Майн Рид
The Tiger Hunter
Chapter Twenty Four.
The Lovers alone
It may be that the haciendado had reasons for thus leaving his daughter alone with Don Rafael, during the few short moments that should elapse previous to the departure of the young officer.
The voices of the muleteers, who were busily lading the recua of Don Valerio, scarce reached the ears of the lovers, who were now embarrassed by the profound silence that reigned in the sala. It was the first time they had found themselves alone, since the arrival of the officer at the hacienda.
The sun was gilding the tops of the pomegranate trees, where the parroquets were joyously performing their gymnastic exercises; and the breeze which caressed the plants in the garden, wafted into the saloon the perfumes of a thousand flowers. It was a solemn and decisive moment. Gertrudis, happy, yet trembling for the words of love she expected to hear, sat with her face partially concealed behind the folds of her silken reboso. In her fingers she still held the scarf she had been embroidering; but, seeing that this betrayed the trembling of her hand, she placed it on a table by her side, lest Don Rafael might observe the emotion of which he was the author. It was the last effort of virgin pride – its last attempt at resistance before avowing itself overcome.
“Gertrudis!” said Don Rafael, endeavouring to stifle the pulsations of his heart, “I have spoken to your father. I wish to consecrate these few moments – the last I may ever pass in your presence – to an explanation between us. I implore you, then, to speak, as I intend speaking myself, without reserve – without ambiguity.”
“I promise you that, Don Rafael,” responded Gertrudis; “but what mysterious secret have you been communicating to my father?” added she, in a tone of gentle raillery.
“I told him,” replied the lover, “that I had come hither with my heart full of you; that my father’s message summoning me to his presence had been received by me as a voice calling me to bliss: since it gave me this opportunity of once more being near you. I told him how I had hurried over the immense distance that separated us; and how, in order that I might see you an hour sooner, I had disregarded the howling of the jaguars, and the threatening voice of the inundation – ”
Don Rafael became silent, perhaps from embarrassment, while Gertrudis still remained in a listening attitude. It was a melody to which she could have listened for ever!
“And when you told my father,” said she, after a pause of silence, “that – that – you loved me – did he exhibit any astonishment at the unexpected revelation?”
“No, not any,” replied the officer, himself a little surprised at the question thus put to him.
“That, then, must have been because I had already told him,” said the young beauty, with a smile as sweet as her voice. “But my father – what answer did he give you?”
“‘My dear Don Rafael,’ said he to me, ‘I would be most happy to see our families united. But this can only be with the consent of Gertrudis, and the free wish of her heart; and I have no reason to think that her heart is yours.’ Those were the terrible words that proceeded from the lips of your father. Gertrudis, do your lips confirm them?”
The voice of Don Rafael quivered as he spoke; and this trembling of a strong man – who never trembled in the presence of danger – was so delicious to the heart of her who loved him, as to hinder her from hastening to make reply.
On hearing the answer which her father had given to Don Rafael, the carnation upon her lips became of a deeper hue. She was biting them to restrain a smile. Assuming an air of gravity, however, which had the effect of rendering her lover still more anxious, she at length made reply —
“Don Rafael!” said she, “you have appealed to my candour, and I shall speak frankly to you. But swear to me that you will not regard my sincerity as a crime.”
“I swear it, Gertrudis! Speak without fear, though your words should crush a heart that is entirely your own.”
“Only on one condition can I speak freely.”
“Name it! it shall be observed.”
“It is, that – while I am making my confession to you, you will keep your eyes fixed upon the tops of those pomegranate trees. Without doing that you might risk not hearing certain things – in short, an avowal – such as you might wish.”
“I shall try to obey you,” answered Don Rafael, turning his gaze towards the tops of the trees, as if about to study the domestic habits of the parroquets, that still continued their evolutions among the branches.
In a timid and trembling voice, Gertrudis commenced —
“One day,” said she, “not very long ago – a young girl made a vow to the Virgin, to save the man she loved from fearful danger that threatened him. Don’t you think, Don Rafael, that that man was dearly loved?”
“That depends upon the nature of the vow,” replied the officer.
“You shall hear it. The young girl promised to the Virgin, that if her lover should escape from the danger, she would cause him to cut the hair – Oh! if you look at me I cannot go on – she would cause him to cut the hair from her head with his own hands – the long tresses which she herself highly valued, and which he had so passionately admired. In your opinion, was that man beloved?”
“Oh! who would not be proud to be so loved?” cried Don Rafael, casting a glance at his questioner that moved her to the depths of her soul.
“I have not yet finished,” said she. “Turn your eyes upon the trees, or perhaps you may not hear the end of my tale, and that might vex you. When this young girl, who had not hesitated to sacrifice her hair – the object of her constant care – the long silken tresses that encircled her head like the diadem of a queen, and which, perhaps, were, in her lover’s eyes, her greatest embellishment – when this poor girl will have cut – had cut them off, I should say – do you believe that her lover – you may look at me now, Don Rafael – I give you permission – do you believe that he would still love her as before?”
Don Rafael faced round suddenly at the question; not that he yet comprehended its import; but the tone of melancholy in which Gertrudis was speaking had profoundly moved him.
A tender tear – a tear of envy for the lot of this unknown, so passionately loved – glistened in his eye, as he made reply —
“Oh, Gertrudis!” said he, “no devotion could repay such a sacrifice as that; and the young girl you speak of, however beautiful she might be, could not be otherwise than an angel in the eyes of her lover.”
Gertrudis pressed her hand over her heart, to stay the flood of joyful emotion that was rushing through it.
After a pause she continued, her voice quivering as she spoke —
“Once more, and for the last time, I desire you to raise your eyes towards heaven. We have reason to be thankful to it.”
While Don Rafael obeyed the direction, Gertrudis permitted the reboso to fall from her shoulders; and with her fingers she removed the comb that imprisoned her shining hair, which, coiled up in two long plaited tresses, encircled her crown like a diadem. These she allowed to drop down at will, until they hung far below her waist. Then seizing in one hand the scissors she had just been using at her work, and with the other covering the crimson blush upon her cheek, she held forth the instrument, at the same time crying out —
“Now, Don Rafael! aid me in keeping my vow, by cutting for me the hair from my head.”
“I?” exclaimed Don Rafael, in whose ear her voice had sounded like the voice of an angel. “I?” repeated he, astounded at the proposal. “Gertrudis! Gertrudis!”
“I have promised it to the Virgin for saving you last night. Now do you comprehend, Don Rafael – my dearly beloved Rafael?”
“Oh, Gertrudis!” cried the lover, in an ecstasy of joy, “you should have prepared me more gradually for so much happiness.”
And kneeling in front of the young girl, he eagerly took hold of her hand, which no longer refused to let him touch it, but, on the contrary, was rather advanced to meet his lips.
“Is it my fault?” said Gertrudis, in a tone of sweet playfulness. “Is it my fault if men are slow at taking a hint? Santissima! for a full quarter of an hour, shameful as it may appear, have I been endeavouring to prepare you for what you call your happiness.” Then suddenly laying aside her playful tone, she continued – “But now, my dear Rafael, I must remember my vow. I have made it, and you must assist me in its accomplishment.”
“But why did you promise your hair?” inquired the lover, with a slight air of chagrin.
“Because I had nothing more valuable to offer in exchange for your life – mine perhaps as well. Oh! I am well repaid for the sacrifice by knowing that you love me. Come, Rafael! take the scissors.”
“Oh! I could never manage with that weak instrument,” said Don Rafael, speaking merely to gain time.
“Ah! are you going to complain of the trouble it will give you?” inquired Gertrudis, bending down towards her lover, who was still kneeling before her – “Come, my brave Rafael! Use these scissors. I command you.”
Don Rafael took the shining instrument in his trembling hand, but still hesitated to use them – like the woodman, who, with his axe raised against some noble tree of the forest he has been ordered to cut down, hesitates before striking the first blow. Gertrudis would have smiled to encourage him, but at that moment, as she looked upon those gorgeous tresses, so long and carefully guarded, and which, if unfolded, would have covered her like a shawl, the poor young girl could not hinder a tear from escaping her.
“Stay, my Rafael – a moment yet,” cried she, while the crimson blush mantled higher upon her cheeks. “I have long desired – dreamt of it as a supreme felicity – to entwine in these poor tresses the man whom I should one day love, and – and – ”
Before she could finish speaking, Don Rafael had caught the perfumed tresses between his fingers, and rapturously kissing them, passed them around his neck.
“Now I am ready,” continued she, raising the long plaits that encircled her lover’s cheeks, and setting the captive free. “Go on, Rafael! I am ready.”
“I should never have the courage to commit such a fearful act,” cried the officer, flinging the scissors upon the floor, and crushing them under his heel.
“It must be done, Rafael; it must be done. God will punish me else. Perhaps He may punish me by taking away from me your love.”
“Well, I shall do it,” rejoined the reluctant lover, “but not yet awhile. On my return, Gertrudis. For my sake, leave it over till then.”
The passionate appeal of Don Rafael at length obtained a respite, until the time fixed for his return; which was to be on the morrow – as soon as he should have assured himself of the safety of his father.
While their next meeting was being arranged between the two lovers, Gertrudis suddenly started up, like a young doe that springs from its perfumed lair at the first sound of the hunter’s horn.
“Surely I heard a noise?” said she; “a strange noise. What could it mean?”
Don Rafael, whose senses had been entirely absorbed by his new-found happiness, sprang also to his feet, and stood listening.
They had scarce listened for a dozen seconds, when a well-known sound fell upon the ears of both – though well-known, a sound significant and ominous. It was the report of a gun, quickly followed by several others as if fired in fusillade.
At the same moment, Don Mariano and his daughter Marianita rushed into the room. They, too, had heard the reports, which were in the direction of the hills, and were proceeding to the rear of the hacienda to inquire the cause.
All remained listening and alarmed – Don Rafael, more than even the young girls: for too much happiness has the effect of weakening the heart. The most profound silence reigned throughout the building; for the firing, heard by the servants of the hacienda, had inspired one and all of them with the same mute alarm; just as pigeons asleep upon the tree aroused by the first scream of the kite, remain for some moments terrified and motionless in their places.
Chapter Twenty Five.
A Mexican Major-Domo
Don Mariano, the dragoon officer, and the two sisters rushed up to the azotéa, the hearts of all filled with a dread presentiment.
From the roof, already crowded with servants, a view of the ridge could be obtained – its whole slope from top to bottom being visible at a single glance. A horrible spectacle came under the eyes of all at once.
At the upper end of the path which led towards the Hacienda del Valle, a horse and horseman were seen lying upon the road close to one another. Both appeared to be wounded – the man struggling to regain his feet – the horse making only the slightest motion, as if in the last moments of life.
“Haste!” cried Don Mariano to his domestics. “Haste! Procure a litter, and have the wounded horseman carried down here to the house.”
“If my eyes don’t deceive me,” said the young officer, casting uneasy glances to the hill, “yonder unfortunate man is poor old Rodriguez, the oldest of my father’s servants.”
The head of the wounded horseman was in fact covered with grey hair, as could be seen from the azotéa.
“The name Antonio Valdez,” continued Don Rafael, “now recalls to me some facts connected with that wretch. I remember something of a punishment inflicted upon him; and I have a dark presentiment – Oh, heavens! Señor Don Mariano, such happiness to be thus interrupted – ”
And without finishing his speech, the young officer hastily pressed the hand of his host, and rushed for the postern that opened towards the hills.
In a few seconds after, he was seen climbing the ridge, followed by the domestics of Don Mariano, who carried a litera.
On reaching the wounded man, Don Rafael had no longer any doubts about his being old Rodriguez; though having seen the latter only in his childhood, he remembered little more than the name.
Rodriguez, enfeebled by the loss of blood, and by the efforts he had been making to get upon his feet, was fast losing consciousness.
“Hold!” said Don Rafael to the domestic. “It is useless placing him on the litera. He will not be able to endure the motion. His blood has nearly all run out by this terrible wound.”
As the officer spoke he pointed to a large red spot upon the vest of the wounded man, beneath which the bloody orifice of a wound showed where the bullet had entered.
The dragoon captain had fairly won his spurs in the sanguinary wars of the Indian frontier. He had witnessed death in all its forms, and his experience had taught him to adopt the readiest means in such a crisis.
He first stopped the bleeding with his handkerchief, and then, taking the scarf of China crape from his waist, he bound it tightly over the wound. For all this he had but little hopes of the man’s recovery. The bullet had entered between his shoulders, and passed clear through his body.
Don Rafael only anticipated that, the haemorrhage once stopped, the wounded man might return for a moment to consciousness, he was, no doubt, the bearer of some important message from his master, and it behoved Don Rafael to learn its purport.
Some time elapsed before the old servant opened his eyes; but one of Don Mariano’s people at that moment came up, carrying a flask of aguardiente. A few drops were poured down his throat. Some of the liquid was sprinkled over his temples, and this had the effect of momentarily reviving him.
Opening his eyes, he beheld his young master bending over him. He had not seen Don Rafael since childhood, but he knew he was in the neighbourhood, and that the young officer must be he.
“It is I, Rodriguez,” said Don Rafael, speaking close to his ear. “I – Rafael Tres-Villas. You have a message from my father? Why has he sent you?”
“Blessed be God that He has sent you,” said the old man, speaking with difficulty. “Oh! Señor Don Rafael, I bring fearful news. The hacienda Del Valle – ”
“Is burnt?”
The wounded man made a sign in the negative.
“Besieged, then?”
“Yes,” replied Rodriguez in a feeble voice.
“And my father?” inquired the officer with a look of anguish.
“He lives. He sent me to you – to Don Mariano’s – to ask assistance. I – pursued by the brigands – a bullet – here! Do not stay with me. Hasten to your father. If any misfortune happen – Antonio Valdez – Remember – Antonio Valdez – miscreant – taking vengeance for – oh, young master! Don Rafael – pray for poor old Rodriguez – who nursed you when a child – pray – ”
The sufferer could speak no more, even in whispers. His head fell back upon the turf. He was dead. When the litter was set down in the courtyard of Las Palmas it carried only a corpse! Don Rafael had turned back for his horse, and to bid a hasty adieu to the family of his host.
“If Costal were only here!” said Don Mariano. “Unfortunately the brave fellow is gone away. Only a few hours ago he came to take his leave of me, with another of my people – a negro whom I had no great fancy for. Both, I believe, are on their way to join the insurgent army in the capacity of scouts or guides. Hola!” continued the haciendado, shouting to one of the peons, “send hither the mayor-domo!”
This functionary soon made his appearance; not a house steward – as the name might seem to imply – in white cravat, stockings, and powdered wig; but, on the contrary, a strapping energetic fellow, dressed in full ranchero costume, with a pair of spurs upon his booted heels, whose enormous rowels caused him to walk almost upon his toes, and with long black hair hanging to his shoulders like the manes of the half-wild horses he was accustomed to ride. Such is the mayor-domo of a Mexican hacienda, whose duties, instead of confining him to the dwelling-house, consist in the general superintendence of the estate, often equal in extent to the half of a county. It is, therefore, necessary for him to be a man of the most active habits, a first-class rider, ever in the saddle, or ready to leap into it at a moment’s notice. Such was the personage who presented himself in obedience to the summons of Don Mariano.
“Give orders,” said the latter, addressing him, “to my two vaqueros, Arroyo and Bocardo, to saddle their horses and accompany Señor Don Rafael!”
“Neither Arroyo nor Bocardo can be found,” replied the mayor-domo. “It is eight days since I have seen either of them.”
“Give each of them four hours in the xepo (stocks), as soon as they return!”
“I doubt whether they will ever return, Señor Don Mariano.”
“What! have they gone to join Valdez, think you?”
“Not exactly,” replied the mayor-domo; “I have my suspicions that the brace of worthies have gone to get up a guerilla on their own account.”
“Summon Sanchez, then!”
“Sanchez is laid up in bed, Señor Don Mariano. He has some bones broken by a wild horse – that he had mounted for the first time – having reared and fallen back upon him.”
“So, Señor Don Rafael,” said the haciendado with an air of vexation, “out of six servants which I counted yesterday I have not one to place at your service, except my mayor-domo here, for I cannot reckon upon those stupid Indian peons. The mayor-domo will attend you.”
“No,” rejoined Don Rafael; “it is not necessary. Let him remain here. I shall go alone to the assistance of my father, who, no doubt, will have plenty of people with him. It is more likely a leader that is wanted.”
The mayor-domo, dismissed by this answer, hurried towards the stables, to see that Don Rafael’s horse was made ready for the road.
Chapter Twenty Six.
The Vow Performed
While these incidents were in course of occurrence, the two sisters had returned to their own chamber.
Alarmed by the coincidence, between the melancholy event that had just transpired and the procrastination of her vow, Gertrudis fancied she saw in it the finger of Providence; and, without further hesitation, she, with her own hands, completed the pious but painful sacrifice!
Shrouded under the folds of her reboso, her pale face appeared beneath a single band of hair that encircled her forehead – all that was left of that magnificent chevelure.
Marianita was in tears. It was she one would have thought that had suffered a misfortune; while Gertrudis, whose eyes shone with a sort of melancholy satisfaction for the act she had accomplished, appealed to be endeavouring to console her sister!
“Do not weep, my poor Marianita!” said she. “Perhaps, had it not been for my culpable weakness, in consenting to defer the fulfilment of my vow, this sad affair would not have arisen. Now I am more confident, that whatever danger he may run, God will restore Rafael safe to me. Go and tell him that I wait here to bid him adios. Bring him here, but stay with us yourself. Remember that, sister. Remain here along with us, for I cannot trust my strength. I might never allow him to leave me. Go, dearest, and return quickly!”
Marianita, covering her face with a kerchief, and endeavouring to dry her tears, hastened upon her errand.
Gertrudis, left alone, looked towards the two long plaits which she had placed beside her upon the table. The lips of Don Rafael had kissed them but the moment before; and, perhaps, influenced by this sweet souvenir, the young girl took them up and pressed them repeatedly to her own. Then laying them once more upon the table, she knelt down, to seek in prayer the strength of which she stood in need.
She was still upon her knees when Marianita, followed by Don Rafael, entered the chamber – that virgin sanctuary of the two sisters, where man, except their father, had never before penetrated.
A rapid glance told Don Rafael that the sacrifice had been accomplished. He was already too pale to change countenance.
Gertrudis rose and seated herself upon a fauteuil. Marianita also took a seat, but in a remote corner of the apartment. Don Rafael remained standing.
“Come here, Don Rafael!” said Gertrudis, “come near me. Kneel before me. No! – on one knee! – upon both only before God. So! Place your hands in mine! Look into my eyes.”
Don Rafael obeyed these gentle injunctions without resistance or reluctance. What more could he wish, than thus to bend before her whom he loved? To press those white delicate fingers between his own strong hands? To drink from those swimming eyes as from the fountain of love? What more could man desire?
“Do you remember what you just now said to me, Don Rafael? ‘Oh! Gertrudis, there is no love that could repay such a sacrifice! And however beautiful she might be, that young girl must appear in the eyes of her lover as beautiful as an angel!’ Are you still of the same opinion?” And with a sweet smile the questioner looked down in the face of her lover. “There, hush!” continued she, placing her little hand over his lips, “you need not make reply. Your eyes – you have beautiful eyes, my Rafael! – your eyes answer in the affirmative.”
The simple and tender homage, thus rendered to the personal appearance of her lover, may appear a little brave in the opinion of those who pretend to love a man for the qualities of his mind and heart. I shall not discuss the point. I only design to draw a faithful picture, and exhibit in all its simple exaltation the love of a Creole maiden under the ardent sky of the tropics.
Reassured that she was still beautiful as ever in the eyes of her lover, the young girl proceeded —
“Do not tell me, Rafael, that you will ever love me more than you do now. It is sweet for me to know that you cannot love me more. Now!” she continued with faltering voice – “now we are about to part. I do not know – when one loves one always has fear. Take one of these tresses. I have been so happy while decking it with flowers for you. Take it! Keep it as a token – a souvenir. It will remind you, that you should never cease to love a poor girl, who knew of nothing more precious to offer to God in exchange for your life. The other I shall keep myself, as a talisman. Oh! it is a fearful thing I am now going to say to you. If one day you should cease to love me – if I should know this beyond all doubt – swear to me, Rafael, that, no matter in what place you may be – no matter at what hour it may reach you – when you receive this tress from me, that you will instantly come to see me. This silent messenger will say to you, ‘The woman who sends you this token knows that you no longer love her; but, despite all, she cannot cease to love you, and she desires once more, only once more, to see you kneeling before her’ – as you are now, Don Rafael!”
“I swear it,” cried the lover with emphasis. “I swear it; and though I were standing in front of my most mortal foe, with my sword raised to strike him, I should suspend the blow to obey that sacred message!”
“Your oath is registered in Heaven, Don Rafael,” said Gertrudis. “But now the time presses. Accept from me this sun-scarf, which I have embroidered for you. Each thread of the embroidery will recall a thought, a prayer, or a sigh, of which you have been the object. Adieu, my beloved Rafael! You must go; your father may stand in need of your help. What is a mistress when compared with one’s father?”
“It is time,” said Don Rafael, suddenly awakening to a sense of his filial duty, “I shall be gone.”
And yet he remained kneeling at the feet of Gertrudis, ever intending to go, and as often tarrying in his intent, adieu following adieu, like the eternal waves of the ocean!
“Say to him to go, Marianita,” said Gertrudis with a sweet smile, “I have not the courage to tell him. One more kiss, Don Rafael, ere we part! let it be the pledge – ”
The ardent pressure of her lover’s lips interrupted her speech. One last fond embrace – a strange commingling of joy and sorrow – one wildly spoken “Adios!” and Don Rafael rushed from the apartment.
The clattering of hoofs, heard shortly after, told that he was galloping away from the hacienda.
