeddown their chargers which were busy about better provender than theyhad enjoyed for many a day, were now making their arrangements for thenight.
The Partisan, having seen the baggage all packed securely, went backand entered the rancho, and crossing over to Marguerita asked her toguard Julia as she would a sister.
"I will guard her as my sister; as my life," she answered. "No harmshall come to her, save through my life. You shall find her safe whenyou return, or you shall find us together."
"I know it," he said, gloomily. "I know it, Marguerita. Yet, I think weshall never meet again," he added, in a whisper.
"We shall--we shall meet again!" she exclaimed, almost triumphantly."If not on earth--there, there, where there are no wars, and noenemies--where we shall part no more forever!"
"Amen!" replied Pierrie.
Two hours later, and the horse-tramps of the dragoons had died awayin the distance, and Julia had wept herself into forgetfulness of hersorrows on the bosom of Marguerita.
* * * * *
The morning which followed the departure of Pierre Delacroix and hiscompanions from the ruined rancho, dawned as serene and gentle as thewaking of a new-born child.
The song of birds and the distant water-fall hailed Julia, as she awokefrom her slumbers; and the soft, melancholy singing of Margueritasuddenly reminded her where she was.
A moment afterwards the song ceased, the door flew open, and Margueritaentered, leaving several choice and dainty eatables, and addressed herguest:
"You must pardon me, lady, if I perform these little offices myself,and intrude my services upon you, for the fortunes of war have imposedthe task of such light labours on me, happier than many of my sisters,who are reduced to utter penury and ruin."
"Pardon me, rather, dear Marguerita--for so you must let me callyou--that I permit you thus to wait on one, who is so far in every waybeneath you. Except," she added, with a winning smile, "that in alltimes and countries the character of a suppliant has been invested witha sort of mournful dignity."
"Is it so, lady?--is it so, indeed?" cried Marguerita, half eagerly,half-sorrowfully.
"Julia! Julia!" she cried, imploringly, "will you call me Julia? Icalled you Marguerita, dear, dear Marguerita."
"Julia--dear Julia, then," replied the Spanish girl, soothingly;"believe me, I thought not to wound you, but my heart bleeds, my heartburns when I think of my country and her wrongs. Hark!" she exclaimedin a low whisper, "heard you that?"
"Heard I what?" cried Julia, terrified beyond expression at the suddenchange in her tone, manner, and countenance; "I hear nothing but thewind, the birds, the water!"
"There--there again!" said the other, standing erect and motionless,with her finger upraised, her head thrown a little backward, her lipsapart, her nostrils dilated, her eyes fixed on vacancy. "There--thereit is again--they are coming!"
An instant afterwards the jingling of spurs and the clang of a steelscabbard on the stone pavement of the outer room was heard approachingthe door quickly.
Then Marguerita's face lightened for a moment as she sprang to meet thenew comer.
"It is Juan!" she cried, "it is my brother, and thanks be to God,alone!"
The door flew open, and on the threshold stood the young guerilla. Itwas the form of the Antinuous, without his effeminacy--it was the headof the conquering Bacchus, without the sensuality. A specimen moreperfect of young manhood never walked the earth.
"_Madre de Dios_, who is this?" he asked.
"Brother! Juan! brother!" exclaimed Marguerita, seizing him in herarms, and striving to embrace him.
"What have you done, mad girl? Who is this, I say, who is this,Marguerita?"
"A suppliant, a fugitive, a friend, a sister, a sister of thePartisan--of Pedro, my brother, Pedro el Salvador."
"An American," he said, slowly, his brow gradually uniting into ablack frown, as he uttered the word, and his eye growing lurid with aconcentrated fire, then laying his hand on the hilt of his stiletto, hemurmured through his set teeth, "She must die."
"Never, no! for your life! for your soul! for the name of God! for themost holy virgin! no, brother, no; not while I live! He brought herhere. He that preserved your life and my honour. He asked me to protecther! and I swore by my mother's soul; and now I swear it!"
"Fool!" he almost shouted in his rage, as he thrust her asideviolently, "Carrera will be here within ten minutes, and all our livesare forfeit by your treason."
"We can conceal her. In the niche, you know, in the niche. Sanchez andEstefania and Francisco need but a hint to make them mute as statues.We can conceal her, brother, and be saved."
"He knows that they came hither. We have traced their hoof-tracks tothe very gate. A wounded soldier saw them leave their hiding-place, andwe met Carrera on their track. I know not how we failed to meet them."
"Where is Estefania?"
"In arrest."
"And Francisco?"
"And he likewise."
"Then we are saved."
"How saved?"
"Go! Tell them, you, to swear that the dragoons forced our hospitalityby menace, which we could not resist. They were five strong--young men,well armed. What could we do?"
"It may save us--who knows?"
"It will save us! Do it. Away! Every moment is a life!"
Then, as he left the room in haste, she sprang up on the bed, toucheda spring in the wall, and the back of the shallow niche in which thecrucifix stood flew open, turning outward on a hinge, disclosing asmall circular closet, lighted by a small air-hole, and containing alow stone bench, wrought in the wall.
"Up, up!" she exclaimed, shaking Julia sharply by the arm.
And aroused from her prostration by the dreadful emergency, and nervedby the firmness of the Spanish maiden, Julia did rise, pale as a ghost,but calm and firm, and kissed and blessed her hostess, and mounted intothe small hiding place, and drew the secret door close after her.
Nearer and nearer came the bugle horn, and then the clang of hoofs, theorders of the officers, the din of the men dismounting, and the clashand clatter of their arms.
Hurriedly, in the meantime, had Marguerita thrust aside the fewarticles of Julia's clothing which were scattered about the room, butwhen she thought that all was safe, and the steps of the officerswere heard in the outer hall, she sat down quietly to her embroidery,and took up again her mournful song, and was singing tranquilly andunconcernedly, when her brother again entered the apartment.
The Silent Rifleman! A tale of the Texan prairies Page 8