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diff --git a/24827-h/24827-h.htm b/24827-h/24827-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..38f9fe1 --- /dev/null +++ b/24827-h/24827-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6488 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Rita, by Laura E. Richards. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1.25em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + img {border: 0;} + .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + .bbox2 {border: solid 1px; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .unindent {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + .right {text-align: right;} + .poem {margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rita, by Laura E. Richards + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Rita + +Author: Laura E. Richards + +Illustrator: Etheldred B. Barry + +Release Date: March 14, 2008 [EBook #24827] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RITA *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 276px;"> +<img src="images/cover01.jpg" width="276" height="400" alt="Cover" title="Cover" /> +</div> + + + + +<div class='bbox'> +<div class='bbox2'> +<h2>BOOKS FOR GIRLS<br /> +By Laura E. Richards</h2> +</div><div class='bbox2'> +<h3><i>The</i> MARGARET SERIES</h3> +<div class='unindent'> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Three Margarets</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Margaret Montfort</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Peggy</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Rita</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Fernley House</span><br /> +<br /></div></div><div class='bbox2'> +<h3> +<i>The</i> HILDEGARDE SERIES</h3> +<div class='unindent'> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Queen Hildegarde</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Hildegarde's Holiday</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Hildegarde's Home</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Hildegarde's Neighbors</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Hildegarde's Harvest</span><br /> +</div></div><div class='bbox2'> +<div class='center'> +DANA ESTES & COMPANY<br /> +Publishers<br /> +Estes Press, Summer St., Boston<br /> +</div></div></div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 266px;"><a name="front" id="front"></a> +<img src="images/gs01.png" width="266" height="400" alt=""RITA MONTFORT DREW HER DAGGER AND WAITED."" title=""RITA MONTFORT DREW HER DAGGER AND WAITED."" /> +<span class="caption">"RITA MONTFORT DREW HER DAGGER AND WAITED."</span> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>RITA</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>LAURA E. RICHARDS</h2> + +<div class='center'><small>AUTHOR OF</small><br /> +<small>"PEGGY," "MARGARET MONTFORT," "THREE</small><br /> +<small>MARGARETS," ETC.</small><br /> +<br /> +<b>Illustrated by</b><br /> +ETHELDRED B. BARRY<br /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 165px;"> +<img src="images/emblem.png" width="165" height="200" alt="Emblem" title="Emblem" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'> +BOSTON<br /> +<big>DANA ESTES & COMPANY</big><br /> +PUBLISHERS<br /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class='center'> +<small><i>Copyright, 1900</i></small><br /> +<span class="smcap"><small>By Dana Estes & Company</small></span><br /> +<br /> +<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> +<small>Colonial Press</small><br /> +<small>Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.</small><br /> +<small>Boston, Mass., U.S.A.</small><br /> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + +<div> +<span style="margin-left: 18em;">TO</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">FIVE GIRLS I KNOW</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">IN THE TOWN OF SAINT JO</span><br /> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="blockquot"><p>If this story should seem extravagant to any of +my readers, I can only refer them to some one of +the many published accounts of the Spanish-American +War. They will find that many delicate and +tenderly nurtured girls were forced to endure +dangers and privations compared to which Rita's +adventures seem like child's play.</p><div class='right'> +L. E. R.<br /> +</div></div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of Contents and Book Spine"> +<tr><td align='left'><img src="images/spine01.png" width="106" height="400" alt="Spine" title="Spine" /> +</td><td align='left'><div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="contents"> +<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><small>CHAPTER</small></td><td align='left'><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>I.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Threatening Weather</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>II.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Storm Bursts</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>III.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">On the Way</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IV.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Camp among the Hills</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>V.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">To Margaret</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VI.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">In the Night</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VII.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Camp Scene</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VIII.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Pacificos</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IX.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">In Hiding</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>X.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Manuela's Opportunity</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XI.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Captain Jack</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XII.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">For Life</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIII.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Meetings and Greetings</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIV.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Another Camp</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XV.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Foregone Conclusion</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td></tr> +</table></div> +</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.</h2> + + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="List of Illustrations"> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'>PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">Rita Montfort drew her dagger and waited</span>"</td><td align='left'><a href="#front"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">In the Garden</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">The famished child looked from the biscuit to the glowing face</span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">'Hush!' said the young girl. 'Sit still'</span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">'Was such a hat ever seen in Paris?'</span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">'I throw open the door and step back, my heart in my mouth'</span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">Now again it was a ride for life</span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">The patients idolise her</span>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_237">237</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> + +<h2>RITA.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>THREATENING WEATHER.</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'> +<span class="smcap">To Señor</span>,<br /></div> +<div class='right'> +<i>Señor the illustrious Don John Montfort.</i><br /> +</div> + +<p><i>Honoured Señor and Brother:</i>—There are +several months that I wrote to inform you of +the deeply deplored death of my lamented +husband, Señor Don Richard Montfort. Your +letter of condolation and advice was balm +poured upon my bleeding wounds, received +before yesterday at the hands of my banker, +Don Miguel Pietoso. You are the brother of +my adored husband, your words are as if +spoken from his casket. You tell me, stay +at home, remain in quietness, till these alarms<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +of war are over. Alas! respectable señor, +to accomplish this? Havana is since the +shocking affair of the <i>Maine</i> in uproar; on +each side are threats, are cries, "Death to +the Americanos!" My bewept angel, Don +Richard, was in his heart Spanish, by birth +American; I see brows black upon me—me, +a Castilian!—when I go from my house. +Already they speak of to burn the houses +of wealthy Americans, to drive forth those +dwelling in.</p> + +<p>Again, señor, my daughter, your niece +Margarita—what to do, I ask you, of this +young person? She is Cuban, she is fanatic, +she is impossible. I apply myself to instruct +her as her station and fortune demand, as +befits a Spanish lady of rank; she insubordinates +me, she makes mockery of my position +as head of her house. She teach her parrot +to cry "Viva Cuba Libre!" She play at +open windows her guitar, songs of Cuban +rebels, forbidden by the <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'authoritaties'">authorities</ins>. I exert<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +my power, I exhort, I command,—she laughs +me at the nose, and sings more loud. I attend +that in few days we are all the two in +prison. What to do? you already know that +her betrothed, Señor Santillo de Santayana, +is dead a year ago of a calenture. Her +grief was excessive; she intended to die, +and made preparation costing large sums of +money for her obsequies. She forget all now, +she says, for her country. In this alarming +time, the freedom her father permitted her +(his extreme philanthropy overcoming his +judgmatism) becomes impossible. I implore +you, highly honoured señor and brother, to +write your commands to this unhappy child, +that she submit herself to me, her guardian +in nature, until you can assert your legal +potencies. I intend shortly to make retreat +in the holy convent of the White Sisters, few +miles from here. Rita accompanionates me, +and I trust there to change the spirit of +rebellion so shocking in a young person<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +unmarried, into the soul docile and sheep-like +as becomes a highly native Spanish maiden. +The Sisters are of justice celebrated for their +pious austerities and the firmness of their +rule. Rita will remain with them until peace +is assured, or until your emissaries apport +distinct advice.</p> + +<p>For me, your kind and gracious inquiries +would have watered my heart were it not +already blasted. Desolation must attend my +remaining years; but through them all I shall +be, dear señor and brother, your most grateful +and in affliction devoted sister and servant,</p> + +<div class='right'> +<span class="smcap">Maria Concepcion de Naragua Montfort</span>.<br /></div> +<div><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Havana, April 30, 1898.</i></span><br /><br /><br /> +</div> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Dearest, dearest Uncle</span>:—My stepmother +says she has written to you concerning +me. I implore you, as you loved your +brother, my sainted father, to believe no +single word she says. This woman is of a +duplicity, a falseness, impossible for your lofty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +soul to comprehend. It needs a Cuban, my +uncle, to understand a Spaniard. She wants +to take me to the convent, to those terrible +White Sisters, who will shave my head and +lacerate my flesh with heated scourges,—Manuela +has told me about them; scourges +of iron chains knotted and made hot,—me, +a Protestant, daughter of a free American. +Uncle John, it is my corpse alone that she +will carry there, understand that! Never will +I go alive. I have daggers; here on my wall +are many of them, beautifully arranged; I +polish them daily, it is my one mournful +pleasure; they are sharp as lightning, and +their lustre dazzles the eye. I have poison +also; a drop, and the daughter of your +brother is white and cold at the feet of her +murderess. Enough! she will be avenged. +Carlos Montfort lives; and you, too, I know +it, I feel it, would spring, would leap across +the sea to avenge your Rita, who fondly loves +you. Hear me swear, my uncle, on my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +knees; never, never will I go alive to that +place of death, the convent. (I pray you to +pardon this blot; I spilt the ink, kneeling in +passion; what would you have?)</p> + +<div class='right'> +<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Your unhappy</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Rita</span>.<br /><br /><br /> +</div> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Beloved Marguerite:</span>—I have written +to our dear and honoured uncle of the perils +which surround me. My life, my reason, are +at stake. It may be that I have but a few +weeks more to live. Every day, therefore, +dearest, let me pour out my soul to you, now +my one comfort on earth, since my heart was +laid in the grave of my Santayana.</p> + +<p>It is night; all the house is wrapped in +slumber; I alone wake and weep. I seldom +sleep now, save by fitful snatches. I sit as +at this moment, by my little table, my taper +illuminated, in my peignoir (you would be +pleased with my peignoir, my poor Marguerite! +it is white <i>mousseline d'Inde</i>, flowing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +very full from the shoulders, falling in +veritable clouds about me, with deep ruffles +of Valenciennes and bands of insertion; the +ribbons white, of course; maidens should +mourn in white, is it not so, Marguerite? no +colour has approached me since my bereavement; +fortunately black and white are both +becoming to me, while that other, Concepcion, +looks like a sick orange in either. Even the +flowers in my room are solely white.)</p> + +<p>It seems a thousand years since I heard +from you, my cool snow-pearl of cousins. +Write more often to your Rita, she implores +you. I pine for news of you, of Uncle John, +of all at dear, dear Fernley. Alas! how +young I was there! a simple child, sporting +among the Northern daisies. Now, in the +whirlwind of my passionate existence, I look +back to that peaceful summer. For you, Marguerite, +the green oasis, the palm-trees, the +crystal spring; for me, the sand storm and +the fiery death. No matter! I live and die a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +daughter of Cuba, the gold star on my brow, +the three colours painted on my heart. Good +night, beloved! I kiss the happy paper that +goes to you. Till to-morrow, and while I +live,</p> + +<div class='right'> +<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Your</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Rita</span>.<br /><br /><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='right'> +<span class="smcap">Havana</span>, May 1, 1898.<br /> +</div> + +<p>Not until afternoon goes the mail steamer, +Marguerite, only pearl of my heart. I wrote +you a few burning words last night; then I +flung myself on my bed, hoping to lose my +sorrows for a few minutes in sleep. I slept, +a thing hardly known to me at present; it +was the sleep of exhaustion, Marguerite. +When I woke, Manuela was putting back +the curtains to let in the light of dawn. It +is still early morning, fresh and dewy, and I +am here in the garden. At no time of the +day is the garden more beautiful than now, +in the purity of the day's birth. I have described +it to you at night, with the <i>cocuyos</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +gleaming like lamps in the green dusk of the +orange-trees, or the moonlight striking the +world to silver. I wish you could see it now—this +garden of my soul, so soon, it may be, +to be destroyed by ruthless hands of savage +Spaniards. The palms stand like stately pillars; +till the green plumes wave in the morning +breeze, one fancies a temple or cathedral, +with aisles of crowned verdure. Behind these +stand the banana-trees, rows and rows, with +clusters hanging thick, crimson and gold. +Would Peggy be happy here, do you think? +Poor little Peggy! How often I long to cut +down a tree, to send her whole bunches of +the fruit she delights in. The mangoes, too! +I used to think I could not live without mangoes. +When I went to you, it appeared that +I must die without my fruits; now their rich +pulp dries untasted by my lips: what have I +to do with food, save the bare necessary to +support what life remains? I am waiting +now for my coffee; at this moment Manuela<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +brings it, with the grape-fruit and rolls, and +places it here on the table of green marble, +close by the fountain where I sit. The fountain +soothes my suffering heart, as it tinkles +in the broad basin of green marble. Nature, +Marguerite, speaks to the heart of despair. +You have not known despair, my best one; +may it be long, long before you do. Among +her other vices, this woman, Concepcion, would +like to starve me, in my own house. She +counts the rolls, she knows how many lumps +of sugar I put in my coffee; an hour will +dawn—I say no more! I am patient, Marguerite, +I am forbearing, a statue, marble +in the midst of fire; but beyond a certain +point I will not endure persecution, and I say +to you, let Concepcion Montfort, the widow +of my sainted father, beware!</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 294px;"> +<img src="images/gs02.png" width="294" height="400" alt="IN THE GARDEN." title="IN THE GARDEN." /> +<span class="caption">IN THE GARDEN.</span> +</div> + +<p>Adios, my Magnolia Flower! I must feed +my birds. Already they are awake and calling +the mistress they love. They hang—I +have told you—in large airy cages, all round<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +under the eaves of the summer-house beside +the fountain. They are beautiful, Margaret, +the Java sparrows, the little love-birds, the +splendid macaw, the paroquets, and mocking-birds; +but king among them all is Chiquito, +our parrot, Marguerite, yours and mine, the +one link here that binds me to my Northern +home; for I may call Fernley my home, +Uncle John has said it; the lonely orphan +can think of one spot where tender hearts +beat for her, not passionately, but with steadfast +pulses. Chico is in superb health; he is—I +tell you every time—a revelation in the +animal kingdom. More than this, he is a +bird of heart; he feels for me, feels intensely, +in this dark time. Only yesterday he bit old +Julio severely; I am persuaded it was his +love for me that prompted the act. Julio is +a Spaniard of the Spaniards, the slave of +Concepcion. He attempted to cajole my +Chico, he offered him sugar. To-day he +goes with his arm in a sling, and curses the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +Cuban bird, with threats against his life. +Never mind, Marguerite! a time will soon +come—I can say no more. I am dumb; the +grave is less silent; but do you think your +Rita will submit eternally to tyranny and +despotism? No, you know she will not, it is +not her nature. You look, my best one, for +some outbreak of my passionate nature, you +attend that the volcano spring some sudden +hour into flame, overwhelming all in its path. +You are right, heart of my heart. You shall +not be disappointed. Rita will prove herself +worthy of your love. How? hush! ask not, +dream not! trust me and be silent.</p> + +<div class='right'> +<span class="smcap">Margarita de San Real Montfort</span>.<br /></div><p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>THE STORM BURSTS.</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Greatly honoured Sir</span>:—I permit myself +the privilege of addressing your Excellency, +my name being known to you as man +of business of late your admired brother, +Señor Don Ricardo Montfort. I find myself, +señor, in a position of great hardness between +the two admirable ladies, Señora Montfort, +widow of Don Ricardo, and his beautiful +daughter, the Señorita Margarita. These +ladies, admirable, as I have said, in beauty, +character, and abilities, find it, nevertheless, +impossible to live in harmony. As man of +affairs, I am present at painful scenes, which +wring the heart. Each cries to me to save +her from the other. The señora desires to +make retreat at the convent of the White<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +Sisters, thrice holy and beatified persons, but +of a strictness repugnant to the lively and +ardent spirit of the señorita. Last evening +took place a terrible enactment, at which I +most unluckily assisted. Señora Montfort +permitted her lofty spirit to assert itself +more strongly than her delicate corporosity +was able to endure, and fell into violent hystericality. +Her shrieks wanted little of +arousing the neighbourhood; the servants became +appalled and lost their reason. Señorita +Margarita maintained her calmness, and +even refused to consider the señora's condition +as serious. On the assurance of the +young lady and the señora's maid, I was +obliged to accept the belief that the señora +would shortly recover if left to herself, and +came away in deep grief, leaving that illustrious +matron—I speak with respect—in +fits upon the floor. One would have said, a +child of six deprived of its toy. Greatly +honoured Señor Montfort, I am a man no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +longer young. Having myself no conjugal +ameliorations, I make no pretence to comprehend +the more delicate and complex nature +of females. I am cut to the heart; the +señora scrupled not to address me as "Old +Fool." Heaven is my witness that I have +endeavoured of my best lights to smoothen +the path for her well-born and at present bereaved +feet. But what can I do? Neither +lady will listen to me. The señorita, let me +hasten to say, shows me always a tender, I +might without too great a presumption say a +filial, kindness. I held her in my arms from +the day of her birth, señor; she is the flower +of the world to me. When she takes me <ins title="Transcriber's Note: this word not present in original text">by</ins> +the hands and says, "Dear old Donito Miguelito, +let me do as I desire and all will be +well!" I have no strength to resist her. +Had I a house of my own, I would take this +charming child home with me, to be my +daughter while she would; but—a bachelor +living in two rooms—what would you,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +señor? it is not possible. Deign, I beseech +you, to consider this my respectful report, and +if circumstances are proprietary come to my +assistance, or send me instructions how to +act.</p> + +<p>Accept, señor, the assurance of my perfect +consideration, and believe me</p> + +<div class='right'> +<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Your obedient, humble servant,</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Miguel Pietoso.</span><br /> +<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='unindent'> +<span class="smcap">To the Honourable Señor Don John +Montfort.</span><br /> +</div> + +<p><i>Honoured and dear Brother:</i>—Since I +wrote you last week, things the most frightful +have happened. Rita's conduct grew more +and more violent and unruled; in despair, I +sent for Don Miguel. This old man, though of +irreproached character, is of a weakness pitiable +to see in one wearing the form of mankind. +I called upon him to uphold me, and +command Rita to obey the wife of her father. +He had only smooth words for each of us,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +and endeavoured to charm this wretched +child, when terror should have been his +weapon. I leave you to imagine if she was +influenced by his gentle admonitions. To my +face she caressed him, and he responded to +her caresses. Don Miguel is an old man, +eighty years of age, but nevertheless my +anger, my just anger, rose to a height beyond +my power of control. I fainted from excess +of emotion; I lay as one dead, and no heart +stirred of my sufferings. Since then I have +been in my bed, with no power more than +has a babe of the cradle. This morning +Margarita came to me and expressed regret +for her conduct, saying that she was willing +from now to submit herself to my righteous +authority. I forgave her,—I am a Christian, +dear brother, and cannot forget the principles +of my holy religion,—and we embraced with +tears. This evening we go to the convent, +where I hope to find ease for my soul-wounds +and to subdue the frightful disposition of my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +stepdaughter. I feel it my duty to relate +these occurrences to you, dear and honoured +brother, for I feel that I may succumb under +the weight of my afflictions. We start this +evening, and Don Miguel will inform you of +our departure and safe arrival at the holy +convent, whither he accompanies us.</p> + +<p>Permit me to express, dear brother, the +sentiments of exalted consideration with +which I must ever regard you as next in +blood to my adored consort, and believe me</p> + +<div class='right'> +<span style="margin-right: 16em;">Your devoted,</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Maria Concepcion de Naragua Montfort.</span><br /> +<br /><br /></div> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Greatly honoured and illustrious +Sir:</span>—Let me entreat you to prepare yourself +for news of alarming nature. Yesterday +evening I was honoured by the commands of +the Señora Montfort, that I convey her and +Señorita Margarita to the holy convent of the +White Sisters. My age, señor, is such that +a scene of emotion is infinitely distressing to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +me, but I could not disobey the commands +of this illustrious lady, the widow of my +kindest patron and friend. I went, prepared +for tears, for outcries, perhaps for violent +resistance, for the ardent and high-strung +nature of my beloved Señorita Margarita is +well known to me. Figure to yourself, +honoured señor, my surprise at finding this +charming damsel calm, composed, even smiling. +She greeted me with her accustomed +tenderness; a more enchanting personality +does not, I am assured, adorn the earth than +that of this lovely child. She bade me have +no alarms for her, that all was well, she was +reconciled to her lot; indeed, she added that +she could not now wish things otherwise. +Amazed, but also enchanted with her docility +and sweetness, I gave her an old man's blessing, +and my prayers that the rigour of the +holy Sisters might be softened toward her +tender and high-spirited youth. She replied +that she had no fear of the Sisters; that in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +truth she thought they would give her no +trouble of any kind. I was ravished with +this assurance, having, I may confess it to +you, señor, dreaded the contact between the +señorita and the holy Mother, a woman of +incredible force and piety. But I must hasten +my narrative. At seven o'clock last evening +two volantes were in readiness at the door +of the Montfort mansion. The first was +driven by the señora's own man, the second +by Pasquale, a negro devoted since childhood +to the señorita. The señora would have +placed her daughter in the first of these +vehicles; but no! the señorita sprang lightly +into the second volante, followed by her maid, +a young person, also tenderly attached to her. +Interposing myself to produce calm, I persuade +the admirable señora to take the +position that etiquette commanded, in the +first carriage. It is done; I seat myself by +her side; procession is made. The way to +the convent of the White Sisters, señor, is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +a steep and rugged one; on either hand are +savage passes, are mountains of precipitation. +To conceive what happened, how is it possible? +When we reached the convent gate, +the second volante was empty. Assassinated +with terror, I make demand of Pasquale; he +admits that he may have slept during the +long traject up the hill. He swears that he +heard no sound, that no word was addressed +to him. He calls the saints to witness that +he is innocent; the saints make no reply, +but that is not uncommon. I search; I rend +the air with my cries; alone silence responds +to me. The señora is carried fainting into +the convent, and I return to Havana, a man +distracted. I should say that in the carriage +was found the long mantle in which the +señorita had been gracefully attired; to its +fold a note pinned, addressed me in affectionate +terms, begging her dear Donito Miguelito +not to have fear, that she was going to Don +Carlos, her brother, and all would be well.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +Since then is two days, señor, that I have +not closed the eye. I attend a fit of illness, +from grief and anxiousness. In duty I intelligence +you of this dolorous event, praying +you not to think me guilty of sin without +pardon. I have deputed a messenger of trust +to scrub thoroughly the country in search of +Don Carlos, death to await him if he return +without news of my beloved señorita. He is +gone now twelve hours. If it arrive me at +any moment the tidings, I make instantly to +convey them to your Excellency, whether of +joy or affliction.</p> + +<p>Receive, highly honoured señor, the assurance +of my consideration the most elevated.</p> + +<div class='right'> +<span class="smcap">Miguel Pietoso.</span><br /></div><p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>ON THE WAY.</h3> + + +<p>"Ah, señorita! what will become of us? +I can go no farther. Will this wilderness +never end?"</p> + +<p>"Courage, Manuela! Courage, daughter of +Cuba! See, it is growing light already. Look +at those streaks of gold in the east. A few +moments, and the sky will be bright; then +we shall see where we are going, and all will +be well. In the meantime, we are free, and +on Cuban soil. What can harm us?"</p> + +<p>Rita looked around her with kindling eyes. +She was standing on a rock that jutted +from the hillside; it was a friendly rock, and +they had been sleeping under it, wrapped in +their warm cloaks, for the night was cool.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +A group of palms nodded their green plumes +over the rock; on every side stretched a tangle +of shrubs and tall grasses, broken here +and there by palms, or by rocks like this. +Standing thus in the early morning light, +Rita was a picturesque figure indeed. She +was dressed in a blouse and short skirt of +black serge, with a white kerchief knotted +around her throat, and another twisted carelessly +around her broad-brimmed straw hat. +Her beautiful face was alight with eager +inquiry and determination; her eyes roved +over the landscape, as if seeking some familiar +figure; but all was strange so far. Manuela, +crouching at the foot of the rock, had lost, +for the moment, all the fire of her patriotism. +She was cold, poor Manuela; also, she had +had a heavy bag to carry, and her arms +ached, and she was hungry, and, if the truth +must be told, rather cross. It was absurd +to bring all these things into the desert. +What use for the white silk blouse, or the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +lace fichu? but indeed they had no weight, +whereas this monster of a—</p> + +<p>"How is Chico?" asked Rita, coming down +from the rock. "Poor bird! what does he +think of our wandering? he must be in need +of food, Manuela. You brought the box of +seed?"</p> + +<p>"I did, señorita; as to the need of birdseed +in a wilderness of hideous forest, I have +nothing to say. My fingers are so cramped +from carrying this detestable cage, I shall +never recover the full use of them. But the +señorita must be obeyed."</p> + +<p>"Assuredly she must be obeyed!" said +Rita; and a flash of her eyes added force to +the words. "Could I have come away, I ask +you, and left this faithful, this patriot bird, +to starve, or be murdered outright? Old +Julio would have wrung his neck, you know +it well, Manuela, the first time he spoke out +from his heart, spoke the words of freedom +and patriotism that his mistress has taught<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +him. Poor Chiquito! thou lovest me? thou +art glad that I brought thee away from that +place of tyranny and bloodshed? speak to thy +mistress, Chico!"</p> + +<p>But Chico's spirits had been ruffled, as +well as Manuela's, by being carried about in +his cage, at unseemly hours, when he should +have been hanging quietly in the verandah, +where he belonged. He looked sulky, and +only said, "<i>Caramba! no mi gusta!</i>"</p> + +<p>"He is hungry! he starves!" cried Rita; +"give me the seed!" Sitting down on the +rock, she proceeded to feed the parrot, as +composedly as if they were indeed on the +wide shaded verandah, instead of on a wild +hillside, far from sight or sound of anything +human.</p> + +<p>"And the señorita's own breakfast?" said +Manuela at last, when Chiquito had had +enough, and had deigned to relax a little, +and even to mutter, "<i>Mi gustan todas!</i>" "Is +the señorita not also dying of hunger? for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +myself, I perish, but that is of little consequence, +save that my death will leave the +señorita alone—with the parrot."</p> + +<p>Rita burst into merry laughter. "My poor +Manuela!" she said. "Thou shalt not perish. +Breakfast? we will have it this moment. +Where is the bag?"</p> + +<p>The bag being produced,—it really was a +heavy one, and it was hardly to be wondered +at that Manuela should be a little peevish +about it,—Rita drew from it a substantial +box of chocolate, and a tin of biscuits. "My +child, we breakfast!" she announced. "If +kings desire to breakfast more royally, I +make them my compliment. For free Cubans, +bread and chocolate is a feast. Feast, then, +Manuela mine. Eat, and be happy!"</p> + +<p>Bread—or rather, delicate biscuits, and +chocolate, were indeed a feast to the two +hungry girls. They nibbled and crunched, +and Manuela's spirits rose with every bite. +Rita's had no need to rise. She was having<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +a real adventure; her dreams were coming +true; she was a bona-fide heroine, in a bona-fide +"situation." "What have we in the +bag, best of Manuelas?" she asked. "I told +you in a general way; I even added some +trifles, for Carlos's comfort; poor dear Carlos! +But tell me what you put in, my best one!"</p> + +<p>Manuela cast a rueful glance at the plump +valise.</p> + +<p>"The white silk blouse," she said; "the +white peignoir with swansdown."</p> + +<p>"In case of sickness!" cried Rita, interrupting. +"You would not have me ill, far from +my home, and bereft of every slightest comfort, +Manuela? surely you would not; I know +your kind heart too well. Besides, the peignoir +weighs nothing; a feather, a puff of +vapour. Go on! what else?"</p> + +<p>"Changes of linen, of course," said +Manuela. "The gold-mounted toilet-set; two +bottles of eau de Cologne; cigarettes for the +Señorito Don Carlos; bonbons; the ivory<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +writing-case; the feather fan; three pairs +of shoes—"</p> + +<p>"Enough! enough!" cried Rita. "We +shall do well, Manuela. You have been an +angel of thoughtfulness. You did not bring +any jewels? no? I thought perhaps the +Etruscan gold set, so simple, yet so rich, +might suit my altered life well enough; but +no matter. After all, what have I to do +with jewels now? The next question is, how +are we to find Carlos?"</p> + +<p>"To find Don Carlos?" echoed Manuela. +"You know where he is, señorita?"</p> + +<p>"But, assuredly!" said Rita, and she +looked about her confidently. "He is—here!"</p> + +<p>"Here!" repeated Manuela.</p> + +<p>"In the mountains!" said Rita, waving +her hand vaguely in the direction of the horizon. +"It is a search; we must look for him, +without doubt; but he is—here—somewhere. +Come, Manuela, do not look so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +despairing. I tell you, we shall meet friends, +it may be at any turn. The mountains are +full of the soldiers of Cuba; the first ones +we meet will take us to Carlos."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Manuela. "But what if we +met the others, señorita? what if we met +the Spanish soldiers first? Hark! what was +that?"</p> + +<p>A sound was heard close behind them; +a rustling, sliding sound, as if something or +somebody were making his way swiftly +through the tall grass. Manuela clutched +her mistress's arm, trembling; Rita, rather +pale, but composed, looking steadily in the +direction of the noise. It came nearer—the +grass rustled and shook close beside +them; and out from the tufted tangle came—three +large land-crabs, scuttling along on +their ungainly claws, and evidently in a +hurry. Manuela uttered a shriek, but Rita +laughed aloud.</p> + +<p>"Good luck!" she said. "They are good<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +Cubans, the land-crabs. Many a good meal +has Carlos made on them, poor fellow. If +we followed them, Manuela? They may be +going—somewhere. Let us see!"</p> + +<p>The crabs were soon out of sight, but +the two girls, taking up their burdens, followed +in the direction they had taken, +along the hillside, going they knew not +whither.</p> + +<p>There seemed to be some faint suggestion +of a path. The grasses were bent aside, and +broken here and there; something had trodden +here, whether feet of men or of animals +one could not tell. But glad to have any +guide, however insufficient, the girls amused +themselves by trying to discover fresh marks +on tree or shrub or grass-clump. It was a +wild tangle, palms and mangoes, coarse +grass and savage-looking aloes, with wild +vines running riot everywhere. So far, they +had seen no sign of human life, and the sun +was now well up, his rays beating down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +bright and hot. Suddenly, coming to a turn +on the hillside, they heard voices; a moment +later, and they were standing by a human +dwelling.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 271px;"> +<img src="images/gs03.png" width="271" height="400" alt=""THE FAMISHED CHILD LOOKED FROM THE BISCUIT TO +THE GLOWING FACE."" title=""THE FAMISHED CHILD LOOKED FROM THE BISCUIT TO +THE GLOWING FACE."" /> +<span class="caption">"THE FAMISHED CHILD LOOKED FROM THE BISCUIT TO +THE GLOWING FACE."</span> +</div> + +<p>At first sight it looked more like the burrow +of some wild animal. It was little +more than a hole dug in the side of the clay +bank. Some boughs and palm-leaves were +wattled together to form a rustic porch, and +under this porch three people were sitting, on +the bare ground,—two women, one young, +the other old, and a little child, evidently +belonging to the young woman. They were +clothed in a few rags; their cheeks were hollow +with famine, their eyes burning with +fever. The old woman was stirring a handful +of meal into a pot of water; the others +looked on with painful eagerness. Rita recoiled +with a low cry of terror. She had +heard of this; these were some of the unhappy +peasants who had been driven from +their farms. She had never seen anything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +like it before. This—this was not the play +she had come to see.</p> + +<p>The women looked up, and saw the two +girls standing near. Instantly they began to +cry out, in wailing voices. "Go! go away! +there is nothing for you; nothing! we have +not more than a mouthful for ourselves. +Take yourselves away, and leave us in +peace."</p> + +<p>Rita came forward, the tears running down +her cheeks. "Oh, poor things!" she cried. +"Poor souls, I want nothing. I am not hungry! +See!—I have brought food for you. +Quick, Manuela, the bag—the biscuits, +child! Give them to me! Here, thou little +one, take this, and eat; there is plenty +more!"</p> + +<p>The famished child looked from the biscuit +to the glowing face that bent over it. It +made a feeble movement; then drew back in +fear. The old woman still clamoured to the +girls to go away; but the younger snatched<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +the biscuit, and began feeding the child hastily, +yet carefully. "Mother, be still!" she +said, imperiously. "Hush that noise! do you +not see this is no poor wretch like ourselves? +This is a noble lady come from heaven to +bring us help. Thanks, señorita!" With a +quick, graceful movement, she lifted the hem +of Rita's dress and pressed it to her lips. +"We were dying!" she said, simply. "It +was the last morsel; we meant to give it to +the little one, and some one might find it +when we were dead, and keep the life in it."</p> + +<p>"But, eat; eat!" cried Rita, filling the +hands of both women with chocolate and +biscuits. "It is dreadful, terrible! oh, I +have heard of it, I have read of it, but I +had not seen, I had not known. Oh, if my +cousin Margaret were here, she would know +what to do! Eat, my poor starving ones. +You shall never be hungry again if I can +help it."</p> + +<p>The child pulled its mother's ragged gown.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is it an angel?" it asked, its mouth full of +chocolate.</p> + +<p>"Hear the innocent!" said the mother. +"No, lamb, not yet an angel, only a noble +lady on the road to heaven. See, señorita! +he was pretty, while his cheeks were round +and full. Still, his eyes are pretty, are they +not?"</p> + +<p>"They are lovely! he is a darling!" cried +Rita; and she took the child in her arms, +and bent over him to hide the tears. Was +this truly Rita Montfort? Yes, the same Rita, +only awake now, for the first time now in +her pretty idle life. She felt of the little +limbs. They were mere skin and bone; no +sign of baby chubbiness, no curve or dimple. +Indeed, she had come but just in time. +"Listen!" she said, presently. "Where do +you come from? where is your home?"</p> + +<p>The old woman made a gesture as wide +and vague as Rita's own of a few minutes +before. "Our home, noble lady? the wilder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>ness +is our home to-day. Our little farm, +our cottage, our patch of cane, all gone, all +destroyed. Only the graves of our dead +left."</p> + +<p>"We come from Velaya," said the young +woman. "It is miles from here; we were +driven out by the Spaniards. My father was +killed before our eyes; she is not herself since, +poor soul; do we wonder at it? we have +wandered ever since. My husband—do I +know if he is alive or dead? He was with +our men, he knows nothing of what has +happened. If he returns, he will think us +all dead. Poor Pedro! These are the conditions +of war, señorita."</p> + +<p>She spoke very quietly; but her simple +words pierced deeper than the plaints of the +poor old woman.</p> + +<p>"Listen, again!" said Rita. "I am going +to my brother; he also is with our army; he +is with the General. Do you know, can you +tell me, in what direction to look for them?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +When I find them, I will see; I will have provision +made for you. You must stay here +now, for a few hours; but have courage, +help will come soon. My brother Carlos and +the good General will care for you. Only +tell me where to find them, and all will be +well."</p> + +<p>She spoke so confidently that hope and +courage seemed to go from her, and creep +into the hearts of the forlorn creatures. The +baby smiled, and stretched out its little fleshless +hands for more of the precious food; +even the old grandmother crept a little +nearer, to kiss the hand of their benefactress, +and call on all the saints to bless her +and bring her to Paradise. The younger +woman said there had been firing yesterday +in that direction, and she pointed westward +over the brow of a hill. They had seen +no Cuban soldiers since they had been here, +but a boy had passed by this morning, on his +way to join the General, and he took the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +same westerly direction, and said the nearest +pickets were not far distant.</p> + +<p>"And why did you not follow him?" +asked Rita. "Why did you not go with +him, and throw yourself at the feet of our +good General, as I will do for you now? +Yes, yes, I know; you were too weak, poor +souls; you had no strength to travel farther. +But I am young and strong, and so is Manuela; +and we will go together, and soon we +will come again, or send help for you. Manuela, +will you come with me? or will it be +better for you to stay and care for these poor +ones while I seek Don Carlos?"</p> + +<p>But Manuela was, very properly, scandalised +at the thought of her young lady's going off +alone on any such quest. It appeared, she +said, as if the señorita had left her excellent +intelligence behind in Havana. These people +would do very well now; they had food; they +had, indeed, all there was, practically, and +the señorita might herself starve, if they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +did not find Don Carlos soon. That was +enough, surely; let them remain as they were.</p> + +<p>"You are right, Manuela!" said Rita, nodding +sagely. "We must go together. Your +heart does not appear to be stirred as mine +is; but never mind—the hungry are fed, and +that is the thing of importance. Farewell, +then, friends! How do they call you, that I +may know how to tell those whom I shall +send?"</p> + +<p>The younger woman was named Dolores, +she said. Her husband was Pedro Valdez, +and this old one was his mother. If the +señorita should see Pedro—if by Heaven's +mercy he should be with the General at this +moment, all would indeed be well. In any +case, their prayers and blessings would go +with the señorita and her valued attendant.</p> + +<p>Often and often, the soft Spanish speech of +compliment and ceremony sounded hollow and +artificial in Rita's ears, even though she +had been used to it all her life; but there was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +no doubting the sincerity of these earnest and +heartfelt thanks. Her own heart felt very +warm, as she turned, with a final wave of the +hands, to take a last look at the little group +by the earth-hovel.</p> + +<p>"We have made a good beginning, Manuela," +she said. "We have saved three lives, I truly +believe. Now we shall go on with new courage. +I feel, Manuela, that I can do anything—meet +any foe. Ah! what is that? a snake! +a horrible green snake! I faint, Manuela! I +die—no, I don't. See, I am the sister of a +soldier, and I am not going to die any more, +when I see these fearful creatures. Manuela, +do you observe? I—am—firm; marble, +Manuela, is soft in comparison with me. Ah, +he is gone away. This is a world of peril, my +poor child. Let us hasten on; Carlos waits +for us, though he does not know it."</p> + +<p>Talking thus, with much more of the same +kind, Rita pushed on, and Manuela followed +as best she might. Rita had left the parrot's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +cage under charge of Dolores, and carried the +bird on her shoulder, with only a cord fastened +to his leg. Chico was well used to +this, and made no effort to fly away; indeed, +he had reached an age when it was more +comfortable to sit on a soft shoulder and be +fed and petted, than to flutter among strange +trees and find his living for himself; so he +sat still, crooning to himself from time to +time, and cocking his bright yellow eye at his +mistress, to see what she thought of it all.</p> + +<p>It was hard work, pushing through the +jungle. The girls' hands were scratched and +torn with brambles; Rita's delicate shoes +were in a sad condition; her dress began to +show more than one jagged rent. Still she +made her way forward, with undaunted zeal, +cheering the weary Manuela with jest and +story. Indeed, the girl seemed thoroughly +transformed, and her Northern cousins, who +had known and loved her even in her wilful +indolence, would hardly have recognised their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +Rita in this valiant maiden, who made +nothing of heat, dust, or even scorpions, and +pressed on and on in her quest of her brother.</p> + +<p>After an hour of weary walking, the girls +came to a road, or something that passed for +a road. There was no sign of life on it, but +there was something that made them start, +then stop and look at each other. Beside the +rough path, in a tangle of vines and thorny +cactus, stood the ruin of a tiny chapel. A +group of noble palms towered above it; from +the stony bank behind it bubbled a little +fountain. The door of the chapel was gone; +it was long since there had been glass in the +windows, and the empty spaces showed only +emptiness within; yet the bell still hung in +the mouldering belfry; the bell-rope trailed +above the sunken porch, its whole length +twined with flowering creepers. It was a +strange sight.</p> + +<p>"Manuela!" cried Rita; "do you see?"</p> + +<p>"I see the holy chapel," said Manuela,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +who was a good Catholic. "Some saintly +man lived here in old times. Pity, that the +altar is gone. It must have been a pretty +chapel, señorita."</p> + +<p>"The bell!" cried Rita. "Do you see the +bell, Manuela? what if we rang it, to let +Carlos know that we are near? It is a good +idea, a superb idea!"</p> + +<p>"Señorita, I implore you not to touch it! +For heaven's sake, señorita! Alas, what have +you done?"</p> + +<p>Manuela clasped her hands, and fairly +wailed in terror, for Rita had grasped the +bell-rope, and was pulling it with right good +will. Ding! ding! the notes rang out loud +and clear. The rock behind caught up the +echo, and sent it flying across to the hill +beyond. Ding! ding! The parrot screamed, +and Rita herself, after sounding two or three +peals, dropped the rope, and stood with +parted lips and anxious eyes, waiting to see +what would come of it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>THE CAMP AMONG THE HILLS.</h3> + + +<p>A sound of voices! eager voices of men, +calling to one another. The tread of hasty +feet, the noise of breaking bushes, of men +sliding, jumping, running, hurrying, coming +every instant nearer and nearer. What had +Rita done, indeed? Manuela crouched on +the mouldering floor at her mistress's feet, +too terrified even to cry out now; Rita Montfort +drew her dagger, and waited.</p> + +<p>Next instant the narrow doorway was +thronged with men; swarthy black-browed +men, ragged, hatless, shoeless, but all armed, +all with rifle cocked, all pressing forward +with eager, wondering looks.</p> + +<p>"Who rang the bell? what has happened?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> + +<p>A babel of voices arose; Rita could not +have made herself heard if she would; and, +indeed, for the moment no words came to her +lips. But there was one to speak for her. +Chiquito, the old gray parrot, raised his head +from her shoulder, where he had been quietly +dozing, and flapped his wings, and cried +aloud:</p> + +<p>"<i>Viva Cuba Libre! viva Garcia! viva +Gomez! a muerto Espana!</i>" There was a +moment's silence; then the voices broke out +again in wild cries and cheers.</p> + +<p>"Ah, the Cuban bird! the parrot of freedom! +Welcome, señorita! You bring us +good luck! Welcome to the Cuban ladies and +their glorious bird! <i>Viva Cuba Libre! viva +Garcia! viva el papageno!</i> long life to the +illustrious lady!"</p> + +<p>Rita, herself again, stepped from the +chapel, erect and joyous, holding the parrot +aloft.</p> + +<p>"I thank you, brothers!" she said. "I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +come to seek freedom among you; I am a +daughter of Cuba. Does any among you +know Don Carlos Montfort?"</p> + +<p>The babel rose again. Know Don Carlos? +but surely! was he not their captain? Even +now he was at the General's quarters, consulting +him about the movements of the next +day. What joy! what honour for the poor +sons of Cuba to form the escort of the peerless +sister of Don Carlos to headquarters! +But the distance was nothing. They would +carry the señorita and her attendant; they +would make a throne, and transport them as +lightly as if swans drew them. Ah, the fortunate +day! the lucky omen of the blessed +parrot!</p> + +<p>They babbled like children, crowding round +Chiquito, extolling his beauty, his wisdom, +the miracle of his timely utterance. Chiquito +seemed to think, for his part, that he had +done enough. He paid no attention to the +blandishments of his ragged admirers, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +turned himself upside down, always a sign of +contempt with him, said "Caramba!" and +would say nothing more.</p> + +<p>A little procession was formed, the least +ragged of the patriots leading the way, +Rita and Manuela following. The others +crowded together behind, exclaiming, wondering, +pleased as children with this wonderful +happening. Thus they crossed a ragged +hill, threaded a grove of palms, and finally +came upon an open space, roughly cleared, +in the middle of which stood a tent, with +several rude huts around it. The soldiers +explained with eager gestures. Behold the +tent of the illustrious General. Behold the +dwelling of Don Rodrigo, of Don Uberto, of +Don Carlos; behold, finally, Don Carlos himself, +emerging from the General's tent. The +gallant ragamuffins drew back, and became +on the instant spectators at a play. A slender +young man came out of the tent, evidently +to inquire the meaning of the commo<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>tion. +At what he saw he turned apparently +to stone, and stood, cigarette in hand, staring +at the vision before him. But for Rita there +was no hesitation now. Running to her +brother, she threw her arms around his neck +with unaffected joy.</p> + +<p>"Carlos!" she cried. "I have come to +you. I had no one else to go to. They +were taking me to the convent, and I would +have died sooner. I have come to you, to +live or die with you, for our country."</p> + +<p>Manuela wept; the soldiers were moved to +tears, and brushed their ragged sleeves across +their eyes. But Carlos Montfort did not +weep.</p> + +<p>"Rita!" he said, in English, returning his +sister's caress affectionately, but with little +demonstration of joy. "What is the meaning +of this? what induced you—how could +you do such a thing as this? where do you +come from? how did you find your way?" +And he added to himself, "And what the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +mischief am I to do with you now you +are here?"</p> + +<p>Rita explained hastily; gave a dramatic +sketch of her adventures, not forgetting the +unfortunate peasants, who must, she said, be +rescued that instant from their wretched +plight; and wound up with a vivid description +of the bell-ringing, the gathering of +the patriot forces, and the magnificent behaviour +of her beloved Chiquito.</p> + +<p>"Good gracious! you have brought the +parrot, too!" cried poor Carlos. "Rita! +Rita! this is too much."</p> + +<p>At this moment a new person appeared on +the scene. A tall old man, stooping his head, +came out from the tent, and greeted the wandering +damsel with grave courtesy.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the General had seen too much of +life and of war to be surprised at anything; +perhaps he was sorry for the embarrassment +of his young lieutenant, and wished to make +things easier for him; however it was, he ap<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>parently +found it the most natural thing in +the world for a young lady and her maid to +be wandering in the wilderness in search of +the Cuban army. The first thing, he said, +was to make the señorita comfortable, as +comfortable as their limited powers would +allow. She would take his tent, of course; +it was her own from that instant; but +equally of course neither Rita nor Carlos +would hear of this. A friendly dispute ensued; +and it was finally decided that Rita and +Manuela were to make themselves as comfortable +as might be in Carlos's own tent, +while he shared that of his commander. The +General yielded only under protest to this +arrangement; yet he did yield, seeing that +resistance would distress both brother and +sister. Since the señorita would not take his +tent, he said, the next best thing was that she +should accept his hospitality, such as he could +offer her, within it; or rather, before it, since +the evening was warm. His men were even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +now preparing the evening meal; when the +señorita was refreshed and rested, he hoped +she and Don Carlos would share it with him.</p> + +<p>Rita withdrew into the little hut, in a glow +of patriotism and enthusiasm. "Manuela," +she cried, "did you ever see such nobleness, +such lofty yet gracious courtesy? Ah! I knew +he was a man to die for. How happy we +are, to be here at last, after dreaming of it +so long! I thrill; I burn with sacred fire—what +is the matter, Manuela? you look the +spirit of gloom. What has happened?"</p> + +<p>Manuela was crouching on the bare earthen +floor, her shoulders shrugged up to her ears, +her dark eyes glancing around the tiny room +with every expression of marked disapproval. +It was certainly not a luxurious apartment. +The low walls were of rough logs, the roof was +a ragged piece of very dingy canvas, held in +place by stones here and there. In one corner +was a pile of dried grass and leaves, with +a blanket thrown over it,—evidently Don<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +Carlos's bed. There was a camp-stool, a +rude box set on end, that seemed to do +duty both for dressing and writing table, +since it was littered with papers, shaving +materials, cigarette-cases, and a variety of +other articles.</p> + +<p>Manuela spread out her arms with a despairing +gesture. Was this, she asked, the +place where the señorita was going to live? +Where was she to hang the dresses? where +was she to lay out the dressing things? As to +making up the bed,—it would be better +to die at once, in Manuela's opinion, than to +live—Here Manuela stopped suddenly, for +she had seen something. Rita, whose back +was turned to the doorway of the hut, was +rating her severely. Was this Manuela's +patriotism, she wished to know? had she not +said, over and over again, that she was prepared +to shed the last drop of blood for their +country, as she herself, Rita, was longing to +do? and now, when it was simply a question<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +of a little discomfort, of a few privations +shared with their brave defenders, here was +Manuela complaining and fretting, like a +peevish child. Well! and what was the +matter now?</p> + +<p>Manuela had risen from her despairing +position, and was now bustling about the hut, +brushing, smoothing, tidying up, with an +air of smiling alacrity. But indeed, yes! she +said; the señorita put her to shame. If the +señorita could endure these trials, it was +not for her poor Manuela to complain. No, +indeed, sooner would she die. And after all, +the hut was small, but that made things more +handy, perhaps. The beautiful table that +this would become, if she might remove the +Señor Don Carlos's cigar-ashes? There! a scarf +thrown over it—ah! What fortune, that she +had brought the crimson satin scarf! Behold, +an exhibition of beauty! As for the bed, +she had heard from—from those who were +soldiers themselves, that no couch was so soft,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +so wooing to sleep, as one of forest boughs. +It stood to reason; there was poetry in the +thought, as the señorita justly remarked. +Now, with a few nails or pegs to hang things +on, their little apartment would be complete. +Let the señorita of her goodness forget the +foolishness of her poor Manuela; she should +hear no more of it; that was a promise.</p> + +<p>Rita looked in amazement at her follower; +the girl's eyes were sparkling, her cheeks +flushed, and she could not keep back the +smiles that came dimpling and rippling over +her pretty face.</p> + +<p>"But what has happened to you, Manuela?" +cried Rita. "I insist upon knowing. What +have you seen?"</p> + +<p>What had Manuela seen, to produce such +a sudden and amazing change? Nothing, +surely; or next to nothing. A ragged soldier +had strolled past the door of the hut; a +black-browed fellow, with a red handkerchief +tied over his head, and a black cigar nearly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +a foot long; but what should that matter to +Manuela?</p> + +<p>Rita looked at her curiously, but could +get no explanation, save that Manuela had +come to her senses, owing to the noble +and glorious example set her by her beloved +señorita.</p> + +<p>"Well!" said Rita, turning away half-petulantly. +"Of course I know you are as +changeable as a weathercock, Manuela. But +as you were saying, if we had a few nails, we +should do well enough here. I will go ask +the Señor Don Carlos—"</p> + +<p>"Pardon, dearest señorita!" cried Manuela, +hastily. "But what a pity that would be, +to disturb the señor during his arduous labours. +Without doubt the illustrious Señor Don +Generalissimo (Manuela loved a title, and +always made the most of one) requires him +every instant, in the affairs of the nation. +I—I can find some one who will get nails +for us, and drive them also."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You can find some one?" repeated +Rita. "And whom, then, can you find, +pray?"</p> + +<p>"Only Pepe!" said Manuela, in a small +voice.</p> + +<p>Was the name a conjuring-spell? It had +hardly been spoken when Pepe himself stood +in the doorway, ducking respectfully at the +señorita, but looking out of the corners of his +black eyes at Manuela. Rita smiled in spite +of herself. Was this ragamuffin, barefoot, +tattered, his hair in elf-locks,—was this +the once elegant Pepe, the admired of himself +and all the waiting-maids of Havana? He +had once been Carlos's servant, when the +young Cuban had time and taste for such idle +luxuries; now he was his fellow soldier and +faithful follower.</p> + +<p>"Well, Pepe," said Rita; "you also are +here to welcome us, it appears. That is well. +If you could find us a few nails, my good +Pepe? the Señor Don Carlos is occupied with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +the General at present, and you can help us, +if you will."</p> + +<p>Where had Rita learned this new and +gracious courtesy? A few months ago, she +would have said, "Pepe! drive nails!" and +thought no more about it. Indeed, she could +have given no explanation, save that "things +were different." Perhaps our Rita is growing +up, inside as well as outside? Certainly +the pretty airs and graces have given way to +a womanly and thoughtful look not at all +unbecoming to any face, however beautiful.</p> + +<p>The thoughtful look deepened into anxiety, +as a sudden recollection flashed into her +mind. "Oh!" she cried. "And here I sit +in peace, and have done nothing about those +poor creatures in the hut! I must go to the +General! But stay! Pepe, do you know—is +there a man in the camp called Pedro +Valdez?"</p> + +<p>But, yes! Pepe said. Assuredly there was +such a man. Did the señorita require him?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, please bring him!" said Rita. "Tell +him that I have something of importance to +tell him. Quick, my good Pepe!"</p> + +<p>Pepe vanished, and soon returned, dragging +by the collar a lean scarecrow even +more dilapidated than himself. Apparently +the poor fellow had been asleep, and had been +roughly clutched and hauled across the camp, +for his hair was full of leaves and grass, and +he was rubbing his eyes and swearing softly +under his breath, vowing vengeance on his +captor.</p> + +<p>"Silence, animal!" said Pepe, admonishing +him by a kick of the presence of ladies; +"Behold the illustrious señorita, who does +you the honour to look at you. Attention, +Swine of the Antilles!"</p> + +<p>Thus adjured, poor Pedro straightened +himself, made the best bow he could, and +stood sheepishly before Rita, trying furtively +to brush a few of the sticks and straws off +his ragged clothing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are Pedro Valdez?" asked Rita.</p> + +<p>At the service of the illustrious señorita. +Yes, he was Pedro Valdez; in no condition +to appear in such company, but nevertheless +her slave and her beast of burden.</p> + +<p>"Oh, listen!" cried Rita, her eyes softening +with compassion and anxiety. "You have +a wife, Pedro Valdez,—a wife and a dear +little child, is it not so? and your mother—she +is old and weak. When have you seen +them all, Valdez? Where did you leave +them?"</p> + +<p>The man looked bewildered. "Leave +them, señorita? I left them at home, in +our village. They were well, all was well, +when I came away. Has anything befallen +them?"</p> + +<p>"They are safe! All is well with them +now, or will be well, when you go to them. +They are near here, Valdez. The Spaniards +broke up the village, do you see? Dolores +and your mother fled with the little one. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +village was burned, and many souls perished; +but Dolores was so strong, so brave, that +she got the old mother away alive and safe, +and the child as well. They have suffered +terribly, my poor man; you must look to find +them pale and thin, but they are alive, and +all will be well when once they have found +you."</p> + +<p>Seeing Valdez overcome for the moment, +Rita hastened to the General's tent and told +her story, begging that the husband and +father might be allowed to go at once to the +relief of his suffering family.</p> + +<p>"And he shall bring them here, shall he +not?" she cried, eagerly. "They cannot be +separated again, can they, dear Señor General? +you will make room for Dolores—that is the +wife; oh, such a brave woman! and the old +mother, and the dear little child!"</p> + +<p>The General looked puzzled; a look half +quizzical, half sad, stole over his fine face; +while he hesitated, Carlos broke out hastily:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +"Rita! you are too unreasonable! Do you +think we are in a city here? do you think the +General has everything at his command, to +maintain an establishment of women and +children? It is not to be thought of. We +have no room, no supplies, no conveniences of +any kind; they must go elsewhere."</p> + +<p>"They can have my house!" cried Rita, +"Your house, brother Carlos, which you have +given to me. I will sleep in a hammock, +under a tree. What matter? I will live on +bread and water; I will—"</p> + +<p>"My dear young lady!" said the General, +interrupting her eager speech with a lifted +hand. "My dear child, if an old man may +call you so, if only we had bread for all, +there would be no further question. We +would gladly take these poor people, and +hundreds of other suffering ones who fill +the hills and valleys of our unhappy country. +But—Carlos is right, alas! that I must say +it. Here in the mountain camp, it is impossi<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>ble +for us to harbour refugees, unless for a +night or so, while other provision is making. +Let Valdez bring his family here for the +night—we can make shift to feed and +shelter them so long. After that—"</p> + +<p>He shook his head sadly. Rita clasped her +hands in distress. To be brought face to face +with the impossible was a new experience to +the spoiled child. There was a moment's +silence. Then:</p> + +<p>"Señor General," she cried, "I know! I +see! all may yet be managed. They shall go +to our house."</p> + +<p>"To—"</p> + +<p>"To our house, Carlos's and mine, in Havana. +There are servants, troops of them; there is +food, drink, everything, in abundance, in +wicked, shameful abundance. Julio shall take +care of them; Julio shall treat them as his +mother and his sister. I will write commands +to him; this instant I will write."</p> + +<p>Snatching a sheet of paper from the table,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +she wrote furiously for a moment, then handed +the paper to the General with a look of satisfaction. +The General—oh, how slow he +was!—adjusted his glasses, and read the +paper carefully; looked at Rita; looked at +Carlos, and read the paper again. Rita +clenched her little hands, but was calm as +marble, as she assured herself. "Have I the +señorita's permission to read this aloud?" +asked the old man at last. "It may be +that Don Carlos's advice—a thousand thanks, +señorita." He read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Julio:</span>—The bearer of this is the wife of +Pedro Valdez. You are to take her and her +family in, and give them the best the house +contains; the best, do you hear? put them +in the marble guest-chamber, and place the +house at their disposal. Send for Doctor +Blanco to attend them; let Teresa wait upon +them, and let her furnish them with clothes +from my wardrobe. If you do not do all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +this, Julio, I will have you killed; so fail +not as you value your life.</p> + +<div class='right'> +"<span class="smcap">Margarita de San Real Montfort.</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>"P.S. The Señor Don Carlos is here with +me, and echoes what I say. We are with the +brave General Sevillo, and if you dare to +disobey, terrible revenge will be taken."</p><br /><br /></div> + +<p>"The ardent patriotism of the <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'senorita'">señorita</ins>," +said the General, cautiously, "is beautiful and +inspiring; nevertheless, is it not possible that +a more conciliatory tone might—I would +not presume to dictate, but—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Rita!" cried Carlos. "Child, when +will you learn that we are no longer acting +plays at home? This is absurd!"</p> + +<p>With an impatient movement that might +have been Rita's own, he snatched the paper +and tore it in two. "The General cannot be +troubled with such folly!" he said, shortly. +"Go to your room, my sister, and repose +yourself after your fatigues."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> + +<p>"By no means!" cried the kindly General, +seeing Rita's eyes fill with tears of anger and +mortification. "The señorita has promised +to make my tea for me this evening. Give +orders, I pray you, Don Carlos, that Valdez +bring his family to us for the night; the rest +can well wait for to-morrow's light. The +señorita is exhausted, I fear, with her manifold +fatigues, and she must have no more +anxieties to-day. Behold the tea at this +moment! Señorita Rita, this will be the +pleasantest meal I have had since I left my +home, two years ago."</p> + +<p>No anger could stand against the General's +smile. In a moment Rita was smiling herself, +though the tears still stood in her dark eyes, +and one great drop even rolled down her +cheek, to the General's great distress. Carlos, +seeing with contrition his sister's effort at +self-control, bent to kiss her cheek and murmur +a few affectionate words. Soon they +were all seated around the little table, Rita<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +and the General on camp-stools, Carlos on a +box. The tea was smoking hot; what did +it matter that the nose of the teapot was +broken? Rita had never tasted anything so +delicious as that cup of hot tea, without milk, +and with a morsel of sugar-cane for sweetening. +The camp fare, biscuits soaked in water +and fried in bacon fat, was better, she declared, +than any food she had ever tasted in +her life. To her delight, a small box of +chocolate still remained in her long-suffering +bag; this she presented to the General with +her prettiest courtesy, and he vowed he was +not worthy to taste such delicacies from such +a hand. So, with interchange of compliments, +and with a real friendliness that was far better, +the little feast went on gaily; and when, late +in the evening, Rita withdrew to her tent, +she told Manuela that she had never enjoyed +anything so much in her life; never!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>TO MARGARET.</h3> + + +<div class='right'> +<span class="smcap">Camp of the Sons of Cuba</span>,<br /> +<span style="margin-right: 2em;">May the —, Midnight.</span><br /> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">My Marguerite</span>:—What will you say +when your eyes, those calm gray eyes, rest +upon the above heading? Will they open +wider, I ask myself? Will the breath come +quicker between those cool rose-leaves of your +lips? "It is true!" you will murmur to yourself. +"She has done as she said, as she swore +she would. My Rita, my wild pomegranate +flower, has kept her vow; she is in the +mountains with Carlos; she has taken her +place beside the defenders of her country."</p> + +<p>Ah! you thought it was play, Marguerite, +confess it! You thought the wild Cuban girl +was uttering empty breath of nothingness;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +you have had no real anxiety, you never +dreamed that I should really find myself—where +now I am. Where is it? Listen, +Marguerite! My house—once Carlos's house, +now mine by his brotherly gift—stands in +a little glen of the hills. An open space, +once dry grass, now bare earth, baked by the +sun, trodden by many feet; a cluster of palms, +a mountain spring gushing from a rock hard +by; on every side hills, the brown, rugged +hills of Cuba, fairer to me than cloudy Alps +of Italy, or those other great mountains of +which never can I remember the barbarous +names. To teach me geography, Marguerite, +you never could succeed, you will remember; +more than our poor Peggy history. Poor +little Peggy! I could wish she were here +with me; it would be the greatest pleasure +of her life. For you, Marguerite, the scene +is too wild, too stern; but Peggy has a +martial spirit under her somewhat clumsy +exterior. But I wander, and Peggy is without<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +doubt sleeping at this moment under the +stern eye of her schoolmistress. I began to +tell you about my house, Marguerite. So +small a house you saw never. Standing, I +reach up my hand and touch the roof, of +brown canvas, less fresh than once it was. +Sitting, I stretch out my arms—here is one +wall; there—almost, but a few feet between—is +the other. In a corner my bed—ah, +Marguerite! on your white couch there, with +snowy draperies falling softly about you, +consider my bed! a pile of dried grasses and +leaves, shaken and tossed anew every morning, +covered with a camp blanket. I tell you, +the gods might sleep on it, and ask no better. +In another corner sleeps Manuela, my faithful +maid, my humble friend, the companion of my +wanderings. Some day you shall see Manuela; +she is an excellent creature. Cultivated, no; +intellinctual—what is that for a word, Marguerite? +Ah! when will you learn Spanish, +that I may pour my soul with freedom?—no;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +but a heart of gold, a spirit of fire and crystal. +She keeps my hut neat, she arranges my +toilet,—singular toilets, my dear, yet not +wholly unbecoming, I almost fancy,—she +helps me in a thousand ways. She has a +little love-affair, that is a keen interest to me; +Pepe, formerly the servant of Carlos, adores +her, and she casts tender eyes upon the young +soldier. For me, as you know, Marguerite, +these things are for ever past, buried in the +grave of my hero, in the stately tomb that +hides the ashes of the Santillos. I take a +sorrowful pleasure in watching the budding +happiness of these young creatures. More +of this another time.</p> + +<p>I sit, Marguerite, in the doorway of my +little house. It is the middle hour of the +night, when tomb-yards gape, as your Shakespeare +says. Am I sleepy? No! The camp +slumbers, but I—I am awake, and I watch. +I had a very long siesta, too. The moon is +full, and the little glade is bathed in silver<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +light. Here in Cuba, Marguerite, the moon +is other than with you in the north. You +call her pale moon, gentle moon, I know not +what. Here she shines fiercely, with passion, +with palpitations of fiery silver. The palms, +the aloes, the tangled woods about the camp, +are black as night; all else is a flood of airy +silver. I float, I swim in this flood, entranced, +enraptured. I ask myself, have I lived till +now? is not this the first real thrill of life +I have ever experienced? I alone wake, as +I said; the others slumber profoundly. The +General in his tent; ah, that you could know +him, Marguerite! that you and my uncle +could embrace this noble, this godlike figure! +He is no longer young, the snows of seventy +winters have blanched his clustering locks; +it is the only sign of age. For the rest, erect, +vigorous, a knight, a paladin, a—in effect, +a son of Cuba. The younger officers regard +him as a divinity; they live or die at his +command. They are three, these officers;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +Carlos is one; the others, Don Alonzo Ximenes, +Don Uberto Cortez. Don Alonzo is not +interesting; he is fat, and rather stupid, but +most good-natured. Don Uberto is Carlos's +friend, a noble young captain, much admired +formerly in Havana. I have danced with +him, my cousin, in halls of rose-wreathed +marble; we meet here in the wilderness, I +with my shattered affections, he with his +country's name written on his soul. It is +affecting; it is heart-stirring, Marguerite; yet +think nothing of it; romance is dead for +Margarita Montfort. Carlos is my kind +brother, as ever. He was vexed at first at +my coming here. Heavens! what was I to +do? My stepmother was dragging me to a +convent; my days would have been spent +there, and in a short time my life would have +gone out like a flame. "Out, short candle!" +You see I remember your Shakespeare readings, +my dearest. Can I forget anything +that recalls you to me, half of my heart? If<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +there had been time, indeed, I might have +written to my uncle; I might even have come +to you; but the hour descended like a thunderbolt; +I fled, Manuela with me. The manner +of my flight? you will ask. Marguerite, it +was managed—I do not boast, I am the soul +of humility, you know it!—the manner of +it was perfect. Listen, and you shall hear +all. You remember that in my last +letter—written, alas! in my beloved garden, which +I may never see more—I spoke with a certain +restraint, even an approach to mystery. +It was thus. At first, when that woman +proposed to take me to the convent, I was +a creature distracted. The fire of madness +burned in my veins, and I could think of +nothing save death or revenge. But with +time came reflection; came wisdom, Marguerite, +and inflexible resolve. To those she +loves, Margarita Montfort is wax, silk, down, +anything the most soft and yielding that can +be figured. To her enemies, steel and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +adamant are her composition. I had two +friends in that house of Spaniards; one was +Pasquale, good, faithful Pasquale, an under +gardener and helper; the other, Manuela, my +maid. I have described her to you—enough! +I realised that action must be of swiftness, +the lightning flash, the volcano fire that I +predicted. Do not say that I did not warn +you, Marguerite; knowing me, you must have +expected from my last letter what must come. +I called Manuela to my room, I made +pretence that she should arrange my hair. My +hair has grown three inches, Marguerite, since +I left you; it now veritably touches the floor +as I sit. Our holy religion tells us that it is +a woman's crown, yet how heavy a one at +times! I closed the door, I locked it; I +caused to draw down the heavy Persians. +Then, tiger-like, I sprang upon my attendant, +and laid my hand on her mouth. "Hush!" +I tell her. "Not a word, not a sound! dare +but breathe, and you may be my death. My<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +life, I tell you, hangs by a thread. Hush! be +silent, and tell me all. Tell me who assists +Geronimo in the stables since Pablo is ill." +Manuela struggles, she releases herself to +reply—</p> + +<p>"Pasquale!"</p> + +<p>It is the answer from heaven. Pasquale, I +have said, is my one friend beside Manuela. +I say to her, "Do thus, and thus! give these +orders to Pasquale; tell him that it imports of +your life and mine, saying nothing of his own; +that if I am not obeyed, the evil eye will be +the least of his punishments, and death without +the sacraments the end for him."</p> + +<p>Manuela hears; she trembles; she flies to +execute my commands. Then, Marguerite—then, +what does the daughter of Cuba do? She +goes to the wall, to the trophy I have described +to you so often. She selects her weapons. Ah, +if you could see them! First, a long slender +dagger, the steel exquisitely inlaid with gold, +in a sheath of green enamel; a dagger for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +a prince, Marguerite, for your Lancelot or +Tristram! Another, short and keen, the blade +plain but deadly, cased in wrought leather of +Cordova. Last, my machete, my pearl of +destructiveness. It was his, my Santayana's; +he procured it from Toledo, from the master +sword-maker of the universe. The blade is +so fine, the eye refuses to tell where it melts +into the air; a touch, and the hardest substance +is divided exactly in two pieces. The +handle, gold, set with an ancestral emerald, +which for centuries has brought victory in +the field to the arm of the hero who wore it; +the sheath—I forget myself; this weapon +has no sheath. When a Santillo de Santayana +rides into battle, he has no thought to sheathe +his sword. These, Marguerite, are my armament; +these, and a tiny gold-mounted revolver, +a gem, a toy, but a toy of deadly purpose. +Enough! I lay them apart, ready for the +night. I go to my stepmother, I smile, I +make submission. I will do all she wishes;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +I am a child; her age impresses me with the +truth that I should not set my will against +hers. Concepcion is thirty on her next birthday; +she tells the world that she is twenty, +but I know! it grinds her bones when I +remind her of her years, as they were revealed +to me by a member of her family. So! She +is pleased, we embrace, the volantes are commanded, +all goes smoothly. I demand permission +to take my parrot to the convent; it +is, to my surprise, accorded; I know she +thought those savage sisters would kill him +the first time he uttered his noble and inspiring +words.</p> + +<p>The night comes, the hour of the departure. +To accompany us goes my good Don +Miguel, the dear old man of whom I have +told you, whom I revere as my grandfather. +My heart yearns to tell him all, to cast myself +on his venerable bosom and cry, "Come +with me; take me yourself to my brother; +share with us the perils and glories of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +tented field!" But no! he is old, this dear +friend; his hair is the snow, his step is feeble. +Hardships such as Rita must now endure +would end his feeble life. I speak no word; +a marble smile is all I wear, though my heart +is rent with anguish. The carriages are at +the door. Concepcion would have me ride +in the first, that she may have her eyes on +me at each instant. She suspects nothing, +no; it is merely the base and suspicious +nature which reveals itself at every occasion. +I refuse, I prodigate expressions of my +humility, of my determination to take the +second place, leaving the first to her; briefly, +I take the second volante, Manuela springing +to my side. After some discontent, appeased +by dear Don Miguel, who is veritably an +angel, and wants but death to transport him +among the saints, Concepcion mounts in the +first volante. I have seen that Pasquale is +on the box of mine; I possess my soul, I lean +back and count the beats of my fevered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +pulse, as we ascend the steep road, winding +among hills and forests. The convent is at +the top of a long, long hill, very steep and +rugged; the horses pant and strain; humanity +demands that they slacken their pace, +that the carriages are slowly, slowly, drawn +up the rugged track. The night descends, I +have told you, swiftly in our southern climate; +already it is dark. On either side of +the road are tall shrouded forms, which +Manuela takes for sentinels, for Spanish soldiers +drawn up to watch, perhaps to arrest us. +I laugh; I see they are the aloes only, +planted here in rows along the road. Presently, +at a turn of the road, a light! a fire +burning by the roadside, and soldiers running, +real ones this time, to the horses' +heads. "<i>Alerta! quien va?</i>" It is the Spanish +challenge, Marguerite; it is a piquette of +the Gringos, of the hated Spaniards. They +peer into the carriages, faces of savages, of +brutes, devils; I feel their glances like poi<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>soned +arrows. They demand, Don Miguel +makes answer, shows his papers. Of the instant +these slaves are cringing, are bowing to +the earth. "Pass, most honourable and illustrious +Señor Don Miguel Pietoso, with the +heavenly ladies under your charge!" It is +over. The volantes roll on. I clasp Manuela +in my arms and whisper, "We are free!" +We mingle our tears of rapture, but for a +moment only. We approach the steepest +pitch of the long hill (it is veritably a mountain), +a place beyond conception rugged and +difficult. The horses strain and tug; they +are at point of exhaustion. I look at Pasquale; +Pasquale has served me since my +cradle. Does his head move, a very little, +the least imaginable motion? It is too dark +to see; the moon is not yet risen. But I feel +the horses checked, I feel the carriage pause, +an instant, a breath only. I step noiselessly +to the ground; the volante is low, permitting +this without danger. Manuela follows.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +There is not a sound, not a creak, not the +rustle of a fold. Again it is over. The volante +rolls on. Manuela and I are alone, +are free in the mountains of Cuba Libre.</p> + +<p>I have but one thought: my country, my +brother! Behold me here, in the society of +one, prepared to shed my blood for the other. +You would never guess who else is with us; +Chiquito, our poor old friend the parrot, the +sacred legacy of that white saint, our departed +aunt. Could I leave him behind, to +unfriendly, perhaps murderous, hands? Old +Julio is a Spaniard at heart; Chiquito is a +Cuban bird; his very soul—do you doubt +that a bird has a soul, when I tell you that +I have seen it in his eyes, Marguerite?—his +very soul speaks for his country. If you +could hear him cry, "<i>Viva Cuba Libre!</i>" The +camp is on fire when they hear him. Ah, +they are such brave fellows, our soldiers! +poor, in rags, half-fed—it matters not! each +one is a hero, and all are my brothers. Mar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>guerite, +sleep hangs at last upon me. Good-night, +beloved; good-night, cool white soul of +ivory and silver. I love thee always devotedly. +Have no fear for me. It is true that +the Spaniards are all about us in these mountains, +that at any moment we may be attacked. +What of that? If the daughter of +Cuba dies by her brother's side, in her country's +cause, my Marguerite will know that it +is well with her. You will shed a tear over +the lonely grave among the Cuban hills; but +you will plant a wreath for Rita, a wreath +of mingled laurel and immortelle, and it will +bloom eternally.</p> + +<p>Ever, and with a thousand greetings to my +honoured and admired uncle, your</p> + +<div class='right'> +<span class="smcap">Margarita de San Real Montfort.</span><br /></div><p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>IN THE NIGHT.</h3> + + +<p>Rita drew a long breath as she folded +her letter. She was in a fine glow of mingled +affection and patriotic fervour; it had been a +great relief to pour it all out in Margaret's +sympathetic ear, though that ear were a +thousand miles away. Now she really must +go to bed. It was one o'clock, her watch +told her. It seemed wicked, profane, to +sleep under such moonlight as this; but still, +the body must be preserved.</p> + +<p>"But first," she said to herself, "I must +have a drop of water; writing so long has +made me thirsty."</p> + +<p>She took up the earthen water-jar, but +found it empty. Pepe had for once been +faithless; indeed, neither he nor Manuela had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +escaped the witchery of the full moon, and +she had had little good of them that whole +evening. She glanced at the corner where +Manuela lay; the light, regular breathing +told that the girl was sound asleep. It +would be a pity to wake her from her first +sweet sleep, poor Manuela. A year, perhaps +a month ago, Rita would not have hesitated +an instant; but now she murmured, "Sleep, +little one! I myself will fetch the water."</p> + +<p>She stepped out into the moonlight, with +the jar in her hand. All was still as sleep +itself. No sound or motion from huts or +tent. Under the palms lay a number of +brown bundles, motionless. Dry leaves, piled +together for burning? no! soldiers of Cuba, +wrapped in such covering as they could find, +taking their rest. Alone, beside a little heap +of twigs that still smouldered, the sentry sat; +his back was turned to her. Should she +speak to him, and ask him to go to the +spring for her? No; how much more interest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>ing +to go herself! Everything looked so different +in this magic light; it was a whole +new world, the moon's fairyland; who knew +what wonderful sights might meet her eyes? +Besides, her old nurse used to say that water +drawn from a pure spring under the full +moon produced a matchless purity of the +complexion. Her complexion was well +enough, perhaps, but still—and anyhow, +it would be an adventure, however small a +one.</p> + +<p>The girl's feet, in their soft leather slippers, +made no sound on the bare earth. The sentry +did not turn his head. Silent as a cloud, she +stole across the little glade, and passed under +the trees at the farther end. Here the +ground broke off suddenly in a rocky pitch, +down which one scrambled to another valley +or glen lying some hundred feet lower; the +cliff (for it was steep enough to merit that +name) was mostly bare rock, but here and +there a little earth had caught and lodged,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +and a few seeds had dropped, and a tuft of +grass or a little tree had sprung up, defying +the gulf below. A few feet only from the +upper level, just below a group of palms that +nodded over the brink, the stream gushed +out from the face of the rock, clear and cold. +The soldiers had hollowed a little trough to +receive the trickling stream, and one had +only to hold one's pitcher under this spout +for a few minutes, to have it filled with delicious +water. Rita had often come hither in +the daytime, during the week that had now +passed since her arrival at the mountain +camp. It was a wild and picturesque scene +at any time, but now the effect of the intense +white light, falling on splintered rock, hanging +tree, and glancing stream was magical indeed. +Rita lay down on her face at the edge +of the precipice, as she had seen the soldiers +do, and lowered her jar carefully. As the +water gurgled placidly into the jar, her eyes +roved here and there, taking in every detail of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +the marvellous scene before her. Never, she +thought, had she seen anything so beautiful, +so unearthly in its loveliness. Peace! silver +peace, and silence, the silence of—hark! +what was that?</p> + +<p>A crack, as of a twig breaking; a rustling, +far below in the gorge; a shuffling sound, as +of soft shod feet pressing the soft earth. +Rita crouched flat to the ground, and, leaning +over as far as she dared, peered over the +precipice. The bottom of the gorge was +filled with a mass of tall grasses and feathery +blossoming shrubs, with here and there a +tree rising tall and straight. The leaves +were black as jet in the strong light. Gazing +intently, she saw the branches tremble, wave, +separate; and against the dark leaves shone +a gleam of metal, that moved, and came +nearer. Another and yet another; and now +she could see the dark faces, and the moon +shone on the barrels of the carbines, and made +them glitter like silver.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> + +<p>Swiftly and noiselessly the girl drew back +from the brink, crouching in the grass till +she reached the shadow of the grove. Then +she rose to her feet, still holding her jar of +water carefully,—for there was no need of +wasting that,—and ran for her life.</p> + +<p>A whispered word to the sentry, who +sprang quickly enough from his reverie beside +the fire; then to the General's tent, then +to Carlos, with the same whispered message. +"The Gringos are here! Wake, for the love +of Heaven!"</p> + +<p>In another moment the little glade was +alive with dusky figures, springing from +their beds of moss and leaves, snatching +their arms, fumbling for cartridges. The +General was already among them. Carlos +and the other officers came running, buckling +their sword-belts, rubbing their eyes.</p> + +<p>"Where are they?" all were asking in +excited whispers. "Who saw them? Is it +another nightmare of Pepe's?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No! no!" murmured Rita. "I saw them, +I tell you! I saw their faces in the moonlight. +I went to get some water. They are +climbing up the cliff. I did not stop to count, +but there must be many of them, from the +sound of their feet. Oh, make haste, make +haste!"</p> + +<p>The General gave his orders in a low, emphatic +tone. Twenty men, with Carlos at +their head, glided like shadows across the +glade, and disappeared among the trees. +Rita's breath came quick, and she prepared to +follow; but the old General laid a kind hand +on her arm. "No, my child!" he said. +"You have done your country a great service +this night. Do not imperil your life needlessly. +Go rather to your room, and pray for +your brother and for us all."</p> + +<p>But prayer was far from Rita's thoughts at +that moment. "Dear General," she implored, +with clasped hands, the tears starting to her +eyes, "Let me go! let me go! I implore<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +you! I will pray afterward, I truly will. I +will pray while I am fighting, if you will +only let me go. See! I have come all this +way to fight for my country; and must I +stay away from the first battle? Look, dear +Señor General! Look at my machete! Isn't +it beautiful? it is the sword of a hero; I must +use it for him. Let me go!" The beautiful +face, upturned in the moonlight, the dark eyes +shining through their tears, might have softened +a harder heart than that of General +Sevillo. He opened his lips to reply, his +fatherly hand still on her arm, when suddenly +a sharp report was heard. A single +shot, then a volley, the shots rattling out, +struck back and forth from cliff to cliff, multiplying +in hideous echoes. Then broke out +cries and groans; the crash of heavy bodies +falling back among the trees below, and +shouts of "<i>Viva Cuba;</i>" and still the shots +rang out, and still the echoes cracked and +snapped. Rita turned pale as death, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +clasped her hands on her bosom. "<i>Ah!</i> +<i>Dios!</i>" she cried. "I had forgotten; there +will be blood!" and rushing into her hut, she +flung herself face downward on her leafy bed.</p> + +<p>The perplexed General looked after her for +a moment, pulling his grizzled moustache. +"<i>Caramba!</i>" he muttered. "To understand +these feminines? Decidedly, this charming +child must be sent into safety to-morrow." +And shaking his head and shrugging his +shoulders, he strode in the direction of the +firing.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes' sharp fighting, and the skirmish +was over. The Spanish "guerilla" was +scattered, many of the guerilleros lying dead +or wounded at the foot of the precipice, the +others scrambling and tumbling down as best +they might. Carlos and his men had so +greatly the advantage in position, if not in +numbers, that not a single Cuban was killed, +though two or three were more or less seriously +wounded. Among these was the un<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>fortunate +Pedro Valdez, who had only that +evening returned to camp, having left his +child and his old mother in a place of safety. +His wife had been allowed to remain for +a short time in camp, at the request of the +surgeon, as she had had some experience in +nursing. Now he was shot in the arm, and +his comrades lifted him gently, and carried +him back. His wife was waiting for him. +She seemed to have expected something of +the kind, for she made no outcry; she followed +quietly to the clump of trees distant +a little way from the rest of the camp, where +good Doctor Ferrando had the solitary rancho, +the case of surgical instruments and the few +rolls of bandages that constituted his field +hospital. A rough table had been knocked +together for operations; otherwise the sick +and wounded fared much as the rest did, +sleeping on beds of leaves and dry grass, and +fighting the mosquitoes as best they might. +Here the bearers laid Pedro down, and Dolores<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +took her place quietly at his side, fanning +away the insects that hovered in clouds about +the wounded man, holding the poor arm while +the doctor dressed it, and behaving as if her +life had been spent in a hospital.</p> + +<p>Doctor Ferrando spoke a few words of approval, +but the woman heeded them little; it +was a matter of course that where there was +suffering, she should be at work. So, when +Pedro presently dropped off to sleep, she +moved softly about among the wounded men, +smoothing a blanket here, changing a ligature +there, doing all with light, swift fingers whose +touch healed instead of hurting.</p> + +<p>She was sitting beside a lad, the last to be +brought in from the scene of the skirmish, +when the screen of bushes by the rancho +was parted, and Rita appeared. Slowly and +timidly she drew near; her face was like +marble; her eyes looked unnaturally large +and dark. Dolores made a motion to rise, +but a gesture bade her keep her place.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Hush!" said the young girl. "Sit still, +Dolores! I have come—to—to learn!"</p> + +<p>"To learn, señorita?" repeated the woman, +humbly. The señorita was in her grateful +eyes a heaven-descended being, whose every +look and word must be law; this new bearing +amazed and puzzled her.</p> + +<p>"What can this poor soul teach the noble +and high-born lady?" she asked, sadly. "I +know nothing, not even to read; I am a poor +woman merely. The señor doctor is this +moment gone to take his distinguished siesta; +do I call him for the señorita?"</p> + +<p>Rita shook her head, and crept nearer, +gazing with wide eyes of fear at the prostrate +form beside which Dolores was sitting.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 271px;"> +<img src="images/gs04.png" width="271" height="400" alt=""'HUSH!' SAID THE YOUNG GIRL. 'SIT STILL.'"" title=""'HUSH!' SAID THE YOUNG GIRL. 'SIT STILL.'"" /> +<span class="caption">"'HUSH!' SAID THE YOUNG GIRL. 'SIT STILL.'"</span> +</div> + +<p>"See, Dolores!" she said; and her tone +was as humble as the woman's own. "I +must learn—to take care of him—of them!" +She nodded at the sufferer. "All my life, +you see, I could never bear the sight of blood. +To cut my finger, I fainted at the instant.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +Always they said, 'Poor child! it is her +delicacy, her sensibility;' they praised me; +I thought it a fine thing, to faint, to turn +pale at the word even. Now—oh, Dolores, do +you see? I desire to help my country, my +brother, all the heroes who are risking their life, +are shedding their—their blood—for Cuba. +I think I can fight; I forget; I see only the +bright shining blades, the victorious banners; I +forget that these heroes must bleed, that this +horrible blood must flow in streams, in torrents, +that oceans of it must overwhelm us, +the defenders of my country. <i>Ay de mi!</i> I +begged the General even now to let me fight, +to let me stand beside my Carlos, and wield +my beautiful machete. Suddenly, Dolores—I +heard the shots; I heard—terrible sounds! +screams—oh, Dios!—screams of men, perhaps +of my own brother, in anguish. All at +once it came over me—I cannot tell you—I +saw it all, the blood, the wounds, the horror +to death. I awoke from my dreams; I was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +a child, do you see, Dolores? I was a child, +playing at war, and thinking—thinking the +thoughts of a silly, silly child. Now I am +awake; now I know—what—what war +means. So—I am foolish, but I can learn; +I think I can learn. You are a brave woman; +I have been watching you through the leaves +for half an hour. I saw you—I saw you +change those cloths; those terrible bloody +cloths on that poor man's head. At first my +eyes turned round, I saw black only; but I +opened them again, I fixed them on what you +held, I watched. Now I can bear quite well +to look at it. Help me, Dolores! teach me—to +help as you help; teach me to care for +these brothers, as you do."</p> + +<p>Dolores looked earnestly in the beautiful +young face. In spite of the deadly pallor, she +saw that the girl was fully herself, was calm +and determined. With a simple, noble gesture +she lifted Rita's slender hand to her lips, +saying merely: "This hand shall bring bless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>ing +to many! come, my señorita, and see! +it is so easy, when once one knows the way +of it."</p> + +<p>Very gently the poor peasant's wife showed +the rich man's daughter the A B C of woman's +work among the sick and suffering. At first +Rita could do little more than control her +own nerves, and fight down the faintness that +came creeping over her at sight of the bandaged +faces, ghastly under the brown, of the +torn flesh and nerveless limbs. Gradually, +however, she began to gain strength. The +rough brown hand moved so easily, so lightly; +it laid hold of those terrible bandages as if +they were mere ordinary bits of linen. Surely +now, she, Rita, could do that too. As Dolores +took a cloth from her husband's head, the +girl's hand was outstretched, took it quietly, +and handed a fresh one to the nurse. The +cloth she took was covered with red stains. +For a moment Rita's head swam, and the +world seemed to turn dark before her eyes;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +but she held the thing firmly, till her sight +cleared again; then dropped it in the tub of +water that stood ready, and taking up the +fan of green palm-leaf, swept it steadily to +and fro, driving the clouds of flies and mosquitoes +away from the sufferer.</p> + +<p>Coming back from his siesta half an hour +later, good Doctor Ferrando paused a moment +at the entrance of the hospital grove. There +were two nurses now; the good man gazed in +astonishment at the slender figure kneeling +beside one of the rough cots, fanning the +wounded man, and singing in a low, sweet +voice, a song of Cuba. Several of the men +were awake, and gazing at her with delight. +Dolores, with a look of quiet happiness on +her face, sat beside the bed where her husband +was sleeping peacefully. "Come!" +said the doctor, "war, after all, has its beauty +as well as its terror. Observe this heavenly +sight, you benevolent saints!" he waved his +cigar upward, inviting the attention of all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +attendant spirits. "Consider this lovely child, +awakened to the holiness of womanhood! +and the General will destroy all this to-morrow, +from respect for worldly conventions! +He is without doubt right; yet, what +a pity!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>CAMP SCENE.</h3> + + +<p>"If I must, dear Señor General—I will be +good, I will, indeed; but my heart will break +to leave Carlos, and the camp, and you, Señor +General."</p> + +<p>"My dear child,—my dear young lady, +what pleasure for me to keep you here! the +first sunshine of the war, it came with you, +Señorita Margarita. Nevertheless, duty is +duty; I should be wanting in mine, most wofully +and wickedly wanting, if I allowed you +to remain here, in hourly danger, when a few +hours could place you in comparative safety. +Perfect safety, I do not promise. Where +shall we find it, even for our nearest and +dearest, in this poor distracted country? But +with Don Annunzio and his family you will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +be safe at least for a time; whereas here—" +The General looked around, and shrugged +his shoulders, spreading his hands out with +a dramatic gesture. "The Gringos have +learned the way to our mountain camp; they +will not forget it. Another attack may come +any night; our camp is an outpost, placed of +purpose to guard this position, which must +of necessity be one of danger. To have women +with us—it is not only exposing them to the +terrible possibilities of war, but—"</p> + +<p>He paused. "I see!" cried Rita. "I see! +you are too kind to say it, but we are a +burden upon you. We make harder the +work; we are an encumbrance. Dear Señor +General, I go! I fly! Give me half, a quarter +of an hour, and I am gone. Never, never, +will I be in the way of my country's defenders; +never! Too long we have stayed +already; Manuela shall make on the instant +our packets, and in a little hour you shall +forget that we were here at all."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> + +<p>The good General cried out, "No! no! my +dear child, my dear señorita; cease these +words, I implore you. You cut me to the +heart. Consider the help that you have +brought to us; consider the nursing, the tender +care that you and the wife of Valdez have +given to our sufferers, in the rancho there. +Never will this be forgotten, rest assured +of that. But—it is true that you must go; +yet not too soon. This evening, when the +coolness falls, Don Carlos, with a chosen +escort, will conduct you to the residence of +Don Annunzio. There, I rejoice to think +that you will find, not luxury, but at least +some few of the comforts of ordinary life. +Here you have suffered; your lofty spirit +will not confess it, but you have—you must +have suffered, delicate and fragile as you are, +in the rough life of a Cuban camp. Enough! +The day is before you, dearest señorita. I +pray you, while it lasts, make use of me, of +all that the camp contains, in whatever way<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +you can imagine. I would make the day a +pleasant one, if I might. Command me, dear +señorita, in anything and everything. The +camp is yours, with all it contains."</p> + +<p>He bowed with courtly grace, and Rita +courtsied and then turned quickly away, to +hide the tears that would come in spite of +her. It was a keen disappointment. When +Carlos told her that morning that she must +leave the camp, she had refused pointblank. +A stormy scene followed, in which the old +Rita was only too much in evidence. She +raged, she wept, she stamped her little foot. +She was a Cuban, as much as he was; she +was a nurse, a daughter of the army; no +human power should drive her from the +ground where she was prepared to shed her +last drop of blood for the defenders of her +country. Now—a few kind, grave words +from a gray-haired man, and all was changed. +She was not a necessity, she was a hindrance; +she saw that this must be so; the pain was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +sharp, but she would not show it; she would +never again lose her self-control, never. Carlos +should see that she was no longer a child. +He had called her a child, not half an hour +ago, a naughty child, who was making trouble +for everybody. Well—Rita stood still; the +thought came over her suddenly,—it was true! +she had been childish, had been naughty. +Suppose Margaret or Peggy should behave +so, stamping and storming; how would it +seem? Oh, well, that was different. Their +blood was cool, almost cold. It flowed sluggishly +in their veins. She was a child of +the South; it was not to be expected that she +should be like Margaret. Yes! but—the +thought would come, troubling all her mind; +suppose Margaret were here, with her calm +sense, her cheerful face, and tranquil voice; +would not she be of more use, of more help, +than a girl who could not help screaming +when she was in a passion?</p> + +<p>These thoughts were new to Rita Montfort.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +Full of them, she walked slowly to her hut, +with bent head, and eyes full of unshed tears. +Meanwhile, the good General went back to +his tent, where Carlos awaited him with some +anxiety.</p> + +<p>"Well?" he asked, as the gray head bent +under the tent-flaps.</p> + +<p>"Well," responded his commander. "It +is very well, my son. The señorita—she is +adorable, do you know it? Never have I seen +a more lovely young person! The señorita +is most reasonable. She comprehends; she +understands the desolation that it is to me +to send away so delightful a visitor; +nevertheless—she accepts all, with her own +exquisite grace."</p> + +<p>Carlos shrugged his shoulders; that same +exquisite grace had flashed a dagger in his +eyes not ten minutes before, vowing that +it should be sheathed in the owner's heart +before she left the camp; but it was not +necessary to say this to the General. Carlos<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +was an affectionate brother, and was honestly +relieved and glad to find that Rita had come +to her senses. He thanked General Sevillo +warmly for his good offices, and, being off +duty, went in search of his sister, determining +that he would make her last day in camp a +pleasant one, so far as lay in his power. He +found Rita sitting sadly in the door of her +hut, watching Manuela, who was packing +up their belongings, unwillingly enough. +Manuela had enjoyed her stay in camp +greatly, and thought life would be very dull, +in comparison, at Don Annunzio's cottage; +but there was no escape, and the white silk +blouse and the swansdown wrapper went into +the bag with all the other fineries.</p> + +<p>"Come, Rita," said Carlos, taking his sister's +hand affectionately; "come with me, +and let me show you some things that you +have not yet seen. You must not forget the +camp. Who knows? Some day you may +come back to pay us a visit."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> + +<p>Rita shook her head, and the tears came to +her eyes again; but she drove them back +bravely, and smiled, and laid her hand in her +brother's; and they passed out together +among the palm-trees.</p> + +<p>Manuela looked after them, and laid her +hand on her heart; it was a gesture that she +had often seen her mistress use, and it +seemed to her infinitely touching and beautiful. +"<i>Ohimé</i>," sighed Manuela. "War is terrible, +indeed! To think that we must go +away, just when we are so comfortable. But +where, then, is this idiot? Pepe! When I +call you, will you come, animal? Pepe!"</p> + +<p>The thicket near the rancho rustled and +shook, and Pepe appeared. This young man +presented a different figure from the forlorn +one that had greeted the two girls on their +first arrival at the camp. His curly hair was +now carefully brushed and oiled. The scarlet +handkerchief was still tied about his +head, but it was tied now with a grace that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +might have done credit to the most dandified +matador in the Havana ring. His jacket was +neatly mended; altogether, Pepe was once +more a self-respecting, even a +self-admiring youth. Also, he admired Manuela +immensely, and lost no opportunity of telling +that she was the light of his eyes and +the flower of his soul. He was now beginning +some remarks of this description, but +Manuela interrupted him, laying her pretty +brown hand unceremoniously on his lips.</p> + +<p>"For once, Pepe, endeavour to possess a +small portion of sense," she said. "Listen +to me! We must leave the camp."</p> + +<p>"How then, marrow of my bones! Leave +the camp? You and I?"</p> + +<p>"I am speaking to a monkey, then, instead +of a man? The use, I ask you, of addressing +intelligent remarks to such a corporosity? +My mistress and I, simpleton. This General +of yours drives us from his quarters; he +begrudges the morsel we eat, the rude hut<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +that shelters us. Enough! we go; even now +I make preparation. Pull this strap for me, +Pepe; at least you have strength. Ah! If +I were but a great stupid man, it would be +well with me this day!"</p> + +<p>"But well for no one else, my idol," said +Pepe, tugging away at the strap. "Desolation +and despair for the rest of mankind, Rose +of the Antilles. Accidental death to this +bag! why have you filled it so full? There! +it is strapped. Manuela, is it possible that I +live without you? No! I shall fall an easy +victim to the first fever that comes; already +I feel it scorching my—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, a paralysis upon you! Can I exercise +my thoughts, with the chatter of a parrot +in my ears? Attend, then, Pepe,—you will +miss me a little, will you? Just a very +little?"</p> + +<p>Pepe opened his mouth for new and fiery +protestations, but was bidden peremptorily to +shut it again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I desire now to hear myself speak," said +Manuela. "I weary, Pepe, for the sound of +my own poor little voice. Listen, then! These +days I have been here, and you have never +asked me what I brought with me for you; +brought all that cruel way from the city. I +knew I should find you somewhere, my good +Pepe; or, if not you, some other friend, +some other good son of Cuba. I thought +of you, I remembered you, even in the +rush of our departure. See! It is yours. +May it bring you fortune!"</p> + +<p>She handed him a little packet, neatly +folded in white paper, and tied with a +crimson ribbon. Receiving it with +dramatic eagerness, Pepe opened it and +looked with delight at its contents.</p> + +<p>"A <i>detente!</i>" he cried. "Manuela! and +the most beautiful that has been seen upon +the earth. This is not for me! No! Impossible! +The General alone is worthy to wear +this object of an elegance so resplendent."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> + +<p>Reassured on this point, he proceeded to +pin the emblem on his jacket, and +contemplated it with delighted pride. It +was a simple thing enough; a square of white +flannel the size of an ordinary needlebook, +neatly scalloped around the edge with white +silk. In the centre was embroidered a crimson +heart, and under it the words, "<i>Detente! +pienso en ti!</i>" ("Be of good cheer! I think +of thee!")</p> + +<p>"And did you really think of me, Manuela?" +cried the delighted Pepe. "Did you, +bright and gay, in the splendid city, think of +the lonely soldier?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did," said Manuela, "when I +had nothing else to do. And now you may +go away, Pepe, I am busy; I cannot attend +to you any longer."</p> + +<p>"But," said Pepe, bewildered, "you called +me, Manuela."</p> + +<p>"Yes; to strap my bag. It is done; I +thank you. It is finished."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And—you have given me the <i>detente</i>, +moon of my soul!"</p> + +<p>"Then you cannot complain that I never +gave you anything. And now I give you +one thing more,—leave to depart. <i>Adios,</i> +Don Pepe!" and she actually shut the door +of the hut in the face of her astonished adorer, +who departed muttering strange things concerning +the changeableness of all women, and +of Manuela in particular.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Rita and Carlos were wandering +about the camp, and Rita was seeing, as her +brother promised, some things that were new +to her, even after a stay of nearly a week. +She saw the kitchen, or what passed for a +kitchen,—a pleasant spot under a palm-tree, +where the cook was even then toasting long +strips of meat over the <i>parilla</i>, a kind of +gridiron, made by simply driving four stakes, +and laying bits of wood across and across +them, then lighting a fire beneath.</p> + +<p>"But why does it not burn up, your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +<i>parilla?</i>" asked Rita of the long, lean, coffee-coloured +soldier, picturesque and ragged, who +was turning the strips with a forked stick.</p> + +<p>"Pardon, gracious señorita, it does burn +up; not the first time, nor perhaps the second, +but without doubt the third."</p> + +<p>"And then?"</p> + +<p>"And then,—it is but to build another. +An affair of a moment, señorita."</p> + +<p>"But does not the meat often fall into the +fire when it breaks?"</p> + +<p>"Sufficiently often, most noble. What of +that? It imparts a flavour of its own; one +brushes off the ashes—soldiers do not dine +at the Hotel Royal, one must observe. May +I offer the señorita a bit of this excellent +beef? This has not fallen down at all, or at +most but once, one little time."</p> + +<p>Rita thanked him, but was not hungry. +At least she would have a cup of <i>guarapo</i>, +the hospitable cook begged; and he hastened +to bring her a cup of polished cocoanut shell,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +filled with the favourite drink, which was +simply hot water with sugar dissolved in it. +Rita took the cup graciously, and drank to +the health of the camp, and to the freedom of +Cuba; the cook responded with many bows +and profuse thanks for the honour she had +done him, and the brother and sister passed +on.</p> + +<p>"There are some good bananas near here," +said Carlos; "little red ones, the kind you +like, Rita. I'll fill a basket for you to take +with you; Don Annunzio's may not be so +good."</p> + +<p>They were making their way through a +tangle of tall grass and young palm-trees, +when suddenly Rita stopped, and laid her +hand on her brother's arm.</p> + +<p>"Look!" she said. "Look yonder, Carlos! +The grass moves."</p> + +<p>"A snake, perhaps," said Carlos; "or a +land-crab. Stand here a moment, and I will +go forward and see."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> + +<p>He advanced, looking keenly at the clump +of yellowish grass that Rita had pointed out. +Certainly, the grass did move. It quivered, +waved from side to side, then seemed to +settle down, as if an invisible hand were +pulling it from below. Carlos drew his +machete, and bent forward; whereupon a +loud yell was heard, and the clump of grass +shot up into the air, revealing a black face, +and a pair of rolling eyes.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" cried Rita, in terror. "Carlos, +come back to me! It is a devil!"</p> + +<p>"Only a scout!" said her brother, laughing. +"One of our own men on outpost duty. Have +peace, Pablo! your hour is not yet come."</p> + +<p>"<i>Caramba!</i> I thought it was, my captain!" +said the negro scout, grinning. "Better +be a crab than a Cuban in these days."</p> + +<p>He was a singular figure indeed. From +head to waist he was literally clothed in grass, +bunches of it being tied over his head and +round his neck and shoulders, falling to his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +thighs. A pair of ragged trousers of no +particular colour completed his costume. A +more perfect disguise could not be imagined; +indeed, except when he lifted his head, he +was not to be distinguished from the clumps +and tufts of dry grass all about him.</p> + +<p>"Pablo is a good scout!" said Carlos, approvingly. +"No Gringo could possibly see you +till he stepped on you, Pablo; and then—"</p> + +<p>"And then!" said Pablo, grinning from +ear to ear; and he drew his machete and +went through an expressive pantomime which, +if carried out, would certainly have left very +little of Gringo or any one else.</p> + +<p>"Is your post near here? show it! The +señorita would like to see how a Cuban scout +lives."</p> + +<p>Pablo, a man of few words, gave a pleased +nod, and scuttled away through the bush, +beckoning them to follow. Rita, stepping +carefully along, holding her brother's hand, +kept her eyes on the scout for a few moments;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +then he seemed to melt into the rest of the +grass, and was gone. A few steps more, and +they almost fell over him, as his black face +popped up again, shaking back its grassy +fringes.</p> + +<p>"Behold the domicile of Pablo!" he said, +with a magnificent gesture. "The property, +with all it contains, of the señorita and the +Señor Captain Don Carlos."</p> + +<p>Brother and sister tried to look becomingly +impressed as they surveyed the domain. +Close under a waving palm-tree a rag of +brown canvas was stretched on two sticks +laid across upright branches stuck in the +ground. Under this awning was space for a +man to sit, or even to lie down, if he did not +mind his feet being in the sun. A small iron +pot, hung on three sticks over some blackened +stones, showed where the householder +did his cooking; a heap of leaves and grass +answered for bed and pillows; this was the +domicile of Pablo.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> + +<p>Breaking a twig from a neighbouring +shrub, the scout bent over the pot, and +speared a plantain, which he offered to Rita +with grave courtesy. She took it with equal +dignity, thanking him with her most gracious +smile, and ate it daintily, praising its flavour +and the perfection of its cooking till the +good negro's face shone with pleasure.</p> + +<p>"And you stay here alone, Pablo?" she +asked. "How long? you are not afraid? +No, of course not that; you are a soldier. +But lonely! is it not very lonely here, at +night above all?"</p> + +<p>Pablo spread out his hands. "Señorita, +possibly—if it were not for the crabs. +These good souls—they have the disposition +of a Christian!—sit with me, in the intervals +of their occupations, and are excellent +company. They cannot talk, but that suits +me very well. Then, there is always the +chance of some one coming by—as to-day, +when the Blessed Virgin sends the señorita<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +and the Señor Don Carlos. Also at any +moment the devil may send me a Gringo; +their scouts are as plenty as scorpions. No, +señorita, I am not lonely. It is a fine life! +In a prison, you see, it would be quite otherwise."</p> + +<p>"But there are other ways of living, +Pablo, beside scouting and going to prison," +said Rita, much amused.</p> + +<p>"Without doubt! Without doubt!" said +Pablo, cheerfully. "And assuredly neither +would befit the <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'senorita'">señorita</ins>. May she live as +happy as she is beautiful, the sun being black +beside her. <i>Adios</i>, señorita; <i>adios</i>, Señor +Captain Don Carlos!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Adios</i>, good Pablo! good luck to you +and your crabs!" and laughing and waving +a salute, they left the scout nodding his +grass-crowned head like a transformed mandarin, +and went back to the camp.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE PACIFICOS.</h3> + + +<p>A long, low adobe house, brilliantly white +with plaster; a verandah with swinging hammocks; +the inevitable green blinds; the inevitable +cane and banana patch; this was +Don Annunzio's. Don Annunzio Carreno +himself (to give him his full name for once, +though he seldom heard or used it) sat in a +large rocking-chair on the verandah, smoking. +He was enormously stout and supremely +placid, and he looked the picture of peace and +prosperity, in his spotless white suit and +broad-brimmed hat.</p> + +<p>To Rita, weary after her ten miles' ride +from the camp, the whole place seemed a +page out of a picture-book. Her mind was +filled with rugged and startling images: the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +rude hospital, with its ghastly sights and +homely though devoted tendance; the ragged +soldiers, with head or arm bound in bloody +bandages; the camp fire and kitchen, the +scout in his grassy panoply. Her eyes had +grown accustomed to sights like these, and +the bright whiteness of house and householder, +the trim array of flower-beds and +kitchen-garden, struck her as strange and artificial. +She felt as if Don Annunzio ought to +be wound up from behind, and was whimsically +surprised to see him rise and come +forward to meet them.</p> + +<p>Carlos made his explanation, and presented +General Sevillo's letter. Don Annunzio's hat +was already in his hand and he was bowing +to Rita with all the grace his size allowed; +but now he implored them to enter the house, +which he declared he occupied henceforward +only at their pleasure.</p> + +<p>"If the señorita will graciously descend!" +said the good man. "On the instant I call<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +my wife. Prudencia! Where are you, then? +Visitors, Prudencia; visitors of distinction. +Hasten quickly!"</p> + +<p>A woman appeared in the doorway; tall +and lean, clad in brown calico, with a sun-bonnet +to match, but with apron and kerchief +as snowy as Don Annunzio's "ducks."</p> + +<p>"For the land's sake!" said Señora Carreno.</p> + +<p>Rita looked up quickly.</p> + +<p>"Visitors, my love!" Don Annunzio explained +rapidly, in good enough English. +"The Señor Captain and the Señorita Montfort, +bringing a note from his Excellency +General Sevillo. The señorita will remain +with us for some days; I have placed all at +her disposal; I—"</p> + +<p>"There, Noonsey!" said the lady, not +unkindly. "You set down, and let me see +what's goin' on."</p> + +<p>She laid a powerful hand on her husband's +shoulder, and pushed him into his chair again; +then advanced to the verandah steps, regard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>ing +the newcomers with frank but cheerful +scrutiny.</p> + +<p>"What's all this?" she said. "Good +mornin'! Yes, it's a fine day. Won't you +step in?"</p> + +<p>Carlos told his story, and asked permission +for his sister and her maid to spend some +days at the house until some permanent place +could be found for her.</p> + +<p>The señora considered with frowning brows, +not of anger but of consideration.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, "I did say I wouldn't +take no more boarders. I had trouble with +the last ones, and said I'd got through accommodatin' +folks. Still—I dunno but we could +manage—does she understand when she's +spoke to—English, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, I do!" cried Rita, coming +forward. "I am only half Cuban; it is good +to hear you speak. If you will let me stay, +I will try to give little trouble. May I stay, +please?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, I guess you may!" cried the New +England woman. "You walk right in and +lay off your things, and make yourself to +home. The idea! Why didn't you say—why, +it's as good as a meal o' victuals to hear you +speak. Been to the States, have you? Well, +now, if that don't beat all! Noonsey, you +go and tell José we shall want them chickens +for supper. Set down, young man! This +your hired gal, dear? Does she speak English? +Well no, I s'pose not."</p> + +<p>She said a few words to Manuela in Spanish +which, if not melodious, was intelligible, and +then led Rita into the house, talking all the +way.</p> + +<p>"Here's the settin'-room; and here's the +spare-room off'n it. There! lay your things +on the bed, dear. I keep on talkin', when +all the time I want to hear you talk. It is +good to hear your native speech, say what +they will. Husband, he does his best, to +please me; but it's like as though he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +speakin' molasses, some way. Been in the +States to school, did you say?"</p> + +<p>Rita told her story: of her American father, +who had always spoken English with her and +her brother; of the summer spent in the +North with her uncle and cousins. "Oh," +she said, "you are right. I used to think +that I was two-thirds Cuban; I thought I +cared little, little, for the American part of +me. Now—but it is music to hear you +speak, Señora Carreno."</p> + +<p>"S'pose you call me Marm Prudence!" +said the good woman, half-shyly. "I don't +see as 'twould be any harm, and I should +like dretful well to hear the name again. I +was a widow when I married Don Noonzio. +Yes'm. My first husband was captain of a +fruit schooner. I voyaged with him considerable. +He died in Santiago, and I never +went back home: I couldn't seem to. I +washed and sewed for families I knew, and +then bumbye I married Don Noonzio. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +gave me a good home, and he's a good provider. +There's times, though, that I'm terrible +homesick. There! I don't know what I +should do if 'twa'n't for my settin'-room. +Did you notice it, comin' through? I just +go there and set sometimes, and look round, +and cry. It does me a sight o' good."</p> + +<p>Rita had indeed glanced around the sitting-room +as she passed through it, but it said +nothing to her. The six haircloth chairs, +the marble-topped centre-table with its wool +and bead mat, its glass lamp with the red +wick, its photograph-album and gilt family +Bible, did not speak her language. Neither +did the mantelpiece, with its two china +poodles and its bunches of dried grasses in +vases of red and white Bohemian glass. The +Cuban girl could not know how eloquent +were all these things to the exiled Vermont +woman; but she looked sympathetic, and felt +so, her heart warming to the homely soul, +with her rugged speech and awkward gestures.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> + +<p>Marm Prudence now insisted that her guest +must be tired, and brought out a superb quilt, +powdered with red and blue stars, to tuck +her up under; but word came that Captain +Montfort was going, and Rita hurried out to +the verandah to bid him farewell. Carlos took +her in his arms, affectionately. "How is it, +then, little sister?" he asked. "Are you +reconciled at all? Can you stay here in peace +a little, with these good people?"</p> + +<p>Rita returned his caress heartily. "You +were right, Carlos!" she said. "You and +the dear General were both right. It was +wonderful to be there in camp; I shall never +forget it; I hope I shall be better all my life +for it; but I could not have stayed long, I +see that now. Here I shall be taken care of; +here I shall rest, as under a grandmother's +care. This good Marm Prudence,—that is +what I am to call her, Carlos,—already I +love her, already she tends me as a bird tends +her young. Ah, Carlos, you will not neglect<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +Chico? I leave him as a sacred legacy. The +men implored me so. They said the bird had +brought them good fortune once, and would +be their salvation again; I had not the heart +to take him from them. You will see that +they do not feed him too much? Already +he has had a fit of illness from too much +kindness on the part of our faithful soldiers. +Thank you! and have no thought of me, my +brother; all will be well with me. Return +to your glorious duty, son of Cuba. It may +be that even here, in this peaceful spot, it +may be given to your Rita to serve the +mother we both adore. <i>Adios</i>, Carlos! Heaven +be with thee!"</p> + +<p>Carlos, who was of a practical turn of mind, +was always uncomfortable when Rita spread +her rhetorical wings. He did not see why +she could not speak plain English. But he +kissed her affectionately, heartily glad that +he could leave her content with her surroundings; +and with a cordial farewell to the good<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +people of the house, he rode away, followed +by his clanking orderlies, leading the horse +Rita had ridden.</p> + +<p>While all this had been going on, Manuela +had been arranging her mistress's things; +shaking out the crumpled dresses, brushing +off the bits of grass and broken straw that +clung to hem and ruffle, mementoes of the +days in camp. Manuela sighed over these +relics, and shook her head mournfully.</p> + +<p>"Poor Pepe!" she said. "If only he does +not fall into a fever from grief! Ah, love +is a terrible thing! <i>Dios!</i> what a rent in +the señorita's serge skirt! A paralysis on the +brambles in that place! yet it was a good +place. At least there was life. One heard +voices, neighing of horses, jingling of stirrups. +Here we shall grow into two young cabbages +beside that old one, my señorita and her poor +Manuela. Ah, life is very sad!"</p> + +<p>Here Manuela chanced to look out of the +window, and saw a handsome Creole boy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +leading a horse to water in the courtyard. Instantly +her face lighted up. She flew to the +looking-glass, and was arranging her hair +with passionate eagerness, when the door +opened, and Rita entered, followed by their +kind hostess. Manuela started, then turned +to drop a demure courtsey. "I was examining +the glass," she explained, "to see if it +was fit for the señorita to use. These common +mirrors, you understand, they draw the countenance +this way, that way,—" she expressed +her meaning in vivid pantomime,—"one +thinks one's visage of caoutchouc. But this +is passable; I assure you, señorita, passable."</p> + +<p>"Well, I declare!" said Marm Prudence. +"My best looking-glass, that I brought from +Chelsea, Massachusetts, when I was first +married! If it ain't good enough for you, +young woman, you're free to do without it, +and so I tell you."</p> + +<p>She spoke with some severity, but softened +instantly as she turned to Rita. "Now you'll<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +lie down and rest you a spell, won't you, dear?" +she said. "I must go and see about supper, +and I sha'n't be satisfied till I see you tucked +up under my 'Old Glory spread.' That's what +I call it; it has the colours, you see. There! +comfortable? Now you shut your pretty eyes, +and have a good sleep. And you," she added, +turning to Manuela, "can come and help me +a spell, if you've nothing better to do. I'm +short-handed; help is turrible skurce in war-time, +and I can keep you out of Satan's hands, +if nothing else."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3>IN HIDING.</h3> + + +<p>"You busy, Miss Margaritty?"</p> + +<p>It was Marm Prudence's voice, and at the +sound Rita opened her door quickly. She +and Manuela had been holding a mournful +consultation over the state of her wardrobe, +which had had rough usage during the past +two weeks, and she was glad of an interruption.</p> + +<p>"I thought mebbe you'd like to come and +set with me a spell while I worked."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!" cried Rita, eagerly. "And +may I not work, too? Isn't there something +I can do to help?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I should be pleased!" said the +good woman. "I'm braidin' hats for the +soldiers. I promised a dozen to-morrow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +night. It's pretty work; mebbe you'd like +to try."</p> + +<p>"For the soldiers? For our soldiers? Oh, +what joy, Marm Prudencia! No, Prudence, +you like better that. Show me, please! I +burn to begin."</p> + +<p>"Why, you're real eager, ain't you?" said +Marm Prudence. "Now I'm glad I spoke; +I thought mebbe 'twould suit you. Young +folks like to be at something."</p> + +<p>In a few minutes the two were seated on +the cool inner verandah, looking out on the +garden, with a great basket between them, +heaped with delicate strips of palmetto leaf, +white and smooth.</p> + +<p>"Husband, he whittles 'em for me," Marm +Prudence explained. "It's occupation for +him. Fleshy as he is, he can't get about +none too much, and this keeps his hands +busy. It's hard to be a man and lose the +activity of your limbs. But there! there's +compensations, I always say. If Noonsey<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +was as he was ten years ago, he'd be off with +the rest, and then where'd I be?"</p> + +<p>"Then"—Rita's eyes flashed, and she bent +nearer her hostess, and spoke low. "Then +you are not at heart <i>pacificos</i>, Marm Prudence. +On the surface, I understand, I comprehend, +it is necessary; but <i>au fond</i>, in your +secret hearts, you are with us; you are Cubans. +Is it not so? It must be so!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, land, yes!" said Marm Prudence, +composedly. "I'm an American, you see; +and husband, he's a Cuban five generations +back. We don't have no dealin's with the +Gringos, more than we're obleeged to. Livin' +right close t' the road as we do, we can't let +out the way we feel, but I guess there's +mighty few Mambis about here but knows +where to come when they want things. +There ain't many so bold as your brother, +to come in open daylight, but come night, +they're often as thick as bats about the +garden here. There! I have to shoo' em<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +off sometimes; yet I like to have 'em, +too."</p> + +<p>Rita's face glowed with excitement. "Oh, +Marm Prudence," she cried; "how glorious! +Oh, what fortune, what joy, to be here with +you! We will work together; we will toil; +our blood shall flow in fountains, if it is +needed. Embrace me, mother of Cuba!"</p> + +<p>Marm Prudence put on her spectacles, and +surveyed the excited girl with some anxiety.</p> + +<p>"Let me feel your pult, dear!" she said, +soothingly. "You got a touch o' sun, like as +not, riding in that heat this morning. Now +there's no call to get worked up, or talk +about blood-sheddin'. Blood-sheddin' ain't in +our line, yours nor mine, nor husband's +neither. Fur as doin' goes, we're all <i>pacificos</i> +here, Miss Margaritty, and you mustn't forget +that. Just wait a minute, and I'll go +and git you a cup of my balm-tea; 'tis real +steadyin' to the nerves, and I expect yours is +strung up some with all you've be'n through."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> + +<p>Rita protested that she was perfectly well, +and not at all excited; but she submitted, +and drank the balm-tea meekly, as it was +cold and refreshing.</p> + +<p>"It is my ardent nature!" she explained. +"It is the fire of my patriotism which +consumes me. Do you not feel it, Marm +Prudence, oftentimes, like a flame in your +bosom?"</p> + +<p>No, Marm Prudence was not aware that +she did. Things took folks different, she +said, placidly. She had an aunt when she was +a little gal, that used to have spasms reg'lar +every time she heard the baker's cart. Some +thought she had had hopes of the baker before +he married a widow woman, but you +couldn't always account for these things. +What a pretty braid Rita was getting!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/gs05.png" width="600" height="399" alt=""'WAS SUCH A HAT EVER SEEN IN PARIS?'"" title=""'WAS SUCH A HAT EVER SEEN IN PARIS?'"" /> +<span class="caption">"'WAS SUCH A HAT EVER SEEN IN PARIS?'"</span> +</div> + +<p>Indeed, the work suited Rita's nimble fingers +to perfection, and yard after yard of +snowy braid rolled over her lap and grew +into a pile at her feet. She was eager to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +make her first hat. After an hour or two +of braiding, she discovered that it suited +Manuela's genius better than her own. The +basket of splints was turned over to the willing +handmaiden, and good-natured Marm +Prudence showed Rita how to sew the braids +together smooth and flat, and initiated her +into the mysteries of crown and brim. In +a creditably short space of time, Rita, with +infinite pride, held her first hat aloft, and +twirled it round and round on her finger.</p> + +<p>"But, it is perfect!" she cried. "The +shape, the colour, the air of it. Manuela, +quick! a mirror! hold it for me—so! look!" +She took the ribbon from her belt, and began +to twist it in one coquettish knot after another +about the hat, which she had set on her dark +hair.</p> + +<p>"Is that <i>chic?</i> Is it adorable, I ask you? +Was such a hat ever seen in Paris? Never! +I wear no other from this day on; hear me +swear it! It will become the rage; I will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +make it so. Or—no! I will keep to myself the +secret, and others will die of envy. I name +it, Manuela. The Prudencia, for thee, my +kind hostess. Why do you laugh?"</p> + +<p>Marm Prudence was twinkling in her quiet +way. "I was only thinkin' there'd have to <ins title="Transcriber's Note: this word not present in the original">be</ins> +one soldier boy go without his hat to-morrow!" +she said, good-humouredly. "It does +look nice on you, though, Miss Margaritty, +that's certin."</p> + +<p>Blushing scarlet, Rita tore the hat from +her head.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" she cried, casting it on the floor. +"Wretch, ingrate, <i>serpent</i> that I am! Take +away the glass, girl! take it away; break it +into a thousand pieces, to shame my vanity, +and never speak to me of hats again. Henceforward +I tie a shawl over my head, for the +remainder of my life; I have said it."</p> + +<p>Much depressed, she worked away in silence, +as if her life depended upon it. Manuela, +shrugging her shoulders, carried off the glass,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +but did not think it necessary to obey the +injunction to break it. She was used to her +señorita's outbreaks, and returned placidly +to her braiding as if nothing had happened.</p> + +<p>The good hostess regarded her pretty +visitor with some alarm, mingled with amusement +and admiration. She might have her +hands full, she thought, if she attempted to +keep this young lady occupied, and out of +mischief. The time when she was asleep +was likely to be the most peaceful time in +Casa Annunzio. Yet how pretty she was! +and what a pleasure it was to hear her speak, +something between a bird and a flute. On +the whole, Marm Prudence thought her coming +a thing to be thankful for.</p> + +<p>Talking with Don Annunzio himself that +evening, Rita found him far less guarded +than his wife in his expression of patriotic +zeal. He echoed her saying, that every +Mambi in the country knew where to come +when he wanted anything; and he went on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +to draw lurid pictures of what he would do +to the Gringos if he but had the power.</p> + +<p>"See, señorita!" he said, in his wheezy, +asthmatic voice. "I am powerless, am I +not? Already of a certain age, I am afflicted +with an accession of flesh; moreover, I am +short of breath, owing to this apoplexy of an +asthma. Worse than this, my legs, if the +señorita can pardon the allusion, refuse now +these two years to do their office. With two +sticks, I can hobble about the house and +garden; without them, behold me a fixture. +How, then? When the war breaks out, I +go to my General, to General Sevillo, under +whom I served in the ten years' war. I say +to him, 'Things are thus and thus with me, +but still I would serve my country. Give +me a horse, and let me ride with you as an +orderly.' Alas! it may not be. 'Annunzio,' +he says, 'your day of service in the field is +over. Stay at home, and help our men when +they call upon you. Thus you can do more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +good ten-fold than you could do in the +saddle.'</p> + +<p>"<i>Ohimé!</i> my heart is broken; it is reduced +to powder, but what will you? reason, joined +to authority,—I am but a simple man, and +I obey. Since then, I sit and whittle splints +for my admirable wife. A woman, señorita, +to rule a nation! The Gringos pass by, and see +me working at my trade. I greet them civilly, +I supply requisitions when backed by authority; +again, what will you? I suffer in silence till +their back is turned, and my maledictions accompany +them along the road. Ah! if none of +them had longer life than I wish him, the +road would be encumbered with corpses. +Then,—draw your chair nearer, señorita, if +you will have the infinite graciousness,—then, +at night—it may be this very night—the +others come. Hush! yes—the Mambis; the +sons of Cuba. Quietly, by ones, by twos, +they appear, dropping from the sky, rising +from the earth. Then—ha! then, you shall<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +see. Not a word more, Señorita Margarita! +Donna Prudencia is a pearl, an empress +among women, but rightly named; she complains +that I talk too much on these subjects. +But when one's heart is in the field, and one's +legs refuse to follow,—again, what would +you? No matter! silence is golden! Wait +but a little, and you shall see. Who knows? +It may be this very night."</p> + +<p>Thus Don Annunzio, with many nods and +winks, and gestures of dramatic caution. His +words fanned the flame of Rita's zeal, and +she longed for one of the promised nocturnal +visits. That night and the next she was +constantly waking, listening for a whisper, +the clank of a chain, the jingle of a spur; +but none came, and the nights passed as +peacefully as the days. The dozen, and more, +were completed; and then, in spite of her +vow, Rita found time to make one for herself, +certainly as pretty a hat as heart could +desire. So pretty, Rita thought it a thousand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +pities that there was no one beside Don +Annunzio and Marm Prudence to see her +in it. She sighed, and thought of the camp +among the hills, of Carlos and the General, +and Don Uberto.</p> + +<p>One day, soon after noon, Marm Prudence +asked Rita if she would like to take a walk +with her. Rita assented eagerly, and put +on her pretty hat. She looked on with surprise +as Marm Prudence proceeded to take +from a cupboard an ample covered basket, +from which protruded the neck of a bottle +and some plump red bananas.</p> + +<p>"Are we going on a picnic, then?" she +asked.</p> + +<p>The good woman nodded. "You'll see, +time enough!" she said. "It's a picnic +for somebody, if not for us, Miss Margaritty. +Look, dear! is Don Noonsey out in the ro'd +there?"</p> + +<p>Don Annunzio was out in the road, having +made what was quite a journey for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +him, down the verandah steps, along the +garden walk, and across the sunny road. +He now stood shading his eyes with his +hand, looking this way and that with anxious +glances.</p> + +<p>At length, "All is quiet!" he said. "The +road is clear, and no sign anywhere. Make +haste then, <i>mi alma</i>, and cross while yet all +is safe."</p> + +<p>Beckoning to Rita, Marm Prudence slipped +out and across the road swiftly, not pausing +till she had gained the screen of a thick +clump of cacti. Rita kept close to her side, +drinking the mystery like wine. They stood +for a few moments behind the aloes; then +Don Annunzio spoke again.</p> + +<p>"All is still perfect, and you may go without +fear. Carry my best greetings whither +you are going. At the proper hour I will +await you here, and signal when return is +safe."</p> + +<p>Without wasting words, his wife waved<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +her hand, and turning, plunged into the +forest, followed by the delighted Rita.</p> + +<p>The tangle of underbrush was higher than +their heads, but they made their way quickly, +and Rita soon saw that a narrow path wound +along through the bush, and that the ground +under her feet had been trodden many times. +The trees towered high above the dense undergrowth, +some leafy and branching, others, the +palms, tossing their single plume aloft. Open +near the wood, the wood grew thicker and +thicker, till it stood like a wall on either side +of the narrow footpath; the twigs and leaves, +broken and crushed here and there, showed, +like the path, the traces of frequent passage.</p> + +<p>Rita was burning with curiosity, yet she +would not for worlds have asked a question. +They were nearing every moment the heart +of the mystery; she would not spoil the +dramatic effect by prying into it too soon.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, a gleam of sunlight struck +through the trees. They were near the end<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +of the wood, then. A few steps more, and +she caught her breath, with a low cry of +amazement.</p> + +<p>A round hollow, dipping deep like a cup, +with here and there a great tree standing. +On one side, a clear spring flowing from a +rocky cleft. Under one tree, a hammock +slung, and in a hammock a man asleep. +Thus much Rita saw at the first glance. The +next instant the man was on his feet, and +the long barrel of his carbine gleamed level +at sight.</p> + +<p>"<i>Alto! quien va?</i>" the challenge rang +clear and sharp.</p> + +<p>"<i>Cuba!</i>" replied Señora Carreno. "For +the land's sake, Mr. Delmonty, don't start +a person like that. You'd oughter know my +sunbunnit by this time."</p> + +<p>The young man had already lowered his +weapon, and showed a laughing face of +apology as he lifted his broad-brimmed +hat.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Donna Prudencia," +he said. "I was asleep, and dreaming; not +of angels!" he added, as he made another +low bow, which included Rita in its sweep +of respectful courtesy.</p> + +<p>He spoke English like an Anglo-Saxon, +without trace of accent or hesitation. His +hair and complexion were brown, but a pair +of bright blue eyes lightened his face in an +extraordinary manner.</p> + +<p>Who might this be?</p> + +<p>"Mr. Delmonty, let me make ye acquainted +with Miss Margaritty Montfort!" said Señora +Carreno, with some ceremony. "Miss Montfort +is stoppin' with us for a spell. Both of +you bein' half Yankee, I judged you might +be pleased to meet up with each other."</p> + +<p>Rita bowed with her most queenly air; +then relaxed, as she met the merry glance +of the blue eyes.</p> + +<p>"Are you?" she said. "I am very glad—but +your name is Spanish."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My father was a Cuban," said the young +man; "my mother is American. She was +a Russell of Claxton." He paused a moment, +as if inviting comment; but Rita, brought up +in Cuba, knew nothing of the Russells of +Claxton, a famous family.</p> + +<p>"I've been in the North most of the time +since I was a little shaver," he went on, "at +school and college; came down here last year, +when things seemed to be brewing. Have you +been much in Boston, Miss Montfort? We +might have some acquaintances in common."</p> + +<p>Rita shook her head, and told him of her +one summer in the North. "I hope to go +again," she said, "when our country is free. +When Cuba has no longer need of her +daughters, as well as her sons, I shall gladly +return to that fair northern country."</p> + +<p>Again she caught a quizzical glance of the +blue eyes, and was reminded, she hardly +knew why, of her Uncle John. But Uncle +John's eyes were brown.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are—alone here, Señor Delmonte?" +she asked, glancing around the solitary dell.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the young man, composedly. +"I'm in hiding."</p> + +<p>Rita's eyes flashed. Hiding! a son of +Cuba! skulking about in the woods, while +his brother soldiers were at the front, or, +like Carlos, guarding the hill passes! This +was indeed being only half a Cuban. She +would have nothing to do with recreant +soldiers; and she turned away with a face +of cold displeasure.</p> + +<p>"How's your foot?" asked Señora Carreno, +abruptly. "That last dressing fetch it, do +you think?"</p> + +<p>"All right!" said the young man. +"Look! I have my shoe on." And he +held up one foot with an air of triumph. +"I shall be ready for the road to-night, and +take my troublesome self off your hands, +Señora Carreno."</p> + +<p>"No trouble at all!" said the good woman,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +earnestly. "Not a mite of trouble but what +was pleasure, Captain Jack."</p> + +<p>Captain Jack! where had Rita heard that +name? Before she could try to think, her +hostess went on.</p> + +<p>"Well, I kinder hate to have you go, but +of course you're eager, same as all young +folks are. But look here! You'd better +pass the night with us, and let me see to +your foot once more, and give you a good +night's sleep in a Christian bed; and then +I can mend up your things a bit, and you +lay by till night again, and start off easy +and comfortable."</p> + +<p>"It sounds very delightful," said the young +man, with a glance at the charming girl who +would stand with her head turned away. +"But how about the Gringos, Donna Prudencia? +Supposing some of them should +come along to-morrow!"</p> + +<p>"They won't come to-morrow!" said Marm +Prudence, significantly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No? you have assurance of that? and +why may they not come to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Because they've come to-day, most likely!"</p> + +<p>Rita started, and turned back toward the +speakers.</p> + +<p>"The Gringos? to-day?" she cried.</p> + +<p>Marm Prudence nodded. "That was why +I brought you here, dear," she said; "most +of the reason, that is. We got word they +was most likely comin', quite a passel of 'em; +and we judged it was well, Don Noonsey and +me, that they shouldn't see you. I thought +mebbe," she added, with a sly glance at the +basket, "that if I brought a little something +extry, we might get an invitation to take +a bite of luncheon, but we don't seem to."</p> + +<p>"Oh! but who could have supposed that +I was to have <i>all</i> the good things in the +world?" cried Delmonte, merrily. "This is +really too good to be true. Help me, Donna +Prudencia, while I set out the feast! Why, +this is the great day of the whole campaign."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> + +<p>The two unpacked the basket, with many +jests and much laughter; they were evidently +old friends. Meantime Rita stood by, uncertain +of her own mood. To miss an experience, +possibly terrible, certainly thrilling; to have +lost an opportunity of declaring herself a +daughter of Cuba, possibly of shooting a +Spaniard for herself, and to have been deceived, +tricked like a child; this brought her +slender brows together, ominously, and made +her eyes glitter in a way that Manuela would +have known well. On the other hand—here +was a romantic spot, a young soldier, +apparently craven, but certainly wounded, +and very good-looking; and here was luncheon, +and she was desperately hungry. On the +whole—</p> + +<p>The tragedy queen disappeared, and it was +a cheerful though very dignified young person +who responded gracefully to Delmonte's petition +that she would do him the favour to +be seated at his humble board.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3>MANUELA'S OPPORTUNITY.</h3> + + +<p>That was a pleasant little meal, under +the great plane-tree in the cup-shaped dell. +Marm Prudence had kept, through all her +years of foreign residence, her New England +touch in cookery, and Señor Delmonte declared +that it was worth a whole campaign +twice over to taste her doughnuts. They +drank "<i>Cuba Libre</i>" in raspberry vinegar +that had come all the way from Vermont, +and Rita was obliged to confess that Señor +Delmonte was a charming host, and that she +was enjoying herself extremely.</p> + +<p>It was late in the afternoon when she and +Marm Prudence took their way back through +the forest. At first Rita was silent; but as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +distance increased between them and the dell, +she could not restrain her curiosity.</p> + +<p>How was it, she asked, that this young +man was there alone, separated from his +companions? He said he was in hiding. Hiding! +a detestable, an unworthy word! Why +should a son of Cuba be in hiding, she wished +to know! She had worked herself into a +fine glow of indignation again, and was ready +to believe anything and everything bad about +the agreeable youth with the blue eyes.</p> + +<p>"I must know!" she repeated, dropping +her voice to a contralto note that she was +fond of. "Tell me, Marm Prudence; tell me +all! have I broken the bread of a recreant?"</p> + +<p>"I thought it was my bread," said Marm +Prudence, dryly. "I'll tell you, if you'll give +me a chance, Miss Margaritty. I supposed, +though, that you'd have heard of Jack Delmonty; +Captain Jack, as they call him. Since +his last raid the Gringos have offered a big reward +for him, alive or dead. He was wounded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +in the foot, and thought he might hender his +troop some if he tried to go with them in +that state. So he camped here, and we've +seen to him as best we could."</p> + +<p>Rita was dumb, half with amazement, half +with mortification. How was it possible that +she had been so stupid? Heard of Captain +Jack? where were her wits? the daring guerrilla +leader, the pride of the Cuban bands, the +terror of all Spaniards in that part of the +island. Why, he was one of her pet heroes; +only—only she had fancied him so utterly different. +The Captain Jack of her fancy was a +gigantic person, with blue-black curls, with +eyes like wells of black light (she had been +fond of this bit of description, and often repeated +it to herself), a superb moustache, and +a nose absolutely Grecian, like the Santillo +nose of tender memory. This half-Yankee +stripling, blue-eyed, with a nose that—yes, +that actually turned up a little, and the +merest feather of brown laid on his upper<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +lip—how could she or any one suppose this +to be the famous cavalry leader?</p> + +<p>Rita blushed scarlet with distress, as she +remembered her bearing, which she had tried +to make as scornful as was compatible with +good manners. She had meant, had done her +best, to show him that she thought lightly of +a Cuban soldier who, for what reason soever, +proclaimed himself without apology to be "in +hiding." To be sure, he had not seemed to +feel the rebuke as she had expected he would. +Once or twice she had caught that look of +Uncle John in his eyes; the laughing, critical, +yet kindly scrutiny that always made her +feel like a little girl, and a silly girl at that. +Was that what she had seemed to Captain +Delmonte? Of course it was. She had had +the great, the crowning opportunity of her +life, of doing homage to a real hero (she +forgot good General Sevillo, who had been a +hero in a quiet and business-like way for +sixty years), and she had lost the opportunity.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was a very subdued Rita who returned +to the house that evening. At the +edge of the wood they were met by Don +Annunzio, who stood as before, smoking his +long black cigar, and scrutinising the road +and the surrounding country. A wave of +his hand told them that all was well, and +they stepped quickly across the road, and in +another minute were on the verandah.</p> + +<p>Don Annunzio followed them with an elaborate +air of indifference; but once seated in +his great chair, he began to speak eagerly, +gesticulating with his cigar.</p> + +<p>"<i>Dios!</i> Prudencia, you had an inspiration +from heaven this day. What I have been +through! the sole comfort is that I have lost +twenty pounds at least, from sheer anxiety. +Imagine that you had not been gone an hour, +when up they ride, the <i>guerrilla</i> that was reported +to us yesterday. At their head, that +pestiferous Col. Diego Moreno. He dismounts, +demands coffee, bananas, what there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +is. I go to get them; and, the saints aiding +me, I meet in the face the pretty Manuela. +Another instant, and she would have been on +the verandah, would have been seen by these +swine, female curiosity having led her to +imagine a necessary errand in that direction. +I seize this charming child by the +shoulders, I push her into her room. I tell +her, 'Thou hast a dangerous fever. Go to +thy bed on the instant, it is a matter of +thy life.'</p> + +<p>"My countenance is such that she obeys +without a word. She is an admirable +creature! Beauty, in the female sex—"</p> + +<p>"Do go on, Noonsey," said his wife, good-naturedly, +"and never mind about beauty +now. Land knows we have got other things +to think about."</p> + +<p>"It is true, it is true, my own!" replied +the amiable fat man. "I return to the +verandah. This man is striding up and +down, cutting at my poor vines with his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +apoplexy of a whip. He calls me; I stand +before him thus, civil but erect.</p> + +<p>"'Have you any strangers here, Don +Annunzio?'</p> + +<p>"'No, Señor Colonel.'</p> + +<p>"It is true, señorita. To make a stranger +of you, so friendly, so gracious—the thought +is intolerable.</p> + +<p>"He approaches, he regards me fixedly.</p> + +<p>"'A young lady, Señorita Montfort, and +her maid, escaped from the carriage of her +stepmother, the honourable Señora Montfort, +while on the way to the convent of the White +Sisters, ten days ago. A man of my command +was taken by these hill-cats of Mambis, +and carried to a camp in this neighbourhood. +He escaped, and reported to me that a young +lady and her attendant were in the camp. +I raided the place yesterday.'</p> + +<p>"'With success, who can doubt?' I said. +Civility may be used even to the devil, whom +this officer strongly resembled.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He stamped his feet, he ground his teeth, +fire flashed from his eyes. 'They were +gone!' he said. 'They had been gone +but a few hours, for the fires were still burning, +but no trace of them was to be found. +I found, however, in a deserted <i>rancho</i>,—this!' +and he held up a delicate comb of +tortoise-shell."</p> + +<p>"My side-comb!" cried Rita. "I wondered +where I had lost it. Go on, pray, Don +Annunzio."</p> + +<p>"He questioned me again, this colonel, on +whom may the saints send a lingering disease. +I can swear that there is no young lady in +the house? but assuredly, I can, and do swear +it, with all earnestness. He whistles, and +swears also—in a different manner. He +says, 'I must search the house. This is an +important matter. A large reward is offered +by the Señora Montfort for the discovery of +this young lady.'</p> + +<p>"'Search every rat-hole, my colonel,' I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +reply; 'but first take your coffee, which is +ready at this moment.'</p> + +<p>"In effect, Antonia arrives at the instant +with the tray. While she is serving him, I +find time to slip with the agility of the serpent +into the passage, and turn the handle +of the bedroom door. 'Spotted fever!' I +cry through the crack; and am back at my +post before the colonel could see round Antonia's +broad back. Good! he drinks his +coffee. He devours your cakes, my Prudencia, +keeping his eye on me all the time, and +plying me with questions. I tell him all is +well with us, except the sickness.</p> + +<p>"'How then? what sickness?'</p> + +<p>"'A servant is ill with fever,' I say. 'We +hope that it will not spread through the +house; it is a bad time for fever.' I see he +does not like that, he frowns, he mutters +maledictions. I profess myself ready to conduct +him through my poor premises; I lead +him through the parlour, which he had not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +sense to admire, to the kitchen, to our own +apartment, my cherished one. All the time +my heart flutters like a wounded dove. I +cry in my soul, 'All depends on the wit of +that child. If she had but gone with Prudencia +to the forest!'</p> + +<p>"Finally there is no escape, we must pass +the door. I stop before it. 'Open!' says +the colonel.</p> + +<p>"'Your Excellency will observe,' I say, +'that there is a dangerous case of spotted +fever in this room.'</p> + +<p>"He turns white, then black. He pulls +his moustache, which resembles a mattress.</p> + +<p>"At last 'How do I know?' he cries; +'You may be lying! all Cubans are liars. +The girl may be in this room!'</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 279px;"> +<img src="images/gs06.png" width="279" height="400" alt=""'I THROW OPEN THE DOOR AND STEP BACK, MY HEART IN MY MOUTH.'"" title=""'I THROW OPEN THE DOOR AND STEP BACK, MY HEART IN MY MOUTH.'"" /> +<span class="caption">"'I THROW OPEN THE DOOR AND STEP BACK, MY HEART IN MY MOUTH.'"</span> +</div> + +<p>"I throw open the door and step back, my +heart in my mouth, my eyes flinging themselves +into the apartment. Heavens! what do +we see? a hideous face projects itself from the +bed. Red—black—a face from the pit! A<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +horrible smell is in our nostrils—we hear +groans—enough! The colonel staggers back, +cursing. I close the door and follow him out +to the verandah. My own nerves are shaken, +I admit it; it was a thing to shatter the +soul. Still cursing, he mounts his horse, and +rides away with his troop. I see them go. +They carry away the best of what the house +holds, but what of that? they are gone!</p> + +<p>"I hasten, as well as my infirmity allows, +to the chamber. I cry 'Manuela, is it thou?'</p> + +<p>"I am bidden to enter. I open the door, +and find that admirable child at the toilet-table, +washing her face and laughing till +the tears flow. Already half of her pretty +face is clean, but half still hideous to +behold.</p> + +<p>"'How did you do it?' I ask her. She +laughs more merrily than before; if you have +noticed, she has a laughter of silver bells, +this maiden. 'The red lip-salve,' she says, +'and a little ink. Have no fear, Don An<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>nunzio; +it was you who discovered the fever, +you know.'</p> + +<p>"'But the smell, my child? there must be +something bad here, something unhealthy; a +vile smell!'</p> + +<p>"She laughs again, this child. 'I burned +a piece of tortoise-shell,' she says. 'Saint +Ursula forgive me, it was one of the señorita's +side-combs, but there was nothing else +at hand.'</p> + +<p>"Thus then, señorita, thus, my Prudencia, +has Manuela virtually saved our house and +ourselves. Hasten to embrace her! I have +already permitted myself the salute of a +father upon her charming cheek, as simple +gratitude enjoined it."</p> + +<p>As if by magic—could she have been +listening in the passage?—Manuela appeared, +blushing and radiant. Donna Prudencia +did not think it necessary to kiss +her, but she shook her warmly by the hand, +telling her that she was a good girl, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +fit to be a Yankee, a compliment which +Manuela hardly appreciated. As for Rita, +she kissed the girl on both cheeks, and stood +holding her hands, gazing at her with wistful +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Manuela," she cried; "I must not +begrudge it to you. You are a heroine; you +have had the opportunity, and you knew +how to take it. Daughter of Cuba, your +sister blesses you."</p> + +<p>Before Manuela could reply, Donna Prudencia +broke in. "There! there!" she said. +"Come down off your high horse, Miss +Margaritty, there's a dear; and help me to +see to things. Here's Captain Delmonty +coming to-night, and them chicken-thieves +of Gringos have carried off every living +thing there was to eat in the house."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>CAPTAIN JACK.</h3> + + +<p>When Jack Delmonte appeared, late in +the evening, he was puzzled at the change +which had come over the pretty Grand Duchess, +as he had mentally nicknamed Rita. In +the afternoon she had appeared, he could +not imagine why, to regard him as a portion +of the scum of the earth. He thought her +extremely pretty, and full of charm, yet he +could not help feeling provoked, in spite of +his amusement, at the disdainful curl at the +corners of her mouth when she addressed +him. Now, he was equally at a loss to +understand why or how the Grand Duchess +was replaced by a gentle and tender-voiced +maiden, who looked up at him from under +her long curved lashes with timid and dep<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>recatory +glances. She insisted on mixing +his <i>granita</i> herself, and brought it in the +one valuable cup Marm Prudence possessed, +a beautiful old bit of Lowestoft. She begged +to hear from his own lips about his last raid—about +all his raids. She had heard about +some of them; the one where he had swum +the river under fire to rescue the little lame +boy; the other, when he had chased five +Spaniards for half a mile, with no other +weapon than a banana pointed at full cock. +She even knew of some exploits that he +had never heard of; and the honest captain +found himself blushing under his tan, and +finally changed the subject by main force. +It was very pleasant, of course, to have this +lovely creature hanging on his words, and +supplementing them with others of her own, +only too extravagantly laudatory; but a fellow +must tell the truth; and—and after all, +what was the meaning of it? She wouldn't +look at him, three hours ago.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> + +<p>Had they had a gay winter in Havana? +he asked. He hadn't been to a dance for +forty years. Was she fond of dancing? of +course she was. What a pity they couldn't—here +he happened to glance at Rita's black +dress, and stopped short.</p> + +<p>"Miss Montfort, I beg your pardon! It +was very stupid of me. I ran on without +thinking. You are in mourning. What a +brute I am!"</p> + +<p>The tears had gathered in Rita's eyes, but +now she smiled through them. "It is six +months since my father died," she said. +"He was the kindest of fathers, though, +alas! Spanish in his sympathies."</p> + +<p>"Your mother?" hazarded Jack, full of +sympathy.</p> + +<p>"My mother died three years ago. My +stepmother—" then followed the tale of +her persecution, her escape, and subsequent +adventures. Captain Jack was delighted +with the story.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Hurrah!" he exclaimed. "That was +tremendously plucky, you know, going off +in that way. That was fine! and you got +to your brother all right? I wonder—is he—are +you any relation of Carlos Montfort? +Not his sister? You don't mean it. Why, +I was at school with Carlos, the first school +I ever went to. An old priest kept it, in +Plaza Nero. Carlos was a good fellow, and +gave me the biggest licking once—I'm +very glad we met, Miss Montfort. And—I +don't mean to be impertinent, I'm sure you +know that; but—what are you going to do +now?"</p> + +<p>Alas! Rita did not know. "I thought I +was safe here," she said. "I was to stay +here with these good people till word came +from my uncle in the States, or till there +was a good escort that might take me to +some port whence I could sail to New York. +Now—I do not know; I begin to tremble, +Señor Delmonte. To-day, while Donna Pru<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>dencia +and I were in the forest, a Spanish +<i>guerrilla</i> came here, looking for me. Don +Diego Moreno was in command. He is a +friend of my stepmother's. I know him, +a cold, hateful man. If he had found me—" +she shuddered.</p> + +<p>"I know Diego Moreno, too," said Delmonte; +and his brow darkened. "He is +not fit to look at you, much less to speak +to you. Never mind, Miss Montfort! don't +be afraid; we'll manage somehow. If no +better way turns up, I'll take you to Puerto +Blanco myself. Trouble is, these fellows are +rather down on me just now; but we'll +manage somehow, never fear! Hark! what's +that?"</p> + +<p>He leaned forward, listening intently. A +faint sound was heard, hardly more than a +breathing. Some night-bird, was it? It +came from the fringe of forest across the +road. Again it sounded, two notes, a long +and a short one, soft and plaintive. A bird,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +certainly, thought Rita. She started as Captain +Delmonte imitated the call, repeating +it twice.</p> + +<p>"Juan," he said, briefly. "Reporting for +orders. Here he comes!"</p> + +<p>A burly figure crossed the road in three +strides. Three more brought him to the +verandah, where he saluted and stood at +attention.</p> + +<p>"Well, Juan, where are the rest of you?"</p> + +<p>"In the usual place, Señor Captain, four +miles from here," said the orderly. "I have +brought Aquila; he is here in the thicket, +my own horse also. Will you ride to-night?"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow, at daybreak, Juan. I have +promised Señora Carreno to sleep one night +under her roof, and convince her that my foot +is entirely well. Bring Aquila into the courtyard. +All is quiet in the neighbourhood?"</p> + +<p>"All quiet, Señor Captain. Good; I bring +Aquila and return to the troop. You will be +with us, then, before sunrise?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Before sunrise without fail," said Captain +Jack. "<i>Buenos noches, Juanito!</i>"</p> + +<p>The trooper saluted again, and slipped back +across the road; next moment he reappeared +leading a long, lean, brown horse, who walked +as if he were treading on eggshells. They +passed into the courtyard and were seen no +more, Juan making his way back to the +thicket by some unseen path.</p> + +<p>"You do not stay with us through the day +then, Mr. Delmonte? I am sorry!" said Rita.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could, indeed I do; but I must +get to my fellows as soon as possible. I shall +come back, though, in a day or two, and put +myself and my troop at your orders, Miss +Montfort. How would you like to lead a +troop, like Madame Hernandez?" He laughed, +but Rita's eyes flashed.</p> + +<p>"But I would die to do it!" she cried. +"Ah! Señor Delmonte, once to fight for my +country, and then to die—that is my ambition."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And you'd do it well, I am sure!" said +Delmonte, warmly; "the fighting part, I +mean. But nobody would let you die, Miss +Montfort, it would spoil the prospect."</p> + +<p>He spoke lightly, for heroics embarrassed +him, as they did Carlos.</p> + +<p>Soon after, Donna Prudencia appeared, with +bedroom candles, and stood looking benevolently +at the two young people.</p> + +<p>"I expect you've been having a good visit," +she said. "Well, there's an end to all, and +it's past ten o'clock, Miss Margaritty."</p> + +<p>Rita rose with some reluctance; nor did +Captain Delmonte seem enthusiastic on the +subject of going to bed.</p> + +<p>"Such a beautiful night!" he said. "Must +you go, Miss Montfort? I mustn't keep you +up, of course. Good-bye, then, for a few days! +I shall be gone before daybreak. I'm very +glad we have met."</p> + +<p>They shook hands heartily. Rita somehow +did not find words so readily as usual. "I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +too am glad," she said. "It is something—I +have always wished to meet the 'Star of +Horsemen!'"</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>please</i> don't!" cried Jack, in distress. +"That was just a joke of those idiots of mine. +Good gracious! if you go to calling names, +Miss Montfort, I shall not dare to come back +again. Good night!"</p> + +<p>It was long before Rita could sleep. She +lay with wide-open eyes, conjuring up one +scene after another, in all of which Captain +Delmonte played the hero's part, and she the +heroine's. He was rescuing her single-handed +from a regiment of Spaniards; they were galloping +together at the head of a troop, driving +the Gringos like sheep before them. Or, he +was wounded on the field of battle, and she was +kneeling beside him, holding water to his lips, +and blessing the good Cuban surgeon who had +taught her bandaging in the camp among the +hills. At length, hero and heroine, Cuban and +Spaniard, faded away, and she slept peacefully.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What is it? what is the matter?" Rita +sprang up in her bed and listened. The sound +that had awakened her was repeated: a knock +at the door; a voice, low but imperative; the +voice of Jack Delmonte.</p> + +<p>"Miss Montfort! are you awake?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; what has happened?"</p> + +<p>"The Gringos! Dress yourself quickly, +and come out. You can dress in the dark?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; oh, yes! I will come. Manuela! +wake! wake! don't speak, but dress yourself; +the Spaniards are here."</p> + +<p>Hastily, with trembling hands, the two girls +put on their clothes. No thought now of +how or what; anything to cover them, and +that quickly. They hurried out into the +passage; Delmonte stood there, carbine in +hand. He spoke almost in a whisper, yet +every word fell clearly on their strained +ears.</p> + +<p>"It's not Moreno; it's Velaya's <i>guerrilla:</i> +we must get away before they fire the house.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +Give me your hand, Miss Montfort; you will +be quiet, I know. Your maid?"</p> + +<p>"Manuela, you will not speak!"</p> + +<p>"No, señorita!" said poor Manuela, with a +stifled sob.</p> + +<p>"My horse is ready saddled," Delmonte +went on. "If I can get you away before they +see us—"</p> + +<p>"Me! but what will become of the others?" +cried Rita, under her breath. "I cannot +desert Manuela and Marm Prudence—Donna +Prudencia."</p> + +<p>"I am going to save you," said Jack Delmonte, +quietly. "If for no other reason, I +have just given my word to Donna Prudencia. +The rest—I'll get back as soon as I +can, that's all I can say. Follow me! hark!"</p> + +<p>A shot rang out; another, and another. +A hubbub of voices rose within and without +the house; and at the same instant a bright +light sprang up, and they saw each other's +faces.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + +<p>Delmonte ground his teeth. "Wait!" +he said; and going a little way along the +passage, he peered from a window. The +verandah swarmed with armed men. The +door was locked and barred, but they were +smashing the window-shutters with the butts +of their carbines. He glanced along the +passage. Inside the door stood Don Annunzio, +in his vast white pajamas, firing composedly +through a wicket; beside him his +wife, as quietly loading and handing him +the weapons. Behind them huddled the +few house and farm servants, negroes for +the most part, but among them was one +intelligent-looking young Creole. Singling +him out, Delmonte led him apart, and +pointed to Manuela. "Your sister!" he +said. "Your life for hers."</p> + +<p>The youth nodded, and beckoned the +frightened girl to stand beside him. Rita +saw no more, for Delmonte, grasping her +hand firmly, led her through the winding<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +passage and into the inner courtyard. Pausing +a moment on the verandah, they looked +through the archway at one side, through +which streamed a red glare. The cane +patch was on fire, and blazing fiercely. +The flames tossed and leaped, and in +front of them men were running with +torches, setting fire to sheds and out-houses. +Their shouts, the crackling and +hissing of the flames, the shots and cries +from the front of the house, turned the +quiet night wild with horror. A crash +behind them told that the front door had +yielded.</p> + +<p>"It's run for it, now!" said Delmonte, +quietly. "Now, then, child,—quick!"</p> + +<p>A few steps, and they were beside the +brown horse, standing saddled and bridled, +and already quivering and straining to be +off. Delmonte lifted Rita in his arms,—no +time now for courtly mounting,—then +sprang to the saddle before her. He spoke<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +to the horse, who stood trembling, but made +no motion to advance.</p> + +<p>"Aquila, softly past the gate—then for +life! good boy! Miss Montfort, put your +arms around me, and hold fast. Don't let +go unless I drop; then try to catch the +reins, and give him his head. He knows +the way."</p> + +<p>Softly, slowly, Aquila crept to the archway. +He might have been shod with velvet +for any sound he made. Could they get +away unseen? The men with the torches +were busy at their horrid work; they could +not be seen yet from the front of the house. +The horse crept forward, silent as a phantom. +They were clear of the archway. +"Now!" whispered Delmonte. "For life, +Aquila!" and Aquila went, for life.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3>FOR LIFE.</h3> + + +<p>"If we can put the fire between us and +them," said Captain Jack, "we shall get +off."</p> + +<p>For a moment it seemed as if they might +do it. Already they saw the road before +them, the sand glowing red in the firelight. +A few more strides—Just then, a Spanish +soldier came running round the corner of +the burning cane-patch, whirling his blazing +torch. He saw them, and raised a shout. +"<i>Alerta! alerta!</i> fugitives! after them! +shoot down the Mambi dogs!"</p> + +<p>There was a rush to the corner where +a score of horses stood tethered to the +fence. A dozen men leaped into the saddle +and came thundering in pursuit. Aquila<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +gave one glance back; then stretched his +long lean neck, and settled into a gallop.</p> + +<p>Before them the road lay straight for +some distance, red here in the crimson light, +further on white under a late moon. On +one side the woods rose black and still, on +the other lay open fields crossed here and +there by barbed wire fences. No living +creature was to be seen on the road. No +sound was heard save the muffled beat +of the horse's hoofs on the sand, and behind, +the shouts and cries of their pursuers. +Were they growing louder, those shouts? +Were they gaining, or was the distance between +them widening? Rita turned her +head once to look back. "I wouldn't do +that!" said Delmonte, quietly. "Do you +mind, Miss Montfort, if I swing you round +in front of me? Don't be alarmed, Aquila is +all right."</p> + +<p>Before Rita could speak, he had dropped +the reins on the horse's neck, and lifted her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +bodily round to the peak of the saddle before +him. "I'm sorry!" he said, apologetically. +"I fear it is very uncomfortable; but—I +can—a—manage better, don't you see?" +But to himself he was saying, "Lucky I got +that done before the beggars began to shoot. +Now they may fire all they like. Stupid +duffer I was, not to start right."</p> + +<p>He had felt the girl's light figure quiver +as he lifted her.</p> + +<p>"Don't be frightened, Miss Montfort," he +said again. "There isn't a horse in the +country that can touch Aquila when he is +roused."</p> + +<p>"I am not frightened," said Rita. "I am—excited, +I suppose. It is like riding on +wind, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>It was true that she felt no fear; neither +did she realise the peril of their position. It +was one of the dreams come true, that was +all. She was riding with Delmonte, with the +Star of Horsemen. He was saving her life.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +They had ridden so before, often and often; +only now—</p> + +<p><i>Pah!</i> a short, sharp report was heard, +and a little dust whiffed up on the road +beside them. <i>Pah! pah!</i> another puff of +dust, and splinters flew from a tree just beyond +them. Aquila twitched his ears and +stretched his long neck, and they felt the +stride quicken under them. The road rushed +by; they were half-way to the turn.</p> + +<p>"Would you like to hold the reins for a +bit?" asked Delmonte. "It isn't really +necessary, but—thanks! that's very nice."</p> + +<p>What was he doing? He had turned half +round in the saddle; something touched her +hair—the butt of his carbine. "I <i>beg</i> your +pardon!" said Captain Jack. "I am very +clumsy, I fear."</p> + +<p><i>Crack!</i> went the carbine. Rita's ears rang +with the noise; she held the reins mechanically, +only half-conscious of herself. <i>Pah! +pah!</i> and again <i>crack!</i> The blue rifle-smoke<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +was in her eyes and nostrils, the Mauser bullets +pattered like hail on the road; and still +Aquila galloped on, never turning his head, +never slackening his mighty stride, and still +the road rushed by, and the turn by the hill +grew nearer—nearer—</p> + +<p><i>Pah!</i> Rita felt her companion wince. His +left arm relaxed its hold and dropped at his +side. With his right hand he carefully +replaced his carbine in its sling.</p> + +<p>"For life, Aquila!" he said softly, in Spanish; +and once more Aquila gathered his great +limbs under him, and once more the terrible +pace quickened.</p> + +<p>A stone? a hole in the road? who knows? +In a moment they were all down, horse and +riders flung in a heap together. The horse +struggled to his knees, then fell again. +He screamed, an agonising sound, that in +Rita's excited mind seemed to mingle with +the smoke and the dust in a cloud of horror. +Every moment she expected to feel the iron<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +hoofs crashing into her, as the frenzied creature +struggled to regain his footing.</p> + +<p>Delmonte had sprung clear, and in an +instant he was at Rita's side, raising her. +"You are hurt? no? good! keep behind me, +please."</p> + +<p>He went to the horse, and tried to lift him, +bent to examine him, and then shook his +head. Aquila would not rise again; his leg +was shattered. Delmonte straightened himself +and looked about him. If this had happened +a hundred, fifty yards back! but now +the woods were gone, and on either hand +stretched a bare savannah, broken only by +the hateful barbed wire fences. He drew his +revolver quietly. The healthy brown of his +face had gone gray; his eyes were like blue +steel. He looked at Rita, and met her eyes +fixed on him in a mute anguish of entreaty.</p> + +<p>"Have no fear!" he said. "It shall be as +it would with my own sister. I know these +men; they shall not touch you alive."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p> + +<p>He bent once more over the struggling +beast, and even in his agony Aquila knew +his master, and turned his eyes lovingly +toward him, expecting help; and help came.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, lad!" The pistol cracked, and +the tortured limbs sank into quiet.</p> + +<p>"Lie down behind him!" Delmonte commanded. +"So! now, still."</p> + +<p>He knelt behind the dead horse, facing the +advancing Spaniards. The revolver cracked +again, and the foremost horseman dropped, +shot through the head. The troop was now +close upon them; Rita could see the fierce +faces, and the gleam of their wolfish teeth. +Delmonte fired again, and another man +dropped, but still the rest came on. There +was no help, then?</p> + +<p>Delmonte looked at Rita; she closed her +eyes, expecting death. The air was full of +cries and curses. But—what other sound +was that? Not from before, but behind them—round +the turn of the road—some one was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +singing! In all the hurry of her flying +thoughts Rita steadied herself to listen.</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"For it's whoop-la! whoop!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Git along, my little dogies;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">For Wyoming shall be your new home!—</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>"What in the Rockies is going on here, +anyhow?"</p> + +<p>Rita turned her head. A horseman had +come around the bend, and checked his horse, +looking at the scene before him. A giant +rider on a giant horse. The moon shone on +his brown uniform, his slouched felt hat, and +the carbine laid across his saddle-bow. Under +the slouched hat looked out a bronzed face, +grim and bearded, lighted by eyes blue as +Delmonte's own.</p> + +<p>Rita gave one glance. "Help!" she cried, +"America, help!"</p> + +<p>"America's the place!" said the horseman. +He waved his hand to some one behind him, +then put his horse to the gallop. Next instant +he was beside them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p> + +<p>Delmonte started to his feet, revolver in +hand. "U. S. A.?" he said. "You're just +in time, uncle. I'm glad to see you."</p> + +<p>"Always like to be on time at a party," +said the rough rider, levelling his carbine. +"My fellows are—in short, here they are!"</p> + +<p>There was a scurry of hoofs, a shout, and +thirty horsemen swept around the curve and +came racing up.</p> + +<p>"What's up, Cap'n Jim?" cried one. +"Have we lost the fun? Gringos, eh? +hooray!"</p> + +<p>The Spaniards had checked their horses. +Four of them lay dead in the road, and several +others were wounded. At sight of the +mounted troop, they stopped and held a +hurried consultation, then turned their horses +and rode away.</p> + +<p>The giant looked at Delmonte. "Want to +follow?" he asked. "This is your hand, +comrade."</p> + +<p>"I want a horse!" said Captain Jack.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +"Miss Montfort,"—he turned to Rita, who +had risen to her feet, and stood pale but +quiet,—"these are our own good country-men. +If I leave you with them but a few +moments—"</p> + +<p>"Hold on!" said the big man. "What +did you call the young lady?"</p> + +<p>Delmonte stared. "This is Miss Montfort," +he said, rather formally.</p> + +<p>"Not Rita!" cried the giant. "Pike's +Peak and Glory Gulch! Don't tell me it's +Rita!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! yes!" cried Rita, running forward +with outstretched hands. "It is—I +am! and you—oh, I know, I know. You +are Peggy's big brother. You are Cousin +Jim!"</p> + +<p>"That's what they said when they christened +me!" said Cousin Jim.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h3>MEETINGS AND GREETINGS.</h3> + + +<p>It was no time for explanations. Jim +Montfort put out a hand like a pine knot, +and gave Rita's fingers a huge shake.</p> + +<p>"Glad to find you, cousin," he said. "I've +been looking for you. Now, what's up over +there?" He nodded in the direction of the +fire.</p> + +<p>"A <i>candela</i>," said Delmonte, briefly. "I +must get back; there are women there. If +one of your men will catch me that horse—"</p> + +<p>"But you are wounded!" cried Rita. +"Cousin, he is shot in the arm. Do not +let him go!"</p> + +<p>Delmonte laughed. "It's nothing, Miss +Montfort," he said; "but nothing at all, I +assure you. When we get to camp you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +shall put some carbolic acid on it, and tie it +up for me; that's field practice in Cuba. I +shall be proud to be your first field patient." +He spoke in his usual laughing way; but suddenly +his face changed, and he leaned toward +her swiftly, his hand on the horse's mane. "I +shall never forget this time—our ride together," +he said. "I hope you will not forget +either—please? And now, Miss Montfort, +I have no further right over you. I would +have done my best, I think you know that; +but—I must give you into your cousin's +protection. You will remain here?"</p> + +<p>"Of course she will!" said Cousin Jim, who +had heard only the last words. "I'll go with +you, comrade. Raynham, Morton, you will +mount guard by the lady."</p> + +<p>The troopers saluted, and raised their +hats civilly to Rita, inwardly cursing their +luck. Because they owned the next ranch +to Jim Montfort, was that any reason why +they should lose all the fun? and why<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +could not girls stay at home where they +belonged?</p> + +<p>But Rita herself cried out and clasped her +hands, and ran to her cousin. "Oh, Cousin +Jim—Señor Delmonte—let me go with you! +Please, please let me go back. My poor +Manuela—Marm Prudence—they may be +hurt, wounded. There can be no danger with +all these brave men. Cousin, I have been in +a camp hospital, I know how to dress wounds. +I can be quiet—Señor Delmonte, tell him I +can be quiet!"</p> + +<p>She looked eagerly at Delmonte.</p> + +<p>"I can tell him that you are the bravest +girl I ever saw," he said. "But, you have +been through a great deal. I don't like to +have you go back among those rascals."</p> + +<p>James Montfort stroked his brown beard +thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Guess it's safe enough," he said at last. +"Guess there's enough of us to handle 'em. +Don't know but on the whole she'll be better<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +off with us. My sister Peggy wouldn't like +to miss any circus there was going, would +she, little girl? Catch another of those +beasts for the lady, Bill!"</p> + +<p>Rita, with one of her quick gestures, caught +his great hand in both hers. "Oh, you good +cousin!" she cried. "You dear cousin! You +are the very best and the very biggest person +in the world, and I love you."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, well!" said Cousin Jim, somewhat +embarrassed. "There, there! so you +shall, my dear; so you shall. But as for +being big, you should see Lanky 'Liph of +Bone Gulch. Now there—but here is your +horse, missy."</p> + +<p>The horses of the dead Spaniards had been +circling about them, more or less shyly. Two +of them were quickly caught by the rough +riders, and Rita and Delmonte mounted. As +they did so, both glanced toward the spot +where lay the brave horse that had borne +them so well.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It was for life indeed, Aquila!" said +Captain Jack, softly. His eyes met Rita's, +and she saw the brightness of tears in them. +Next moment they were galloping back to +the <i>residencia</i>.</p> + +<p>They came only just in time. Not ten +minutes had passed since they left the courtyard, +but in that time the savage Spaniards +had done their work well. The house itself +was in flames, and burning fiercely. Good +Don Annunzio lay dead, carbine in hand, +on the steps of his ruined home. Beside him +lay the Creole youth in whose charge Delmonte +had left Manuela. The lad was still +alive, for as Delmonte bent from the saddle +above him he raised his head.</p> + +<p>"I did my best, my captain!" he said. +"They were too many."</p> + +<p>"Where are they?" asked Delmonte and +Montfort in one breath.</p> + +<p>The boy pointed down the road; raised his +hand to salute, and fell back, dead.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/gs07.png" width="400" height="270" alt=""NOW AGAIN IT WAS A RIDE FOR LIFE."" title=""NOW AGAIN IT WAS A RIDE FOR LIFE."" /> +<span class="caption">"NOW AGAIN IT WAS A RIDE FOR LIFE."</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now again it was a ride for life—not their +own life this time. Rita had clean forgotten +herself. The thought of her faithful friend +and servant in the hands of the merciless +Spaniards turned her quick blood to fire. +She galloped steadily, her eyes fixed on the +cloud of dust only a few hundred yards ahead +of them, which told where the enemy was +galloping, too.</p> + +<p>Jim Montfort glanced at her, and nodded +to himself. "She'll do!" he said in his +beard. "Montfort grit's good grit, and she's +got it. This would be nuts to little Peggy."</p> + +<p>Jack Delmonte, too, looked more than once +at the slender figure riding so lightly between +him and the big rough rider. How beautiful +she was! He had not realised half how beautiful +till now. What nerve! what steadiness! +It might be the <i>Reina de Cuba</i>, Donna Hernandez +herself, riding to victory.</p> + +<p>He felt an unreasonable jealousy of "Cousin +Jim." Half—nay! a quarter of an hour<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +ago, she was riding with him; there were only +they two in the world, they and Aquila, poor +Aquila,—who had given his life for theirs. +She was his comrade then, his charge, his—and +now she was Miss Montfort, a young +lady of fortune and position, under charge +of her cousin, a Yankee captain of rough +riders; and he, Jack Delmonte, was—nothing +in particular.</p> + +<p>As he was thinking these thoughts, Rita +chanced to turn her head, and met his gaze +fixed earnestly upon her. She blushed suddenly +and deeply, the lovely colour rising in +a wave over cheeks and forehead; then turned +her head sharply away.</p> + +<p>"Now I have offended her!" said Jack. +"Idiot!" and perhaps he was not very wise.</p> + +<p>But there was little time for thinking or +blushing. The Spaniards, seeing Delmonte, +whom they regarded as the devil in person, +descending upon them in company with a +giant and an army (for so they described the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +band of rough riders at headquarters next +day), abandoned their prisoners. The Americans +chased them for a mile or so, killed +three or four, and, as they reported, "scared +the rest into Kingdom Come," leaving them +only on coming to a thick wood, into which +the Gringos, leaping from their horses, vanished, +and were seen no more. The victors +then returned to the forlorn little group of +women and negroes, huddled together by the +roadside. Rita had already dismounted, and +had Manuela in her arms. She felt her all +over, hurrying question upon question.</p> + +<p>"My child, you are not hurt? not wounded? +these ruffians—did they dare to touch you? +did they have the audacity to speak to you, +Manuela? Oh, why did I leave you? I could +not help it; you saw I could not help it. +You are <i>sure</i> you have no hurt?"</p> + +<p>"But, positively, señorita," said Manuela. +"See! not a scratch is on me. They—one +fellow—offered to tie my hands; I scratched<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +him so well that he ran away. I am safe, +safe—praise be to all saints, to our Holy +Lady, and the Señor Delmonte. But—poor +Cerito, señorita? what of him? he +was with us; he fought like a lion. I saw +him fall—"</p> + +<p>"Poor Cerito!" said Rita, gravely. "He +was a brave, brave lad. A thousand sons +to Cuba like him!"</p> + +<p>Donna Prudencia was sitting apart on a +stone by the roadside. Rita went up to her, +took her hand, and kissed her cheek. The +Yankee woman looked kindly at her and +nodded comprehension, but did not speak. +Rita stood silent for a few minutes, timidly +stroking the brown cheek and white hair. +Her cousin Margaret came into her mind. +What would Margaret say, if she were here? +She would know the right word, she always +did.</p> + +<p>"Marm Prudence," she said, presently, "to +have the memory of a hero, of one who dies<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +for his country,—that is something, is it not? +some little comfort?"</p> + +<p>Marm Prudence did not answer at once.</p> + +<p>"Mebbe so," she said, presently. "Mebbe +so, Miss Margaritty. Noonzio was a good +man. Yes'm, I've lost a good husband and +a good home! A good husband and a good +home!" she repeated. "That's all there is +to it, I expect." Her rugged face was disturbed +for a moment, and she hid it in her +hands; when she looked up, she was her own +composed self.</p> + +<p>"And what's the next thing?" she asked. +"Thank you, Cap'n Delmonty, I'm feeling +first-rate. Don't you fret about me. You +done all you could. I'll never forget what +you done. Poor husband's last words before +he was shot was thanking the Lord Miss +Margaritty was off safe. We knew we could +trust her with you."</p> + +<p>"Indeed," said honest Delmonte, "it is not +me you must thank, Donna Prudencia. I did<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +what I could, but it was Captain Montfort +and his men who saved both her life and +mine."</p> + +<p>He told the story briefly, and Marm Prudence +listened with interest. "Well," she +said, "that was pretty close, wasn't it? +Anyway, you done all you could, Cap'n +Jack, and nobody can't do no more. And he's +Miss Margaritty's cousin, you say? I want +to know! He's big enough for three, ain't +he?"</p> + +<p>Rita laughed, in spite of herself. She +beckoned to Cousin Jim, who came up and +shook hands with the widow with grave sympathy. +But he seemed preoccupied, and, while +they were preparing to return to the ruined +farm, he was pulling his big beard and meditating +with a puzzled air.</p> + +<p>"Look here!" he broke out at last, addressing +his men. "I've been wondering +what was wrong. I couldn't seem to round +up, somehow, and now I've got it. Where's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +that poor old Johnny? I left him with you +when I rode forward to reconnoitre."</p> + +<p>The rough riders looked at one another, +and hung their heads.</p> + +<p>"Guess he must have dropped behind," +said Raynham. "We didn't wait long after +you signalled to us to come on. We—came."</p> + +<p>"That's so!" clamoured the rough riders, +in sheepish chorus. "We came, Cap'n Jim. +That's a fact!"</p> + +<p>"Well—that's all right!" said Jim. "You +might have brought the old Johnny along, +though, seems to me. Two of you ride back +and get him; you, Bill, and Juckins. If he +seems used up, Juckins can carry him, pony +and all."</p> + +<p>Juckins, a huge Californian, second only to +Montfort in stature, chuckled, and rode off +with Raynham at a hand gallop.</p> + +<p>Montfort turned to Rita.</p> + +<p>"I haven't had time to tell you about it +before," he said. "Cousin Rita, I've been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +hunting for you for three days. We met an +old Johnny—an old gentleman, I should +say—riding about on a pony, for all the +world like Yankee Doodle. He'd got lost, +poor old duffer, among these inferior crossroads, +and didn't know whether he was in +China or Oklahoma. We picked him up, and, +riding along, it came out that he was searching +for his ward, a young lady who had run +away from a convent. Ever heard of such +a person, missy? He had started out alone, +to ride about Cuba till he found her. Kind +of pocket Don Quixote, about five foot high, +white hair, silk clothes; highly respectable +Johnny."</p> + +<p>"Don Miguel!" cried Rita. "Poor, dear, +good Don Miguel! I have never written to +him, wicked that I am. Oh, where is he, +Cousin Jim?"</p> + +<p>"Come to ask him," Jim continued, "it +appeared that the young lady's name was +Montfort. Now, I had just had a letter from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> +Uncle John, wanting me to raise the island to +get hold of you and ship you North at once. +He had had no letters; was alarmed, you +understand. Laid up with a bad knee, or +would have come himself. I was just going +to start back to the city in search of you, +when up comes Don Quixote. When he +heard I was your cousin, he fell into my +arms, pony and all. Give you my word he +did! Almost lost him in my waistcoat pocket. +I cheered him up a bit, and we've been poking +about together these three days, looking for +General Sevillo's camp. Thought you might +be there. We were camping by the roadside +when we heard your firing. Ah! here he +comes now!"</p> + +<p>The rough riders came back, their horses +trotting now, instead of galloping. Between +them, ambling gently along, was a piebald +pony of amiable appearance, and on the pony +sat a little old <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'gentlemen'">gentleman</ins> with snow-white +hair and a face as mild and gentle as the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +pony's own. At sight of Rita running to +meet him, he uttered a cry of joy, and +checked his horse. Next moment he had +dismounted, and had her in his arms, sobbing +like a child.</p> + +<p>"Dear Donito Miguelito!" cried Rita. +"Forgive me! please do forgive me, for +frightening you. I could not go to the convent, +indeed I could not. I am a wretch to +have treated you so, but I could not go to +that place."</p> + +<p>"Of course you could not, my child," said +the good old man. "<i>Nunc dimittis</i>, Domine! +Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace. +Of course you could not."</p> + +<p>"I could not live with Concepcion; don't +you know I could not, Donito Miguelito?"</p> + +<p>"The thought is impossible, my Pearl. +Speaking with all possible respect, the Señora +Montfort, though high-born and accomplished, +is a hysterical wildcat. You did well, my +child; you did extremely well. So long as I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +have found you, nothing matters; but, nothing +at all. As my great, my gigantic friend, my +colossal preserver, el Capitan Gimmo, says, +'Ourrah for oz!'"</p> + +<p>"Hurrah!" shouted the rough riders.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h3>ANOTHER CAMP.</h3> + + +<p>They made but a brief halt at the ruined +farm. The house was completely gutted; +the widow of Don Annunzio had the clothes +she stood in, and nothing beside. She stood +quietly by while her husband's body was laid +in the grave beside that of young Cerito; a +shallow grave, hastily dug in what had lately +been the garden. She listened with the same +quiet face while good old Don Miguel, with +faltering voice, recited a Latin prayer. She +was a Methodist, he a fervent Catholic; but +it mattered little at that moment.</p> + +<p>By this time it was daylight. A small +patch of bananas was found, that had escaped +the destroying torch, and on these the +party made a hasty meal; then they rode<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +away, all save the negroes, who preferred to +stay in the neighbourhood where their lives +had been spent.</p> + +<p>They rode slowly, in deference to Don +Miguel's age and that of his pony. Rita, +riding beside the good old man, listened to +the recital of his terrors and anxieties from +the time her flight was discovered to the +present moment. These caused her real +grief, and she begged again and again for +the forgiveness which he assured her was +wholly unnecessary. But when he described +the hysterical rage of her stepmother, her +eyes brightened, and the colour came back to +her pale cheek. She had no doubt that Concepcion +Montfort was sorry to lose her; the +larger part of her father's fortune had been +settled upon her, Rita, before his second +marriage.</p> + +<p>"The señora also has made diligent search +for you, my child!" said Don Miguel. "She +has offered ample rewards—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I know it!" said Rita. "Only yesterday—can +it be that it was only yesterday?—Don +Diego Moreno was here—there, I +should say, at that peaceful home that is now +a heap of ashes. These Spaniards!"</p> + +<p>Had she seen Don Diego? the old man +asked; and he seemed relieved when she +answered in the negative.</p> + +<p>"It is well; it is well!" he said. "He is +a relative of the señora's, I am aware; but it +would have been unsuitable, most unsuitable."</p> + +<p>"What would have been unsuitable, Donito +Miguelito?"</p> + +<p>Don Miguel looked confused. "A—nothing, +my child. The Señora Montfort had an +idea—Don Diego made certain advances—in +short, he would have asked for your hand, +my señorita—well, my Margarita, if you +will have it so. But I took it upon myself +to refuse these overtures without consulting +you."</p> + +<p>Rita heard a low exclamation, and turning,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +saw Delmonte's face like dark fire beside +her.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon!" he said. "I could +not help hearing. Don Miguel, if Diego Moreno +makes any more such proposals, kindly +let me know, and I'll shoot him at sight."</p> + +<p>"I—thank you! thank you, my son!" +said Don Miguel, somewhat fluttered. "I +hope no violence will be necessary. I used +strong language, very strong language, to +Don Diego Moreno. I—I told him that +I considered him a person entirely objectionable, +unfit to sweep the road before the Señorita +Montfort's feet. He went away very +angry. I thought we should hear no more of +him; but it seems that he still retains his +presumptuous idea. Without doubt, it will +be best, my dear child, for you to seek the +northern home of your family without delay."</p> + +<p>Why, at this obviously sensible remark, +should Rita feel a sinking at the heart, and a +sudden anger against her dear old friend?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> +And again, why, on stealing a glance at Delmonte, +and seeing the trouble reflected in his +face, should her heart as suddenly spring up +again, and dance within her? What had +happened?</p> + +<p>They had ridden some miles, when Jim +Montfort, on his big gray horse, ranged alongside +of Delmonte.</p> + +<p>"It appears to me," he said, "that something +is going on in these woods here. I've +seen two or three bits of brown that weren't +bark, and if I didn't catch the shine of a gun-barrel +just now, you may call me a Dutchman. +I think I'll fire, and see what +happens."</p> + +<p>"No, don't do that!" said Delmonte, +quietly. "It's only my fellows. They've +been keeping alongside for the last half-mile, +waiting for a signal. They might as well +come out now."</p> + +<p>He gave a low call in two notes; the call +Rita had heard—was it only the night be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>fore? +it seemed as if a week had passed since +then.</p> + +<p>The call was answered from the wood; and +as if by magic, from every tree, from every +clump of bushes, came stealing lean brown +figures, leading equally lean horses, all +armed and on the alert. They saluted, and, +at a word from the burly Juan, fell into order +with the precision of a troop on drill.</p> + +<p>"What's all this, Juan?" asked Delmonte. +"No order was given."</p> + +<p>Juan replied with submission that a negro +boy had brought news an hour ago that Don +Annunzio's house had been burned, he and +his whole household murdered, and their +captain taken prisoner; and that the latter +was being brought in irons along the road to +Santiago. They, Juan and the rest, had +planned a rescue, and disposed themselves to +that end in the most advantageous manner. +That they were about to fire, when they recognised +their captain's escort as Americans;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> +and that they then resolved to accompany +the party as quietly as might be till they +came near the camp, and then make their +presence known to all, as they had at +once made it known to Delmonte himself +by a low call which only he had noticed.</p> + +<p>"Not wishing to intrude," Juan concluded, +with a superb salute.</p> + +<p>Delmonte turned to his companions. "Miss +Montfort," he said, "Captain Montfort—you'll +all come up to my place, of course, +and rest, for to-day, at least. It isn't much +of a place to ask you to, but—it's quiet, at +least, and—you can rest; and you must be +half-starved. I know I am."</p> + +<p>His face was eager as a boy's. Rita's was +not less so, as she gazed at the big cousin, +who stroked his beard as usual, and reflected.</p> + +<p>"I did mean to push straight on to Santiago," +he said, "but—it's a good bit of +a way, to be sure; what do you say, little +cousin? tired? hey?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p> + +<p>Rita blushed. "A—a little tired, Cousin +Jim; and <i>very</i> hungry!"</p> + +<p>This settled it. Captain Montfort bid Delmonte +"fire away." The latter said a few +rapid words to Juan, and the scout shot off +like an arrow across the fields, riding as if +for his life.</p> + +<p>An hour later, the whole party was seated +around a fire, in as comfortable a nook of the +hills as guerilla leader could desire, sipping +coffee, and eating broiled chicken and fried +bananas, fresh from the <i>parilla</i>. The fire +was built against a great rock that rose +abruptly from the dell, forming one side of +it, and towering so high that the smoke disappeared +before it reached the top. Thick +woods framed the other sides of the natural +fastness, and here the Cuban riders could lie +hidden for days and weeks, unsuspected, unseen, +save by the wandering birds that now +and then circled above their heads. No tents +or huts here; the horses were tethered to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +trees; the commander's hammock was +swung in a shady thicket near the great +rock; as for his men, a ragged blanket +and the "soft side of a stone" were all they +asked.</p> + +<p>Rita had dressed Captain Delmonte's +wound, and bandaged the arm in approved +style, Cousin Jim looking on with grunts of +approval. He and Delmonte himself both +assured her that, if they were handling it, +they should simply squirt carbolic acid into +it, and tie it up with anything that came +handy; but Rita shook her head gravely, and +three of her delicate handkerchiefs, brought +from the long-suffering bag which Manuela +had somehow managed to save from the +ruins, torn into strips, made a very sufficient +bandage. The wound was, in truth, slight. +Delmonte looked almost as if he wished it +more severe, for the whole matter of bathing +and dressing could not be stretched beyond +ten minutes; but Rita's pride in her neat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +bandage was pretty to see, and he watched +her with delighted eyes through every +stage.</p> + +<p>"Snug quarters!" said Jim Montfort, approvingly, +as, the breakfast over, he stretched +his huge length along the grass and looked +about him; and all the party echoed his +opinion. The two captains fell into talk of +the war and its ways, while the women, +wearied out, rested after their long night +of distress and fatigue. Marm Prudence +chose the dry grass, with a cloak for a +pillow, but Rita curled herself thankfully in +Captain Jack's hammock, after trying in vain +to persuade him that he was an invalid, and +ought to take it himself. After some rummaging +in a hole in the rock which served +him for cupboard and wardrobe, Delmonte +brought her a small pillow in a somewhat +weather-beaten cover. "I wish I had a better +one," he said. "This has been out in the +rain a good deal, and I'm afraid it smells<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> +of smoke, but it's a great pillow for sleeping +on."</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you!" said Rita. "It is very +comfortable indeed. How good you are to +me, Captain Delmonte. And whatever you +may say, it is a great shame for me to take +your own hammock. If there were only +another—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, please don't!" said Jack. "It's +really—you must not talk so, Miss Montfort. +As if there was anything I wouldn't +do—why, this hammock will never be the +same again. I—I mean—oh, you know +what I mean, and I never could make pretty +speeches. But—it is a pleasure, and—an +honour, to have you here; and you can't +think how much it means to me. Good +night! I mean—sleep well."</p> + +<p>He added a few words of a German song +relative to the desirability of a certain lovely +angel's slumbering sweetly. Rita did not +understand German, but the tone of Del<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>monte's +voice was in no particular language, +and, tired as she was, it was some time before +she went to sleep.</p> + +<p>It was late afternoon when they took the +road again. Before starting they held a council, +seated together beneath the great tree, +under whose shade Rita had slept peacefully +for several hours. Jim Montfort was the first +speaker.</p> + +<p>"I take it," he said, "we'd better, each +one of us, say what we mean to do. Then +the sky will be clear, and we can fit in or +shake apart, as seems best in each case. We +all ride together to Pine del Rio, as Captain +Delmonte is so friendly as to ride with us. +After that—I'll begin with you, ma'am." +He addressed, the widow respectfully. "How +can I best serve you? I am going to see +my cousin safe off, and you must call upon +me for any service I can possibly render +you."</p> + +<p>"She will stay with me!" cried Rita.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> +"Dear Marm Prudence, you will stay with +me, will you not?"</p> + +<p>Marm Prudence shook her head, though +with a look of infinite kindliness. "Thank +you, dear," she said; "it's like you to say it, +but I'm going home to Greenvale, Vermont. +I've a sister living there yet. I'll go back to +my own folks at last, and lay my bones alongside +o' mother's. I'll never forgit you, though, +Miss Margaritty," she added, "nor you, Cap'n +Jack. There! I can't say much yet."</p> + +<p>She turned away, and all were silent for +a moment, as she wiped the tears from her +rugged face.</p> + +<p>"You go straight home, I suppose, sir?" +said Jim, addressing Don Miguel.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes!" cried the little gentleman. "I +go to Pine del Rio with my dear ward here. +To see her safe on board a good vessel, bound +for the North; to say farewell to the joy of +my old days, and put out the light of my +eyes—that is my one sad desire, Señor Mont<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>fort. +After that—I am old, I have but a +short time left, and my prayers will require +that."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, it seems as if the first thing +on all hands was to find a steamer sailing for +home," said Jim. "If Mrs. Annunzio will +take charge of you, Cousin Rita, I think that +will be the best thing. Uncle John will send +some one to meet you in New York and take +you to Fernley. How does that suit you?"</p> + +<p>Rita was silent. She had grown very pale. +Delmonte looked at her eagerly, but did not +speak.</p> + +<p>"What do you say, little cousin?" repeated +Montfort. "You have a mind of your own, +and a pretty decided one, if I'm not mistaken. +Let's hear it!"</p> + +<p>Rita spoke slowly and with difficulty, her +ready flow of speech lacking for once.</p> + +<p>"Cousin Jim—dear Don Miguel—you are +both so kind, so good. You too, Marm Prudence. +I love the North. I love my dear<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> +uncle and cousin—ah, how dearly!—but—I +do not want to go to Fernley."</p> + +<p>"Not want to go!" repeated the others.</p> + +<p>"No! indeed, indeed, I cannot go. I have +been thinking, Cousin Jim, a great deal, while +all these things have been happening; these +wonderful, terrible things. I—I ought to +have learned a great deal; I hope I have +learned a little. I have talked enough about +helping my country; too much I have talked; +now I want to do something. I am going to +work in one of the hospitals. Nurses are +needed, I know, every day more of them. +I do not know enough—yet—to be a nurse, +but I can be a helper. I am very humble; I +will do the meanest work, but—but that is +what I mean to do."</p> + +<p>She ceased, and all the others, looking in +her face, saw it bright and lovely with earnest +resolve. But Don Miguel cried out in expostulation. +It was impossible, he said. It could +not be. She was too young, too delicate, too<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>—the +proposition was monstrous. He appealed +to Captain Montfort to support him, +to exercise his authority, to persuade this +dear child that the noble idea which filled +her young and ardent heart was wholly +impracticable.</p> + +<p>Jim Montfort was silent for a time, looking +at Rita from under his heavy eyebrows. Presently—"You +mean it?" he said.</p> + +<p>"I mean it with all my heart!" said Rita.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Jim, "my opinion is—considering +my sister Peggy and her views, to +say nothing of Jean and Flora—my opinion +is, Rita—hurrah for you!"</p> + +<p>A month ago, Rita would have gone into +violent heroics at such a moment as this. As +it was, she smiled, though her eyes filled with +tears, and said, quietly, "Thank you, cousin! +It is what I expected from Peggy's brother."</p> + +<p>"May I speak?" said another voice. They +turned, and saw Jack Delmonte, his blue eyes +alight with eager gladness.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If—if Miss Montfort has this noble desire +to help in the good cause," he said, "it is easy +for her to do it. My mother has turned her +<i>residencia</i>, just outside the city, into a hospital. +I am going there to-day. She needs +more help, I know. You—you would like +my mother, Miss Montfort; everybody likes +my mother. She would do all she could to +make it easy for you, and she would be so +glad—oh, I can't tell you how glad she +would be. And I think you are quite certain +to like her."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Rita. "Have I not heard of +the Saint of Las Rosas? There is no need to +tell me how good and how noble the Señora +Delmonte is. But—but will she like me, +Captain—Captain Jack?"</p> + +<p>"Will she?" said Jack. "Will the sun +shine?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h3>A FOREGONE CONCLUSION.</h3> + + +<div class='right'> +<span class="smcap">Las Rosas</span>, June —, 1898.<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Uncle John:</span>—Since I last wrote +you, telling of our finding Rita, and of her +safe delivery to Señora Delmonte, things have +been happening. In the first place, I got a +shot in my leg, in a skirmish, and, as the +bone was broken, and it didn't seem to come +round as it ought, I came here to be coddled, +and am having a great time of it. Señora +Delmonte is a fine woman, sir. You don't +see many such women in a lifetime. She has +a little hospital here, as complete as if she had +New York City in her back dooryard; all her +own place, you understand. Kind of Florence +Nightingale woman. What's more, little Rita<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +promises to become her right hand; if she's +given a chance, that is—I'll come to that by +and by, though. The way that little girl +takes hold, sir, is a caution. She's quick, +and she's quiet, and she's cheerful; and she +has brains in her head, which is a mighty +good thing in a woman when you do find it. +She and Señora Delmonte are like mother +and daughter already; and this brings me to +something else I want to say. It's pretty +clear that Jack Delmonte has lost his heart +to this little girl of ours. It began, I suspect, +the night he carried her off from the Spaniards; +you have heard all about that; and +it's been going on here, while a little flesh +wound he had was healing. Yes, sir, he's in +it deep, and no mistake; and, for that matter, +I guess she is, too, though those things aren't +in my line. Anyhow, what I want to say +is this: Jack Delmonte is as fine a fellow +as there is this side of the Rockies; and I +don't know that I'll stop there, barring my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +brother Hugh. This war isn't going to last +much longer. By some kind of miracle, this +place—sugar plantation, and well paying in +good times—hasn't been meddled with; and +Jack ought to be able to support a wife, if he +puts good work into the business, as he will. +He's a first-rate all-round fellow, and has +brains in his head—said that before, didn't +I? well, it's a good thing in a man, too. I'm +not much of a hand at writing, as I guess +you'll see. All I mean to say is, if he and +little Rita want to hitch up a double team, +my opinion is it would be a mighty good +thing, and I hope you'll give them your +blessing and all that sort of thing, when +the time comes.</p> + +<p>Much obliged for your letter, but sorry your +knee still bothers you. Father has been laid +up, too, so he writes; rheumatism. I'm getting +on first-rate, and shall be out of this soon. I +think a month or so more will see the whole +blooming business over, and peace declared.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +Time, too! this is no kind of a country to +stay in.</p> + +<div class='right'> +<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Your affectionate nephew,</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">James Montfort.</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>P.S. Tell Cousin Margaret that J. D. is +<i>all right</i>.<br /><br /><br /></p> + +<div class='right'> +<span class="smcap">Las Rosas</span>, June —, 1898.<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Mr. Montfort:</span>—I wonder if +you remember Mary Russell, with whom you +used to dance now and then when you came +to Claxton in the old days, we will not say +how many years ago. I certainly have not +forgotten the pleasant partner who waltzed so +well, and I am glad to have the opportunity +of claiming acquaintance with you. I meant +to write as soon as your niece arrived at my +house, but the battle in this neighbourhood the +day after brought us such an influx of wounded +that my hands were very full, and the hasty +dictated line was all I could manage. We are +now in a little eddy of the storm (which, we +hope, is nearly over), and have only a dozen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> +men in the house, and most of these convalescent; +so I must not delay longer in assuring +you of the very great pleasure and help it has +been to me to have Margarita with me. Indeed, +I hardly know what I should have done +without her the first week, as two of my +nurses were ill just at the time when we +were fullest. She shows a remarkable aptitude +for nursing, which is rather singular, +as she tells me that until lately she has been +extremely timid about such matters, fainting +at the sight of blood, etc. You never would +think it now, to see her going about her work +in the wards. The patients idolise her, and +what is more (and less common), so do the +nurses, who declare that she will miss her +vocation if she does not go into a training-school +as soon as she leaves Las Rosas; but +I fancy you would not choose so arduous a +life for her.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 331px;"> +<img src="images/gs08.png" width="331" height="400" alt=""THE PATIENTS IDOLISE HER."" title=""THE PATIENTS IDOLISE HER."" /> +<span class="caption">"THE PATIENTS IDOLISE HER."</span> +</div> + +<p>This brings me, my dear Mr. Montfort, to +what is really the chief object in my writing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +to you to-day. Without beating about the +bush, I am going to say, at once and frankly, +that my dear son, Jack, has become deeply +attached to this charming niece of yours. +Who could be surprised at it? she must +always have been charming; but the sweetness +and thoughtfulness that I have seen +growing day by day while she has been +under my charge are, I somehow fancy, a +new phase of her development. Indeed, Rita +herself has told me, in her vivid way, of +some of the wild pranks of her "unguided +youth," as she calls it,—the child will be +nineteen, I believe, on her next birthday!—and +we have laughed and shaken our heads +together over them. She is far more severe +upon herself than I can be, for I see the quick, +impulsive nature, and see, too, how it is being +subdued and brought more and more under +control by a strong will and a good heart. +A very noble woman our Rita will make, if +she has the right surroundings.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p> + +<p>Can we give her these? that is the question; +a question for you to answer, dear Mr. +Montfort. Jack saw readily, when I pointed +it out to him, that it would not be suitable +for him to speak of love to an orphan girl—an +heiress, too, I believe—without her guardian's +express consent. He chafes at the delay, +for he is very ardent, being half Cuban; but +you may have entire confidence that he will +say nothing to Rita until I hear from you.</p> + +<p>You can easily find out about Jack; there +is nothing in his life that he need conceal. +Colonel G. and Mrs. B——, in New York, Professor +Searcher and Doctor Lynx, of Blank +College, will tell you of his school and college +days; and Captain Montfort will, I think, +say a good word for his record as a soldier +and a patriot. Of course, in my eyes, he is a +little bit of a hero; but maternal prejudice +laid aside (if such a thing may be!), I can +truly say that he is a clean, honest, high-minded +man, with a sound constitution and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> +an excellent disposition. Add to this a moderate +income (not, I am happy to say, enough +to allow him to dispense with work, were he +inclined to do so, which he is not), and a +very earnest and devoted attachment, and +you have the whole case before you. May +I hope to have your answer as soon as you +shall have satisfied yourself on the various +points on which you will naturally seek information? +I assure you that, with the best +intentions in the world, Jack does find it +hard to restrain himself. Let me add that, +if your answer is favourable, it will make +me as well as my son very happy. Rita is +all that I could wish for in a daughter; and +I shall try my best to fill a mother's place +toward her.</p> + +<p>In any case, believe me, dear Mr. Montfort,</p> + +<div class='right'> +<span style="margin-right: 8em;">Cordially yours,</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Mary Russell Delmonte.</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>P.S. You may ask, does Rita return Jack's +affection? <i>I think she does!</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span><br /><br /><br /></p> + + +<div class='right'> +<span class="smcap">Santiago</span>, June —, 1898.<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Honoured Señor:</span>—Your valued letter, +containing inquiries on the subject of Señor +Captain John Delmonte is at hand and contents +notified. I hasten to reply with all the +ardour of which I am capacious. This young +man is a nobleman; few princes have equalled +him in virtuous worth. Brave, honourable, +pious (though Protestant; but this belief is +probably your own, and is held by many of +those most valuable to me, your honoured +brother among them), a faithful and obedient +son, a leader beloved to rapture by his +soldiers. If more could be to say, I would +hasten to cry it aloud. You tell me, with +noble frankness, he is a pretender for the +hand of my beloved Margarita; already it +has been my happiness to be aware of it. +Señor Montfort, to see these two admirable +young persons united in the holy bondages +of weddinglock is the last and chief wish +of my life. I earnestly beg your sanction of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> +their unition. In Jack I find a son for my +solitary age; in Margarita a daughter, the +most tender as she is the most beautiful that +the world contains. To close my aged eyes +on seeing them unified, is, I repeat it, the one +wish of,</p> + +<div class='right'> +<span style="margin-right: 6em;">Honoured Señor,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Your most obedient and humble servitor,</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Miguel Pietoso.</span><br /><br /><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='right'> +<span class="smcap">Las Rosas</span>, June —, 1898.<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Mr. Monfort:</span>—I have just +read your letter to my mother, and I want to +thank you before I do anything else. There +isn't much to say, except that I will do my +best to be in some degree worthy of this treasure, +if I win it. I will try to make her happy, +sir, I will indeed. No one could be good +enough for her, so I will not pretend to that.</p> + +<p>She is awake now, so I must go.</p> + +<div class='right'> +<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Gratefully yours,</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">John Delmonte.</span><br /><br /><br /></div><p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='right'> +<span class="smcap">Las Rosas</span>, Evening.<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dearest, dearest Margaret:</span>—Why are +you not here? I want you—oh, I want you +so much! I am so happy, so wonderfully, +almost <i>terribly</i> happy, how can I put it on +paper? The paper will light itself, will burn +up for joy, I think; but I will try. Listen! +an hour ago—it is an evening of heaven, the +moon was shining for me, for me and—oh, +but wait! I was in the garden, resting after +the day's work; I had been asleep, and now +would take the remainder of my free time +in waking rest. The air was balm, the roses +all in blossom. Such roses were never seen, +Marguerite; the place is named for them, +Las Rosas. They are in bowers, in garlands, +in heaps and mounds—I smell them now. +The rose is my flower, remember that, my +life long. I used to tell you it was the +jessamine; the jessamine is a simpleton, I +tell you. I was picking white roses, the +kind that blushes a little warm at its heart—when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> +I heard some one coming. I knew +who it was; can I tell how? It was Captain +Jack. I trembled. He came to me, he spoke, +he took my hand. Oh, my dear, my dear, +I cannot tell you what he said; but he loves +me; he is my Jack, I am his Rita. Marguerite, +will you tell me how it can be true? +Your wild, silly, foolish Rita, playing at +emotions all her childish life: she wakes up, +she begins to try to be a little like you, my +best one; and all of a sudden she finds herself +in Paradise, with a warrior angel—Marguerite, +I did not think of it till this moment; +my Jack is the express image of St. Michael. +His nose tips up the least bit in the world—I +don't mind it; it gives life, dash, to his +wonderful face; otherwise there is <i>no</i> difference. +My St. Michael! my soldier, my Star +of Horsemen! Marguerite, no girl was +ever so happy since the world was made. +Oh, don't think me fickle; let me tell you! +In the South here, are we different? It must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> +be so. I <i>was</i> fond of Santayana; but that +was in another life. I was a sentimental, +passionate child; he was handsome as a +picture; it was a dream of seventeen. Now—can +you believe that I am a little grown +up? I really think I am. Perhaps I think +it most because now, for the first time, I +<i>really</i> want to be like you, Marguerite. I +used to be so pleased with being myself—I +was the vainest creature that ever lived. +Now, I want to be like you instead; I want +to be a good woman, a good wife. Ah! what +a wife you will make if you marry! But +how can you marry, my poor darling? There +is only one man in the world good enough +for you, and he is mine. I cannot give him +up, even to you, my saint. I have two saints +now; I ought to be a Catholic. The second +one is his mother, the Saint of Las Rosas, as +she is called all through this part of the +island. Marguerite, I must strive to grow +like her, too, if such a thing were possible.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> +I have work enough for my life, but what +blessed work! to try to make myself worthy +of Jack Delmonte, my Jack, my own!</p> + +<p>He took me to his mother; I have just +come from her. I am her daughter from +that moment, she says; oh, Marguerite, I +will try to be a good one. Hear me—no! +I am not going to make vows any more, or +talk like girls in novels; I am just going to +try. I loved her from the first moment I +saw her grave, beautiful face. She took me +in her arms, my dear; she said things—I +have come up here to weep alone, tears of +happiness. Dearest, you alone knew thoroughly +the old Rita, the foolish creature, who +dies, in a way, to-night. Say good-bye to her; +give her a kiss, Marguerite, for she too loved +you; but not half as dearly as does the new, +happy, blessed</p> + +<div class='right'> +<span class="smcap">Margarita de San Real Montfort.</span><br /> +</div> + + +<h2>THE END.</h2> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3> + +<p>Corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rita, by Laura E. 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