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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/75274-0.txt b/75274-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3246bbb --- /dev/null +++ b/75274-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3670 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75274 *** + + + + + + A CROWN OF SHAME. + + VOL. I. + + + + + A CROWN OF SHAME. + + _A NOVEL._ + + BY + FLORENCE MARRYAT, + + AUTHOR OF + ‘LOVE’S CONFLICT,’ ‘MY SISTER THE ACTRESS,’ + ETC. ETC. + + _IN THREE VOLUMES._ + + VOL. I. + + LONDON: + F. V. WHITE & CO., + 31 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C. + + 1888. + + [_All rights reserved._] + + + + + EDINBURGH + COLSTON AND COMPANY + PRINTERS + + + + +[Illustration] + +_CONTENTS._ + + + PAGE + + CHAPTER I. 1 + + CHAPTER II. 29 + + CHAPTER III. 56 + + CHAPTER IV. 83 + + CHAPTER V. 110 + + CHAPTER VI. 139 + + CHAPTER VII. 166 + + CHAPTER VIII. 204 + + + + +A CROWN OF SHAME. + + + + +POPULAR NEW NOVELS. + + +_Now ready, in One Vol., the Seventh Edition of_ + + =ARMY SOCIETY; or, Life in a Garrison Town.= By JOHN STRANGE WINTER. + Author of ‘Bootles’ Baby.’ Cloth gilt, 6s.; also picture boards, 2s. + + +_Also now ready, in cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. each._ + + =GARRISON GOSSIP, Gathered in Blankhampton.= By JOHN STRANGE WINTER. + Also picture boards, 2s. + + =IN THE SHIRES.= By Sir RANDAL H. ROBERTS, Bart. + + =THE OUTSIDER.= By HAWLEY SMART. + + =THE GIRL IN THE BROWN HABIT.= By Mrs EDWARD KENNARD. + + =STRAIGHT AS A DIE.= By the same Author. + + =BY WOMAN’S WIT.= By Mrs ALEXANDER. Author of ‘The Wooing O’t.’ + + =KILLED IN THE OPEN.= By Mrs EDWARD KENNARD. + + =IN A GRASS COUNTRY.= By Mrs H. LOVETT-CAMERON. + + =A DEVOUT LOVER.= By the same Author. + + =TWILIGHT TALES.= By Mrs EDWARD KENNARD. _Illustrated._ + + =SHE CAME BETWEEN.= By Mrs ALEXANDER FRASER. + + =THE CRUSADE OF ‘THE EXCELSIOR.’= By BRET HARTE. + + =A REAL GOOD THING.= By Mrs EDWARD KENNARD. + + =CURB AND SNAFFLE.= By Sir RANDAL H. ROBERTS, Bart. + + =DREAM FACES.= By the Hon. Mrs FETHERSTONHAUGH. + + =A SIEGE BABY.= By JOHN STRANGE WINTER. + + =MONA’S CHOICE.= By Mrs ALEXANDER. Author of ‘The Wooing O’t.’ + + +F. V. WHITE & Co., 31 Southampton Street, Strand, London, W.C. + + + + +[Illustration] + +A CROWN OF SHAME. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +It was the close of the hot season in San Diego, and the thunderous +clouds that hung over the island rendered the atmosphere still more +oppressive. Liz, the Doctor’s daughter, stood at the open door of +their leaf-thatched bungalow, gazing out into the starless night, and +wondering when the rain would come, to relieve the intense heat and +disseminate the sickness that was so rapidly thinning the population. +The stillness was so unbroken that one might almost be said to feel +it. Not a breath of air stirred the light feathery branches of the +bamboo, not even the chirp of a solitary insect could be distinguished +from their covert in the long grass, nor a note from the songsters +that crowded the surrounding woods. The trailing creepers that hung +like a gorgeous eastern canopy of crimson and purple and orange from +the roof of the verandah, brushed their blossoms against her face, as +she thrust it into the night, but they brought no sense of refreshment +with them. Liz felt stifled for want of air, as she withdrew from the +verandah, and re-entered the bungalow, with a deep-drawn sigh. But +the sigh was for others. She was not a woman to make otherwise than +lightly of her own pain or inconvenience. To witness suffering or +distress, and be unable to relieve it, that was the great drawback of +life to Elizabeth Fellows. She was not a girl, and the existence she +led had tended to make her older than her age. She was five-and-twenty, +and ever since she was a little child she had been motherless, and +brought up to depend upon herself, and to minister to others rather +than be ministered to. Her father, Dr Fellows, was generally considered +to be a reserved, morose, and rather disagreeable man: but Liz knew +otherwise. She was his only child, and ever since she could remember +they two had lived together, and alone, and he had been both mother and +father to her. He was not lively and talkative, even to Liz--but she +had always felt that he was unhappy, though something in his manner +had forbidden her inquiring the cause of his reticence and melancholy. +But he had never said an unkind word to her. Gravely and affectionately +he had brought his daughter up to help him in his work, and Liz, who +possessed an active, clever brain and a large amount of courage, had +taken an immense interest in the science of medicine and surgery, +and knew almost as much about it as himself. Dr Fellows left all the +simple cases in his daughter’s hands, and for a long time past she had +been almost worshipped amongst the negro population of San Diego, as +a species of white angel who came to their women and their children +with healing in her hands. And both the Doctor and his daughter had had +plenty of work to do during the last few months. Fever was reigning +paramount in San Diego. Both Europeans and natives had been falling +around them like rotten sheep; and with the epidemic had come a murrain +on the rice-fields and sugar-cane plantations, so that the people +had to contend with starvation as well as disease; and awful rumours +of mutiny and insurrection had commenced to make the residents and +planters feel alarmed. Inside the Doctor’s cottage were grouped some +score of negresses, most of them with infants in their arms. Their +work was over for the day, and this was the hour when they came to Liz +to have their bottles refilled with medicines, and to show her what +progress their wailing little ones had made. + +As she stepped back amongst them, her face assumed an expression of +pity and sympathy for their distress, that did indeed make her look +like an angel of goodness. She was not a beautiful woman--far from +it--but it is not, as a rule, the most beautiful faces that are the +most comforting to look upon in a time of difficulty or danger. + +Liz had a tall, well-developed figure, which her plain print dress +showed off to perfection. Her skin was clear, and soft, and white, and +her abundant fair hair was tucked smoothly away behind her ears, and +twisted into a knot at the back of her head. Her grey eyes beamed with +a tender, kindly light, that had no power to conceal her feelings, and +her firm, well-shaped mouth showed firmness and decision. In fact, +she was a typical English woman, with rather a majestic bearing about +her, as if she knew her power and rejoiced in it. But, above all, she +was a woman to love and trust in,--one who would never tell a lie nor +betray a friend, and yet who, once convinced that her own trust had +been betrayed, would stamp the image of the offender from her heart, if +she died under the process. As the negresses caught sight of her again, +they were startled to see the tears upon her cheeks, hardly believing +they were shed for them. + +‘Missy feeling ill?’ ‘Missy like a little wine?’ ‘I go calling Massa to +see Missy?’ + +‘No! No! What are you talking about? I am as well as possible!’ cried +Liz, hastily brushing her tears away. ‘I was only thinking.’ + +‘Ah, Missy,’ said one poor mother, regarding an attenuated morsel +of humanity which lay just breathing and no more across her lap, ‘I +thinkin’ my little Sambo never run about again!’ + +‘Don’t lose heart, Chrissie,’ replied Liz, in her grave, sweet voice, +as she knelt down and laid her hand on the baby’s forehead. ‘He is very +weak, poor little fellow, but so long as he can eat, there is hope for +him. I will change his medicine, and perhaps we shall have the rain by +to-morrow. A few cool nights would set him up again.’ + +‘Ah! Missy very good to say so, but we shall have plenty more weeks hot +weather yet. Poor little Sambo under ground before the rain sets in.’ + +‘And my poor girl can’t stand no ways!’ cried another; ‘and Rosa’s boy +die this afternoon.’ + +‘Oh, what can I do--what can I do for you all?’ exclaimed Liz, with her +hands to her head. + +At this moment, the group in the Doctor’s bungalow was augmented by a +fresh arrival. This was Rosa, the yellow girl, who rushed in like a +whirlwind, with her dead child in her arms. Liz had taken an interest +in this girl, but it was one which Rosa strongly resented. Her child +was born out of wedlock, and the gentle remonstrances on her conduct +which the Doctor’s daughter had urged upon her, had been taken by the +uneducated creature as an insult rather than a kindness. Her poor +little dead Carlo had been tended as carefully as any of Liz’s other +patients, but the bereaved mother chose to think it otherwise, as she +burst in upon them. + +‘He is _dead_!’ she cried frantically, as she almost flung the body +upon the table. ‘And now, perhaps you will be satisfied, Miss Lizzy. +Now you will be glad to think there is one bastard child less on my +massa’s plantation, and that I have nothing--nothing left to remind me +of my lover who has sailed away to America.’ + +‘Oh, Rosa! how can you so misjudge me?’ said Liz, as she put one arm +round the weeping girl. But Rosa flung it off. + +‘It is true!’ she exclaimed fiercely; ‘you said he had better never +have been born, and now you have taken no trouble to keep him in this +world. I suppose you thought it would be a right punishment for my sin. +But I hate you--and the punishment shall come back on your own head! +I hope I shall live to see the day when you shall weep as I weep, and +have nothing left you but the burden of the shame.’ + +‘Rosa, you are not yourself! You do not know what you are saying,’ +replied Lizzy calmly. ‘It is God Who has taken your baby to Himself, +and neither I nor any one could have kept him here. Try and think of +it like that, Rosa. Think of little Carlo, happy and well for ever in +the gardens of heaven, and you will not speak so wildly and bitterly +again.’ + +‘I shall! I shall!’ cried the girl, in the same tone, as she seized +the body again and strained it in her arms; ‘and I shall never feel +satisfied, Missy Liz, till you suffer as I have done.’ + +And with that she rushed out again into the darkness. + +Liz leant against the table, and trembled. These were the things that +had the power to upset her. To toil for these people early and late; to +be at their beck and call whenever they chose to summons her; to lie +awake at night thinking of the best means to relieve their trouble, and +then to meet with ingratitude and reproaches. It did indeed seem hard! +But it did not make her voice less sweet whilst addressing the others. +The room in which they were assembled was long and narrow--the only +sitting-room in the bungalow--and furnished with severe simplicity. +The matted floor, the cane chairs, and plain unvarnished table, all +told of a life of labour rather than of luxury, and except for Liz +Fellows’ desk and workbox, and a few books which lay scattered about, +it contained few traces of occupation. Yet it was the very absence of +such things that proved the inmates of the cottage were too busy to +think of much beyond their profession. A large cupboard, with a window +in it, at the end of the apartment, served as a surgery, and there Liz +soon turned to mix the febrifuges and tonics required by her patients. +As she did so, she was greeted by a newcomer. + +‘Hullo! Miss Fellows, as busy as usual, I suppose, and no time even to +bid a poor mariner welcome.’ + +Liz turned at the sound of the cheery voice, with her welcome ready in +her eyes. + +‘Oh, Captain Norris! Are you back again already? When did you arrive?’ + +The stranger’s face fell. + +‘_Back again already!_ And I’ve been absent from San Diego for at least +six months, and thinking they felt like six years! When did I arrive? +Why, this evening! The “Trevelyan” dropped anchor exactly at six +o’clock, and directly I could get away, I came up to see you.’ + +‘It is very good of you, and my father will be delighted to see you. I +expect him in every minute. Sit down, Captain Norris, whilst I mix the +medicines for these poor women, who are anxious to get to their homes +again, and then I will hear all your news.’ + +She looked so cool and collected as, having dismissed her patients, she +drew a chair to the table and sat down beside him, that Captain Norris +did not know where to begin. He was a fine handsome young man, with +dark eyes and hair; the skipper of a merchant vessel, and every inch a +sailor; and he was very much in love with Lizzie Fellows. He carried +several neatly tied up parcels in his hands, but he was too nervous to +allude to them at once. + +‘I am sorry to find you have fever in the island,’ he said, by way of a +commencement. + +‘Oh, it is terrible--a regular plague!’ replied Lizzie; ‘and though +my father has worked early and late amongst the negroes, we have lost +patients by the dozen. It is sickening to hear of the numbers of +deaths, and to witness the trouble;--enough to break one’s heart.’ + +‘But you keep well?’ he inquired anxiously. + +‘Oh, yes! Nothing ever ails me! I have too much to do, and no time to +be ill. But I am very sad, and somewhat disheartened.’ + +‘Mr Courtney must have experienced a great loss.’ + +‘Yes! His plantation is sadly thinned, but the deaths have been chiefly +amongst the children. Mr Courtney is very good to them, and spares +no expense to provide them with comforts. It is no one’s fault. It +is the will of God, and we must wait patiently till He removes the +scourge. But there is great distress, and even starvation, amongst the +native population in other parts of the island, and some degree of +insubordination.’ + +‘And how is Mr Courtney’s beautiful daughter?’ + +‘Maraquita! She is not ill, but she has been very languid lately, which +we attribute to the heat. But I have not seen so much of her during the +last few months. I suppose she is too gay to have any time to spare for +us.’ + +‘And Henri de Courcelles! Is he still the overseer at Beauregard?’ +demanded Captain Norris, after a short pause. + +Liz coloured. + +‘Yes! Why should he not be so? Mr Courtney has every trust and +confidence in him.’ + +‘So much the worse, I think, for Mr Courtney.’ + +She fired up directly. + +‘Captain Norris, you have no right to make such an insinuation! What +do you know against Monsieur de Courcelles? It is unworthy of you to +try and set his friends against him, behind his back.’ + +‘I am sorry if you think so, Miss Fellows; I hoped that you might not +be so intimate with De Courcelles as you used to be. But let us talk of +something else. How is your father?’ + +‘Much the same as usual, Captain Norris. Father is never very lively, +as you know. Sometimes I fancy this climate must disagree with him, he +is so silent and depressed; but he has always been the same, and he +strenuously denies any feeling of illness.’ + +‘It is a dull life that you lead here with him, Liz.’ + +‘Don’t say that! A useful life can never be dull, and I have many +pleasures beside.’ + +‘But you would like to see a little more of the world, would you not? +You would like to visit your native country, England, and make the +acquaintance of your relations?’ + +Liz looked at him wistfully. + +‘I don’t think I should, at least under present circumstances. I am +afraid the pain of leaving San Diego, and all those whom I have known +from childhood, would out-balance the pleasure of seeing fresh people +and places. I have known no other home than San Diego, Captain Norris, +and I don’t think I could bear to leave the--the plantation.’ + +He did not answer her, but commenced, somewhat nervously, to undo the +packages he held. As their contents came to view, Liz saw spread before +her on the table a handsome morocco desk, a photographic album, and a +complete set of silver ornaments. + +‘Oh, how beautiful!’ she could not help exclaiming. + +‘They are for you,’ said her companion brusquely; ‘I brought them from +England expressly for you.’ + +‘_For me!_’ repeated Liz wonderingly. ‘Oh, Captain Norris, how very +good it is of you! Whatever made you think of _me_?’ + +He seized the hand which was feeling the soft texture of the desk. + +‘I do not know, I cannot tell you, but it is the truth, Liz, that +wherever I am, I always think of you. All the time that I have been +away, your face and the sound of your voice has haunted me, and +prevented my being charmed by any other woman. I love you as I have +never loved before--as I never shall love again, because I shall never +meet another woman so worthy of my love and my esteem.’ + +‘Oh, Captain Norris, pray don’t talk to me like that! You are mistaken; +I am not the good woman you take me for.’ + +‘I must talk, and you must hear me to the end, Liz! I wanted to say all +this to you last time I was in San Diego, but a grave doubt prevented +me. But now I have come back to find you free, and I cannot hold my +tongue any longer. I am not a boy, to be uncertain of my feelings. I +am a man and my own master, and making a sufficient income to keep you +in comfort. Be my wife, Liz; I won’t ask you to marry in a hurry, but +promise you will be my wife some day, and I will summon up all the +patience I possess, and live on the hope of the future.’ + +‘I cannot,’ she said, in a low voice. + +‘You _cannot_!’ he echoed; ‘and why?’ + +‘I don’t think you should ask me. I don’t think you have the right to +ask me. But it is impossible. I shall never be your wife.’ + +‘Does any one stand between us?’ + +Liz was silent. She would not tell the truth, and she could not tell +a lie. Captain Norris turned on her almost fiercely in his keen +disappointment. + +‘There does,’ he exclaimed. ‘I know it, without your speaking, and I +know who it is into the bargain,--the same man who drove me from San +Diego last time without speaking,--Henri de Courcelles.’ + +‘You have no right to make the assertion, without authority,’ retorted +Liz Fellows; ‘but since you have done so, I will not stoop to deny it. +You are right; I am engaged to be married to Monsieur de Courcelles, +but the fact is not generally known, and so I trust you will respect my +confidence.’ + +Hugh Norris dropped his head upon his hands. + +‘Engaged,’ he murmured, ‘really and truly engaged! My God! why did I +not have the courage to speak before?’ + +His despair roused her compassion. She drew nearer, and laid her hand +upon his shoulder. + +‘Indeed, it would have been of no use, dear friend,’ she said gently; +‘Henri and I have made up our minds upon this matter for some time +past, and should have been married long ago, had his position been a +little better assured.’ + +‘Oh, of course, I stand no chance against him!’ replied Captain Norris +bitterly. ‘Monsieur de Courcelles, with his handsome face, and dandy +dress, galloping about the plantation on his switch-tailed mustang, +must needs carry everything before him. But he is not true to you, +Liz, all the same--and sooner or later you will find it out. If he is +engaged to be married to you, he is a scoundrel, for he spends half his +time at the great house making love to the planter’s pretty daughter.’ + +‘How _dare_ you say so?’ cried Liz, springing from her chair, and +standing before him with her face all aflame. ‘What right have you to +take away my lover’s character before me?’ + +She had been too bashful to call him by that name before, but now that +she heard him (as she thought) so cruelly maligned, she felt he needed +the confession of her love for a protection against his slanderers. + +‘Don’t be angry with me, Liz! don’t be offended, but I feel I must +tell you the truth, even at the risk of never speaking to you again. +De Courcelles is not worthy of you. Every one sees it but yourself. +His attentions to Maraquita Courtney are the common talk of the town, +and I heard bets passing pretty freely this evening as to whether the +planter would ever countenance his impudent pretentions to her hand.’ + +‘It is not true,’ repeated Liz, though her face had turned very pale; +‘but if it were, I know no reason why Mr Courtney should object to +Henri as a son-in-law.’ + +‘You are wilfully blind to the fact then that he has black blood in his +veins.’ + +Liz flushed crimson. How impossible it seems, under the most favourable +circumstances, completely to overcome the natural prejudice against the +mixture of blood; but she was true to her colours. + +‘I know more about him than you can tell me, Captain Norris! I know +that his father was French and his mother a Spanish Creole. But it +makes no difference to me. If he were all black, he is the man _I +love_, and I will not stand by quietly and hear him defamed.’ + +‘Who defamed him, Miss Fellows? I merely stated the general opinion as +to De Courcelles’ chances of winning Miss Courtney, though whether he +succeeds or not is a matter of the most perfect indifference to me. +But with regard to yourself, it is a different matter. I may be strong +enough to bear my own disappointment, but I will not see you throw +your happiness away without making an effort to save you. Oh, Liz, my +darling,’ cried Hugh Norris, forgetting himself in his anxiety for her, +‘throw this man over, for Heaven’s sake, or you will rue it your whole +life long!’ + +‘Your advice has somewhat lost its effect from what preceded it,’ +replied Liz coldly, ‘and I must request you to spare it me in the +future, Captain Norris. I also am old enough to know my own mind, +and my friends from my enemies. I am very sorry that you came here +to-night--still more so that you should have presumed to speak as you +have done. I should have liked to keep you as a friend, but you have +made that impossible. Please to relieve me of your presence, and let me +quit the room until you are gone.’ + +‘Oh, I will go--sharp enough!’ said Captain Norris, as he rose from his +chair and walked towards the door. ‘You shall not ask me to leave you +twice, Liz.’ + +‘Stay!’ cried the girl impetuously. ‘You have forgotten your presents. +Take them with you.’ + +‘Won’t you even keep the poor things I have carried so far for you?’ he +asked her humbly. + +‘Keep them!’ she echoed scornfully. ‘Keep a reminder always before me +of the man who maligned my dearest friend to me? What do you take me +for? No! If you have any wish left that I should forget this evening, +and the pain you have caused me, take your presents away with you.’ + +‘You set me a humbling task,’ said Hugh Norris, as he collected his +despised gifts and repacked them in their papers. ‘But I will obey you. +I would rather throw them into the swamp, than leave them here to annoy +you. Only remember, Liz, that _I love you_, and that when the day comes +(as it _will_ come) when your other lover forsakes you, I will prove +what I say.’ + +He went then without another word, though as he turned his eyes towards +her for a farewell look, Liz saw a misty light beaming in them, which +did not make her feel as triumphant as she thought she should have done +to have gained the victory over him. + +She was still standing by the table where he had left her, feeling hot +and cold by turns, as she pondered over the rumour he had repeated, +when a hasty footstep passed over the threshold, and Henri de +Courcelles stood before her. + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + +CHAPTER II. + + +Before she turned her head to greet him, Liz knew _who_ had entered the +bungalow. The marvellous instinct of love made her _feel_ his presence, +before she perceived it, and this instinct, common to all human nature, +was deeply engrafted in that of Liz Fellows. She had a heart that not +only wound itself round that of those she loved but entered into it, +and made its home there, and she loved Henri de Courcelles with all the +strength and passion of which she was capable. Their attachment had +commenced more than a year before, when she and her father had brought +De Courcelles through a dangerous illness, and Liz had nursed him into +convalescence with the tenderest care, and the young man had rewarded +her devotion with a confession of love, which she believed to be as +genuine as her own. Before he rose from his bed of sickness Henri de +Courcelles had pledged himself to marry Liz Fellows, and at the time +perhaps had honestly wished to do so. But there were obstacles in the +way of an immediate union, and the engagement had never been publicly +announced. Henri de Courcelles was a man whose personal appearance +would have proved sufficient justification in most women’s eyes for +Liz’s excessive love for him. From his French father he had inherited +a strength of limb and muscle, and a symmetry of proportion, which +is not common amongst tropical nations, whilst his beautiful Creole +mother had given him her Spanish eyes and colouring, with a little +trace--though too slight to be offensive--of her African blood. Taken +altogether, Henri de Courcelles was a very handsome and athletic young +fellow, and with an easy grace about his bearing and mode of expressing +himself that made him very fascinating. That his visits to her father’s +bungalow had been shorter and less frequent of late had never struck +Liz as remarkable until Captain Norris had drawn her attention to the +probable reason. + +She was not of a jealous temperament, and where we love and fear to +lose, we will hatch up any excuse to lull our doubts to rest, sooner +than wrong the creature on whom all our hopes are fixed. Besides, +Liz was too busy a woman to spend her days sighing over an absent +lover. When she was not mixing and dispensing medicines, or visiting +her patients, or reading the medical works recommended by her father, +she had her household affairs to look after, or needlework to do, +and oftener longed for more time than for less. And De Courcelles +was a busy man also. She would hardly have liked him if he had not +been so. He was overseer on the coffee plantation of the rich planter +Mr Courtney, on whose estate Dr Fellows lived, and had the complete +control and _surveillance_ of the negro population. It made Liz’s +heart grieve sometimes to hear the coolies complain of his harshness +and severity. She did not believe in her heart that Henri _could_ be +unjust to any one and thought the negroes only wished to escape the +punishments they had incurred--still she could not help wishing, with +a sigh, that he had the power to control them without punishment. +But of course _he_ could not be in the wrong--not entirely, that is +to say. As she recognised his footstep on the present occasion, and +all the painful doubt she was experiencing fled like magic before the +pleasure of his presence, any one with a knowledge of physiognomy +could have read how the woman loved him. Her pale face flushed with +expectation--her quiet eyes glowed with fire--her whole frame trembled +in acknowledgment of the man’s supremacy over her. But as he advanced +to the centre of the room and she could discern his features, Liz +started with concern. + +‘Henri! what is the matter? Are you ill?’ + +‘Ill! No,’ he answered pettishly, as he flung himself into a chair. +‘You are so mixed up with your pills and potions, Liz, that you can +never imagine any other cause for a man’s moods than illness. I’m right +enough. What should ail me?’ + +‘Ah! this dreadful fever, Henri. Forgive me if I am nervous for the +safety of you and all whom I love. It strikes down its victims like a +plague, and its terrible rapidity frightens me. It makes one feel so +helpless. Sometimes it takes but a few hours to carry off its victims. +I have been at three deathbeds to-day. It is enough to make a woman +tremble at the least symptom of illness in her own people. And the +epidemic seems to be on the increase. Nothing that my father does seems +to stop it.’ + +‘Well, try and find some livelier topic of conversation, Liz, for +mercy’s sake. It’s enough to give any fellow the blues to hear you +talk. I wish to goodness you followed some other calling, or rather +none at all; but since it is unavoidable, spare me the nauseous +details. I have enough worries of my own without discussing your +professional difficulties.’ + +Her sympathy was roused at once. + +‘What worries, dear? Tell me of them. Can I do nothing to help you out +of them?’ + +He coloured slightly under his dark skin as he stretched himself and +said,-- + +‘Nothing--nothing. They are matters of a purely private nature. But you +know how I detest the coloured people, Liz. It is sufficiently annoying +to me to be employed amongst the brutes all day long, without having to +listen to a story of their grievances when my work is over. I come here +for rest, not to talk about niggers.’ + +‘Yes, I know, Henri, and it makes me happy to hear you say that you +expect to find rest with me. But if you saw them suffer as I do, you +could not fail to feel for them. Have you been very busy lately?’ + +‘Pretty well. Why do you ask?’ + +‘Because it is a week since you have been at the cottage.’ + +‘You must be mistaken. I have called here several times when you were +out. There’s no finding you at home now-a-days, Liz.’ + +‘I have been very much occupied, I know,’ she answered quietly, ‘but +not so much so as to make me forget that you have not been here, Henri.’ + +The remembrance of what Captain Norris had repeated to her recurred to +her mind, and on the spur of the moment she determined to learn the +truth. + +‘You have been a great deal at the White House, have you not?’ she +continued. + +He flushed again, and turned uneasily in his chair, so as to avoid the +straightforward glance of her eyes. + +‘Why do you ask me that question? I am at the White House every morning +with my employer. It is part of my business to go there.’ + +‘I don’t mean at Mr Courtney’s office, Henri. I meant that you are a +great deal with Mrs Courtney and Maraquita--at least I have been told +so.’ + +‘I am much obliged to whoever was kind enough to interest himself in +my private affairs. Am I indebted to your old flame Captain Norris for +spreading untruths about me? I met him skulking round the bungalow as I +came along this evening.’ + +‘Captain Norris does not _skulk_’, replied Liz quickly. ‘He has no need +to do so. Neither is he a “flame” of mine, and you ought to know me +better than to say so, Henri.’ + +‘Well, it looks like it, when you take up the cudgels so warmly in his +defence. However, we’ll let that drop. What has he been telling you +against me?’ + +‘Nothing--or at least nothing of his own accord. He only repeated the +common rumour--that you are a great deal in the society of Maraquita, +and that--that people are talking about it.’ + +She stood for a few moments after that, expecting to hear an indignant +denial from his lips, but De Courcelles was silent. + +‘Henri,’ she continued softly, turning a very pale face towards him, +‘it is not _true_?’ + +‘What is not true?’ he inquired brusquely. + +‘That--that you are tired of me, and making love to Maraquita Courtney.’ + +‘Of course it isn’t true; it’s a d--d lie, and the next time I meet +that Norris, I’ll break every bone in his body for saying so.’ + +She was all penitence for having suspected his fidelity in a moment. +She flung herself on her knees beside his chair, and threw one arm +around his shoulders. + +‘Oh, Henri! forgive me for having repeated such a slander, but it hurt +me so, I couldn’t keep it to myself. But it was not Captain Norris’s +fault. He only told me what he had heard in the town. He did not think, +perhaps, that it was of so much consequence to me. And I know that you +_are_ very intimate at the White House; more so even than I am.’ + +‘Well, Mrs Courtney is very civil to me, and I can hardly refuse her +hospitality, on the plea that I am engaged to be married, can I?’ + +‘No! No! of course not. But still--though I am _sure_ that you are true +to me,’ cried the woman, fighting against her own horrible suspicions +(for why should you have asked me to marry you, unless you loved me?) +still, Maraquita is very lovely, and she _likes_ you, Henri, I am +certain of that. No! don’t interrupt me! Let me say all I have to say +to the end, and then perhaps I shall forget it. You see, dear, I--I am +not beautiful (how I wish, for _your_ sake, that I were), and there +is nothing in me worthy of your affection, except my love! And I have +seen something of men in my lifetime, and I can understand something +of their temptations. Quita has been a flirt from a little child. Who +should know it better than myself, who have been like a sister to her +from her birth? I was only five years old when my father brought me to +live at Beauregard, and Quita was not born for two years after that. I +remember so well the first visit I paid to the White House to see the +wonderful new baby, and how proud I was when old Jessica let me hold +her in my arms--’ + +‘Stop!’ exclaimed De Courcelles authoritatively. ‘What has all this to +do with me? I have no interest in these details about Miss Courtney’s +birth.’ + +‘I only mentioned it to show you how well I must know Maraquita’s +character. We have grown up together, Henri, and I can almost read +her thoughts. She likes you more than a friend, and when I heard the +rumours about you, I felt as if I could have no chance against her.’ + +Henri de Courcelles had risen from his seat during her last words, +almost shaking off her caressing hand in his impatience, and stood +beside her, white and angry. + +‘I will hear no more of this nonsense,’ he cried; ‘I have told you +already it is a lie, and you insult me by repeating it. Miss Courtney +and I are nothing to each other, and it will ruin me with my employer +if this absurd report gains ground. I shall get kicked out of +Beauregard for nothing at all, and then all chance of our marriage will +be at an end, and I shall probably have to leave San Diego.’ + +‘It will not gain ground through _my_ means, and I am only too glad to +know that it is not true,’ replied Liz, rising to her feet also. + +She would have liked him to have put his arms round her and assured +her with a kiss it was all an error, but she was too proud to show the +blank disappointment that crept over her. Henri had denied the scandal, +and she was bound to believe him, but still she was not satisfied, +though she could hardly have given a reason for it. + +‘Of course--of course--I _knew_ it was not true,’ she repeated, in +a quivering voice, as she tried to persuade herself that all was +right between them. ‘For once you _promised_ me--do you remember it, +Henri?--that if any one ever came between us, you would let me know, so +that at any rate I should retain your confidence, even if I lost your +love.’ + +‘You harp so much on the question of losing my love,’ he replied +angrily, ‘that you make me think you have no further use for it.’ + +Liz looked bewildered. + +‘Oh! what have I said to make you speak like that?’ she exclaimed. +‘When have I let you think that I was weary of you--we who have agreed +to pass our lives together? Oh, Henri! is it my fault? Has this +misunderstanding sprung from my apparent coldness? If so--forgive me! +For indeed--_indeed_--’ continued Liz earnestly--all her reticence +vanishing before the fear of offending her lover, ‘I am not cold. I +have so much important work to do, and serious things to think of, +that I am afraid sometimes to let my thoughts dwell too much on our +affection, lest I should not keep my mind clear. But that is not +indifference. It is too much love,’ she said, in a faltering voice. + +‘I have never doubted your love,’ replied De Courcelles, softened by +the sound of her tearful voice, ‘and I don’t want you to doubt mine, +and especially not to listen to tales that have no foundation, and are +calculated to injure my reputation. Maraquita Courtney is nothing to +me, and never has been, and never will be. You may take my word for +that!’ + +‘Will you swear it?’ cried Liz eagerly. + +He hesitated a moment, and then he said,-- + +‘Yes, I swear it by the God Who made us both!’ + +The woman dropped down into her chair again, and burst into a flood of +hysterical tears. + +‘Oh! I _felt_ it! I _knew_ it!’ she exclaimed. ‘I have been so happy +in the possession of your love. I was sure that Heaven could not be so +cruel as to take it away from me.’ + +The young man crossed over to her, and laid his hand upon her bent head. + +‘No! no!’ he said soothingly. ‘No one shall take it away. You are not +like yourself to-night, Liz. Where is all your courage gone to? You, +who can stand by quietly and see an operation performed, or a patient +die, who are the coolest and most collected woman I have ever met with. +Why! I don’t _know_ you in this new character.’ + +‘I _have_ no courage where you are concerned,’ she answered +passionately, as she looked up and met the glance of his dark eyes. +‘You are my life, Henri, and everything that is best in me, would die +without you.’ + +He winced a little as she spoke, but he professed to laugh at her +vehemence. + +‘It will not be my fault if you are ever put to the test, Liz. How +often have I told you that my life belongs to you, since, without your +skill and care, I should have lost it. Come, kiss me, and forget what +has passed between us. It is all the fault of that meddling fellow +Norris. I wish he had been farther before he made mischief between us.’ + +‘No one has the power to make mischief between us,’ said Liz, smiling +through her tears. ‘I am quite happy again now, and am only sorry my +foolish jealousy should have betrayed me into making such a scene. +And, to prove it, let us talk of Quita, Henri. I was wanting to see +you, just to ask after her.’ + +‘Can’t we find some pleasanter topic of conversation, Liz? Besides, you +know more of Miss Courtney than I could tell you.’ + +‘No! That is just where it is. I have hardly seen anything of her +since the fever broke out. Father is not quite certain whether it is +contagious or not, and whilst there is a doubt, he thinks it better +I should keep away from the White House. But old Jessica says that +Quita is not looking at all well, and she is afraid there is something +serious the matter with her.’ + +De Courcelles fired up again directly. + +‘Curse the old fool! What business is it of hers how she looks! It’s +this infernal tittle-tattle from house to house, that makes all the +mischief in the world.’ + +‘Oh, Henri! You forget Jessica was Quita’s nurse. Why, she loves her +like her own child, and she says she has been very depressed lately, +and is often crying. What should make her cry, Henri? Has she any +trouble?’ + +‘Don’t ask me! How should I know?’ he answered roughly. ‘Miss Courtney +is not likely to confide her troubles to her father’s overseer. But I +see no difference in her.’ + +‘Perhaps it is only Jessica’s anxiety,’ said Liz thoughtfully. ‘But +I am always dreaming of this fever, and Maraquita is too delicate to +battle against it. I wish Mr Courtney would send her out of the island +until it is dispersed.’ + +‘You don’t think of going yourself, though.’ + +‘_I!_ Oh, dear no! I _should_ be a coward to run away from these poor +people when I can be of use to them. But Maraquita is different. She +has nothing to do but to think of the trouble and brood over it, and +she is easily alarmed. She would be much better away.’ + +‘I suppose if her parents thought so they would send her. They have +sufficient money to do anything. But we have discussed the subject +enough, Liz, and I am weary of it. Where is your father?’ + +‘Here he is,’ replied Liz, in a brisk and cheerful tone, as Dr Fellows +entered the bungalow. + +Whatever her own doubts and imaginings, she was always cheerful before +her father, for he seemed to carry a weight through life that would +break him down, unless sustained by his daughter’s strength of mind. + +Dr Fellows was a man of about fifty years of age, but he looked +older. His figure was bent and attenuated, his hair nearly white, his +features lined with care and yellow from ill-health. No one to see +them together could have believed him to be the father of the healthy +and finely-formed young woman who advanced to meet him. The frank, +ingenuous expression on his daughter’s face contrasted pleasantly with +his reserved and somewhat morose physiognomy. He hardly smiled as she +took his broad-brimmed Panama hat and stick from him, and kissed him +on the forehead. The doctor was dressed in a complete suit of white +nankeen, and his face was scarcely less white than his clothes. + +‘You look very tired, father!’ exclaimed Liz. ‘Have you been far from +the plantation to-night, and are there any fresh cases?’ + +‘I walked to the other side of Shanty Hill, to see a child of Mathy +Jones, but I was too late. The fever had set in with convulsions, and +it was dead before I arrived. And poor old Ben is gone too, Liz; Mr +Latham’s faithful old servant. I would have given all I am worth to +save him, but I failed to do so. I think my right hand must have lost +its cunning,’ said the Doctor, in a tone of deep depression. + +‘No, no! father! It is nothing of the sort. You are overtired with your +constant work, or you would not think of such nonsense. Let me mix you +a white wine sherbet, you seem quite exhausted. And here is Henri, so +talk of something else, and divert your thoughts.’ + +‘How are you, Monsieur de Courcelles? We have not seen much of you +lately,’ said Dr Fellows languidly. + +The indifference with which he spoke, showed that he did not care much +for his intended son-in-law. Indeed, excepting that he believed his +daughter to possess a much clearer and more practical head than his +own, he never would have sanctioned the engagement. But Lizzie loved +him, so the Doctor argued--and believed in him, and therefore it must +be all right. Lizzie was too sensible to make a mistake about it. The +Doctor forgot, or was ignorant of the fact, that the cleverest women +often make the greatest fools of themselves where their hearts are +concerned, and their vivid imaginations make them believe those they +love to be all they could wish them. The handsome, _nonchalant_ young +Frenchman did not appear much better pleased to meet Dr Fellows than +he did to see him, but he considered it worth his while to refute his +assertion. + +‘That has been your fault more than mine,’ he replied airily. ‘I was +just telling your daughter that I have made several attempts to find +you at home, without success. My time is not my own, you know, any more +than yours.’ + +‘Oh, if Liz is satisfied, I am sure _I_ am!’ retorted Dr Fellows. + +‘It is all right, father, Henri and I perfectly understand each other,’ +interposed his daughter cheerfully. ‘But had you not better go and lie +down, father? I don’t like that heavy look in your eyes; and you may be +called up again at any hour of the night. Do take some rest whilst you +can.’ + +‘You are right, my dear,’ replied the Doctor, staggering to his feet; +‘I really want rest. But you will go to bed, too, Lizzie. You will not +sit up too late with Monsieur de Courcelles?’ + +‘There is no fear of that, for I am going at once,’ said the young man, +as he rose to his feet. ‘Good-night, Doctor; good-night, Liz. I shall +look in upon you again to-morrow.’ + +He nodded to each of them as he passed out into the night air, and +Liz looked after his handsome lithe figure, as it disappeared behind +the clump of mango trees, with a sigh of love and regret. But there +was nothing but affectionate solicitude patent in her manner as she +proffered her arm to support her father to his room. + +‘Father, you are trembling like a leaf. I think I shall give you a +little quinine. By the way, have you heard any news from the White +House to-day? Are they all well?’ + +‘I trust so. I have heard nothing to the contrary; and I saw Mr +Courtney as usual this morning. What makes you ask me, my dear?’ + +‘Because Jessica said that Maraquita looked ill.’ + +‘It can be nothing serious, or I should have heard of it. Probably +the effects of this intense heat, and the unhealthy state of the +atmosphere. But they are well provided with disinfectants at the White +House, and Mr Courtney will not permit his wife or daughter to enter +the plantation. They always drive on the other side of the island.’ + +‘That accounts for my not having seen either of them for so long,’ said +Lizzie, as she left her father to lie down, dressed as he was, and try +to gain a much-needed repose. + + + + +[Illustration] + +CHAPTER III. + + +As she re-entered the sitting-room, she passed at once to the entrance +which led on to the verandah. All the windows were wide open, and +the shaded lamp upon the table, round which myriads of insects were +hovering, conveyed no heat to the apartment, yet it seemed to stifle +her for want of air. Her head and her heart seemed both on fire, and +she could recall nothing of the events of the evening, except that +Henri had denied he was untrue to her, and yet had left without giving +her any proof of his fidelity. The world seemed to be crumbling +beneath her feet as she stepped out of the open door, and lifted up +her face to the star-spangled sky. How calm and peaceful and steadfast +it appeared! What a contrast to her own turbulent spirit, and how she +longed to be at peace also--anywhere, anyhow, only _at peace_! + +Liz was passing through the cruellest phase of a disappointment +in love--when merciless doubt obtrudes its fang into the heart, +and poisons the whole being. How we despise and hate ourselves for +doubting, and yet how painfully we go into the minutiæ of our loathsome +suspicion, and dissect every reason that forbids our casting it from us! + +Liz felt as if she dared not think about it. As she recalled De +Courcelles’ words and manner that evening, she saw that he had not said +or done a single thing calculated to set her mind at rest. Except the +solemn oath which he had sworn, and somehow, though she loved him, +Liz derived no comfort from remembering that oath, and even wished he +had not taken it. That he might not have deserted her for the sake +of Maraquita Courtney was true--as he had attested it, she was bound +to believe it was true--but he was changed to herself. All the oaths +sworn under heaven could not disabuse her mind of _that_ idea; and if +he were false, what did it signify to her _who_ occupied the place +which she had lost? The brave woman who could set a broken limb, or +lance an abscess without wincing, shook like an aspen leaf at the +prospect of losing her handsome lover. Her love was so knit to him, +that she believed she could never disentangle it, but would have to +live on, with her live warm heart beating against his dead cold one, +until death came to release them. That is the worst of finding out the +unworthiness of those whom we have believed in,--we cannot all at once +tear our hearts away, and we despise ourselves for being so weak as to +let them bleed to death by inches, instead of freeing them with one +wrench. + +Liz was ready to despise herself as she walked a little way from the +bungalow. It stood in the centre of the coffee plantation, but a +considerable space round it had been set with ornamental shrubs and +trees. The glossy-leaved creamy-white magnolias, with their golden +centres, shed their powerful perfume on the night air, and a clump of +orange trees in full blossom mingled their scent with the magnolia. +The night-blowing cistus and the trumpet flowers wound themselves up +the supports of the verandah; the insects, with many a birr-r and +whiz-z, disported themselves in the lemon grass, and from the covert +of the plantation came low-toned murmurs from the sleepy love-birds, +or the shrill cry of a green parrot startled from its bower of bud and +blossom. Liz lifted her heated face to heaven, as though she would draw +inspiration from its majestic calm. + +Far off, from the cluster of negroes’ huts, which bordered the +property, she could distinguish the crooning wails of the mourners, +preparing their dead for burial at sunrise, and her heart bled for the +poor black mothers who had been compelled to part with the babies at +their breast. Death and sorrow seemed to surround her, and her spirits +sunk down to their lowest ebb. The stillness was intense. It was a +night when one seemed lifted up from this lower earth, and capable of +holding communion with the Unseen. + +But absorbed as Liz Fellows was in her own trouble, she was startled +after a while by the sound of a low faint moan that came from the +surrounding thicket. Her first idea was that it proceeded from Rosa +mourning over her dead child--poor wild Rosa, who was so heedless as +to be almost half-witted, and who had fallen a ready prey to some +loafing young sailor who had spent a few days near the plantation. +Liz had felt deeply interested in this girl. She had been shocked and +horrified to find she had so little sense of decency or respect for her +womanhood as to succumb to the first temptation offered her, but she +had not slighted nor reproached the girl in consequence. Such things +were common enough amongst the coolies. It was not Liz’s vocation to +preach but to console. She had indeed, whilst watching over Rosa and +her baby, tried to convince her of the wrong she had committed, both +to her child and herself, but the yellow girl had paid no attention to +her words, until the fever had carried off little Carlo. Then they had +come back upon her mind with double force, and she had resented them +by insulting her benefactress. But Liz bore no malice. She was only +anxious to console, as far as possible, the poor bereaved young mother, +and when she heard the low moans, which she fancied came from Rosa, +she plunged into the thicket whence they proceeded. She had gone but a +few steps when she came upon a female figure leaning against the trunk +of a mango tree, as though she had no strength to proceed further. But +the first glance, even though given in the dusky light, showed Lizzie +that this was no coolie girl--yellow, or otherwise. The slight form +was enveloped in a black mantle, which covered it from head to foot, +but the hood had fallen back, and in the white face turned up to the +moonbeams, Liz recognised, to her dismay, the features of Maraquita +Courtney. + +‘Quita!’ she exclaimed, rushing forward, ‘my dear Quita, are you ill?’ + +But Maraquita shrunk from the kindly hand which was laid upon her, as +if it had been the sting of a serpent. + +‘Don’t touch me,’ she murmured; ‘I could not bear it. I don’t want +_you_. I want--your--your--father.’ + +‘My father is at home, dear. He will see you at once if you wish it. +But why didn’t you send for him, Maraquita, if you felt ill? Why did +you take the trouble to come down here to see him?’ + +But all the answer Maraquita made was to utter another heartrending +moan as she swayed backwards and forwards with pain. + +‘Oh, my dearest girl, you are really ill! You must come to the bungalow +at once, and let father prescribe for you. Lean on me, Maraquita, and +let me support you. Only a few steps farther, and we shall be there.’ + +The girl she spoke to appeared to have no alternative but to accede +to her request. She leaned heavily on Liz’s arm, and with many a moan +dragged her feet across the threshold of the Doctor’s house, where she +sank exhausted into a chair. + +She was a beautiful creature, who had just attained her eighteenth +year. Her fair-haired English father had imparted to her a skin of +dazzling whiteness, with a complexion like the heart of a maiden-blush +rose, and her Spanish mother had given her eyes dark as the sloe and +soft as velvet, with languishing lids and curled lashes, and hair of +rippling raven. Maraquita’s form was slight and supple; her hands and +feet small and childlike. She was in all points a great contrast to the +Doctor’s daughter, who regarded her as the loveliest girl she had ever +seen. As little children they had been the most intimate companions +and playmates, Lizzie acting as an elder sister and protector to the +little Maraquita, who toddled all over the plantation under her care. +When older, too, they had studied together, or rather Liz had tried +to impart the knowledge she derived from her father to Quita; but +the latter had never advanced beyond the rudiments of learning. Her +indolent, half-educated mother, who lounged about in a dressing-gown +all day, and had no thoughts beyond her Sunday attire and her evening +drive, considered schooling quite unnecessary for her beautiful little +daughter, and much preferred to see her running about the White House +in a lace frock and blue ribbons, with her rosy, dimpled feet bare, to +letting her be cooped up in the bungalow studying grammar and geography. + +So Maraquita had grown up to womanhood about as ignorant as it is +possible for a young lady to be--about also as vain and foolish as +it is possible for a woman to be. Yet Liz loved her--spite of it +all--for the sake of those early memories. She had never relinquished +her intimacy with Quita, and when they met, they were as familiar as +of old, but they did not meet so often as before. The last two years, +during which Miss Courtney had been introduced to the society of San +Diego, had much separated them. The pleasant evenings which they had +been used to spend together, wandering through the coffee plantation, +were gone for ever. Quita was always engaged now, either to a dinner, +or a ball, or to go to the theatre with her friends, and Liz had ceased +to expect to see her. And since the fever had broken out amongst +the coolies, they had never met, and she was content, for Quita’s +sake, that it should be so. And now to find her wandering about the +plantation at night and evidently so ill, filled Liz’s breast with +alarm. There was but one solution of the riddle. Quita had contracted +the fever in its worst form, and had come to them in her delirium. Liz +had no time to do more than think the thought before she deposited +Quita in a chair and rushed to wake her father, and summon him to her +relief. + +‘Father,’ she exclaimed hurriedly, as she roused Dr Fellows from his +sleep, ‘I am so sorry to disturb you, but it is absolutely necessary. +Quita is ill--very ill, and you must come to her at once. I met her +wandering about the grounds, evidently in great pain, and she says she +wants to see you. I am afraid she is delirious. Oh, father, do come to +her at once!’ + +‘Maraquita _here_?’ said the Doctor, as he rose from his bed and +prepared to quit the room. ‘And without her parents? Impossible.’ + +‘Oh, father, I am sure she is not in her right senses, though she is +too ill to speak much. What will Mr and Mrs Courtney say?’ + +‘We must send word to them at once,’ exclaimed the Doctor, as he +preceded his daughter to the sitting-room. But as soon as he had felt +Maraquita’s pulse, and listened to her moans, the expression of his +face changed from concern to the deepest dismay. ‘This is much worse +than I anticipated,’ he whispered to his daughter. ‘We must carry her +into my room at once.’ + +‘Dr Fellows,’ cried the sick girl, as she clutched at his coat sleeve, +‘save me, for God’s sake--save me! I came to you because you are so +good and kind, but--but--I think I am dying.’ + +‘No! No! my dear! it will be all right by-and-by,’ replied the Doctor +soothingly; ‘but you must be good now, and do as I tell you, and you +will soon be well. Liz and I are going to move you into my bedroom.’ + +‘And shall I be alone with you?’ she asked, with scared eyes. + +‘Yes!--_quite_ alone! Now, Lizzie, take her feet, and I will carry her +head and shoulders, and we’ll have her on the bed in no time.’ + +‘Is it the fever?’ inquired Liz, with a white face, for she knew that +Maraquita’s constitution was very fragile. + +‘Yes! yes! Now, go and leave us, and tell this to no one.’ + +‘But, father, let me undress her first.’ + +‘I wish you to go at once and leave us alone,’ repeated the Doctor +firmly. + +Liz obeyed her father’s orders at once. She was too well used to work +under him as an assistant, to dream of disputing them. But she was very +much astonished to hear him send her away from her adopted sister’s +side. + +‘Shall I run up to the White House and tell Mr and Mrs Courtney that +Quita is with us, father? They will be terribly alarmed if they find +out she has gone.’ + +‘Go nowhere, and speak to no one,’ replied Dr Fellows authoritatively. +‘They are _my orders_, remember. Remain in the sitting-room, and let no +one enter the house. When I require you, I will call you.’ + +Liz walked out of the bed-chamber at once, and left her father with +his patient. She could not understand him this evening, and his action +alarmed as much as it puzzled her. Maraquita must indeed be ill, to +make him look and speak with such complete dismay; he who was generally +so cool and self-collected, and who appeared to look on death, whenever +it occurred, as a kindly note of release from a very troublesome +world. She drew out her work (for whatever her mental perplexities, +Liz was never idle) and sat down to sew and practise patience. She +could not help hearing the low moans that forced their way through the +wooden partitions of the building, and her father’s soothing tones, but +she could gain no knowledge of what was passing there. At last, after +the space of an hour, although it had seemed much longer, Dr Fellows +entered the room in which she sat, and went to his cupboard in search +of some medicine. His daughter looked up anxiously as he appeared. + +‘Only tell me if she is better,’ she urged. + +‘She is not better yet,’ replied her father; ‘but there is every hope +she soon will be.’ + +‘Thank Heaven for it! But I cannot help thinking of her poor parents. +Perhaps they have discovered her absence, and are searching the island +for her. It is cruel to keep them in suspense.’ + +‘I think if you look at the matter from a sensible point of view, Liz, +you will see that _when_ they miss Maraquita, _my_ bungalow is the +first place they will visit. But I do not think they _will_ miss her, +at least not yet. Meanwhile I want to speak to you. Can you give me +your serious attention?’ + +‘Unless Quita should want you,’ replied Liz, looking anxiously towards +the bed-chamber. + +‘She will not do so for some little time, for I have given her a +soothing draught, and she is asleep; and I can hear the least sound +from where I stand. But it is necessary you should listen to me.’ + +‘I am all attention, father.’ + +‘You have spent the best part of your life in San Diego, Liz; has it +ever struck you as strange that I, an Englishman, and a certificated +doctor, should have chosen to make my home in this island, and live, as +it were, on the bounty of Edward Courtney?’ + +‘I don’t know that I have thought it _strange_, father, for you might +have had a thousand reasons for settling in this beautiful island, but +I have felt for a long time past that you have some secret trouble, to +make you shun the curiosity or the publicity of the world.’ + +‘You are right, Liz, and you are old enough now to share that +sorrow--or rather that _shame_.’ + +‘Oh! no, no, father, don’t say _that_!’ cried Lizzie, as her work +dropped into her lap. ‘Whatever it may be, it is not _shame_.’ + +‘My dear, I cannot conceal the fact any longer, for without it you will +never understand what I am about to tell you. The very name we bear, +Liz, is not our own. I was compelled to adopt the name of Fellows, in +order to escape--’ + +‘WHAT? In Heaven’s name, WHAT?’ she exclaimed, clutching at his sleeve. + +‘_Transportation_,’ replied Dr Fellows, in a low, strained voice. + +She was about to scream out, to protest her horror of the disgrace +attached to them,--her indignation that he should have brought it on +their heads,--but a glance at her father’s pale, pained face restrained +her. In a moment she realised the awful effort it must have been for +him to confess his guilt before his daughter, and womanly compassion +took the place of her first resentment. + +‘My poor father,’ she said, in a low voice, as she took his hands in +hers. ‘My _poor_ father! Surely it was not deserved. There _must_ have +been some mistake.’ + +‘No, Lizzie, there was no mistake. Since I have told you so far, you +must hear all! I am a forger.’ + +She hid her face in her hands then, for she did not care to look at +him, lest he should read the contempt she felt her features must +express. + +‘This is the secret of the friendship between me and Mr Courtney. I +owe him more than my life. We were boys at school together, Liz, and +chums at college, and always the best of friends. But he was rich--the +only son of a wealthy planter--and I was very poor, and had nothing +to depend on but my wits. He led me into extravagances which I was +too ready to follow, but whilst he had the means to defray his debts, +I had no power to do the same by mine. At last, in an evil moment, +to prevent a bill coming upon my old father which would have broken +up his humble home and sent him to the workhouse, I forged my friend +Edward Courtney’s name, as a temporary relief. Before I could make up +the money, the paper fell into his hands, and he might have ruined +me; instead of which, Liz, he forgave me freely; but the rumour had +got abroad, and I was a ruined man. I was married, and set up in a +small practice. I lost it all, and it preyed so on your poor mother’s +mind that when you were born, she faded out of life, and left me +alone with my disgrace. I took you away from the place, and tried to +establish a practice in various parts of England without success--the +whispered scandal followed me everywhere--until Mr Courtney came into +his father’s property, and settled out in San Diego; then he wrote +and begged me for the sake of our old friendship, to let the past be +forgotten between us, and to come out here and hold an appointment on +Beauregard as medical overseer to the plantation. As soon as I could +bring down my pride to accept a benefit from the man I had so deeply +wronged, I brought you over here, and we have been dependants on Edward +Courtney’s bounty ever since. Lizzie, what do we owe the man who has +placed us under such an obligation?’ + +‘Our lives, should he require them,’ she answered, in a low voice. + +She was deeply humiliated by what she had heard. She had never dreamt +that the evident trouble under which her father laboured could be +the brand of shame. Her proud independent spirit writhed under the +knowledge that she had been reared on the bread of charity,--that the +very name she passed by was not her own, and that the best spirit +which she and her father could claim from their benefactor, was one of +tolerance only. She could have cried out to Dr Fellows then and there, +to take her away from the surroundings which had become hateful to her, +because they must evermore be associated with the bitter story of his +guilt. But she only hung her head, and spoke in a whisper. Her father +had been sufficiently degraded by having to tell her such a story, and +he had been very good to her, and it was not his daughter’s part to add +to his suffering. But she threw the full depth of its meaning into the +answer she returned him, and he caught at it eagerly. + +‘You are right, Liz. Our lives, and all we have, should be at his +disposal, in return for all his goodness to us. You cannot feel that +more deeply than I do. And now I want to hear you take a solemn oath to +that effect.’ + +‘_An oath!_’ cried Lizzie, startled at the idea. + +‘Yes! an oath before Almighty God. Nothing short of it will satisfy me, +and set my mind at rest.’ + +‘Ah, father!’ she exclaimed, remembering another oath which she had +heard that evening, ‘will not my promise do as well? You know that I +would not dare to break it. It would be as sacred to me as any oath.’ + +‘No, Lizzie--no! I am not asking this for myself, but for another--for +my friend Edward Courtney, to whom we owe so much, and nothing short +of an oath will do. Say, “I swear before Almighty God, and by all my +hopes of salvation, that I will never repeat what I may see, or hear, +or suspect this night.”’ + +‘Oh, father! you frighten me! What terrible thing is going to happen?’ + +‘Are you a child, to be scared by a few words? If you will not swear +it, Lizzie, I will send you out of the bungalow this minute, to the +house of our next neighbours, and you shall not return until I fetch +you. But I want your assistance, and if you will do as I require you, +you can stay and help me.’ + +‘For Quita’s sake then, father, “I swear before Almighty God, and by +all my hopes of salvation, that I will never repeat what I may see, or +hear, or suspect this night.”’ + +‘That is my brave, good daughter,’ said the Doctor, as he laid his hand +for a moment on her head, before he gathered up the medicines he had +selected, and left the room. + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + +CHAPTER IV. + + +Liz stood where he had left her, awestruck and bewildered. All her +private trouble of that evening--the sickening doubts she had conceived +of her lover’s fidelity, and her fears for Maraquita’s safety--faded +before the humbling truths she had just heard. _This_, then, was the +solution of the riddle which had so long puzzled her--the meaning +of her father’s secret anxiety and depression. He was a criminal, +whose crime was known to the law, and who had only escaped justice +by yielding up his birthright and hiding on the plantation of his +benefactor, Mr Courtney. It was a _very_ bitter truth to swallow. + +Liz wondered how much Mrs Courtney and Maraquita knew of their +disgrace, and what revulsion of feeling it might not cause in the +breast of Henri de Courcelles. The thought of her lover caused a sharp +pang to Lizzie. What terrible thing was about to happen in the future +for her with regard to him? Her father’s revelation had raised a new +barrier between them--one which honour compelled her to feel could +never be surmounted until she was permitted to reveal it; and what +consequences might not follow such a confession. As Liz pondered on +the difficulties in her path, she shivered to hear the keening of the +night breeze as it sighed through the branches of the coffee trees, +and the far-off wailing which could occasionally be heard from the +negroes’ huts. They seemed like a requiem over the ashes of her love +and blighted hope. + +The tears were standing on her cheeks when she was roused from her +reverie by the opening of the door, and her father stood before her +again. + +‘Do you want me?’ she said quickly. + +Dr Fellows answered her in a tone of portentous gravity,-- + +‘Yes, Liz, though not in the way you imagine. Set your mind at rest +concerning Maraquita. There is nothing to be alarmed at about her. +But you must execute a commission at once for me. You must carry this +basket to Mammy Lila on the Shanty Hill.’ + +Liz glanced at the large basket which her father carried in his hand, +with astonishment. + +‘I am to go to the Shanty Hill to-night, father? Do you know that it is +five miles away, and it is just two o’clock? Cannot it wait until the +morning?’ + +‘If it could have waited till the morning I should not have told you to +take it now,’ replied the Doctor sternly. ‘Have you already forgotten +your own acknowledgment that we owe (if necessary) our very lives to +Edward Courtney.’ + +‘But what has this to do with Mr Courtney?’ + +‘Ask no questions, but do as I bid you. If any one else could do +the work as well as yourself, I should not trouble you, Liz. But I +can trust no one but you. Carry the basket to Mammy Lila’s hut, and +leave it there. Tell her it comes from me, and my message to her is +“_Silence and secrecy_.”’ + +‘I will go,’ said Lizzie shortly, as she took the basket from her +father’s hand. + +‘Go by the path that skirts the outer plantation, and cross the ravine +by Dorrian’s glen; it is the shorter way,’ continued Dr Fellows; and +then suddenly twisting his daughter round so as to look into her face, +he asked her,--‘Have you any fear? It is dangerous traversing these +roads by night, and alone. There may be snakes across the path, or +panthers lurking in the thickets. Are you sure you are not afraid?’ + +The contemptuous curl of Liz’s lip showed him the futility of the +question. + +‘_Afraid!_’ she echoed. ‘When have you ever known me afraid yet? +Besides, if this is to be done for _Mr Courtney_, my life is at his +service.’ + +‘More than your life, Lizzie--your sacred honour. Remember your oath, +never to reveal what you may hear, see, or suspect this night.’ + +‘I have not forgotten it,’ said his daughter briefly, as she threw a +mantle over her shoulders, and left the cottage with her burden. + +It was with strange feelings that she set out to accomplish her errand. +The tropical night could hardly be called dark, for the deep blue +firmament was set with myriads of stars, but the dusky glens and leafy +coverts were full of shadows, sufficient to mask the unexpected spring +of wild cat or panther, or to conceal the poisonous asp wriggling +through the grass on which she trod. + +Yet she went bravely on, her only means of defence a stout stick with +which she stirred the leaves in her path, in order to unearth a hidden +enemy. + +The covered basket she bore was rather heavy, and she had no knowledge +what it contained. Most women would have asked the question before they +started--many would have untied and opened it as soon as they were out +of sight. Liz did neither. A horrible suspicion had entered her mind, +which she was fighting against with all her might, and it left no room +for idle curiosity. On the contrary, she dreaded lest some accident +should reveal the contents of the basket to her. She did not wish to +ascertain them. She felt intuitively that the knowledge would be the +cause of fresh unhappiness. So she walked rapidly and without a pause +to Shanty Hill, though the five miles seemed very long without the +landmarks familiar to her by daylight, and her feet were very weary +before she got there. + +Mammy Lila was an old negress who had acquired some repute as a +herbalist, and was much sought after by the Coolie population to +doctor their children. She was the _sage-femme_ of Beauregard, and had +helped Liz on many an occasion to usher the poor little dusky mites +of humanity into a world which waited to welcome them with stripes +and hard work. Mammy Lila was a seer into the bargain, and expectant +brides and mothers were wont to go to her to read what fortune lay in +the future for them. She was an old woman now, and rather infirm, but +Dr Fellows had faith in her good sense and discretion, as he evinced on +this occasion. The immediate approach to her hut was up a steep bit of +hill, covered with loose stones, and as Lizzie, weary with mental and +physical fatigue, toiled up it, she stumbled against an obstacle in her +path, and shook the basket in her hand, from which issued in another +second the feeble wailing cry of a new-born infant. Liz almost dropped +the basket in her surprise. She had feared it, but she had resolved +_not_ to believe it, and now her worst suspicions were confirmed. She +stood still for a moment, trembling at the discovery she had made, and +then recommenced almost to _run_ up the rocky hill, as though she would +run from the horror that assailed her. Panting with the exertions she +had made, and almost speechless with dismay, she entered the negress’s +hut, white, scared, and hardly able to express herself. Mammy Lila +was in bed, and had to be roused by repeated attacks upon her door, +and when she answered the summons she was scarcely awake enough to +understand what was said to her. + +‘Missy Liz!’ she exclaimed in her surprise; ‘who bad now? Not little +Cora, sure! Dat chile not due for three week yet.’ + +‘No, no, Mammy! I have not come for that,’ said Lizzie, in a faint +voice. ‘The Doctor sent me. He said I was to give you _this_,’ placing +the basket on the floor, ‘and to say his message to you is “_Silence +and secrecy_.”’ + +‘Ah! good Doctor know he can trust Mammy Lila,’ replied the old +negress, as she began to untie the basket lid. ‘And what is this, Missy +Liz--a baby?’ + +‘I don’t know--I don’t want to know--don’t ask me!’ cried Liz Fellows, +as she turned quickly away. ‘Only remember father’s message, “_Silence +and secrecy_,”’ and with that she ran quickly down the uneven rocky +path again. + +The loose stones rolled away from under her feet, and hurt them in +her rapid descent, but she cared nothing at that moment for pain or +inconvenience. All her desire was to get out of sight and out of +hearing, and forget if possible the horrid task that had been imposed +upon her. Maraquita--whom she had known from babyhood, and believed to +be so innocent and pure, to have subjected herself to this penalty of +shame. It seemed too awful and incredible a thought to be dwelt upon. +Liz remembered, as she ran hurriedly homewards, how she had blamed poor +heedless Rosa for the same fault,--how sternly she had reproved the +ignorant yellow girl, who knew no better than to follow the instincts +of her fallen nature, for her depravity, and told her she ought to +have had more principle, and a better sense of right and wrong, than to +yield to such a temptation. But Maraquita, so much beloved, so tenderly +watched, so closely guarded, how could _she_ have so deceived her +friends and lowered herself; and _who_ could have been so base as to +lead her astray? This discovery, terribly as it affected Liz, cleared +her lover’s character at once in her eyes; and even in the midst of +her pain, she could not help breathing a sigh of thankfulness to think +that Henri de Courcelles was innocent of the charge imputed to him. He +could never have been flirting with the planter’s daughter whilst she +had conceived a serious affection for some one else. Liz recalled the +fervour of his oath with secret satisfaction; it was no wonder indeed +that he felt justified in taking it, and she felt ashamed of the +jealous spirit that had forced it from him. + +But her thoughts soon reverted to her adopted sister, and she +burned with resentment against her unknown betrayer. Her vow to Dr +Fellows--which she felt to be as sacred as though uttered before God’s +throne; the revelation which had been made to her that evening of their +own disgrace; pity for her friend’s misfortune, and love for Henri +de Courcelles, were all warring in her breast, and making her mind a +chaos, as, wearied and panting, she stumbled over the threshold of her +father’s bungalow. She expected to find him alone with Quita,--to be +able to tell him of her hopes and fears,--but, to her consternation, +the room was full, and as she paused in the open doorway, her white and +anxious face made her look like a guilty person. Mr and Mrs Courtney, +with the old black nurse Jessica, were all there, and Dr Fellows was +talking earnestly to them. As he caught sight of his daughter, he +turned to meet her. + +‘_You know all_,’ he whispered sternly, as he looked into her sad eyes, +and squeezed her hand as in a vice. ‘_Remember your oath._’ + +‘Why, is that Lizzie?’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney from the sofa, where she +lay extended. ‘I thought she was nursing our poor Quita. Whatever has +she been doing out of doors at this time of night?’ + +‘She has been to fetch me some necessary drugs,’ replied the Doctor +quickly. + +Mrs Courtney had been a beautiful creature in her youth, but though +not forty years of age, she had already lost all pretensions to good +looks. She was corpulent and ungainly. Her large sleepy black eyes +were sunk in a round face, with a yellow complexion, and triple chins. +Her waving black hair was twisted untidily at the back of her head, and +her abundant figure, unrestrained by belt or corset, was enveloped in a +loose dressing-gown. But she rolled off the sofa nimbly enough when she +heard the voice of Liz Fellows. + +‘Oh, Liz!’ she exclaimed, grasping her hand, ‘this is terrible news the +Doctor has to give us; our darling Quita down with the fever. Fancy +the dear child rambling to your house in her delirium! What a mercy +she had sufficient sense left to guide her. She might have walked into +the river. You may fancy what we felt when we heard that she was gone. +Jessica found it out first when she went into her room with some iced +sherbet, for Quita has been very restless at night lately. I suppose it +was this horrid fever coming on, but she has been quite out of sorts +for some weeks past. But oh! Lizzie, how _can_ she have caught it?’ + +This long harangue had given Lizzie an opportunity to recover her +equanimity, and she was able to reply quite calmly,-- + +‘It is quite impossible to say, dear Mrs Courtney; but father does not +think seriously of the case, and so you must not be too anxious about +her.’ + +‘But he will not let us even _look_ at the dear child. Dr Fellows, I +really think you are _too_ particular. Surely her parents have the +_right_ to see her.’ + +‘Certainly, my dear madam, if you insist upon it; but I think Mr +Courtney will uphold my decision. I have not been able to determine if +this fever which is decimating your plantation is contagious or not. I +rather fancy it is epidemic, but it is impossible to say, because it +is of no known character. It is surely more prudent, however, to keep +on the right side. If Maraquita were in the slightest danger--if she +were even seriously ill, I should be the first to entreat you to see +her, but as it is, your presence would only do her harm. She is weak +and exhausted, and everything depends on her gaining strength from +sleep. Would you be so selfish as to excite and throw her back again, +by disturbing her, or run the risk of contracting the disease yourself?’ + +‘Certainly _not_,’ interrupted Mr Courtney decisively. ‘You are right, +Fellows, as you always are--’ + +(‘Don’t say that,’ interpolated the Doctor, in a pained voice.) + +‘----and I forbid my wife going near the room where Maraquita lies. I +can trust her to you, Fellows--implicitly, and with the most perfect +confidence. I know you will do your very best for my dear child, and +treat her as if she were your own.’ + +‘Indeed--indeed I will, Courtney! If a sense of all I owe to you--’ + +‘Hush! I will not hear you mention it. If such were ever the case, you +have repaid it a thousand fold. And here I give you the best proof I +could, of my friendship and affection. I leave with you my dearest +possession--my only child. Fellows, my dear old chum, I know there is +no need for me to recommend her to your care. You can remember how long +it was before she came to us, how gladly I received the gift, and how +precious it has been to me ever since. My very life is bound up in my +little Quita. You will guard it--’ + +‘With my own,’ interrupted the Doctor solemnly. ‘I would lay down my +life to-morrow, Courtney, to save that of any one who is dear to you.’ + +‘I believe it, my dear fellow, and, thank God, there is no necessity +for such a sacrifice. You can assure us that Maraquita is in no danger.’ + +‘On my word of honour, she is in no danger whatever, and in a few days +she will be quite well again. All she needs is rest and quiet, and if +you will trust her to Liz and me, we will see that she gets it.’ + +‘We do trust her with you; and Liz, we know, will make the most devoted +nurse,’ said Mr Courtney, smiling; but as he caught sight of Lizzie’s +face, the smile faded. ‘Holloa! what is this? Are you going to have the +fever too? You are as white as a sheet.’ + +‘It is the heat,’ murmured Liz, in a low voice, as she turned away; +‘and I have had a great deal of nursing lately into the bargain, Mr +Courtney. Father and I have the heartache all day long, to see the +ravages made by the fever amongst the coolies.’ + +‘Yes, it is sad enough,’ said the planter, ‘even for those who have not +to count the loss as I have, by pounds, shillings, and pence. Do what +we will to improve the condition of these people, their natural love +of dirt and over feeding makes them fall an easy prey to any disease. +We are quite sensible of what you and your father have done for us, +Lizzie. It is through your means alone, that we have not lost many +more. You must not be disheartened on that account.’ + +‘The distress seems universal,’ continued Liz; ‘the same floods that +rotted the vegetation, and caused this malarious fever, have destroyed +the rice-fields, and spread a famine amongst the negro population. The +cases of starvation that reach us every day are heartrending, because +it is so impossible to relieve them all. Have there been any more riots +in the town, Mr Courtney?’ + +‘No, Liz. I have heard of none since the military were called out to +quell them. But we must keep you up no longer. It is already morning. +Come, my dear Nita, let us leave Dr Fellows and his daughter to get +some rest for themselves.’ + +But Mrs Courtney was still unwilling to assent entirely to the Doctor’s +wishes. She had no suspicion of the truth, but she felt intuitively +that something had been kept back from them, and she was curious to +find out what it was. + +‘Let Jessica stay, at all events,’ she said; ‘she has been Quita’s +nurse since she was a baby, and has attended her through all her +illnesses. She will break her heart if you do not let her stay; and she +can watch Maraquita when Lizzie is absent or engaged.’ + +‘That sounds reasonable,’ acquiesced Mr Courtney; ‘and perhaps Jessica +had better remain at the bungalow.’ + +But Dr Fellows was firm in resisting the proposal. + +‘Jessica can remain here if you desire it,’ he answered, ‘but she does +not enter Quita’s room. I am not even sure that Lizzie will do so. You +have confided your daughter to my care, Mr Courtney, and you will not +find me unworthy of the trust. I shall be both nurse and doctor to +Maraquita, until I can bring her to the White House again.’ + +‘You are a good fellow,’ said Mr Courtney, wringing the Doctor’s hand, +‘and I do not limit the confidence I place in you. Jessica shall +return with us, and we will leave Quita entirely in your care.’ + +‘You shall have no cause to regret it,’ replied Dr Fellows, as he +accompanied them to the door of the bungalow. ‘You can send down as +often as you like for news of her, and I shall be found at my post, +ready to report on her progress. But I honestly anticipate restoring +her to you in a very short time.’ + +As he returned from seeing them off, and met his daughter’s eye, his +face changed, and his expression became very grave. + +‘That is well over,’ he ejaculated, with a sigh, ‘and the rest remains, +Lizzie, with you and me.’ + +‘Which means, father, that she is safe as far as _we_ are concerned. Am +I to go into her room?’ + +‘No; I should prefer you should not. There is no necessity for your +presence there, and I wish to leave you as unfettered as I possibly +can. You have no notion how this calamity happened, Liz?’ + +‘Not the slightest. I know so few of her friends. I have not even heard +that she had an attachment for any one.’ + +‘Well, it is a terrible business, but we must stand her friends, and +see her through with it. She has told me nothing, poor child; but she +has thrown herself upon my mercy, and entreated me to save her from +the wrath and reproaches of her parents, and for their sakes I have +promised to do so. She implores that even _you_ shall not be told of +her misfortune, and I have been obliged to humour her. We must keep +up the deception of the fever, and as soon as she is sufficiently +recovered to return home, the danger will be over.’ + +‘But--Mammy Lila!’ gasped Liz. + +‘Mammy Lila will do as I tell her, my dear, and at all risks this +child’s reputation must be saved. Everything else is an after +consideration,’ replied the Doctor, as he stumbled slightly, and saved +himself by catching at the back of a chair. + +‘Father, are you ill?’ cried Lizzie quickly, as she sprang to his +assistance. + +‘No, I think not; but I will take a cordial, if you will mix it for me. +I _must_ not be ill until this business is settled, and Maraquita is +safe under her parents’ roof again.’ + +‘But your hands are very cold, and you are trembling all over. Surely +you are unfit for further work, and should go to bed and rest. Father, +trust her to me. Don’t overtax your strength, for her sake. You know +that I am a careful and trustworthy nurse.’ + +‘If I _die_ in the effort, I will watch over her myself, and without +assistance!’ cried the Doctor excitedly, as he drank the draught she +tendered him, and tottered back to the sleeping-chamber. + +Lizzie looked after him with the deepest anxiety. + +‘I am _sure_ he is ill,’ she said to herself, and if I am not very much +mistaken, he has the symptoms of the fever strongly upon him. Oh, my +poor father! is it possible that when you need the attention and skill +you have bestowed on others, you will sacrifice yourself for the sake +of this frail girl? Yes, I feel you will, even should it result in your +own death. And I would have it so, though Heaven only knows what I +should do without you--sooner than see you shrink from paying off one +tithe of the heavy debt you owe to Maraquita’s father. But the bearing +of this heavy burden laid upon us! Did Mr Courtney but know the weight +of it, he would surely acknowledge his forbearance has not been in +vain.’ + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + +CHAPTER V. + + +The overseer of Beauregard occupied another bungalow on the plantation, +a perfect bower of beauty, which, whilst lying close to the White +House, was entirely concealed from observation by the glorious foliage +that environed it. Its wooden walls were clothed in creepers, and +surrounded by tall cocoa palms, and feathery bamboos and orange trees, +with their double wealth of fruit and flower. The heavy perfumes by +which the atmosphere was laden would have proved too much for any +one but a man acclimatised to the West Indies, but they suited the +sensuous, pleasure-loving nature of Henri de Courcelles perfectly. As +he sat, or rather reclined, on a long bamboo lounge in his verandah, +with a cigar between his lips, and his handsome eyes half closed, +he looked the picture of lazy content. He was dressed in full white +trousers, and a linen shirt, thrown open at the throat, round which +a crimson silk neckerchief was carelessly knotted. His dark curling +hair was thrown off his brow, and his olive complexion was flushed +with the mid-day heat. His work was over for the time being, and he +was free to rest and enjoy himself until the sun went down. He had +been on horseback by six o’clock that morning, riding round the coffee +and sugar plantations, keeping the coolies up to their work, and +receiving the complaints of, or distributing his orders amongst, the +men who worked under him. The labourers on Beauregard had long come +to the conclusion that it was lost time to prefer any request out of +the ordinary routine to Henri de Courcelles. Charming as he was when +in the society of his equals, he was a stern and implacable overseer, +being quick to find fault, and slow to extend forgiveness, and having +no sympathy whatever with the people he ruled over. He looked upon the +negroes as so many brute beasts out of which it was his duty to get as +much work as possible, and he had often turned away with disgust on +encountering Lizzie Fellows with a dusky baby on her lap, or with her +arm beneath the head of a dying negress. He did not give vent to his +opinions in public. It would scarcely have been safe, surrounded as he +was by the creatures he despised, and often at their mercy; but they +knew them, all the same, and were ripe to seize the first opportunity +for revenge. Liz--with her calm practical brain, and reflective +mind, should have seen for herself that a man who could swear at an +unoffending coolie, or thrust a little child roughly from his path, +or strike his horse between the ears with his hunting crop, for no +reason except to gratify a passing temper, would never make a kind +husband or father. But the ancients never did a wiser thing than to +pourtray love as blind. It blinds the cleverest of us to mental as well +as physical defects, until some fatal day, the rose-coloured glasses +drop from our eyes, and we see the man, or woman, love has idealised, +in their true colours. Liz saw some of De Courcelles’ faults, it is +true, and grieved over them, but there was always some extenuating +circumstance for them in her love-blinded eyes; and if there had not +been, it was only sufficient for her lover to turn his glorious Spanish +orbs reproachfully on her, to bring her, metaphorically, to his feet. +Well, after all, perhaps, if love were not foolish, and weak, and +blind, it would not be love at all, but only prudence; and the majority +of us would fare badly enough if _some one_ did not see us through +rose-coloured glasses. It would be terrible to stand before the world +as we really are, in all the hideous nakedness of our evil tempers, and +inclinations, and devices, and have no sweet, generous, pitying, and +all-believing love somewhere to throw a cloak above our mortal nature, +and believe that the making of a saint lurks behind it. + +Henri de Courcelles was thinking somewhat self-reproachfully of Liz +that morning. The interview he had had with her the night before +haunted him like a bitter taste when the draught is swallowed. He +knew he had lied to her, and though the lie didn’t trouble him, her +complete belief in his sincerity did. If we tell an untruth, and it is +fiercely combatted and denied by the opposing party, we are apt to tell +a dozen more to uphold the first, until we almost swear ourselves into +believing it. But if the falsehood is at once received as truth, and +believed in with the most innocent faith, it makes us, if we have any +feeling left whatever, doubly ashamed of ourselves. Henri de Courcelles +had quite ceased to love Liz Fellows--indeed, it is doubtful if he had +ever loved her at all--but he had admired and esteemed her, and these +very feelings had killed those of a warmer nature. She was too good +for him--too far above him. She humbled him every time she opened her +mouth. Maraquita Courtney was a woman much more to his taste--sweet, +ripe, youthful Maraquita, with her outspoken love and unbridled +passion,--her red lips and wreathing white arms, and utter disregard +of truth or principle. But Monsieur de Courcelles had not been easy +about Maraquita lately. He was perplexed and anxious. He did not quite +foresee how matters would turn out, nor what prospect lay in the future +for them. He was somewhat ashamed of the duplicity of which he had been +guilty to Liz Fellows, but he consoled himself with the idea that it +had been forced upon him by his relations with Maraquita, and that it +behoved him, as a man of honour, to divert suspicion from her, even at +the risk of deceiving another woman. + +As he was dreaming and ruminating on these things, he was surprised +to see Mr Courtney approaching the bungalow. It was not the planter’s +custom to visit his overseer, and their business hours, which were +usually passed in the office at the White House, were over for the +day. De Courcelles sprang to his feet as his employer appeared, and +proffered his seat for his acceptance. Mr Courtney sank into it without +a word. He did not seem uneasy, but he was certainly unprepared to open +the conversation. De Courcelles was the first to speak. + +‘I suppose you have come to speak to me about Verney’s grant, sir. I +should have given you the papers to sign this morning, but as you were +not in the office, I brought them away with me again. Will you see them +now?’ + +‘No, no! They can wait till to-morrow,’ replied Mr Courtney +impatiently. ‘Verney knows they are all right, and the land is his. I +was unable to attend to business this morning, for I had a disturbed +night, and slept late in consequence.’ + +‘I am sorry to hear that, sir. What disturbed you?’ + +‘The news has evidently not yet reached you. Our poor Maraquita has +been dangerously ill.’ + +De Courcelles started, and changed colour. His olive complexion turned +to a sickly yellow, and his brilliant eyes became dull and lustreless. +The planter was not blind to the emotion he expressed. + +‘Miss Courtney--ill?’ stammered the overseer. + +‘Yes, very ill, and with this terrible fever. How she contracted it +we are unable to discover, but she left her bed, and wandered in her +delirium into the plantation, and fortunately towards the Doctor’s +bungalow, where she now lies. You may imagine what her mother and I +felt when we heard she was missing. I thought Mrs Courtney would have +gone distracted. However, the first thing I thought of was to ask for +Dr Fellows’ assistance, and luckily we found her there, but very, very +ill.’ + +‘She _is_ better, I hope?’ gasped De Courcelles. + +‘She _is_ better, and, I thank God, out of danger,’ replied Mr +Courtney, looking him steadfastly in the face, ‘and in a few days we +hope to have her at the White House again. Lizzie Fellows, who has +been like a sister to her, is nursing her with the greatest care. She +is a most estimable young woman, clever, courageous, and thoroughly +honest--good all round, in fact, and will prove a treasure to any man +who is fortunate enough to win her. By the way, De Courcelles, I have +heard a rumour that you are engaged to be married to Miss Fellows. Is +it true?’ + +The overseer stammered still more. + +‘Yes--no--that is to say, sir, there _has_ been some idea of such a +thing between us, but nothing is definitely settled.’ + +Mr Courtney regarded the young man sternly. + +‘_Some idea!_ Do you mean to tell me that you would presume to trifle +with the girl, and hold out a prospect you have no intention of +fulfilling? Do you forget that she is the daughter of one of my oldest +friends, and second only in my affections to my own child? Dr Fellows +is not the man to permit any one to play fast and loose with his +daughter, and I should be as ready as himself to take up the cudgels in +her behalf.’ + +‘Indeed, sir, there is no necessity for such warmth on your part. You +are judging me without a hearing. Lizzie and I perfectly understand +each other. We are the best of friends, but at present I cannot see any +prospect of our being more.’ + +‘You mean to say that your salary is not sufficient to keep a wife +upon?’ + +‘I have never looked on it in that light, Mr Courtney. Miss Fellows is +devoted to her father and her profession, and we have hardly spoken of +the time when she will be called upon to leave them.’ + +‘Then you ought to have done so, Monsieur de Courcelles. A man has no +right to make love to a girl unless he can talk of marriage to her. Now +I have more than an ordinary interest in Liz Fellows, and if it is for +her happiness to marry you, I am ready to further your plans. You need +not wish to bring your wife to a prettier home than the one you now +occupy; but I will engage to furnish it afresh, and double your present +salary on the day you marry her. Will that bring matters between you to +a crisis?’ + +Henri de Courcelles shifted his feet, and looked uncertain. + +‘I am not sure, sir; you see, you are precipitating them. Miss +Fellows would be as astonished as I am, if she could overhear our +present conversation. We have never spoken of marriage as a necessary +contingency to our friendship.’ + +‘Then you don’t love the girl, and you don’t intend to marry her?’ + +‘I don’t say that, Mr Courtney. It is impossible to say what we may +decide upon in the future; but for the present, I positively deny that +we have any fixed plans whatever.’ + +Mr Courtney looked dissatisfied for a moment, then, with the air of a +man who has made up his mind to do a disagreeable thing, he proceeded,-- + +‘Well! no one can settle these matters satisfactorily, but the parties +concerned, and so I have no more to say about it. But there is another +subject uppermost in my mind, which I feel I must mention to you. It +is a delicate one, which I would much rather avoid, but I cannot shirk +my duty. I have been unable to help observing, De Courcelles, that you +admire my daughter Maraquita. I can hardly suppose you entertain any +hopes from that quarter, but if you do, you must dismiss them at once, +and for ever, for I have quite different views for Miss Courtney.’ + +The handsome young overseer had flushed dark crimson during his +employer’s speech, but he did not immediately reply to it. + +‘I hope I may be mistaken,’ continued Mr Courtney, ‘and I hope I have +not offended you by mentioning it, but I have meant to do so for some +time past. Maraquita is a lovely girl. I cannot help seeing that, +though I am her father, and doubtless you appreciate her beauty, in +common with many other men; but it can never go any further.’ + +‘I have never presumed to think it could,’ replied De Courcelles, with +dry lips, and a husky voice. + +‘It is not _you_ to whom I have an objection,’ said the planter, ‘it +is to any man who cannot give Maraquita wealth and position. She is +my only child, and I have great ambition for her; and I have already +received a flattering proposal for her hand, from one of the highest +men in the island. Had it not been for this unfortunate illness, I +should have submitted his letter to my daughter by this time. But I +have little doubt how she will receive it. Meanwhile, I think it but +kind and just to let you know of my intentions, and to warn you, should +there be any need of caution, to be careful.’ + +‘I thank you, Mr Courtney, for your consideration,’ replied De +Courcelles, in the same hard dry voice, ‘but there is no need of it. +I hope I know my duty and my position too well, to aspire to Miss +Courtney’s hand. No one can help admiring her, nor being grateful +for any kindness she may extend to them, but there it ends. You have +nothing to fear for me, nor I for myself.’ + +‘I am glad to hear you say so,’ replied Mr Courtney, as he rose to +go; ‘in a few days I expect that you will hear great news from the +White House, and see preparations for a grand wedding, and then you +will better understand my fears lest all should not prosper with my +dear child, as I hope it may do. Meanwhile, do not forget what I said +respecting Miss Fellows and yourself. If I can forward your happiness, +you may count on my sympathy and assistance.’ + +And with these kindly offers of help upon his lips, Mr Courtney +walked away, leaving Henri de Courcelles bewildered by what he had +heard. Maraquita ill, and in the Doctor’s bungalow, with her secret, +perhaps, made patent to the world! And yet her father evidently knew +nothing, and some one must have stood her friend, and shielded her from +discovery. But Maraquita about to make a high marriage, and be lost to +him for ever. That was a still more wonderful revelation, and one which +he found it impossible to believe. Maraquita, who had so often sat, +during their moonlight trysts, with her arms twined about his neck, +and assured him that no man but himself should ever call her his wife. +Henri de Courcelles would never have presumed, without a large amount +of encouragement, to lift his eyes to his employer’s daughter. He knew +that his birth and his position would both preclude him as a suitor, +in Mr Courtney’s mind, and that it would be considered the height of +presumption on his part to make proposals of marriage for her. But he +had trusted to Maraquita’s influence with her parents, eventually to +gain their cause; he had trusted also to certain love passages which +had taken place between them, to bind her effectually to himself. And +now the announcement of these intended nuptials did not make him so +unhappy on his own account as they alarmed him for their mutual safety. +What might not Maraquita say or do, in her dismay at the prospect of +being separated from him? + +Henri de Courcelles secretly acknowledged his fickleness with regard +to Liz Fellows, who had loved him well and constantly all along, +and yet he could not believe that any one else could be unfaithful +to him. The devil invents so many excuses for us wherewith to cover +our own frailty, but they all disappear when we are called upon to +judge our neighbour’s sin. As soon as Mr Courtney had left him, +Henri de Courcelles, feeling very uncomfortable under the close +examination to which he had been subjected, resumed his cigar, and +his lounging attitude, and lay for a long time pondering over the +morning’s interview. How much did the planter suspect, or know? Had +his assumed warning been only a blind to entrap his overseer into an +open confession, or surprise him into betraying himself? De Courcelles +blessed his lucky stars that his self-control had not forsaken him, +and that if Mr Courtney were on the lookout for a probable lover for +his daughter, he had wrung no hint of the truth from him. But was the +story of the fever true? That was a point on which he felt he must +satisfy himself, and reaching down a wide Panama hat, he proceeded at +once into the plantation. He looked handsome enough, as he strolled +leisurely beneath the trees, towards the negro quarters, the fine +plaited straw hat, which shaded his features, tipped jauntily to one +side, and a red rose in the button-hole of his white drill jacket. But +his face looked perplexed and anxious, and he gnawed his moustache as +he went. The negroes’ huts were situated half a mile away from his +bungalow, but they were close to that of Dr Fellows, and De Courcelles +knew that in one place or the other he should find Lizzie, and hear the +truth from her. But as he passed her cottage, he caught sight of her +sitting at the window, sewing. Her face was pale, and her eyes red. She +looked as if she had been both sitting up and weeping, though her print +dress was fresh and dainty, and her glossy hair carefully arranged. A +fear shot through the heart of Henri de Courcelles, as he drew near +her, but the bright smile with which she welcomed his presence, drove +it away. + +‘Why, Henri, what brings you here so early?’ she asked, from the open +casement. + +‘Didn’t I say last night that you would see me again to-day?’ he +answered, as he took her hand. + +‘Yes, but it is hardly wise of you to walk about in the sun, unless +there is a necessity for it.’ + +‘You are right, Lizzie; but I am a messenger from Mrs Courtney; she +sent me down for the last bulletin of her daughter.’ + +Lizzie looked surprised. + +‘How very strange! I sent up word by one of the servants half an hour +ago!’ + +He felt then he had not lied quite so cleverly as usual, but he got out +of it by saying,-- + +‘The brute has probably taken a circuit of five miles, in order to +attend to his own business. You know what these niggers are, Liz. +However, give me the last news of Miss Courtney, and I will see it is +delivered.’ + +Liz’s face grew very grave. + +‘She is better, Henri. I have not seen her this morning, but my father +tells me so, and that in a few days she will be quite well. I have just +been making her some fish soup.’ + +‘Was she very bad with the fever?’ he asked. + +‘Very bad indeed. It is lucky I met her wandering about the plantation, +or I don’t know what might have happened. But there is no need for +anxiety now. All danger is at an end.’ + +‘Were you with her in her delirium? Did she--did she--_rave_ much? I +only ask for curiosity. I have heard that some of the negroes tried to +destroy themselves during the fever; and her parents are very anxious +still.’ + +‘Are they?’ said Liz carelessly. ‘I thought my father had set their +minds entirely at rest. As I said before, there is no occasion for it. +Quita is quite sensible now, and only needs to regain her strength.’ + +Henri de Courcelles looked much relieved. He drew a long breath, and +straightened himself against the supports of the verandah. Liz regarded +him for a moment, and then said, in a low voice,-- + +‘I want to tell you something, Henri. I have been thinking over what I +mentioned to you yesterday, and I feel I did you an injustice. I can’t +tell you _how_ the conviction has been forced upon me--but it is there. +Will you forgive me for my causeless jealousy? I have no excuse to +offer for myself, excepting that I love you, and I fear to lose you.’ + +He only answered,-- + +‘I told you plainly you were wrong!’ + +‘I acknowledge it _now_, but _then_, I thought only of what I had +heard. But I see how foolish I was. A long night of reflection has +shown it to me. The illnesses and troubles of our friends are enough +to make us think, Henri. _We_ might be struck down to-morrow, and +how doubly sad it would be to go whilst any misunderstanding existed +between us and those whom we love.’ + +She spoke so plaintively that his feelings were touched on her behalf. + +‘There is something more the matter with you, I am afraid, Liz, than +mere regret for such a trifle. Something worse than that must have +happened to annoy you.’ + +‘No, no!’ she cried, in a voice of terror; ‘nothing has happened, I +assure you, Henri; but life is uncertain, and I may be sorry some day +to think I ever misjudged you. Things are not always what they seem, +you know, and unexpected barriers rise sometimes to foil the brightest +hopes. Let us resolve to be patient with each other, so that we may +have nothing to reproach ourselves with if--if--anything should occur +to part us.’ + +The tears were standing in her patient eyes as she raised them to his, +and the sight affected him. The man was not wholly bad--none of us +are--but his senses drowned his better feelings. He knew--even at that +moment, when his whole mind was fixed on Maraquita, and full of fears +for her safety--that this woman was the more estimable of the two, that +she loved him the best, and was the most worthy of love in return. But +his heart had gone astraying, and he could not recall it at will. He +could only pat Liz’s hand, and profess to laugh at her fears, all the +while he knew how well founded they were. + +‘Why, what should occur to part us?’ he answered lightly; ‘unless, +indeed, you elect to throw me over. But I thought we had settled that +point satisfactorily last night, Liz?’ + +‘Oh, I was not thinking of _that_!’ she exclaimed hurriedly. ‘It was +quite another idea, and one of which there is no need to speak of to +you now, for which, indeed, the necessity may never arise. But we shall +always be _friends_, Henri--shall we not? true and steadfast friends, +whatever may occur?’ + +‘I don’t understand you. You are speaking in enigmas to me,’ he said +petulantly, as he dropped the hand he had taken in his own. + +They were indeed playing at cross-purposes--she, thinking only of the +story her father had told her, and he of Maraquita and her possible +revelations. + +Liz sighed, and redirected her attention to her work. The same +dissatisfied feeling which she had experienced the night before crept +over her again, and turned her sick and cold, and it was not dispersed +when Henri de Courcelles, after an awkward silence, lifted his +broad-brimmed hat from his brow, and walked gloomily away. + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + +CHAPTER VI. + + +A week had passed away since Maraquita Courtney had entered the +Doctor’s bungalow, and the moment that Liz dreaded had arrived--they +were to meet again. Never once had she entered Quita’s chamber during +the period of her illness. Dr Fellows had chosen the oldest, most +stupid, and most deaf negress on the plantation to attend to his +patient’s wants, and sternly forbidden his daughter to enter her +presence. But to-day she was pronounced convalescent, or sufficiently +so to return to the White House, and her parents, who were naturally +anxious to have her home again, had arranged to fetch her away that +afternoon. Dr Fellows had said to his daughter a moment before, on +passing through the sitting-room,-- + +‘Maraquita is up and dressed, and will be with you in a short time. +She is still weak and nervous. Mind you say nothing to upset her;’ and +Liz had promised, feeling almost as nervous at the idea of the coming +interview as Quita herself could have done. + +She had not to wait long. In a few minutes the bedroom door opened, +and Maraquita, leaning on the arm of the old negress, walked slowly +into the apartment. She was robed in a white muslin gown. Her dark hair +was hanging loose upon her shoulders, and her face was as white as +her attire. There was an ethereal look about the girl that naturally +excited pity, and the scared expression on her features went straight +to Liz’s kindly heart. In a moment she had sprung to her assistance. + +‘You are still very weak, Quita. Are you sure you feel equal to leaving +your room?’ + +‘Oh, yes, yes,’ replied the girl, in a petulant tone, as if she did +not like the subject of her illness alluded to. ‘There is nothing the +matter with me now, Lizzie. I could have returned home two days ago, if +your father would have let me. I really think he is _too_ particular.’ + +‘How _can_ he be too particular where _you_ are concerned,’ said Lizzie +gravely, as she placed the trembling Quita on the sofa. ‘Mr Courtney +confided you to his care, and trusted him to look after you as if you +were his own child, and father has felt the charge to be a sacred one.’ + +‘He is very good,’ replied Maraquita, in a low voice; ‘but I have not +been so _very_ ill, Lizzie, after all, and I am all right again now. I +hope nobody will make a fuss about it.’ + +Liz was silent, for she did not know what to reply. They had reached a +point where confidence came to a full stop between them, and she could +hardly have spoken without perverting the truth. So she tried to change +the subject. + +‘How soon do you expect Mr and Mrs Courtney to fetch you, Quita?’ + +‘I don’t know. I think the Doctor has walked up to the house to tell +them I am ready. Mamma will be surprised to find _you_ didn’t nurse me, +Liz. Why didn’t you do so?’ inquired Quita nervously, as if she wanted +to find out how much or how little of her secret had been confided to +her foster-sister’s discretion. + +But she had not fathomed the depths of Lizzie’s character. She had +sworn not to reveal what she knew, and she would have been torn to +pieces on the rack without confessing it. It was useless of Quita, or +any other person, attempting to force it from her. + +‘Why didn’t I nurse you, Quita? Not because I was unwilling; you may +be sure of that. Simply my father said he did not wish me to do so, +and that was enough for me. I have been trained to understand that the +first duty of a medical assistant is implicit obedience. I have full +faith in my father’s discretion, and know that he would not lay one +restriction on me that was unnecessary. I can tell you no more than +that. Only believe that it was not my own wish, and that if I _might_ +have nursed you I gladly would.’ + +‘It was best not, or you might have caught the fever. You know that I +have had a touch of the fever?’ continued Quita interrogatively, but +with downcast eyes. + +Liz could not answer ‘_Yes_.’ + +‘I heard my father tell Mr and Mrs Courtney so,’ she said, after a +pause. + +Her reticence alarmed Maraquita. She didn’t like Liz’s calm, collected +manner and short replies. + +‘Well, I suppose your father doesn’t tell lies,’ she answered +brusquely. + +‘I have always believed him,’ said Liz sadly. ‘But, Quita, you have +talked enough. Your face is quite flushed. Keep quiet, like a good +girl, or you may not be able to return home with your parents, and that +will be a great disappointment to them.’ + +She took up her work again, and commenced sewing, whilst Quita lay +still, but with a palpitating heart, as she wondered what Liz could +have meant by evading her question. Could she have read her friend’s +thoughts at that moment, her curiosity would have been satisfied, +though not in the way she desired. Liz was marvelling, with a feeling +of contempt, as she stitched industriously at her calico, how any woman +could bring a child into the world, lawfully or unlawfully, and think +only of her safety afterwards, without one thought for her own flesh +and blood; the flesh and blood, too, of some one who _ought_ to be so +much dearer to her than herself. She sat there, nervously anticipating +every moment to feel Quita’s little hand slip into hers, and to hear +her quivering voice ask for news of her child. + +Liz would have loved her a thousand times more for the weakness. She +would have forgiven her all her frailty and wickedness in one moment, +and taken her into her arms with a loving assurance that her infant +should be as carefully guarded as the secret of its birth. But no +such appeal came from the young mother. On the contrary, she seemed +anxious and worried about herself alone, and the only excuse which +Liz had been able to conjure up for her sinfulness, grew weaker and +weaker with the passing moments. But perhaps, thought Lizzie, with +her ever ready charity, perhaps Quita had learned all she wished to +know from Dr Fellows, and her own hasty judgment of her was a grievous +wrong. But both the girls felt there was a barrier raised between their +intercourse that had never been there before, and it was a relief to +them to hear the sing-song chant of the palanquin bearers as they came +through the grove to fetch Maraquita away. + +In another minute Dr Fellows appeared upon the threshold, accompanied +by Mr and Mrs Courtney, and Quita was in her parents’ arms. In their +delight at receiving her again, they almost forgot to ask for any +particulars concerning her illness. + +‘Oh, my dear child!’ exclaimed her mother impressively, ‘I hope you +have thanked Dr Fellows as you should do for all his attention to you. +I don’t believe anybody could have brought you round so quickly as +he has. Your father and I were dining with the Governor, Sir Russell +Johnstone, last evening, and he said that Dr Martin of the Fort had +told him no cases of fever had been declared convalescent under three +weeks. And here you are, you see, almost well again in a third of the +time.’ + +‘Not so fast, my dear madam,’ interposed the Doctor. ‘As you are +naturally anxious to have her under your own care, I can pronounce Miss +Courtney to be sufficiently recovered to be moved to the White House, +but I shall visit her every day, and it will be some weeks before she +is completely off the sick list. But she must eat as much as she can, +and do as little as she need, and she will soon be strong again.’ + +‘But if you think it would be more prudent for her to remain here a +little longer under your care, my dear Fellows, we are quite willing to +leave her,’ said Mr Courtney. + +‘No, no!’ cried Quita, clinging to her mother’s neck, and sobbing. +‘Take me home, mamma! I am longing to get away, and to be with you.’ + +‘That does not sound very grateful in you, my dear,’ said her father, +‘considering all that you owe to Dr Fellows, and Lizzie.’ + +‘Don’t mention it!’ cried the Doctor quickly. ‘She is weak, and +nervous, and hardly knows what she is saying, and the worst thing in +the world for her is this agitation. She will be much better under +her mother’s care. Take her home at once, Mr Courtney, and let this +exciting scene be ended.’ + +He threw a mantle over Maraquita’s shoulders as he spoke, and placed +her in the palanquin, which was in the verandah. The bearers raised +their burden to their shoulders and set off at a walking pace, the rest +of the party keeping by their side. + +They had all been so occupied with the removal of Maraquita, that they +had hardly noticed Lizzie, who stood at the open window watching their +departure. So this was the end of it! The last week had passed like an +unholy dream to her,--a dream of which she had had no time to read the +import until now. Should she ever unravel it? Would the tangled meshes +which it seemed to have woven round her, fall off again to leave her +free? She did not see the way to burst her bonds, but she resolved that +she must know the worst concerning herself and Henri de Courcelles at +once. She felt that it would be impossible for her to live on, and +do her duty as it should be done, whilst any moment might bring an +exposure to sever her from her lover. She was still pondering on her +troubles when Dr Fellows slowly re-entered the bungalow. + +‘How did she bear the journey?’ asked Liz, as she caught sight of her +father. ‘She seemed to me too weak to attempt it.’ + +‘So she would have been under ordinary circumstances, but of two +evils we must choose the least. The poor child’s life here was one of +torture, from the fear of detection. She will feel safer at the White +House, and her recovery will be more rapid in consequence.’ + +‘And meanwhile, she doesn’t care one jot if her infant lives or dies,’ +said Liz contemptuously. + +Dr Fellows regarded her with mild surprise. + +‘You are very hard on her, my daughter. Cannot you make some allowance +for the terrible position in which she is placed?’ + +‘I cannot understand it,’ she answered. + +‘No, and you never will--thank God for it. Your sense of right and +wrong is too clear to permit you to be led astray. But this poor child +is very different in character from yourself. She is weak, and foolish, +and unprincipled, and the scoundrel who has taken advantage of her +simplicity, should be strung up at the Fort. It seems a shame that, in +order to protect her good name, he should be allowed to go unpunished. +But perhaps you cannot understand that also.’ + +‘Father, you mistake me!’ cried Lizzie. ‘I can love, or I believe I +can, as fondly as any woman, and I can well imagine the force of the +temptation which circumstances might bring with it. God forbid that I +should judge any error that springs from too much love, or consider +myself beyond its reach. But I _cannot_ understand the selfishness that +makes a woman shrink from the consequences of her sin, as if it had no +claim upon her. Where is the father of this child? If I were Quita, I +would rather go out into the world with my baby in my arms, and beg +from door to door by _his_ side, than run away as she has done, and +leave it to the care of strangers.’ + +‘Hush, hush!’ exclaimed the Doctor quickly, looking round them with a +face of fear. ‘Even the walls have ears. Remember your oath, Lizzie, +and never mention this subject, coupled with her name, again.’ + +‘Let me ask you at least, father, if you have seen Mammy Lila.’ + +‘More than once, Lizzie, and all will be right there, until I have +time to decide what is best to be done in the future. But it will be a +terrible puzzle, and I must think it over gravely. I am ill and weary +at present, and would rather leave things as they are for a month or +two.’ + +‘I, too, feel ill and weary,’ rejoined Lizzie sadly. ‘I have not liked +to worry you with my own troubles whilst you were attending on Quita, +but now that she is gone, father, I must ask you one question. What +am I to do with regard to what you told me on the night that she came +here, and you extracted that oath of secrecy from me?’ + +‘Do! What would you do?’ demanded Dr Fellows, with a white face. + +‘I don’t know. The knowledge seems to have laid a burden on me too +heavy to be borne. Had I only myself to consider, my task would be, +comparatively speaking, easy. I could take care that I suffered alone. +But there is Monsieur de Courcelles; I must consider him.’ + +‘What has De Courcelles to do with it?’ + +‘Father, how can I contemplate a marriage with him without first +telling him the truth? Am I to leave it to chance whether he finds out +or no that--that you did what you told me? I could not do it. Such +a life would kill me. I will marry no man unless he knows the whole +story.’ + +‘Would you betray my confidence?’ exclaimed Dr Fellows bitterly. ‘Have +my long years of secret sorrow and humiliation not been sufficient +punishment for me, but that my child will hold me up to public +degradation?’ + +‘No, no, father; do not say that! Not a word that you uttered shall +ever pass my lips without your free consent. I will do anything rather +than repeat them. I will even give up--Henri de Courcelles.’ + +‘And would that break your heart, my dear?’ + +‘Never mind if it breaks my heart!’ she cried, with a sudden storm of +weeping; ‘if it must be, it must be, and there is no alternative. I +love him too well to deceive him, and I love you too well to betray +you. It is no one’s fault--it is only my misfortune; but I must end it +at once and for ever, or it will get the better of me. To-morrow I will +tell Henri de Courcelles that our engagement is at an end.’ + +‘Do nothing in a hurry,’ replied her father wearily. ‘Be patient for a +few days, Lizzie, and we may think of some way out of this dilemma. You +owe it to Monsieur de Courcelles as well as to yourself--’ + +At this moment a young negress, with a yellow handkerchief bound about +her woolly head, and the tears running down her black cheeks, hastily +entered the bungalow. + +‘Massa Fellows,’ she cried, ‘I bring berry bad news. Poor Mammy Lila +gone to heaven! Mammy took sick with fever last night, and no one to +send for Doctor but me, and I got de chile to tend. So Mammy say, “Gib +me pepper pot, and I all right to-morrow;” but morning time Mammy go +home. And Aunty Cora come and stay by her, and she tell me take dis +chile back to Dr Fellows, ’cause Mammy Lila dead, and dis nigger must +go home to her fader and moder.’ + +‘Why, it’s Judy, Mammy Lila’s grandchild, and she has brought the +infant back again!’ exclaimed Liz, as she saw the bundle in the girl’s +arms. + + +‘Mammy Lila gone! Here’s a misfortune to upset all our plans,’ said +the Doctor. + +‘Father, what are we to do?’ + +‘We can do nothing but keep the child here--at all events for a few +hours, Liz. I know of no one else to take charge of it, or, at least, +no one whom I could trust. To-morrow I will go over to the Fort and +consult Dr Martin; but for the present it must remain with you, and I +will take this girl back to Shanty Hill, to see that she speaks to no +one in the plantation. Here, Judy, give the baby to Miss Liz, and you +shall go back to Shanty Hill with me. Are you _sure_ that Mammy Lila is +gone?’ + +‘Sure, massa! Why, she cold as a stone, and Uncle Josh making her +coffin already. The last words she sez was, “Take chile back to Doctor, +and say Mammy can’t do no more;” and den she lay her head down and +shut her eyes, and I run for Aunty Cora, and she say Mammy dead as a +door nail.’ + +‘All right, Judy. I’m very sorry to hear it, but I’ll go back with you +all the same.’ + +He reached down his hat and stick as he spoke, and turned to his +daughter before he left the room. + +‘I’ll be back in an hour or two, Liz. Take the child into the inner +room, and don’t leave the house till I return. I didn’t know the fever +had reached Shanty Hill. I must see some sanitary precautions carried +out there.’ + +The young negress placed the infant in Lizzie’s outstretched arms. + +‘You’ll be glad to get it back again, I guess,’ she said slyly, as she +deposited it there. + +‘I’m not so sure of that,’ replied Liz, taking no further notice of the +remark, as she carried her burden tenderly away. + +She placed it on the bed, and carefully unfolded the wrappings round +it. She had a natural curiosity to see the little creature born of one +so near and dear to her, even though it had no title but to a heritage +of shame. And when she saw it, the maternal instinct so strong in the +breasts of all good and pure women rose like a fountain in her heart, +and overflowed for the poor motherless and fatherless baby thrown so +unexpectedly upon her care. + +Maraquita’s little daughter was a tiny, fragile-looking thing, +with large dark eyes and a waxen complexion, and a wistful, solemn +expression, as if she were asking the cold world not to spurn her for +her parents’ fault. The first view of her touched Lizzie deeply. She +hardly knew herself why she cried like a child at the sight of those +tiny hands and feet, those grave, wondering eyes, and the head of soft, +dark hair that nestled against her bosom. But the best feelings of her +nature rose to the surface, and her first idea was that she could never +part with the child again, but would tend and rear it for Maraquita’s +sake. But when she confided her wishes to Dr Fellows, he shook his head +in dissent. + +‘It would never do, Lizzie. It would be too great a risk,’ he said. +‘The child’s presence here would excite general curiosity. The talk +would reach Maraquita’s ears, and its proximity would unsettle +her--perhaps cause her to betray herself. There is only one safe +course to pursue in these unhappy cases, and that is, complete +separation. Take care of the poor little creature to-night for me, and +to-morrow I will ride over to the Fort, and see if Dr Martin knows +of any trustworthy woman to take charge of it. The regiment is to be +relieved next month. If I can get the child shipped off to England, I +shall consider it the most fortunate circumstance that could befall it, +unless indeed it would die first, which would be still better.’ + +‘Oh, father!’ cried Liz reproachfully, as she laid her lips against the +baby’s velvet cheek. + +‘It sounds hard, my dear, but it can inherit nothing but a life of +shame and loneliness, and it would be very merciful of God to take it. +You don’t know what it is to live under the crushing sense of shame. +Besides, it is a weakly infant, and under any circumstances is not +likely to make old bones.’ + +‘I believe that I could rear it, with care and attention,’ repeated +Liz, wistfully. + +‘It is impossible,’ repeated the Doctor briefly, as he left the room. + +But in a few minutes he returned, and walked up to where his daughter +was still crooning over the baby. + +‘Lizzie, I have been thinking over your wish to tell Henri de +Courcelles my story. But it must not be, my dear--not at least during +my lifetime. You will be angry with me for saying so, but I don’t quite +trust De Courcelles. We have never got on well together. There is +something about him I don’t understand. If I should die, Lizzie, and +sometimes I think it won’t be long, first, you can do as you think fit, +but whilst I live, I hold you to your promise of secrecy.’ + +‘And I will keep it,’ replied Lizzie, ‘as if it had been made to God.’ + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + +CHAPTER VII. + + +Mr and Mrs Courtney could not sufficiently express their satisfaction +at receiving their daughter back again. Maraquita was their only child. +She had never had a brother nor a sister. All their hopes were centred +in her, and in their love they naturally exaggerated her beauty, and +were blind to her faults. Her father positively idolised her, and her +mother’s affection, though rather languid and uneffusive, was none the +less real. Had Mrs Courtney exercised a proper _surveillance_ over her +daughter, Quita could never have suffered the misfortune she had just +undergone; but it was not in her indolent Spanish nature to look after +anything. She had had a suspicion of Maraquita’s condition, but it was +only a suspicion, although the old black nurse Jessica had known it for +months past. But Jessica had suckled Maraquita from the moment of her +birth, and attended on her every hour of the day and night since, and +would have died sooner than have brought one word of blame on the head +of her young mistress. She had not even let the girl know that she had +guessed her terrible secret, and so Maraquita returned to her father’s +house with as proud a bearing as if she had done nothing to forfeit +the esteem of her fellow-creatures, and quite ready to accept all the +homage paid to her. She was carried straight from her palanquin to a +room redolent of flowers, and laid upon a couch, whilst the household +servants ran hither and thither, to bring her refreshment, or to do her +service. + +Old Jessica was weeping for joy at the foot of her couch to think she +had got her young mistress safely back again, and Mr and Mrs Courtney +were almost as effusive in their gratitude for their good fortune. +Meanwhile Maraquita lay there, lovely and languid, pleased to see +how much pleasure she gave them by her recovery, and without a blush +of shame to remember how that recovery had been attained. Hers was a +frivolous, unthinking nature--easily scared by the approach of danger, +but ready to forget everything that was not immediately before her. +She was a very common type of our fallen humanity, intensely selfish, +and only disturbed by the misfortunes that threatened herself. And +now, she believed that she was safe. Her secret was known only to the +Doctor, and he had promised her, for her father’s sake, that it should +never rise up against her. So she reclined there, smiling, with one +white hand clasped in that of her father’s, and a bunch of orange +blossoms--emblems of woman’s purity--with which Jessica had presented +her, laid against her cheek. + +‘How lovely our Quita is looking!’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney, who was +rocking herself in a cane chair opposite, whilst a negress fanned her +with a large palm leaf. ‘I really think her illness has improved her. +She was rather sallow before it. What would Sir Russell Johnstone say +if he could see her now.’ + +‘Sir Russell Johnstone,’ repeated Quita, whilst Mr Courtney glanced at +his wife with a look of warning. + +‘Yes, dear, the new Governor! Your father and I have seen a good deal +of him lately, and he always inquires most particularly after you.’ + +‘Nita, my dear,’ interposed Mr Courtney, ‘you must not forget that our +child is still far from strong, and that Fellows cautioned us against +any excitement.’ + +‘I don’t believe that pleasurable excitement can hurt any one, Mr +Courtney, but if you think it desirable, I will drop the subject.’ + +‘No, no, mother, pray go on. What was it you were going to say? I want +to hear all your news. It seems as if I had been shut up so long. Tell +me everything you can think of about Sir Russell, and--and--our other +friends. It will do me good to listen.’ + +‘Sir Russell will have a great deal to say to you himself by-and-by +I expect, Maraquita,’ continued her mother, ‘and he will want us to +take you up to see Government House. It is such a beautiful place. You +have not seen half of it at the balls. And the furniture is something +superb. It will be a happy woman who is fortunate enough to be chosen +to reign over it.’ + +‘Is Sir Russell going to marry, then, mamma?’ + +‘He wishes to do so, Quita.’ + +‘And is the lady in San Diego?’ + +‘He has told your father so, my dear.’ + +‘Quita,’ exclaimed Mr Courtney, as the girl turned her lustrous eyes +upon him, ‘cannot you guess the truth? Sir Russell Johnstone is almost +as eager for your recovery as we are. He has proposed to me for your +hand, and he is impatient to have your answer.’ + +‘Sir Russell Johnstone, the Governor of San Diego, wants to marry +_me_!’ said Maraquita, in a dazed voice. + +‘Yes, my dear. It is a great honour, but I will not have you biassed,’ +returned her father. ‘You shall do exactly as you like about it.’ + +‘Sir Russell?’ repeated Quita, in the same dreamy tone. ‘But he is so +old, and so ugly.’ + +‘_Old!_’ cried Mrs Courtney. ‘Why, child, you are raving! He is not a +day over forty, and a very good-looking man, although somewhat bald. +But that has nothing to do with the matter. It is the position you +must look at, and the honour of the thing. Fancy being Lady Russell, +and at the head of all the ladies of San Diego, and then going, +by-and-by, to live in England, and see all the sights of London, and +the Queen, perhaps, and the Royal Family. Why, that chance alone would +be worth all the rest, in my estimation!’ + +‘Nita! I won’t have our daughter persuaded to do anything against her +inclinations.’ + +‘Dear me, Mr Courtney, I am not trying to persuade her! I am only +showing her the proper way in which to consider Sir Russell’s proposal. +Why, he’s the highest match in the island, and Quita will never get +such another chance if she lives to be a hundred!’ + +‘That’s true enough,’ replied her husband, ‘but she shouldn’t marry the +Prince of Wales himself, if she hadn’t a fancy for him, whilst I have +the money to keep her.’ + +‘But stop, father,’ interrupted Quita, ‘there is no harm in talking it +over with mother, and I like to talk of it. It’s a great compliment, +isn’t it? I wonder whatever made Sir Russell think of me?’ + +‘Oh, my dear girl, don’t talk such nonsense!’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney. +‘You _must_ know how pretty you are, even if nobody’s told you so, and +that there’s not another woman in San Diego can compare with you. Sir +Russell has got a pair of eyes in his head like other men, and he sees +you will make the handsomest Governor’s lady in the West Indies. And so +you will, though it’s your mother says it.’ + +Maraquita was evidently much impressed by the news which had been told +her. She lay quiescent on her sofa, but her large eyes were gazing into +space, and a faint rose flush had mounted to her face. + +‘Do you think he is _sure_ to take me to England?’ she inquired, after +a pause. + +‘Why, naturally, my love, when his three years’ term is over here. +And he tells me he has a lovely place in the country there, and he’s +a Member of Parliament into the bargain, and knows all the grandest +people in London. Why, you would live like a queen, and be the luckiest +woman in the world.’ + +‘And _we_ should have to part with her,’ said Mr Courtney, with a sigh. + +‘Well, I suppose that would come some day, in any case,’ replied his +wife, ‘and there’ll be plenty of time to think of it. Sir Russell has +only been in office six months, and by the time his term is ended, I +don’t see why _we_ shouldn’t visit England too, Mr Courtney. You’ve +promised to take me there, times out of mind.’ + +‘Yes, yes! unlikelier things have happened,’ said her husband, +brightening up. + +‘And I should have a splendid wedding, shouldn’t I?’ mused Maraquita. + +‘You should have the grandest wedding that’s ever been seen in San +Diego,’ replied her mother, ‘and everybody in the island, black and +white, to see it. It would be a universal holiday, and we would send +for your wedding dress to Paris, Quita. Monsieur de Courcelles was +telling me the other day that--’ + +But Mrs Courtney was summarily stopped in her recital by a burst of +hysterical tears from Maraquita. + +‘Oh, no! I can’t do it; I don’t like him enough,’ she sobbed. ‘He is +old and ugly. I _won’t_ marry him. Don’t say any more about it.’ + +Of course both her parents were full of concern for her agitation. + +‘I told you how it would be!’ exclaimed the father. ‘She is far too +weak to hear so exciting a topic. You should have held your tongue till +she is stronger, and able to decide the matter herself. Don’t cry, +my dearest child. Try and compose yourself, or I shall be obliged to +summon Dr Fellows.’ + +‘You should have more sense,’ said her mother decidedly. ‘No one +wishes you to do anything that is objectionable to you, Quita. There is +nothing to cry for at having a grand proposal made you. However, let +us drop the subject for to-day, and perhaps you had better lie down in +your own room and have a siesta. Jessica has prepared it for you.’ + +The two women supported the girl between them to her sleeping-chamber, +when Mrs Courtney despatched the black nurse for some iced lemonade. + +‘Quita,’ she whispered, as she lifted her daughter on to the bed, ‘you +haven’t deceived me? There is a mystery about this illness of yours +which may ruin your whole life. Take my advice, my dear, and marry Sir +Russell Johnstone. It will be your salvation.’ + +‘But, mother,’ whispered Maraquita back again, with her face hidden in +her mother’s sleeve, ‘there--there is _some one else_.’ + +‘Do you suppose I don’t know that, and that I needn’t go far to find +him, either, Quita? But no woman ever married yet, my dear, without +there being “_some one else_.” But he will be no good to you, and you +must forget him as soon as you can. You’ve made a fool of yourself, +and your only remedy lies in marriage; but you can’t marry _him_. Your +father would never hear of such a thing. He looks high for you, and he +has a right to do so. He would as soon consent to your marrying Black +Sandie as--as--’ + +‘Hush, mother!’ cried Maraquita. ‘Don’t speak his name: I cannot bear +it.’ + +‘He has behaved like a villain to you, my dear, and you ought to +despise him for it. It is only for your sake that I have not had him +turned off the plantation. But if I hold my tongue, you must promise to +think well over the advantages of Sir Russell’s proposal.’ + +‘I will--I will--’ + +‘It is a perfect godsend, and you would be a fool to reject it. I can’t +understand your being so upset over a piece of good fortune,’ said Mrs +Courtney, as she bent over her. ‘I hope--I _hope_, Maraquita, that you +won’t let this folly interfere with it.’ + +She said so meaningly, for she had not failed to observe the manner +in which the young overseer and Maraquita had looked at each other on +the occasions of Henri de Courcelles’ visits to the White House. Her +daughter flushed slightly, and turned her head away. + +‘Of course not,’ she answered pettishly. ‘But if I did, what of it, +mamma? My father says I am not to be biassed in my inclinations, and +that means I may choose for myself.’ + +‘So long as you choose an eligible person, Maraquita; but you quite +mistake your father if you imagine he will consent to your marriage +with any one beneath yourself. He is very particular on that score. You +are our only child, and will inherit all his fortune, and you have a +right to make a good match. Now, pray, my dear, don’t be foolish. All +girls have their little fancies, you know, but they learn to get over +them, and you must do the same, won’t you?’ + +‘I don’t know what you are talking about, mamma,’ replied Quita +uneasily. ‘All I have to think about now, I suppose, is whether I +shall marry Sir Russell Johnstone or not.’ + +‘My dear girl, you make me miserable by even suggesting a doubt on the +subject. I am sure of one thing,--if you _don’t_ marry him, you will +never cease to reproach yourself, and be ready to die of envy at seeing +Mademoiselle Julie Latreille or one of the other San Diego belles in +your place.’ + +‘_Julie Latreille!_’ cried Maraquita. ‘Why, she can’t hold a candle to +me! Every one said so at the last regimental ball.’ + +‘Of course she can’t, dear, and she wouldn’t know how to conduct +herself as the Governor’s lady either. But when a man is disappointed +in one direction, he is apt to try and console himself in another. And +Sir Russell is _very_ much in love with you, Maraquita; I never saw a +man more so.’ + +‘Well, he won’t expect me to be in love with him, I hope.’ + +‘What a silly thing to say, my dear! If you will only consent to marry +him, I’ll guarantee that Sir Russell will be satisfied with anything +you may choose to give him. Of course, you will be very grateful to +him, and kind and affectionate and all that,’ continued Mrs Courtney +as an afterthought; ‘but it is quite unnecessary that any young lady +should profess to be in love with her husband. You can leave all that +to the men.’ + +Maraquita sighed, and said nothing. She possessed a very warm +temperament, like most people born of a mixture of bloods, and the +prospect of being tied to a man for whom she did not care, was most +displeasing to her. Her thoughts reverted to another lover, whom a +marriage with the Governor would force her to give up, and the tears +gathered in her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks. + +‘Come, my dear,’ exclaimed her mother hastily, as she watched the signs +of her emotion, ‘we will drop this subject for to-day, and you must try +and go to sleep. In a short time you will see all the advantages of Sir +Russell’s proposal, and be very grateful for them. But at present you +are weak, and must not think too much. I will leave you alone now, and +Jessica shall fan you to sleep.’ + +But it was very little sleep that visited Maraquita’s eyes that +day, and it was in vain that old Jessica closed the green jalousies +over her windows, and brought her cooling drinks, and fanned her +incessantly to keep off the flies. Quita’s large dark eyes were fixed +upon space, whilst she revolved the question in her mind whether she +could possibly marry Sir Russell Johnstone, and always came back to the +conclusion that it was impossible. When night arrived, her mother was +so distressed to find the symptoms of fever strong upon her, that she +wanted to send at once for Dr Fellows, but Quita entreated her not to +do so. + +‘Mamma, dear, let me have my own way, and I shall be all right in the +morning. Let me sleep quite alone. Jessica fidgets me. She jumps up +twenty times in the night to see if I am asleep or want anything, and +when she sleeps herself she snores. She is a good old creature, but +I’d rather be left to myself.’ + +‘But, Quita, my dear, supposing you should be ill in the night, and no +one near you!’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney. ‘Why, I shouldn’t be able to +sleep myself for thinking of it. Let _me_ sleep in the next room to +yours, my darling. The curtain can be drawn over the open door, and you +will be as much alone as if it were shut. And I should be within call +if you required me.’ + +‘No, no,’ replied the girl fretfully. ‘That would be worse than having +Jessica in my room, for I should never be certain _when_ you were +coming. I want to be _alone_, mother--really and truly _alone_--and +when the darkness falls, I shall sleep soundly.’ + +‘Very well, my dear,’ said Mrs Courtney. ‘If it is your whim, you +shall be indulged in it, but I shall not dare tell your father that I +have consented, or he will insist on sitting up with you himself.’ + +She kissed her daughter then, and professed to leave her for the night, +but she whispered to old Jessica that after she had prepared everything +that was necessary, she was to lie down on the mat outside the door of +Maraquita’s chamber, and listen to every sound that issued from it. + +The old negress obeyed with alacrity. She possessed the faculty, +common to coloured people, of staying awake for hours if necessary, +and even of sleeping with one eye open. The inner door of her young +mistress’s apartment opened on a corridor, paved with marble, but +there were two other doors to it which led out to the garden. Jessica +sat down on a white bear-skin mat in the corridor, and listened for a +possible summons. The night drew on apace. The lamps were extinguished +throughout the White House, and the master and mistress had retired to +rest. The coloured servants were sleeping on mats in the verandahs, and +everything was hushed in silence, when midnight struck from the large +clock over the stables. The old negress’s eyes were just about to close +in slumber, when she was startled into consciousness again by the fall +of a light footstep on the matted bedroom floor. Maraquita had left her +bed. Jessica sat up straight and listened. The light step became more +palpable. Quita had put on her shoes and stockings, and was passing +through the door that led to the plantation. Quick and stealthy as a +panther, and almost as noiselessly, old Jessica crept round another +way, just in time to see a dark-robed form walking down the path +towards the overseer’s bungalow. + +‘I thinking so,’ mused the old woman; ‘I _sure_ dat man at de bottom of +it! Curse him! He’s stolen away my poor missy’s heart, and brought her +into all dis trouble, and now she’s out of it, she can’t rest without +him. Ah, if the massa only knew, he’d _kill him_. And _I’ll_ kill him +if he don’t let my missy alone. I’ll make him drink obeah water and he +shall die. My poor little missy to go through all dis trouble for a man +who don’t care for her no more than he do for Jerusha. If I only tell +Jerusha! _Dat_ would finish him once and for ever.’ + +Meanwhile, Maraquita (for it was indeed she) was making what haste +she could towards her lover’s home. She felt very weak as she tried to +walk, and her limbs trembled under her, but she would not give in, for +her reputation was at stake, and what will a woman _not_ do to save her +good name? Henri de Courcelles’ study or room of business was at the +back of the bungalow, and he was in the habit of sitting up there late +into the night, reading. Well did the poor girl know her way to that +room at the back of the house--well did she know her lover’s habits +and customs--too well, unfortunately, for her own peace of mind. Henri +de Courcelles was surprised and delighted--but not startled--when her +slight form passed through the open door, and stood before him. He knew +that she would come to him as soon as she was able, but he had hardly +expected she would have been able to do so so soon. He leapt from his +chair and clasped her in his arms. + +‘Quita, my darling,’ he exclaimed, ‘you have returned to me at last!’ + +The girl did not speak, but she clung to his embrace as if she would +never leave it. + +‘You are trembling, my dearest! You were imprudent, perhaps, to risk +visiting me so soon. Sit down, and let me lie at your feet and hear all +you have to tell me.’ + +He placed her in the chair from which he had risen, as he spoke, and +threw himself on his knees beside her. + +‘Do you know what I have suffered during your illness?’ he exclaimed. +‘I thought the suspense would have driven me mad. And then the awful +fear lest you should betray yourself. But tell me, Quita, is all danger +over? Is our secret safe?’ + +‘Yes!’ she answered wearily. ‘It is over.’ + +‘Thank Heaven for that! And no one is the wiser.’ + +‘No one except Dr Fellows, of course. I couldn’t deceive _him_. But +even Liz does not know. No one knows except him--and you and me.’ + +‘And the child, dearest. Where is it?’ + +The girl gave a sudden gesture of repugnance. + +‘Don’t speak of it: I cannot bear the thought. I am trying so hard to +forget everything. And yet, Henri, I _must_ speak, for this once only. +Dr Fellows has sent it away to some one up the hills, but I shall +never be happy till it is out of San Diego. Cannot you manage it for +me? Can’t you send it away to America or England, so that I may never +hear it spoken of again?’ + +‘Perhaps you would like me to drop it in the sea,’ he answered +gloomily. It cannot be pleasant for a man to hear a woman express +nothing but horror of the child she has borne to him. + +‘I don’t know _what_ I want,’ rejoined Quita sadly, ‘only I am so +frightened of what may happen. If my father should ever come to hear of +it, I think he would _kill_ me.’ + +‘No one shall molest you!’ exclaimed De Courcelles sternly. ‘You are my +wife, Quita, and the man who injures you must answer for it to me.’ + +‘Ah, don’t talk nonsense!’ she said, shrinking a little from him. ‘You +know, Henri, that I am _not_ your wife.’ + +‘But why should you not be so, Maraquita? Why not take the bull by the +horns, and let me confess everything to your father?’ + +‘What are you thinking of?’ she cried, in a voice of terror. ‘You would +only bring down his wrath upon my head. He will never consent to my +marrying you.’ + +‘Then marry me without his consent, Quita. Surely that should not +be distasteful to you, after all that has passed between us. Come, +dearest, you love me, do you not? You have so often assured me so. Why +not cross with me to Santa Lucia, and we will break the news of our +marriage to your parents from there. Say “_Yes_,” Maraquita, for the +sake of our child,’ he whispered. + +‘It is _impossible_!’ she said back again. ‘You are asking me to give +up my father and mother for you. It would break their hearts. They +would never speak to me again.’ + +‘But why not? They are wealthy, and you are their only child. They can +enrich any one on whom your happiness may be placed. They would be +angry at first, naturally, but they would soon come round, for they +could not live without you, Maraquita. A few weeks would see us all +together again.’ + +‘You are mistaken, Henri. My father loves me dearly, but his prejudices +are very strong. Only to-night, my mother was telling me that he would +never countenance my marriage to any one whom he did not consider an +equal match to myself.’ + +‘Heavens! Maraquita! Can Mrs Courtney suspect anything?’ + +‘God knows! She has not actually mentioned the subject to me, but her +words fell very much like a warning. Perhaps they were so. Perhaps she +intended to caution me on my future conduct. She has at any rate shown +me very decidedly that my father expects me to accede to the views he +has formed for me.’ + +De Courcelles turned pale. + +‘What views?’ he stammered. ‘Mr Courtney gave me some hints the other +day that you were likely to make a grand marriage, but I felt--I +_knew_, that it could not be true.’ + +‘But it _is_ true, Henri. Sir Russell Johnstone, the Governor of the +island, has proposed for me, and my father insists on my accepting +him.’ + +‘And you _will_?’ cried De Courcelles, in a voice of anguish. + +‘What am I to do?’ asked Maraquita wildly. ‘Can I go to my parents and +tell them I have disgraced myself? How would that benefit us? I have +already told you they would never consent to my marrying _you_. And +_this_ marriage will, at all events, shelter me from any risk in the +future. No one will be able to harm me when I am the Governor’s wife.’ + +‘You will do it!’ exclaimed Henri de Courcelles fiercely; ‘I feel that +you _will do it_!’ + +At that moment he saw the girl in her true colours--selfish, avaricious +and worldly-minded, yet, with the insane blindness of passion, he would +have wrested her from the hands of his rival, even though his victory +bound him to a life-long curse. His Nemesis had already overtaken him. +He had seized his prey, but he could not hold it. He had made Maraquita +(as he fondly believed) his own. In doing so, he had outraged every +law of morality and friendship. He had even thrown over Liz Fellows, +whom he knew loved him so purely and truly, and yet his sins had been +sinned in vain. Quita no more belonged to him than the plantation +of Beauregard did. She was straining at her fetters even now, and +before long she would burst them altogether, to become the wife of the +Governor of San Diego. As the truth struck home to him, De Courcelles’ +pain turned to anger. + +‘You cannot! You _dare not_!’ he continued. ‘You are in my power, +Maraquita, and I defy you to throw me over.’ + +Then her bravado changed to craven fear. She could lie and deceive, and +be selfish and ungrateful, this beautiful piece of feminine humanity, +but she was a terrible coward, and her lover’s Spanish eyes were +gleaming on her like two daggers. + +‘Ah, don’t be angry with me, Henri!’ she exclaimed pitifully. ‘You know +how much I love you. Haven’t I given you good proof of my affection? Do +you think it possible that I could marry any one else of my own free +will?’ + +‘Then you will never marry any one else, Maraquita, for you shall not +be coerced into it whilst I live. But I don’t feel sure of you yet. +Will you promise me, if the Governor’s suit is pressed more closely +upon you, to save yourself by flying with me?’ + +‘I will!--on one condition, Henri.’ + +‘What is it?’ + +‘That you will shelter me from the shame you have brought upon me. _I_ +dare not do anything in the matter, but you are cleverer than I am, +and may manage it without detection. Only get _it_--you know what I +mean--sent away from San Diego, or devise some plan by which it can +never be brought in judgment against me, and I--I--will do anything you +ask me.’ + +‘You give me your solemn word to that effect?’ + +‘My solemn word, Henri,’ she answered, with downcast eyes. + +‘Then it shall be done--if I have to steal it away with my own hands. +But after we are married, surely _then_, Maraquita--’ he said wistfully. + +‘Oh, don’t talk of that now!’ cried the girl hurriedly. ‘It will be +time enough to discuss what we shall do, when the time arrives. But I +must go now, Henri, or Jessica may miss me. Perhaps you will come up +and see me to-morrow.’ + +‘I will come up, without fail, whether they let me see you or not. One +kiss, my darling. Remember that I look upon you as _my wife_, and no +one shall wrest you from me.’ + +‘_No one_--no one!’ she answered feverishly, as she returned his +passionate kisses, and almost wished she had the courage to be true to +him. Yet as she crept back to her home through the shadowy, moonlit +paths--for she would not let De Courcelles accompany her, for fear +of being intercepted--she knew she had been lying, and had no more +intention of marrying him than before. She had used his entreaties as +a means to her own end, and if _that_ were accomplished, she would +have no hesitation in breaking the promise she had given him. She +could always fall back--so she thought--on the duty which she owed her +parents, and if the great misfortune of being found out befell her, and +the wrath of her father and mother proved too hard to bear, why, Henri +de Courcelles was ready and eager to marry her. + +Maraquita did not argue with her own conscience in so many words, but +such were the thoughts that flitted through her brain as she traversed +the slight distance between the overseer’s bungalow and the White +House, and noiselessly re-entered her chamber. Jessica, who had +watched her go and return, never closed her faithful eyes in slumber +until she was assured that her young mistress was safely in her bed +again, and, for the first time since she had sought it, fast asleep. + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +Meanwhile Lizzie Fellows, unconscious of her lover’s infidelity, sat +up the livelong night, cradling his deserted infant in her arms. +Whilst the members of the White House were wrapped in slumber, and +even Maraquita and Henri de Courcelles had gained a temporary relief +from their perplexities, and everything was hushed and silent in the +Doctor’s bungalow, Liz rocked the wailing infant to and fro, or slowly +paced up and down the room singing a soft lullaby to try and soothe +it. But the puny little creature refused to be comforted. It wanted +the warmth and shelter of its mother’s bosom, and bleated as pitifully +for it as an orphaned lamb standing beside the dead body of the ewe +on a bleak hillside. Liz, who had had a great deal of experience +with children, tried all her arts to quiet it in vain. The baby was +determined she should have no rest that night. + +‘Poor wee mite,’ she whispered, as she laid her cheek against its face, +and a natural instinct made it turn its soft lips towards it to find +the breast. ‘How can she leave you to the care of strangers? How can +she sleep in comfort, not knowing if you cry, or are at peace? If you +were _mine_, I would die sooner than give up my mother’s right to feed +and cherish you, yes, even if the world stoned me for it. How I wish I +might bring you up for my own little girl--my little tiny Maraquita!’ + +How startled we should be sometimes if the wishes we carelessly utter +were to be immediately fulfilled! Liz little thought as she crooned +over the unconscious baby, that the hour was rapidly approaching when +her puzzle would be not how to keep it, but how to get rid of it. Yet +so it was. + +All that night she walked the room with its little downy head nestled +close to her bosom, and its tiny fingers locked round her own. A dozen +times she warmed the milk, of which it could only take a few drops, to +keep the flickering life in its frail body, and covered it warmly with +flannel, to increase the circulation of its blood, although the hot +night air permeated the apartment. It was so feeble, that sometimes +she almost thought its heart had stopped beating, and uncovered it +with a sudden terror. But the infant slept on, although each breath it +drew seemed like a wail, until the shadows dispersed, and the glorious +West Indian sun rose like a king, and flooded the island with his +glory. There seemed to be no dawn to the watcher, or rather it was so +momentary, that the night changed as if by magic into day, and the +windows of heaven were thrown open suddenly to let the sunlight stream +upon the land. It was the waking signal for all life. The big magnolia +flowers opened their creamy blossoms as they felt its rays; the trumpet +creepers unfolded their leaves; the mimosa spread herself out as though +she would bask in the returning light. A hundred scents filled the +morning air, and from the grove of trees came many a chirp--first +singly and then in twos and threes, as the birds encouraged their mates +to rouse themselves, and come forth to pick up the insects before they +hid in the long grasses from the noonday heat. From the negro quarters +was borne a sort of humming sound, as of a disturbed bee-hive, as the +Aunt Sallies and Chloes and Uncle Toms turned out of their beds, and +made their toilets in the open air. The morning had broken. It was five +o’clock, and in another half-hour the overseer would be amongst them, +and accept no excuses if the whole gang were not drawn up in readiness +to march down to the cotton fields or the coffee plantation. + +Liz sat in her room with the baby on her knee, listening for the sound +of his mustang’s feet. How often had she been roused from her sleep as +they passed her window, and breathed a prayer for her lover’s safety +before she laid her head on her pillow again--or watched for him after +a night’s vigil, and given him a bright smile and a wave of her hand as +a morning welcome. But to-day she shrank from seeing him. A cloud had +risen between them, with the knowledge of her father’s secret, which +made her afraid to meet the eyes of the man from whom she would be, +perhaps, but too soon parted for ever. Besides, were a look from her +to bring him to the open window, the sacred trust she held in her arms +might be betrayed. Liz blushed as she wondered what explanation she +could possibly give Henri de Courcelles of the child’s presence there, +and how curious he would become to learn its parentage, and moved +further from the window as the thought struck her. + +She need not have been afraid. She heard his palfrey canter by, and +caught a glimpse of his handsome figure as he rode past the bungalow; +but his head was filled with thoughts of Maraquita, and how he could +accomplish the task she had set him, and he never even turned his head +in her direction. Liz sighed as she observed the defalcation. It was +foolish, no doubt, and unworthy of a sensible woman, for her first wish +had been to avoid him. But who is sensible in love? + +The little child was sleeping soundly at last, and Liz laid it on the +pillows of her bed, and commenced her morning toilet. The thought of +her father had suddenly struck her. If he was to ride to the Fort that +morning and consult Dr Martin about a foster-nurse for the baby, it was +time he was roused and went upon his way. The cool hours are soon over +in that climate, and when the sun has fairly risen, it is unsafe for +any European to ride about, and her father had not looked well of late. + +The excitement of Maraquita’s illness, and the necessity for +concealment, had told on Dr Fellows, and made his face more drawn +and haggard than it had been before. And though he had brought much +trouble on her, and might prove the cause of her losing what she most +cared for, still Lizzie loved him dearly, and pitied more than she +blamed him. To live for years under a load of shame and the fear of +detection, what greater curse could any human creature be called upon +to suffer? Liz’s own burthen sunk into insignificance beside it. + +Her mind reverted to her early days, when she used to wonder why _her_ +father’s hair was grey, whilst that of Maraquita’s was brown, or why +Mr Courtney played hide-and-seek with them in the plantation, whilst +Dr Fellows shook his head and told her such games were only meant for +little boys and girls. Liz understood it now, and felt almost glad to +think she could show her sympathy with all he had gone through, even +though she had to sacrifice her own future in order to pass it by his +side. + +Meanwhile Henri de Courcelles had completed his journey, and reined +in his steed at the negroes’ quarters. The hands were all ready to +receive him--the men chiefly dressed in white or striped linen jackets, +with dark blue trousers, and the women in print petticoats, and gaily +coloured orange or crimson handkerchiefs knotted about their woolly +hair. They were a fine-looking set of coolies, all free men, as they +were termed by courtesy, but in reality as much slaves as any before +the passing of the Abolition Act. They were not all of African blood. +Many had come from the East Indies--had been shipped across in hundreds +at a time from Calcutta to San Diego, under a promise of higher pay, +and less work, than they could obtain in their own country, and had +been landed penniless and powerless, to find themselves compelled to +take any wages that were offered them, and do any work they were +ordered, because they had no means of returning to India. These coolies +were not so muscular and capable of hard labour as the Africans, but +they were handsomer, both in face and figure. Some of the women had +almost perfect features, and were lithe and supple as young roes; but +they all bore, more or less, an expression of melancholy. They were +not so well able to cast off care, and make the best of the present, +as their companions in slavery, but they were more crafty and more +desirous of revenge. Amongst them--standing very much to the front, +in fact, as if she wished to attract attention--was a young girl of +perhaps fifteen--the age of a child in our country, but of a grown +woman in hers. She was tall for her nationality, and had a beautifully +rounded figure, with tiny hands and feet, and a face fit for a sultan’s +harem. She was evidently a coquette, and thought much of her personal +appearance, for a bunch of white flowers was twined in her long plaits +of hair, and a crimson handkerchief was tied across her bosom. In her +arms she held an infant of a few months old, a lusty crowing boy, +who showed evident signs of having a mixture of white blood in his +composition, and of whom his mother seemed inordinately proud. She was +standing so close to Henri de Courcelles’ horse, that as he dismounted +he brushed up against her, and so roughly as almost to knock her infant +out of her arms. + +‘Ah, sahib! take care of the little baby!’ she cried warningly. + +‘Who’s that? Jerusha! Then keep your cub out of my way, will you? Now +then, my men, are you all ready? March!’ + +The coolie girl frowned ominously as the overseer addressed her, but +she made no answer. Only as the rest of the labourers moved off in +single file to the fields, she remained to the last, sulking, as if she +had no intention to move. + +‘Now then, Jerusha!’ exclaimed Henri de Courcelles impatiently, as he +told off the last negro, and saw her standing there. ‘Make haste, will +you?’ and he cracked the whip he held as he spoke. He seldom used the +whip. It was only his insignia of office, and served as a signal for +starting, but it sounded differently in Jerusha’s ears that morning. + +‘You dare beat _us_?’ she demanded menacingly. + +‘I am not going to beat you, but I dare do anything, so don’t be a +fool,’ he replied, half laughing. + +‘I’m sick,’ persisted Jerusha. ‘The child kept me up all night. I’m not +fit to work. Sahib must let me go back to my hut.’ + +‘I will let you do no such thing,’ replied De Courcelles. ‘You’re only +shamming. You’re as “fit” as any woman on the plantation, and you must +work like the rest. Now, move on, and look sharp about it.’ + +But Jerusha was obstinate, and had got the bit between her teeth. She +considered herself a privileged person, and at one time had been able +to do pretty much as she liked with the overseer. But that time was +past. He was tired of her, and disposed to treat her, in consequence, +a little more harshly than the rest. Jerusha had reckoned without her +host when she thought she could give herself airs. When De Courcelles +ordered her to move on, she shrugged her shoulders and stood still. + +‘Now, are you going?’ he asked her sharply. + +‘I telling sahib I’m too sick.’ + +‘And I tell you you’re a liar. If you won’t move of your own accord, I +will make you.’ He raised his whip as he spoke, and Jerusha observed +the movement. + +‘You don’t _dare_ strike me!’ she said defiantly; but before the words +were well out of her mouth, he had done it, and the long lash curled +round her shoulders and stung the baby’s cheek, and made the youngster +squall. Jerusha’s big black eyes flashed fire on him. + +‘You coward,’ she cried, ‘to strike your own child! Some day I pay you +out for this. Some day _my_ whip strike _you_.’ + +He laughed carelessly at the girl’s threat as she joined the gang of +labourers, and he flung himself across his palfrey’s back, and rode +after them. But after a while, when the sun’s rays began to beat rather +fiercely on his Panama hat, and he found his servant had neglected to +fill the straw-covered flask that hung at his saddle bow, he called the +yellow girl Rosa and gave the flask to her, and directed her to carry +it to the Doctor’s bungalow. + +‘Ask Miss Lizzie to fill it with fresh sherbet or milk for me, Rosa, +and tell her I am coming in to breakfast with her by-and-by.’ + +The residents in hot climates invariably partake of two breakfasts; one +a light meal taken at break of day, and the other a more substantial +one, which they can discuss at leisure when the morning’s business is +concluded. Rosa, who was a lazy wench, who preferred running messages, +or doing odd jobs, to regular work at any time, ran with alacrity to +the Doctor’s bungalow, and began to sneak around it. A negro employed +on business can very seldom go straight to the matter in hand. He +generally slinks about first, peering into windows, and listening at +doors, and on this wise it came about that Rosa’s cunning face was very +soon to be seen at the open window of Liz Fellows’ room. The apartment +was empty, Liz having just left it to go to that of her father, but +from a bundle of flannel on the bed proceeded a wailing cry, which +roused all Rosa’s curiosity. The black people are proverbially curious, +but this was a case in which the offence might surely be termed a +venial one. And with poor Rosa too, who had so lately been bereft of +her own child. + +As soon as she recognised the cry, she leapt into the room through the +window, and rushed up to the bed. Yes! it was actually a baby, and a +white baby too, and in Miss Liz’s bed! What inference but _one_ could +be drawn in any ignorant mind from such a circumstance? Miss Liz, who +had been so angry with her for the same thing; who had said her poor +little Carlo had better never have been born; who had talked so much +to her of virtue, and purity, and the sanctity of marriage. Miss Liz +had a baby in _her_ bed, that she had never told anybody about! Here +was a glorious opportunity for revenge. Rosa’s eyes rolled about and +showed their yellow whites as she thought of it. Miss Liz hadn’t pitied +her, or so she chose to believe. Why should she pity Miss Liz? And +why shouldn’t Massa Courcelles, and all the niggers, and the people +at the White House, know what she had done? The engagement between +Liz and Henri de Courcelles had been kept so secret that no one could +say it was a positive fact, but most of the plantation hands knew he +had courted the Doctor’s daughter, and believed that it would end in +marriage. Rosa showed all her white teeth as she chuckled over the +idea that now perhaps the overseer would have nothing more to do with +Miss Lizzie, and she would be pointed at and scorned, as Rosa had been, +when first she appeared out of doors with little Carlo in her arms. As +the yellow girl thought thus, she slipped off the bed, where, she had +mounted to better examine the baby, and left the room as noiselessly as +she had entered it. A cunning idea had flashed across her brain,--that +if Miss Lizzie caught her there, she would hide the infant, and no one +would be ever the wiser. So she must get back to the field without +seeing her, and invent some excuse for her return, on the way. She was +quite ready with it by the time she reached the side of De Courcelles, +and she lied so glibly that at first he did not suspect her of an +untruth. + +‘Miss Liz have got no sherbet, Massa! She very sick all night, and +drink all de sherbet. But Miss Liz want to see you berry particuler +and berry directly, please, Massa. She got something berry important +to say; and she tell me,--“Rosa, go and fetch Massa Courcelles here +directly, and come back with him all de way.”’ + +‘That’s a curious message, Rosa. What does Miss Liz want _you_ for?’ +asked De Courcelles, as he turned his steps towards the bungalow, with +the yellow girl by his side. + +‘How can _I_ tell Massa Courcelles? P’r’aps Miss Liz want me to mind de +baby a bit. P’r’aps she want to ask my ’pinion. Miss Liz know how well +I look after my poor little Carlo ’fore de fever come and taken him to +heaven.’ + +The words naturally attracted the overseer’s attention. + +‘_The baby!_’ he exclaimed, taken off his guard. ‘What do you mean?’ + +Rosa’s cunning eyes looked full into his own. + +‘You not _know_?’ she said inquisitively. ‘Miss Liz not tell you she +got a little baby at the bungalow--and in her own bed too? Ah, Miss Liz +berry sly--but it’s truth, Massa. I have seen it with my own eyes. A +little white baby, too, only dressed like a little nigger in a cotton +shirt.’ + +‘Rosa, you must be dreaming. You are lying to me,’ said Henri de +Courcelles, suddenly alive to the danger of the girl’s discovery. ‘How +can Miss Liz have a baby at the bungalow?’ + +‘Ah, Missy Liz knows that best herself,’ replied the yellow girl, with +an oracular nod; ‘but it’s God’s truth, all de same, Massa, and dere’s +not much difference ’tween white gal and yaller gal, after all. Miss +Liz berry angry with me because little Carlo come a bit too soon, but +dere’s a baby come to her now, and I shall have my revenge.’ + +‘Don’t talk nonsense!’ exclaimed De Courcelles; ‘and don’t presume to +speak to me in that way of Miss Liz.’ + +But though he affected to be angry, he saw a light glimmering through +the clouds of perplexity that overshadowed him, all the same. What if +this child--for he could not doubt _which_ child Rosa meant--should +be taken by the plantation hands for Lizzie’s? How fortunately the +circumstance would divert public suspicion from his poor Maraquita! +It never occurred to him what a piece of dastardly cruelty it would +be to shift the blame from one woman to the other, so selfish does +the madness of passion render us. But he could not understand how the +infant came to be at the bungalow, and he was painfully curious on the +subject. + +‘Massa Courcelles not believe me?’ continued Rosa, as they drew in +sight of Lizzie’s window; ‘then Massa just come here and look for +himself.’ + +The yellow girl was standing before the open casement, and beckoning to +him as she spoke, and something stronger than mere curiosity urged him +to obey her summons. He drew near on tiptoe, and peeped in. The infant +was still lying on the bed, its tiny face uncovered to the air. + +De Courcelles was not a man much subject to the softer emotions, but +as he looked at it, he trembled. In another moment he had started +backwards, for the bedroom door opened, and Lizzie herself appeared +upon the threshold, and, taking up the baby, carried it into the outer +room. + +‘Now do you believe I telling lies?’ exclaimed Rosa triumphantly, +as she looked up into the overseer’s pale face; and before he could +prevent her, she had run round the house, and in at the front door. + +Fearful of what discovery might follow her intrusion, De Courcelles +hurried after her, and arrived just in time to see the mock curtsey +which she dropped to the Doctor’s daughter. Lizzie herself, taken at a +disadvantage, and utterly unprepared at that early hour of the morning +for visitors, was standing by the table, white as a sheet, holding the +baby in her arms, and apparently unable to say a word. + +‘Good morning, Miss Lizzie!’ cried Rosa, with another deep reverence. +‘Massa Courcelles and I jest come round to see you and de new baby, and +to ask how you both do to-day.’ + +‘What do you mean?’ said Lizzie, though she knew well enough, as she +stood before them white and trembling. + +‘Ah, Miss Lizzie, you berry sly. You know berry well what I mean. I +want to see dat nice baby of yours. Is he like my little Carlo? Ah! I +know he’s white, like his moder, but I will love him all de same, if +you will let me.’ + +‘Henri,’ said Lizzie, with an assumption of great calmness, in order to +cover the shaking of her voice, ‘will you stand by silent and hear this +girl insult me?’ + +‘Certainly not,’ he replied. ‘Go back to the field, Rosa, and continue +your work. You said Miss Lizzie asked you to return with me, or you +should not have come.’ + +‘She deceived you,’ said Lizzie. ‘I have not seen her nor spoken to her +this morning.’ + +‘I know dat berry well,’ cried Rosa impudently; ‘but I come to see dat +baby of yours, and I bring Massa Courcelles to see it too. And now I +will go back to my work with a light heart, for I wish you joy, Miss +Lizzie, and I hope de Lord won’t send for dat baby of yours same He +did for my poor little Carlo,’ and with another curtsey, the yellow +girl turned on her heel, and ran out of the bungalow, leaving Henri de +Courcelles and Lizzie together. + +She was the first to speak. + +‘Had you any knowledge of Rosa’s intentions when she brought you here?’ +she asked quietly. + +‘Not the slightest, upon my honour,’ he replied. ‘I sent her to you +with my empty flask, to beg a little sherbet, and she returned with +a message that you desired to see me at once, and that _she_ was to +accompany me back again. On the way, she told me a story that I found +it almost impossible to believe.’ + +‘And what was the story?’ + +‘That--that--you have a white infant at the bungalow. Is it true?’ + +‘You can see for yourself that it is true! What then?’ + +‘Whose child is it? Where does it come from?’ he asked, in a nervous +voice, for he fully believed that, being alone, she would confide the +secret of Maraquita’s shame to him. + +But she was silent. + +‘Why will you not tell me?’ he continued, more boldly; ‘it is +impossible but that you must know. You cannot be sheltering a child of +whose origin you are not aware.’ + +‘Why should it be impossible?’ she answered; ‘might I not have found +it, or adopted it?’ + +‘Nonsense!’ he rejoined impatiently; ‘where did you find it then?’ + +Again she was silent. + +‘Lizzie! I resent this want of confidence between us. Considering how +we stand to one another, I have a right to ask you whose child that is. +Do you know what Rosa thinks and says about it?’ + +‘It is nothing to me,’ returned Lizzie proudly, ‘_what_ Rosa may think +or say.’ + +‘But it may be a great deal to _me_. It is not very pleasant for me +to hear your name handled and defamed by the black brutes I look +after,--to know they speak of you lightly, and say--’ + +‘What do they _dare_ to say?’ she exclaimed, as she turned and faced +him, with the infant on her breast. + +‘That that infant is your own!’ + +There was the silence of a minute between them, and then she said, in a +low voice,-- + +‘And what do _you_ say?’ + +‘That I require to be satisfied who it belongs to, and that you must +tell me.’ + +‘_I cannot!_’ + +There was such an amount of quiet despair in her voice as she +pronounced the words, that De Courcelles felt at once that Maraquita’s +secret was safe, and that she would not disclose it even to _him_. And +with the conviction, came a glad, unworthy satisfaction that her guilt +and his would be concealed, even at the expense of their most faithful +friend. + +‘_You cannot?_’ he repeated, in a voice of feigned astonishment. ‘But I +say _you must_, or everything shall be over between us!’ + +‘Henri!’ she exclaimed earnestly, ‘think--think what you are doing. +You cannot possibly suspect _me_! Why, I--I--_love you_!’ she ended +falteringly, as if that confession must clear her at once, and for ever. + +‘It’s all very fine talking,’ he answered roughly, ‘but facts are ugly +things; and if there is any honourable explanation of them, I have a +right to demand it. You have a newly-born infant in your arms, and all +the plantation is talking of it. If you are not its mother, _who is_?’ + +Lizzie turned away from him proudly. + +‘Go and find out for yourself,’ she said. ‘If you can suspect me even +for one moment, you are unworthy of my affection. I will not lower +myself to contradict your base suspicion. Think what you will, and act +as you think best. I can tell you no more than I have done already.’ + +‘Then I am to believe Rosa’s story?’ + +‘You can believe what you choose. This child was given in trust to me +by my father, and I am not at liberty to speak to you, or any one, +concerning it. It is by an unhappy accident that it has even been seen. +I cannot remedy that, but I can prevent the mischief going further. If +you cannot accept my word that it bears no relationship to myself, I +can do no more than deny it. On any other subject, my lips are sealed.’ + +Admiration for her sisterly devotion and fidelity had almost made him +forget the part he had to play; but the thought of Maraquita came to +his assistance, and nerved him to complete his cruel task. + +‘Well, I will not court your confidence further, Lizzie,’ he said, +rising, ‘but you must consider our engagement at an end. It would be +impossible to be happy in married life with a secret like this between +us. You _may_ have told me the truth, but I am not convinced of it; and +where there is distrust, there can be no love. Let us part now, and for +ever.’ + +For the first time, the extent of the sacrifice she was making seemed +to strike Lizzie’s mind. + +‘No! no!’ she screamed, rushing after him; ‘I cannot part with you +thus! Oh, Henri! think a moment! Think how I have loved you! Can you +imagine it possible that I should have been so false to you--so false +to myself? I swear to you on my knees, and before God, that this child +is not mine. Will not that content you?’ + +‘No! nothing will content me now--not even if you attempted to cast the +blame on some one else. You have spoken too late, Lizzie. Nothing but +conscious guilt would have kept your lips closed until this moment.’ + +‘You shall _not_ believe it of me!’ she exclaimed vehemently. ‘I will +not throw my good name away so recklessly. My father is sleeping still. +He has been ill and weary lately, and I thought it kind to let him +rest; but he would never forgive me for letting him sleep on whilst his +daughter’s fair name was being called in question. Stay but one moment, +Henri, and my father shall tell you that I speak the truth.’ + +She flew past him to the Doctor’s sleeping apartment as she spoke, and +Henri de Courcelles, anxious to know the best or worst at once, stood +where she had left him, gazing after her retreating form. + +But in another moment a piercing cry of agony sent him to her side. +He found her standing by the bed, staring at her father’s still, cold +features. + +‘He is gone!’ she exclaimed wildly. ‘See here, Henri, he is +dead--_dead_, and can never now release me from my oath! O God! have +pity on me!’ + +And with that she fell to weeping over the prostrate form. + +‘_Dead!_’ echoed De Courcelles, momentarily awed into the reverence we +all feel at the approach of the White King. ‘But now, at least, you are +free to tell me the truth, Lizzie.’ + +‘Never!’ she cried. ‘My lips are sealed as his own for evermore. If I +could keep my vow to the living, how much more do you suppose will I +hold it sacred to the dead? Act as you think right, Henri, but I will +never tell you the name of the mother of this child.’ + +‘Then all is over between us,’ he returned, as he slunk away, heartily +ashamed of himself, and yet with a load lifted from his breast as he +remembered that he had unconsciously, but surely, obeyed Maraquita’s +behest, and might boldly claim the reward she had promised for it. + + +END OF VOL. I. + + +COLSTON AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH. + + + + +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: + + + Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. + + Emboldened text is surrounded by equals signs: =bold=. + + Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. + + Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. + + Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75274 *** diff --git a/75274-h/75274-h.htm b/75274-h/75274-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ad6fc8f --- /dev/null +++ b/75274-h/75274-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5920 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + A crown of shame (vol. 1 of 3) | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tiny {width: 10%; margin-left: 45%; margin-right: 45%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +td {padding-left: 0.5em;} + +.tdr {text-align: right;} + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 17.5%; + margin-right: 17.5%; +} + +.x-ebookmaker .blockquot { + margin-left: 7.5%; + margin-right: 7.5%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + +.ph1 {text-align: center; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;} +.ph2 {text-align: center; font-size: xx-large; font-weight: bold;} +.ph3 {text-align: center; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;} + +div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; page-break-after: always;} +div.titlepage p {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 2em;} + +.xlarge {font-size: 150%;} +.large {font-size: 125%;} + +.x-ebookmaker .hide {display: none; visibility: hidden;} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +.hangingindent {text-indent: -2em; } + +img.drop-cap +{ + float: left; + margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; +} + +.x-ebookmaker-2 img.drop-cap +{ + display: none; +} + +span.drop-cap +{ + color: transparent; + visibility: hidden; + margin-left: -0.8em; +} + +.x-ebookmaker-2 span.drop-cap +{ + color: inherit; + visibility: visible; + margin-left: 0; +} + +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:smaller; + margin-left: 17.5%; + margin-right: 17.5%; + padding: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; } + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75274 ***</div> + +<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450" alt=""></div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h1>A CROWN OF SHAME.</h1> + +<p class="ph1">VOL. I.</p> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/title_page.jpg" alt="title page"></div> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="titlepage"> +<p class="ph2">A CROWN OF SHAME.</p> + +<p><span class="xlarge"><i>A NOVEL.</i></span></p> + +<p>BY<br> + +<span class="large">FLORENCE MARRYAT,</span><br> + +<small>AUTHOR OF<br> +‘LOVE’S CONFLICT,’ ‘MY SISTER THE ACTRESS,’<br> +ETC. ETC.</small></p> + +<p><i>IN THREE VOLUMES.</i><br> +<br> +VOL. I.</p> + +<p>LONDON:<br> +<span class="large">F. V. WHITE & CO.,</span><br> +31 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C.</p> + +<hr class="tiny"> +<p>1888.</p> + +<p>[<i>All rights reserved.</i>]</p> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center">EDINBURGH<br> +COLSTON AND COMPANY<br> +PRINTERS</p> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_toc.jpg" alt=""></div> + +<h2 class="nobreak"><i>CONTENTS.</i></h2> +</div> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/decoline.jpg" alt=""></div> +<table> +<tr><td class="tdr" colspan="2"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> + +<tr><td>CHAPTER I.</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1"> 1</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>CHAPTER II.</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_29"> 29</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>CHAPTER III.</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_56"> 56</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>CHAPTER IV.</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_83"> 83</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>CHAPTER V.</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_110"> 110</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>CHAPTER VI.</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_139"> 139</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>CHAPTER VII.</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_166"> 166</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>CHAPTER VIII.</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_204"> 204</a></td></tr> +</table> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="ph2">A CROWN OF SHAME.</p> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="ph3">POPULAR NEW NOVELS.</p> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<hr class="tiny"> +<p class="center"><i>Now ready, in One Vol., the Seventh Edition of</i></p> + +<div class="hangingindent"> + +<p><b>ARMY SOCIETY; or, Life in a Garrison Town.</b> By <span class="smcap">John Strange +Winter</span>. Author of ‘Bootles’ Baby.’ Cloth gilt, 6s.; also picture +boards, 2s.</p> +</div> +<hr class="tiny"> + +<p class="center"><i>Also now ready, in cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. each.</i></p> + +<div class="hangingindent"> +<p><b>GARRISON GOSSIP, Gathered in Blankhampton.</b> By <span class="smcap">John +Strange Winter</span>. Also picture boards, 2s.</p> + +<p><b>IN THE SHIRES.</b> By Sir <span class="smcap">Randal H. Roberts</span>, Bart.</p> + +<p><b>THE OUTSIDER.</b> By <span class="smcap">Hawley Smart</span>.</p> + +<p><b>THE GIRL IN THE BROWN HABIT.</b> By Mrs <span class="smcap">Edward Kennard</span>.</p> + +<p><b>STRAIGHT AS A DIE.</b> By the same Author.</p> + +<p><b>BY WOMAN’S WIT.</b> By Mrs <span class="smcap">Alexander</span>. Author of ‘The Wooing +O’t.’</p> + +<p><b>KILLED IN THE OPEN.</b> By Mrs <span class="smcap">Edward Kennard</span>.</p> + +<p><b>IN A GRASS COUNTRY.</b> By Mrs <span class="smcap">H. Lovett-Cameron</span>.</p> + +<p><b>A DEVOUT LOVER.</b> By the same Author.</p> + +<p><b>TWILIGHT TALES.</b> By Mrs <span class="smcap">Edward Kennard</span>. <i>Illustrated.</i></p> + +<p><b>SHE CAME BETWEEN.</b> By Mrs <span class="smcap">Alexander Fraser</span>.</p> + +<p><b>THE CRUSADE OF ‘THE EXCELSIOR.’</b> By <span class="smcap">Bret Harte</span>.</p> + +<p><b>A REAL GOOD THING.</b> By Mrs <span class="smcap">Edward Kennard</span>.</p> + +<p><b>CURB AND SNAFFLE.</b> By Sir <span class="smcap">Randal H. Roberts</span>, Bart.</p> + +<p><b>DREAM FACES.</b> By the Hon. Mrs <span class="smcap">Fetherstonhaugh</span>.</p> + +<p><b>A SIEGE BABY.</b> By <span class="smcap">John Strange Winter</span>.</p> + +<p><b>MONA’S CHOICE.</b> By Mrs <span class="smcap">Alexander</span>. Author of ‘The Wooing O’t.’</p> +</div> + +<hr class="tiny"> +<p class="center"><span class="large">F. V. WHITE & Co., 31 Southampton Street, Strand, +London, W.C.</span></p> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i001a.jpg" alt=""></div> + +<p class="ph2">A CROWN OF SHAME.</p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/decoline.jpg" alt=""></div> +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER I.</h2> +</div> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i001b.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="I"> +</div> + +<p><span class="drop-cap">I</span>T was the close of the hot +season in San Diego, and the +thunderous clouds that hung +over the island rendered the atmosphere +still more oppressive. Liz, the Doctor’s +daughter, stood at the open door of their +leaf-thatched bungalow, gazing out into +the starless night, and wondering when +the rain would come, to relieve the intense<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span> +heat and disseminate the sickness that was +so rapidly thinning the population. The +stillness was so unbroken that one might +almost be said to feel it. Not a breath +of air stirred the light feathery branches +of the bamboo, not even the chirp of a +solitary insect could be distinguished from +their covert in the long grass, nor a note +from the songsters that crowded the surrounding +woods. The trailing creepers +that hung like a gorgeous eastern canopy +of crimson and purple and orange from +the roof of the verandah, brushed their +blossoms against her face, as she thrust +it into the night, but they brought no +sense of refreshment with them. Liz +felt stifled for want of air, as she +withdrew from the verandah, and re-entered +the bungalow, with a deep-drawn +sigh. But the sigh was for others. +She was not a woman to make otherwise<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span> +than lightly of her own pain or +inconvenience. To witness suffering or +distress, and be unable to relieve it, +that was the great drawback of life +to Elizabeth Fellows. She was not a +girl, and the existence she led had +tended to make her older than her +age. She was five-and-twenty, and +ever since she was a little child she +had been motherless, and brought up +to depend upon herself, and to minister +to others rather than be ministered to. +Her father, Dr Fellows, was generally +considered to be a reserved, morose, and +rather disagreeable man: but Liz knew +otherwise. She was his only child, and +ever since she could remember they +two had lived together, and alone, and +he had been both mother and father +to her. He was not lively and talkative, +even to Liz—but she had always felt that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span> +he was unhappy, though something in his +manner had forbidden her inquiring the +cause of his reticence and melancholy. But +he had never said an unkind word to her. +Gravely and affectionately he had brought +his daughter up to help him in his work, +and Liz, who possessed an active, clever +brain and a large amount of courage, had +taken an immense interest in the science +of medicine and surgery, and knew almost +as much about it as himself. Dr Fellows +left all the simple cases in his daughter’s +hands, and for a long time past she had +been almost worshipped amongst the negro +population of San Diego, as a species of +white angel who came to their women +and their children with healing in her +hands. And both the Doctor and his +daughter had had plenty of work to +do during the last few months. Fever +was reigning paramount in San Diego.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span> +Both Europeans and natives had been +falling around them like rotten sheep; +and with the epidemic had come a murrain +on the rice-fields and sugar-cane plantations, +so that the people had to contend +with starvation as well as disease; and +awful rumours of mutiny and insurrection +had commenced to make the residents +and planters feel alarmed. Inside the +Doctor’s cottage were grouped some score +of negresses, most of them with infants +in their arms. Their work was over for +the day, and this was the hour when +they came to Liz to have their bottles +refilled with medicines, and to show her +what progress their wailing little ones +had made.</p> + +<p>As she stepped back amongst them, her +face assumed an expression of pity and +sympathy for their distress, that did indeed +make her look like an angel of goodness.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span> +She was not a beautiful woman—far +from it—but it is not, as a rule, the +most beautiful faces that are the most +comforting to look upon in a time of difficulty +or danger.</p> + +<p>Liz had a tall, well-developed figure, +which her plain print dress showed off +to perfection. Her skin was clear, and +soft, and white, and her abundant fair +hair was tucked smoothly away behind +her ears, and twisted into a knot at +the back of her head. Her grey eyes +beamed with a tender, kindly light, that +had no power to conceal her feelings, +and her firm, well-shaped mouth showed +firmness and decision. In fact, she was +a typical English woman, with rather a +majestic bearing about her, as if she +knew her power and rejoiced in it. But, +above all, she was a woman to love +and trust in,—one who would never tell<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span> +a lie nor betray a friend, and yet who, +once convinced that her own trust had +been betrayed, would stamp the image +of the offender from her heart, if she +died under the process. As the negresses +caught sight of her again, they were +startled to see the tears upon her +cheeks, hardly believing they were shed +for them.</p> + +<p>‘Missy feeling ill?’ ‘Missy like a +little wine?’ ‘I go calling Massa to see +Missy?’</p> + +<p>‘No! No! What are you talking +about? I am as well as possible!’ cried +Liz, hastily brushing her tears away. ‘I +was only thinking.’</p> + +<p>‘Ah, Missy,’ said one poor mother, regarding +an attenuated morsel of humanity +which lay just breathing and no more +across her lap, ‘I thinkin’ my little +Sambo never run about again!’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>‘Don’t lose heart, Chrissie,’ replied Liz, +in her grave, sweet voice, as she knelt +down and laid her hand on the baby’s +forehead. ‘He is very weak, poor little +fellow, but so long as he can eat, there is +hope for him. I will change his medicine, +and perhaps we shall have the rain by +to-morrow. A few cool nights would +set him up again.’</p> + +<p>‘Ah! Missy very good to say so, but +we shall have plenty more weeks hot +weather yet. Poor little Sambo under +ground before the rain sets in.’</p> + +<p>‘And my poor girl can’t stand no ways!’ +cried another; ‘and Rosa’s boy die this +afternoon.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, what can I do—what can I do +for you all?’ exclaimed Liz, with her +hands to her head.</p> + +<p>At this moment, the group in the Doctor’s +bungalow was augmented by a fresh<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span> +arrival. This was Rosa, the yellow girl, +who rushed in like a whirlwind, with her +dead child in her arms. Liz had taken an +interest in this girl, but it was one which +Rosa strongly resented. Her child was +born out of wedlock, and the gentle remonstrances +on her conduct which the +Doctor’s daughter had urged upon her, had +been taken by the uneducated creature as +an insult rather than a kindness. Her +poor little dead Carlo had been tended +as carefully as any of Liz’s other +patients, but the bereaved mother chose +to think it otherwise, as she burst in +upon them.</p> + +<p>‘He is <i>dead</i>!’ she cried frantically, as +she almost flung the body upon the table. +‘And now, perhaps you will be satisfied, +Miss Lizzy. Now you will be glad to +think there is one bastard child less on my +massa’s plantation, and that I have nothing—nothing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span> +left to remind me of my lover +who has sailed away to America.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, Rosa! how can you so misjudge +me?’ said Liz, as she put one arm round +the weeping girl. But Rosa flung it off.</p> + +<p>‘It is true!’ she exclaimed fiercely; +‘you said he had better never have been +born, and now you have taken no trouble +to keep him in this world. I suppose you +thought it would be a right punishment +for my sin. But I hate you—and the +punishment shall come back on your own +head! I hope I shall live to see the +day when you shall weep as I weep, +and have nothing left you but the burden +of the shame.’</p> + +<p>‘Rosa, you are not yourself! You do +not know what you are saying,’ replied +Lizzy calmly. ‘It is God Who has taken +your baby to Himself, and neither I nor +any one could have kept him here. Try<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span> +and think of it like that, Rosa. Think +of little Carlo, happy and well for ever +in the gardens of heaven, and you +will not speak so wildly and bitterly +again.’</p> + +<p>‘I shall! I shall!’ cried the girl, in the +same tone, as she seized the body again +and strained it in her arms; ‘and I shall +never feel satisfied, Missy Liz, till you +suffer as I have done.’</p> + +<p>And with that she rushed out again into +the darkness.</p> + +<p>Liz leant against the table, and trembled. +These were the things that had the power +to upset her. To toil for these people +early and late; to be at their beck and +call whenever they chose to summons +her; to lie awake at night thinking of +the best means to relieve their trouble, +and then to meet with ingratitude and +reproaches. It did indeed seem hard!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span> +But it did not make her voice less +sweet whilst addressing the others. The +room in which they were assembled +was long and narrow—the only sitting-room +in the bungalow—and furnished +with severe simplicity. The matted floor, +the cane chairs, and plain unvarnished +table, all told of a life of labour rather +than of luxury, and except for Liz +Fellows’ desk and workbox, and a few +books which lay scattered about, it contained +few traces of occupation. Yet +it was the very absence of such things +that proved the inmates of the cottage +were too busy to think of much beyond +their profession. A large cupboard, with +a window in it, at the end of the apartment, +served as a surgery, and there Liz +soon turned to mix the febrifuges and +tonics required by her patients. As she +did so, she was greeted by a newcomer.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span>‘Hullo! Miss Fellows, as busy as +usual, I suppose, and no time even to +bid a poor mariner welcome.’</p> + +<p>Liz turned at the sound of the cheery +voice, with her welcome ready in her +eyes.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, Captain Norris! Are you back +again already? When did you arrive?’</p> + +<p>The stranger’s face fell.</p> + +<p>‘<i>Back again already!</i> And I’ve been +absent from San Diego for at least six +months, and thinking they felt like six +years! When did I arrive? Why, this +evening! The “Trevelyan” dropped anchor +exactly at six o’clock, and directly I could +get away, I came up to see you.’</p> + +<p>‘It is very good of you, and my father +will be delighted to see you. I expect +him in every minute. Sit down, Captain +Norris, whilst I mix the medicines for +these poor women, who are anxious to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span> +get to their homes again, and then I will +hear all your news.’</p> + +<p>She looked so cool and collected as, +having dismissed her patients, she drew +a chair to the table and sat down beside +him, that Captain Norris did not know +where to begin. He was a fine handsome +young man, with dark eyes and +hair; the skipper of a merchant vessel, +and every inch a sailor; and he was very +much in love with Lizzie Fellows. He +carried several neatly tied up parcels in +his hands, but he was too nervous to +allude to them at once.</p> + +<p>‘I am sorry to find you have fever +in the island,’ he said, by way of a commencement.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, it is terrible—a regular plague!’ +replied Lizzie; ‘and though my father +has worked early and late amongst the +negroes, we have lost patients by the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span> +dozen. It is sickening to hear of the +numbers of deaths, and to witness +the trouble;—enough to break one’s +heart.’</p> + +<p>‘But you keep well?’ he inquired +anxiously.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, yes! Nothing ever ails me! +I have too much to do, and no time to +be ill. But I am very sad, and somewhat +disheartened.’</p> + +<p>‘Mr Courtney must have experienced +a great loss.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes! His plantation is sadly thinned, +but the deaths have been chiefly amongst +the children. Mr Courtney is very good +to them, and spares no expense to provide +them with comforts. It is no one’s +fault. It is the will of God, and we +must wait patiently till He removes the +scourge. But there is great distress, and +even starvation, amongst the native population<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span> +in other parts of the island, and +some degree of insubordination.’</p> + +<p>‘And how is Mr Courtney’s beautiful +daughter?’</p> + +<p>‘Maraquita! She is not ill, but she +has been very languid lately, which we +attribute to the heat. But I have not +seen so much of her during the last few +months. I suppose she is too gay to +have any time to spare for us.’</p> + +<p>‘And Henri de Courcelles! Is he still +the overseer at Beauregard?’ demanded +Captain Norris, after a short pause.</p> + +<p>Liz coloured.</p> + +<p>‘Yes! Why should he not be so? Mr +Courtney has every trust and confidence +in him.’</p> + +<p>‘So much the worse, I think, for Mr +Courtney.’</p> + +<p>She fired up directly.</p> + +<p>‘Captain Norris, you have no right to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span> +make such an insinuation! What do you +know against Monsieur de Courcelles? +It is unworthy of you to try and set his +friends against him, behind his back.’</p> + +<p>‘I am sorry if you think so, Miss +Fellows; I hoped that you might not be +so intimate with De Courcelles as you +used to be. But let us talk of something +else. How is your father?’</p> + +<p>‘Much the same as usual, Captain +Norris. Father is never very lively, as +you know. Sometimes I fancy this +climate must disagree with him, he is so +silent and depressed; but he has always +been the same, and he strenuously denies +any feeling of illness.’</p> + +<p>‘It is a dull life that you lead here with +him, Liz.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t say that! A useful life can never +be dull, and I have many pleasures beside.’</p> + +<p>‘But you would like to see a little more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> +of the world, would you not? You would +like to visit your native country, England, +and make the acquaintance of your relations?’</p> + +<p>Liz looked at him wistfully.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t think I should, at least under +present circumstances. I am afraid the +pain of leaving San Diego, and all those +whom I have known from childhood, +would out-balance the pleasure of seeing +fresh people and places. I have known +no other home than San Diego, Captain +Norris, and I don’t think I could bear to +leave the—the plantation.’</p> + +<p>He did not answer her, but commenced, +somewhat nervously, to undo the packages +he held. As their contents came to view, +Liz saw spread before her on the table +a handsome morocco desk, a photographic +album, and a complete set of silver ornaments.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span>‘Oh, how beautiful!’ she could not help +exclaiming.</p> + +<p>‘They are for you,’ said her companion +brusquely; ‘I brought them from England +expressly for you.’</p> + +<p>‘<i>For me!</i>’ repeated Liz wonderingly. +‘Oh, Captain Norris, how very good it +is of you! Whatever made you think of +<i>me</i>?’</p> + +<p>He seized the hand which was feeling +the soft texture of the desk.</p> + +<p>‘I do not know, I cannot tell you, but +it is the truth, Liz, that wherever I am, I +always think of you. All the time that +I have been away, your face and the +sound of your voice has haunted me, and +prevented my being charmed by any other +woman. I love you as I have never +loved before—as I never shall love again, +because I shall never meet another woman +so worthy of my love and my esteem.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>‘Oh, Captain Norris, pray don’t talk +to me like that! You are mistaken; I am +not the good woman you take me for.’</p> + +<p>‘I must talk, and you must hear me to +the end, Liz! I wanted to say all this +to you last time I was in San Diego, but +a grave doubt prevented me. But now +I have come back to find you free, and +I cannot hold my tongue any longer. I +am not a boy, to be uncertain of my +feelings. I am a man and my own +master, and making a sufficient income to +keep you in comfort. Be my wife, Liz; +I won’t ask you to marry in a hurry, but +promise you will be my wife some day, +and I will summon up all the patience I +possess, and live on the hope of the +future.’</p> + +<p>‘I cannot,’ she said, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>‘You <i>cannot</i>!’ he echoed; ‘and why?’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t think you should ask me. I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span> +don’t think you have the right to ask me. +But it is impossible. I shall never be +your wife.’</p> + +<p>‘Does any one stand between us?’</p> + +<p>Liz was silent. She would not tell the +truth, and she could not tell a lie. Captain +Norris turned on her almost fiercely in his +keen disappointment.</p> + +<p>‘There does,’ he exclaimed. ‘I know it, +without your speaking, and I know who it +is into the bargain,—the same man who +drove me from San Diego last time +without speaking,—Henri de Courcelles.’</p> + +<p>‘You have no right to make the assertion, +without authority,’ retorted Liz +Fellows; ‘but since you have done so, I +will not stoop to deny it. You are right; +I am engaged to be married to Monsieur +de Courcelles, but the fact is not generally +known, and so I trust you will respect +my confidence.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>Hugh Norris dropped his head upon his +hands.</p> + +<p>‘Engaged,’ he murmured, ‘really and +truly engaged! My God! why did I not +have the courage to speak before?’</p> + +<p>His despair roused her compassion. She +drew nearer, and laid her hand upon his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>‘Indeed, it would have been of no use, +dear friend,’ she said gently; ‘Henri and +I have made up our minds upon this +matter for some time past, and should have +been married long ago, had his position +been a little better assured.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, of course, I stand no chance +against him!’ replied Captain Norris bitterly. +‘Monsieur de Courcelles, with his handsome +face, and dandy dress, galloping +about the plantation on his switch-tailed +mustang, must needs carry everything +before him. But he is not true to you,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span> +Liz, all the same—and sooner or later +you will find it out. If he is engaged to +be married to you, he is a scoundrel, for he +spends half his time at the great house making +love to the planter’s pretty daughter.’</p> + +<p>‘How <i>dare</i> you say so?’ cried Liz, +springing from her chair, and standing +before him with her face all aflame. ‘What +right have you to take away my lover’s +character before me?’</p> + +<p>She had been too bashful to call him by +that name before, but now that she heard +him (as she thought) so cruelly maligned, +she felt he needed the confession of her +love for a protection against his slanderers.</p> + +<p>‘Don’t be angry with me, Liz! don’t +be offended, but I feel I must tell you the +truth, even at the risk of never speaking +to you again. De Courcelles is not worthy +of you. Every one sees it but yourself. +His attentions to Maraquita Courtney<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span> +are the common talk of the town, and +I heard bets passing pretty freely this +evening as to whether the planter would +ever countenance his impudent pretentions +to her hand.’</p> + +<p>‘It is not true,’ repeated Liz, though +her face had turned very pale; ‘but if it +were, I know no reason why Mr Courtney +should object to Henri as a son-in-law.’</p> + +<p>‘You are wilfully blind to the fact then +that he has black blood in his veins.’</p> + +<p>Liz flushed crimson. How impossible +it seems, under the most favourable circumstances, +completely to overcome the +natural prejudice against the mixture of +blood; but she was true to her colours.</p> + +<p>‘I know more about him than you can +tell me, Captain Norris! I know that his +father was French and his mother a Spanish +Creole. But it makes no difference to me. +If he were all black, he is the man <i>I love</i>,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span> +and I will not stand by quietly and hear +him defamed.’</p> + +<p>‘Who defamed him, Miss Fellows? I +merely stated the general opinion as to +De Courcelles’ chances of winning Miss +Courtney, though whether he succeeds or +not is a matter of the most perfect indifference +to me. But with regard to yourself, +it is a different matter. I may be strong +enough to bear my own disappointment, +but I will not see you throw your happiness +away without making an effort to +save you. Oh, Liz, my darling,’ cried +Hugh Norris, forgetting himself in his +anxiety for her, ‘throw this man over, +for Heaven’s sake, or you will rue it your +whole life long!’</p> + +<p>‘Your advice has somewhat lost its +effect from what preceded it,’ replied Liz +coldly, ‘and I must request you to spare +it me in the future, Captain Norris. I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span> +also am old enough to know my own +mind, and my friends from my enemies. +I am very sorry that you came here to-night—still +more so that you should have +presumed to speak as you have done. I +should have liked to keep you as a friend, +but you have made that impossible. +Please to relieve me of your presence, and +let me quit the room until you are gone.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, I will go—sharp enough!’ said +Captain Norris, as he rose from his chair +and walked towards the door. ‘You shall +not ask me to leave you twice, Liz.’</p> + +<p>‘Stay!’ cried the girl impetuously. +‘You have forgotten your presents. Take +them with you.’</p> + +<p>‘Won’t you even keep the poor things +I have carried so far for you?’ he asked +her humbly.</p> + +<p>‘Keep them!’ she echoed scornfully. +‘Keep a reminder always before me of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span> +the man who maligned my dearest friend +to me? What do you take me for? No! If +you have any wish left that I should forget +this evening, and the pain you have caused +me, take your presents away with you.’</p> + +<p>‘You set me a humbling task,’ said +Hugh Norris, as he collected his despised +gifts and repacked them in their papers. +‘But I will obey you. I would rather +throw them into the swamp, than leave +them here to annoy you. Only remember, +Liz, that <i>I love you</i>, and that when the day +comes (as it <i>will</i> come) when your other +lover forsakes you, I will prove what I say.’</p> + +<p>He went then without another word, +though as he turned his eyes towards her +for a farewell look, Liz saw a misty light +beaming in them, which did not make her +feel as triumphant as she thought she +should have done to have gained the +victory over him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>She was still standing by the table +where he had left her, feeling hot and +cold by turns, as she pondered over the +rumour he had repeated, when a hasty +footstep passed over the threshold, and +Henri de Courcelles stood before her.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i028.jpg" alt=""></div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i029a.jpg" alt=""></div> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER II.</h2> +</div> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i029b.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="B"> +</div> + +<p><span class="drop-cap">B</span>EFORE she turned her head to +greet him, Liz knew <i>who</i> had +entered the bungalow. The +marvellous instinct of love made her <i>feel</i> +his presence, before she perceived it, and +this instinct, common to all human nature, +was deeply engrafted in that of Liz Fellows. +She had a heart that not only wound +itself round that of those she loved but +entered into it, and made its home there, +and she loved Henri de Courcelles with +all the strength and passion of which she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span> +was capable. Their attachment had commenced +more than a year before, when she +and her father had brought De Courcelles +through a dangerous illness, and Liz had +nursed him into convalescence with the +tenderest care, and the young man had +rewarded her devotion with a confession +of love, which she believed to be as genuine +as her own. Before he rose from his +bed of sickness Henri de Courcelles had +pledged himself to marry Liz Fellows, and +at the time perhaps had honestly wished +to do so. But there were obstacles in the +way of an immediate union, and the engagement +had never been publicly announced. +Henri de Courcelles was a man +whose personal appearance would have +proved sufficient justification in most +women’s eyes for Liz’s excessive love for +him. From his French father he had +inherited a strength of limb and muscle,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span> +and a symmetry of proportion, which is not +common amongst tropical nations, whilst +his beautiful Creole mother had given him +her Spanish eyes and colouring, with a +little trace—though too slight to be offensive—of +her African blood. Taken altogether, +Henri de Courcelles was a very handsome +and athletic young fellow, and with an +easy grace about his bearing and mode +of expressing himself that made him very +fascinating. That his visits to her father’s +bungalow had been shorter and less frequent +of late had never struck Liz as remarkable +until Captain Norris had drawn +her attention to the probable reason.</p> + +<p>She was not of a jealous temperament, +and where we love and fear to lose, we will +hatch up any excuse to lull our doubts to +rest, sooner than wrong the creature on +whom all our hopes are fixed. Besides, +Liz was too busy a woman to spend<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span> +her days sighing over an absent lover. +When she was not mixing and dispensing +medicines, or visiting her patients, or reading +the medical works recommended by +her father, she had her household affairs +to look after, or needlework to do, and +oftener longed for more time than for less. +And De Courcelles was a busy man also. +She would hardly have liked him if he +had not been so. He was overseer on the +coffee plantation of the rich planter Mr +Courtney, on whose estate Dr Fellows +lived, and had the complete control and +<i>surveillance</i> of the negro population. It +made Liz’s heart grieve sometimes to +hear the coolies complain of his harshness +and severity. She did not believe in her +heart that Henri <i>could</i> be unjust to any +one and thought the negroes only wished +to escape the punishments they had incurred—still +she could not help wishing,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span> +with a sigh, that he had the power to +control them without punishment. But +of course <i>he</i> could not be in the wrong—not +entirely, that is to say. As she recognised +his footstep on the present occasion, +and all the painful doubt she was +experiencing fled like magic before the +pleasure of his presence, any one with a +knowledge of physiognomy could have +read how the woman loved him. Her +pale face flushed with expectation—her +quiet eyes glowed with fire—her whole +frame trembled in acknowledgment of the +man’s supremacy over her. But as he +advanced to the centre of the room and +she could discern his features, Liz started +with concern.</p> + +<p>‘Henri! what is the matter? Are you +ill?’</p> + +<p>‘Ill! No,’ he answered pettishly, as he +flung himself into a chair. ‘You are so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span> +mixed up with your pills and potions, Liz, +that you can never imagine any other +cause for a man’s moods than illness. I’m +right enough. What should ail me?’</p> + +<p>‘Ah! this dreadful fever, Henri. Forgive +me if I am nervous for the safety of +you and all whom I love. It strikes down +its victims like a plague, and its terrible +rapidity frightens me. It makes one feel +so helpless. Sometimes it takes but a few +hours to carry off its victims. I have been +at three deathbeds to-day. It is enough +to make a woman tremble at the least +symptom of illness in her own people. +And the epidemic seems to be on the +increase. Nothing that my father does +seems to stop it.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, try and find some livelier topic +of conversation, Liz, for mercy’s sake. It’s +enough to give any fellow the blues to hear +you talk. I wish to goodness you followed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span> +some other calling, or rather none at all; +but since it is unavoidable, spare me the +nauseous details. I have enough worries +of my own without discussing your professional +difficulties.’</p> + +<p>Her sympathy was roused at once.</p> + +<p>‘What worries, dear? Tell me of them. +Can I do nothing to help you out of them?’</p> + +<p>He coloured slightly under his dark skin +as he stretched himself and said,—</p> + +<p>‘Nothing—nothing. They are matters +of a purely private nature. But you know +how I detest the coloured people, Liz. It +is sufficiently annoying to me to be employed +amongst the brutes all day long, +without having to listen to a story of their +grievances when my work is over. I come +here for rest, not to talk about niggers.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, I know, Henri, and it makes me +happy to hear you say that you expect to +find rest with me. But if you saw them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span> +suffer as I do, you could not fail to feel for +them. Have you been very busy lately?’</p> + +<p>‘Pretty well. Why do you ask?’</p> + +<p>‘Because it is a week since you have +been at the cottage.’</p> + +<p>‘You must be mistaken. I have called +here several times when you were out. +There’s no finding you at home now-a-days, +Liz.’</p> + +<p>‘I have been very much occupied, I +know,’ she answered quietly, ‘but not so +much so as to make me forget that you +have not been here, Henri.’</p> + +<p>The remembrance of what Captain Norris +had repeated to her recurred to her mind, +and on the spur of the moment she determined +to learn the truth.</p> + +<p>‘You have been a great deal at the +White House, have you not?’ she continued.</p> + +<p>He flushed again, and turned uneasily<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span> +in his chair, so as to avoid the straightforward +glance of her eyes.</p> + +<p>‘Why do you ask me that question? I +am at the White House every morning +with my employer. It is part of my business +to go there.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t mean at Mr Courtney’s office, +Henri. I meant that you are a great deal +with Mrs Courtney and Maraquita—at +least I have been told so.’</p> + +<p>‘I am much obliged to whoever was kind +enough to interest himself in my private +affairs. Am I indebted to your old flame +Captain Norris for spreading untruths about +me? I met him skulking round the bungalow +as I came along this evening.’</p> + +<p>‘Captain Norris does not <i>skulk</i>’, replied +Liz quickly. ‘He has no need to do so. +Neither is he a “flame” of mine, and you +ought to know me better than to say so, +Henri.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span>‘Well, it looks like it, when you take +up the cudgels so warmly in his defence. +However, we’ll let that drop. What has +he been telling you against me?’</p> + +<p>‘Nothing—or at least nothing of his own +accord. He only repeated the common +rumour—that you are a great deal in the +society of Maraquita, and that—that people +are talking about it.’</p> + +<p>She stood for a few moments after that, +expecting to hear an indignant denial from +his lips, but De Courcelles was silent.</p> + +<p>‘Henri,’ she continued softly, turning a +very pale face towards him, ‘it is not <i>true</i>?’</p> + +<p>‘What is not true?’ he inquired brusquely.</p> + +<p>‘That—that you are tired of me, and +making love to Maraquita Courtney.’</p> + +<p>‘Of course it isn’t true; it’s a d—d lie, +and the next time I meet that Norris, I’ll +break every bone in his body for saying so.’</p> + +<p>She was all penitence for having suspected<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span> +his fidelity in a moment. She +flung herself on her knees beside his +chair, and threw one arm around his +shoulders.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, Henri! forgive me for having repeated +such a slander, but it hurt me so, I +couldn’t keep it to myself. But it was not +Captain Norris’s fault. He only told me +what he had heard in the town. He did +not think, perhaps, that it was of so much +consequence to me. And I know that you +<i>are</i> very intimate at the White House; +more so even than I am.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, Mrs Courtney is very civil to me, +and I can hardly refuse her hospitality, on +the plea that I am engaged to be married, +can I?’</p> + +<p>‘No! No! of course not. But still—though +I am <i>sure</i> that you are true to me,’ +cried the woman, fighting against her own +horrible suspicions (for why should you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span> +have asked me to marry you, unless you +loved me?) still, Maraquita is very lovely, +and she <i>likes</i> you, Henri, I am certain +of that. No! don’t interrupt me! Let +me say all I have to say to the end, and +then perhaps I shall forget it. You see, +dear, I—I am not beautiful (how I +wish, for <i>your</i> sake, that I were), and there +is nothing in me worthy of your affection, +except my love! And I have seen something +of men in my lifetime, and I can +understand something of their temptations. +Quita has been a flirt from a little child. +Who should know it better than myself, +who have been like a sister to her from +her birth? I was only five years old +when my father brought me to live at +Beauregard, and Quita was not born +for two years after that. I remember so +well the first visit I paid to the White +House to see the wonderful new baby, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span> +how proud I was when old Jessica let me +hold her in my arms—’</p> + +<p>‘Stop!’ exclaimed De Courcelles authoritatively. +‘What has all this to do with +me? I have no interest in these details +about Miss Courtney’s birth.’</p> + +<p>‘I only mentioned it to show you how +well I must know Maraquita’s character. +We have grown up together, Henri, and +I can almost read her thoughts. She likes +you more than a friend, and when I heard +the rumours about you, I felt as if I could +have no chance against her.’</p> + +<p>Henri de Courcelles had risen from his +seat during her last words, almost shaking +off her caressing hand in his impatience, +and stood beside her, white and angry.</p> + +<p>‘I will hear no more of this nonsense,’ +he cried; ‘I have told you already it is +a lie, and you insult me by repeating it. +Miss Courtney and I are nothing to each<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span> +other, and it will ruin me with my employer +if this absurd report gains ground. I shall +get kicked out of Beauregard for nothing +at all, and then all chance of our marriage +will be at an end, and I shall probably +have to leave San Diego.’</p> + +<p>‘It will not gain ground through <i>my</i> +means, and I am only too glad to know +that it is not true,’ replied Liz, rising to +her feet also.</p> + +<p>She would have liked him to have put +his arms round her and assured her with a +kiss it was all an error, but she was too +proud to show the blank disappointment +that crept over her. Henri had denied +the scandal, and she was bound to believe +him, but still she was not satisfied, though +she could hardly have given a reason +for it.</p> + +<p>‘Of course—of course—I <i>knew</i> it was +not true,’ she repeated, in a quivering voice,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span> +as she tried to persuade herself that all was +right between them. ‘For once you <i>promised</i> +me—do you remember it, Henri?—that +if any one ever came between us, you +would let me know, so that at any rate I +should retain your confidence, even if I +lost your love.’</p> + +<p>‘You harp so much on the question of +losing my love,’ he replied angrily, ‘that +you make me think you have no further +use for it.’</p> + +<p>Liz looked bewildered.</p> + +<p>‘Oh! what have I said to make you +speak like that?’ she exclaimed. ‘When +have I let you think that I was weary of +you—we who have agreed to pass our +lives together? Oh, Henri! is it my +fault? Has this misunderstanding sprung +from my apparent coldness? If so—forgive +me! For indeed—<i>indeed</i>—’ continued +Liz earnestly—all her reticence<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span> +vanishing before the fear of offending her +lover, ‘I am not cold. I have so much +important work to do, and serious things +to think of, that I am afraid sometimes to +let my thoughts dwell too much on our +affection, lest I should not keep my mind +clear. But that is not indifference. It is +too much love,’ she said, in a faltering +voice.</p> + +<p>‘I have never doubted your love,’ replied +De Courcelles, softened by the sound +of her tearful voice, ‘and I don’t want you +to doubt mine, and especially not to listen +to tales that have no foundation, and are +calculated to injure my reputation. Maraquita +Courtney is nothing to me, and never +has been, and never will be. You may +take my word for that!’</p> + +<p>‘Will you swear it?’ cried Liz eagerly.</p> + +<p>He hesitated a moment, and then he +said,—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>‘Yes, I swear it by the God Who made +us both!’</p> + +<p>The woman dropped down into her chair +again, and burst into a flood of hysterical +tears.</p> + +<p>‘Oh! I <i>felt</i> it! I <i>knew</i> it!’ she exclaimed. +‘I have been so happy in the +possession of your love. I was sure that +Heaven could not be so cruel as to take it +away from me.’</p> + +<p>The young man crossed over to her, and +laid his hand upon her bent head.</p> + +<p>‘No! no!’ he said soothingly. ‘No +one shall take it away. You are not like +yourself to-night, Liz. Where is all your +courage gone to? You, who can stand +by quietly and see an operation performed, +or a patient die, who are the coolest and +most collected woman I have ever met +with. Why! I don’t <i>know</i> you in this +new character.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>‘I <i>have</i> no courage where you are concerned,’ +she answered passionately, as she +looked up and met the glance of his dark +eyes. ‘You are my life, Henri, and everything +that is best in me, would die without +you.’</p> + +<p>He winced a little as she spoke, but he +professed to laugh at her vehemence.</p> + +<p>‘It will not be my fault if you are ever +put to the test, Liz. How often have I +told you that my life belongs to you, since, +without your skill and care, I should have +lost it. Come, kiss me, and forget what +has passed between us. It is all the fault +of that meddling fellow Norris. I wish he +had been farther before he made mischief +between us.’</p> + +<p>‘No one has the power to make mischief +between us,’ said Liz, smiling through her +tears. ‘I am quite happy again now, and +am only sorry my foolish jealousy should<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span> +have betrayed me into making such a +scene. And, to prove it, let us talk of +Quita, Henri. I was wanting to see you, +just to ask after her.’</p> + +<p>‘Can’t we find some pleasanter topic of +conversation, Liz? Besides, you know +more of Miss Courtney than I could tell +you.’</p> + +<p>‘No! That is just where it is. I have +hardly seen anything of her since the fever +broke out. Father is not quite certain +whether it is contagious or not, and whilst +there is a doubt, he thinks it better I +should keep away from the White House. +But old Jessica says that Quita is not +looking at all well, and she is afraid there +is something serious the matter with her.’</p> + +<p>De Courcelles fired up again directly.</p> + +<p>‘Curse the old fool! What business +is it of hers how she looks! It’s this +infernal tittle-tattle from house to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span> +house, that makes all the mischief in the +world.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, Henri! You forget Jessica was +Quita’s nurse. Why, she loves her like +her own child, and she says she has been +very depressed lately, and is often crying. +What should make her cry, Henri? Has +she any trouble?’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t ask me! How should I know?’ +he answered roughly. ‘Miss Courtney is +not likely to confide her troubles to her +father’s overseer. But I see no difference +in her.’</p> + +<p>‘Perhaps it is only Jessica’s anxiety,’ +said Liz thoughtfully. ‘But I am always +dreaming of this fever, and Maraquita is +too delicate to battle against it. I wish +Mr Courtney would send her out of the +island until it is dispersed.’</p> + +<p>‘You don’t think of going yourself, +though.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>‘<i>I!</i> Oh, dear no! I <i>should</i> be a +coward to run away from these poor +people when I can be of use to them. +But Maraquita is different. She has nothing +to do but to think of the trouble +and brood over it, and she is easily +alarmed. She would be much better +away.’</p> + +<p>‘I suppose if her parents thought so +they would send her. They have sufficient +money to do anything. But we +have discussed the subject enough, Liz, +and I am weary of it. Where is your +father?’</p> + +<p>‘Here he is,’ replied Liz, in a brisk and +cheerful tone, as Dr Fellows entered the +bungalow.</p> + +<p>Whatever her own doubts and imaginings, +she was always cheerful before her +father, for he seemed to carry a weight +through life that would break him down,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span> +unless sustained by his daughter’s strength +of mind.</p> + +<p>Dr Fellows was a man of about fifty +years of age, but he looked older. His +figure was bent and attenuated, his hair +nearly white, his features lined with care +and yellow from ill-health. No one to +see them together could have believed +him to be the father of the healthy and +finely-formed young woman who advanced +to meet him. The frank, ingenuous expression +on his daughter’s face contrasted +pleasantly with his reserved and somewhat +morose physiognomy. He hardly smiled +as she took his broad-brimmed Panama +hat and stick from him, and kissed him +on the forehead. The doctor was dressed +in a complete suit of white nankeen, and +his face was scarcely less white than his +clothes.</p> + +<p>‘You look very tired, father!’ exclaimed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span> +Liz. ‘Have you been far from the plantation +to-night, and are there any fresh +cases?’</p> + +<p>‘I walked to the other side of Shanty +Hill, to see a child of Mathy Jones, but +I was too late. The fever had set in with +convulsions, and it was dead before I +arrived. And poor old Ben is gone too, +Liz; Mr Latham’s faithful old servant. +I would have given all I am worth to +save him, but I failed to do so. I think +my right hand must have lost its cunning,’ +said the Doctor, in a tone of deep +depression.</p> + +<p>‘No, no! father! It is nothing of the +sort. You are overtired with your constant +work, or you would not think of such +nonsense. Let me mix you a white wine +sherbet, you seem quite exhausted. And +here is Henri, so talk of something else, +and divert your thoughts.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>‘How are you, Monsieur de Courcelles? +We have not seen much of you lately,’ +said Dr Fellows languidly.</p> + +<p>The indifference with which he spoke, +showed that he did not care much for his +intended son-in-law. Indeed, excepting +that he believed his daughter to possess +a much clearer and more practical head +than his own, he never would have sanctioned +the engagement. But Lizzie loved +him, so the Doctor argued—and believed +in him, and therefore it must be all right. +Lizzie was too sensible to make a mistake +about it. The Doctor forgot, or was +ignorant of the fact, that the cleverest +women often make the greatest fools of +themselves where their hearts are concerned, +and their vivid imaginations make +them believe those they love to be all +they could wish them. The handsome, +<i>nonchalant</i> young Frenchman did not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span> +appear much better pleased to meet Dr +Fellows than he did to see him, but he +considered it worth his while to refute +his assertion.</p> + +<p>‘That has been your fault more than +mine,’ he replied airily. ‘I was just telling +your daughter that I have made several +attempts to find you at home, without +success. My time is not my own, you +know, any more than yours.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, if Liz is satisfied, I am sure <i>I</i> +am!’ retorted Dr Fellows.</p> + +<p>‘It is all right, father, Henri and I perfectly +understand each other,’ interposed +his daughter cheerfully. ‘But had you not +better go and lie down, father? I don’t +like that heavy look in your eyes; and you +may be called up again at any hour of the +night. Do take some rest whilst you can.’</p> + +<p>‘You are right, my dear,’ replied the +Doctor, staggering to his feet; ‘I really<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span> +want rest. But you will go to bed, too, +Lizzie. You will not sit up too late with +Monsieur de Courcelles?’</p> + +<p>‘There is no fear of that, for I am going +at once,’ said the young man, as he rose +to his feet. ‘Good-night, Doctor; good-night, +Liz. I shall look in upon you +again to-morrow.’</p> + +<p>He nodded to each of them as he passed +out into the night air, and Liz looked after +his handsome lithe figure, as it disappeared +behind the clump of mango trees, with a +sigh of love and regret. But there was +nothing but affectionate solicitude patent +in her manner as she proffered her arm +to support her father to his room.</p> + +<p>‘Father, you are trembling like a leaf. +I think I shall give you a little quinine. +By the way, have you heard any news +from the White House to-day? Are they +all well?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>‘I trust so. I have heard nothing to the +contrary; and I saw Mr Courtney as usual +this morning. What makes you ask me, +my dear?’</p> + +<p>‘Because Jessica said that Maraquita +looked ill.’</p> + +<p>‘It can be nothing serious, or I should +have heard of it. Probably the effects of +this intense heat, and the unhealthy state +of the atmosphere. But they are well +provided with disinfectants at the White +House, and Mr Courtney will not permit +his wife or daughter to enter the plantation. +They always drive on the other +side of the island.’</p> + +<p>‘That accounts for my not having seen +either of them for so long,’ said Lizzie, as +she left her father to lie down, dressed +as he was, and try to gain a much-needed +repose.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i056a.jpg" alt=""></div> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER III.</h2> +</div> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i056b.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="A"> +</div> + +<p><span class="drop-cap">A</span>S she re-entered the sitting-room, +she passed at once to the entrance +which led on to the verandah. +All the windows were wide open, and the +shaded lamp upon the table, round which +myriads of insects were hovering, conveyed +no heat to the apartment, yet it seemed to +stifle her for want of air. Her head and +her heart seemed both on fire, and she could +recall nothing of the events of the evening, +except that Henri had denied he was untrue +to her, and yet had left without giving her +any proof of his fidelity. The world seemed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span> +to be crumbling beneath her feet as she +stepped out of the open door, and lifted up +her face to the star-spangled sky. How +calm and peaceful and steadfast it appeared! +What a contrast to her own turbulent spirit, +and how she longed to be at peace also—anywhere, +anyhow, only <i>at peace</i>!</p> + +<p>Liz was passing through the cruellest +phase of a disappointment in love—when +merciless doubt obtrudes its fang into the +heart, and poisons the whole being. How +we despise and hate ourselves for doubting, +and yet how painfully we go into the +minutiæ of our loathsome suspicion, and +dissect every reason that forbids our casting +it from us!</p> + +<p>Liz felt as if she dared not think about +it. As she recalled De Courcelles’ words +and manner that evening, she saw that he +had not said or done a single thing calculated +to set her mind at rest. Except the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> +solemn oath which he had sworn, and +somehow, though she loved him, Liz derived +no comfort from remembering that +oath, and even wished he had not taken it. +That he might not have deserted her for the +sake of Maraquita Courtney was true—as +he had attested it, she was bound to believe +it was true—but he was changed to herself. +All the oaths sworn under heaven +could not disabuse her mind of <i>that</i> idea; +and if he were false, what did it signify to +her <i>who</i> occupied the place which she had +lost? The brave woman who could set a +broken limb, or lance an abscess without +wincing, shook like an aspen leaf at the +prospect of losing her handsome lover. Her +love was so knit to him, that she believed +she could never disentangle it, but would +have to live on, with her live warm heart +beating against his dead cold one, until +death came to release them. That is the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span> +worst of finding out the unworthiness of +those whom we have believed in,—we +cannot all at once tear our hearts away, +and we despise ourselves for being so +weak as to let them bleed to death by +inches, instead of freeing them with one +wrench.</p> + +<p>Liz was ready to despise herself as she +walked a little way from the bungalow. +It stood in the centre of the coffee plantation, +but a considerable space round it had +been set with ornamental shrubs and trees. +The glossy-leaved creamy-white magnolias, +with their golden centres, shed +their powerful perfume on the night air, +and a clump of orange trees in full blossom +mingled their scent with the magnolia. +The night-blowing cistus and the trumpet +flowers wound themselves up the supports +of the verandah; the insects, with many +a birr-r and whiz-z, disported themselves<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span> +in the lemon grass, and from the covert of +the plantation came low-toned murmurs +from the sleepy love-birds, or the shrill cry +of a green parrot startled from its bower of +bud and blossom. Liz lifted her heated +face to heaven, as though she would draw +inspiration from its majestic calm.</p> + +<p>Far off, from the cluster of negroes’ huts, +which bordered the property, she could +distinguish the crooning wails of the +mourners, preparing their dead for burial +at sunrise, and her heart bled for the poor +black mothers who had been compelled to +part with the babies at their breast. Death +and sorrow seemed to surround her, and +her spirits sunk down to their lowest ebb. +The stillness was intense. It was a night +when one seemed lifted up from this lower +earth, and capable of holding communion +with the Unseen.</p> + +<p>But absorbed as Liz Fellows was in her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> +own trouble, she was startled after a while +by the sound of a low faint moan that +came from the surrounding thicket. Her +first idea was that it proceeded from +Rosa mourning over her dead child—poor +wild Rosa, who was so heedless as +to be almost half-witted, and who had +fallen a ready prey to some loafing young +sailor who had spent a few days near +the plantation. Liz had felt deeply interested +in this girl. She had been +shocked and horrified to find she had +so little sense of decency or respect for +her womanhood as to succumb to the +first temptation offered her, but she had +not slighted nor reproached the girl in +consequence. Such things were common +enough amongst the coolies. It was not +Liz’s vocation to preach but to console. +She had indeed, whilst watching over +Rosa and her baby, tried to convince<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> +her of the wrong she had committed, +both to her child and herself, but the +yellow girl had paid no attention to her +words, until the fever had carried off +little Carlo. Then they had come back +upon her mind with double force, and +she had resented them by insulting her +benefactress. But Liz bore no malice. +She was only anxious to console, as far +as possible, the poor bereaved young +mother, and when she heard the low +moans, which she fancied came from +Rosa, she plunged into the thicket whence +they proceeded. She had gone but a few +steps when she came upon a female +figure leaning against the trunk of a +mango tree, as though she had no strength +to proceed further. But the first glance, +even though given in the dusky light, +showed Lizzie that this was no coolie +girl—yellow, or otherwise. The slight<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span> +form was enveloped in a black mantle, +which covered it from head to foot, but +the hood had fallen back, and in the +white face turned up to the moonbeams, +Liz recognised, to her dismay, the features +of Maraquita Courtney.</p> + +<p>‘Quita!’ she exclaimed, rushing forward, +‘my dear Quita, are you ill?’</p> + +<p>But Maraquita shrunk from the kindly +hand which was laid upon her, as if it had +been the sting of a serpent.</p> + +<p>‘Don’t touch me,’ she murmured; ‘I +could not bear it. I don’t want <i>you</i>. I +want—your—your—father.’</p> + +<p>‘My father is at home, dear. He will +see you at once if you wish it. But +why didn’t you send for him, Maraquita, +if you felt ill? Why did you take the +trouble to come down here to see +him?’</p> + +<p>But all the answer Maraquita made<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span> +was to utter another heartrending moan +as she swayed backwards and forwards +with pain.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, my dearest girl, you are really +ill! You must come to the bungalow +at once, and let father prescribe for you. +Lean on me, Maraquita, and let me +support you. Only a few steps farther, +and we shall be there.’</p> + +<p>The girl she spoke to appeared to +have no alternative but to accede to her +request. She leaned heavily on Liz’s +arm, and with many a moan dragged her +feet across the threshold of the Doctor’s +house, where she sank exhausted into a +chair.</p> + +<p>She was a beautiful creature, who had +just attained her eighteenth year. Her +fair-haired English father had imparted +to her a skin of dazzling whiteness, with +a complexion like the heart of a maiden-blush<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span> +rose, and her Spanish mother had +given her eyes dark as the sloe and +soft as velvet, with languishing lids and +curled lashes, and hair of rippling raven. +Maraquita’s form was slight and supple; +her hands and feet small and childlike. +She was in all points a great contrast +to the Doctor’s daughter, who regarded +her as the loveliest girl she had ever +seen. As little children they had been +the most intimate companions and playmates, +Lizzie acting as an elder sister +and protector to the little Maraquita, +who toddled all over the plantation +under her care. When older, too, they +had studied together, or rather Liz had +tried to impart the knowledge she derived +from her father to Quita; but the +latter had never advanced beyond the +rudiments of learning. Her indolent, +half-educated mother, who lounged about<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span> +in a dressing-gown all day, and had no +thoughts beyond her Sunday attire and +her evening drive, considered schooling +quite unnecessary for her beautiful little +daughter, and much preferred to see her +running about the White House in a lace +frock and blue ribbons, with her rosy, +dimpled feet bare, to letting her be +cooped up in the bungalow studying +grammar and geography.</p> + +<p>So Maraquita had grown up to womanhood +about as ignorant as it is possible +for a young lady to be—about also as +vain and foolish as it is possible for a +woman to be. Yet Liz loved her—spite +of it all—for the sake of those early +memories. She had never relinquished +her intimacy with Quita, and when they +met, they were as familiar as of old, +but they did not meet so often as before. +The last two years, during which Miss<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span> +Courtney had been introduced to the +society of San Diego, had much separated +them. The pleasant evenings which they +had been used to spend together, wandering +through the coffee plantation, were +gone for ever. Quita was always engaged +now, either to a dinner, or a ball, or to +go to the theatre with her friends, and +Liz had ceased to expect to see her. +And since the fever had broken out +amongst the coolies, they had never met, +and she was content, for Quita’s sake, that +it should be so. And now to find her +wandering about the plantation at night +and evidently so ill, filled Liz’s breast +with alarm. There was but one solution +of the riddle. Quita had contracted +the fever in its worst form, and had come +to them in her delirium. Liz had no +time to do more than think the thought +before she deposited Quita in a chair and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span> +rushed to wake her father, and summon +him to her relief.</p> + +<p>‘Father,’ she exclaimed hurriedly, as +she roused Dr Fellows from his sleep, +‘I am so sorry to disturb you, but it is +absolutely necessary. Quita is ill—very +ill, and you must come to her at once. +I met her wandering about the grounds, +evidently in great pain, and she says she +wants to see you. I am afraid she is +delirious. Oh, father, do come to her +at once!’</p> + +<p>‘Maraquita <i>here</i>?’ said the Doctor, +as he rose from his bed and prepared +to quit the room. ‘And without her +parents? Impossible.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, father, I am sure she is not in +her right senses, though she is too ill +to speak much. What will Mr and Mrs +Courtney say?’</p> + +<p>‘We must send word to them at once,’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span> +exclaimed the Doctor, as he preceded his +daughter to the sitting-room. But as +soon as he had felt Maraquita’s pulse, +and listened to her moans, the expression +of his face changed from concern to the +deepest dismay. ‘This is much worse +than I anticipated,’ he whispered to his +daughter. ‘We must carry her into +my room at once.’</p> + +<p>‘Dr Fellows,’ cried the sick girl, +as she clutched at his coat sleeve, +‘save me, for God’s sake—save me! +I came to you because you are so +good and kind, but—but—I think I am +dying.’</p> + +<p>‘No! No! my dear! it will be all +right by-and-by,’ replied the Doctor +soothingly; ‘but you must be good now, +and do as I tell you, and you will soon +be well. Liz and I are going to move you +into my bedroom.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>‘And shall I be alone with you?’ she +asked, with scared eyes.</p> + +<p>‘Yes!—<i>quite</i> alone! Now, Lizzie, take +her feet, and I will carry her head and +shoulders, and we’ll have her on the bed +in no time.’</p> + +<p>‘Is it the fever?’ inquired Liz, with a +white face, for she knew that Maraquita’s +constitution was very fragile.</p> + +<p>‘Yes! yes! Now, go and leave us, +and tell this to no one.’</p> + +<p>‘But, father, let me undress her first.’</p> + +<p>‘I wish you to go at once and +leave us alone,’ repeated the Doctor +firmly.</p> + +<p>Liz obeyed her father’s orders at once. +She was too well used to work under +him as an assistant, to dream of disputing +them. But she was very much astonished +to hear him send her away from her +adopted sister’s side.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>‘Shall I run up to the White House +and tell Mr and Mrs Courtney that Quita +is with us, father? They will be terribly +alarmed if they find out she has +gone.’</p> + +<p>‘Go nowhere, and speak to no one,’ replied +Dr Fellows authoritatively. ‘They +are <i>my orders</i>, remember. Remain in the +sitting-room, and let no one enter the +house. When I require you, I will call +you.’</p> + +<p>Liz walked out of the bed-chamber at +once, and left her father with his patient. +She could not understand him this evening, +and his action alarmed as much as it +puzzled her. Maraquita must indeed be +ill, to make him look and speak with such +complete dismay; he who was generally +so cool and self-collected, and who appeared +to look on death, whenever it occurred, +as a kindly note of release from a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span> +very troublesome world. She drew out +her work (for whatever her mental perplexities, +Liz was never idle) and sat +down to sew and practise patience. She +could not help hearing the low moans +that forced their way through the wooden +partitions of the building, and her father’s +soothing tones, but she could gain no +knowledge of what was passing there. +At last, after the space of an hour, +although it had seemed much longer, Dr +Fellows entered the room in which she +sat, and went to his cupboard in search +of some medicine. His daughter looked +up anxiously as he appeared.</p> + +<p>‘Only tell me if she is better,’ she +urged.</p> + +<p>‘She is not better yet,’ replied her +father; ‘but there is every hope she +soon will be.’</p> + +<p>‘Thank Heaven for it! But I cannot<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span> +help thinking of her poor parents. +Perhaps they have discovered her absence, +and are searching the island +for her. It is cruel to keep them in +suspense.’</p> + +<p>‘I think if you look at the matter from +a sensible point of view, Liz, you will see +that <i>when</i> they miss Maraquita, <i>my</i> bungalow +is the first place they will visit. But +I do not think they <i>will</i> miss her, at least +not yet. Meanwhile I want to speak to +you. Can you give me your serious attention?’</p> + +<p>‘Unless Quita should want you,’ replied +Liz, looking anxiously towards the bed-chamber.</p> + +<p>‘She will not do so for some little time, +for I have given her a soothing draught, +and she is asleep; and I can hear the least +sound from where I stand. But it is +necessary you should listen to me.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span>‘I am all attention, father.’</p> + +<p>‘You have spent the best part of your +life in San Diego, Liz; has it ever struck +you as strange that I, an Englishman, and +a certificated doctor, should have chosen to +make my home in this island, and live, +as it were, on the bounty of Edward +Courtney?’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know that I have thought it +<i>strange</i>, father, for you might have had +a thousand reasons for settling in this +beautiful island, but I have felt for +a long time past that you have some +secret trouble, to make you shun +the curiosity or the publicity of the +world.’</p> + +<p>‘You are right, Liz, and you are old +enough now to share that sorrow—or +rather that <i>shame</i>.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh! no, no, father, don’t say <i>that</i>!’ +cried Lizzie, as her work dropped into<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span> +her lap. ‘Whatever it may be, it is not +<i>shame</i>.’</p> + +<p>‘My dear, I cannot conceal the fact +any longer, for without it you will never +understand what I am about to tell you. +The very name we bear, Liz, is not our +own. I was compelled to adopt the +name of Fellows, in order to escape—’</p> + +<p>‘<span class="smcap">What?</span> In Heaven’s name, <span class="allsmcap">WHAT</span>?’ +she exclaimed, clutching at his sleeve.</p> + +<p>‘<i>Transportation</i>,’ replied Dr Fellows, +in a low, strained voice.</p> + +<p>She was about to scream out, to protest +her horror of the disgrace attached +to them,—her indignation that he should +have brought it on their heads,—but +a glance at her father’s pale, pained +face restrained her. In a moment +she realised the awful effort it must +have been for him to confess his +guilt before his daughter, and womanly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span> +compassion took the place of her first +resentment.</p> + +<p>‘My poor father,’ she said, in a low +voice, as she took his hands in hers. +‘My <i>poor</i> father! Surely it was not +deserved. There <i>must</i> have been some +mistake.’</p> + +<p>‘No, Lizzie, there was no mistake. +Since I have told you so far, you must +hear all! I am a forger.’</p> + +<p>She hid her face in her hands then, +for she did not care to look at him, lest +he should read the contempt she felt her +features must express.</p> + +<p>‘This is the secret of the friendship +between me and Mr Courtney. I owe +him more than my life. We were boys +at school together, Liz, and chums at +college, and always the best of friends. +But he was rich—the only son of a +wealthy planter—and I was very poor,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span> +and had nothing to depend on but my wits. +He led me into extravagances which I +was too ready to follow, but whilst he +had the means to defray his debts, I had +no power to do the same by mine. At +last, in an evil moment, to prevent a bill +coming upon my old father which would +have broken up his humble home and +sent him to the workhouse, I forged my +friend Edward Courtney’s name, as a +temporary relief. Before I could make +up the money, the paper fell into his +hands, and he might have ruined me; instead +of which, Liz, he forgave me freely; +but the rumour had got abroad, and I +was a ruined man. I was married, and +set up in a small practice. I lost it all, +and it preyed so on your poor mother’s +mind that when you were born, she +faded out of life, and left me alone with +my disgrace. I took you away from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span> +the place, and tried to establish a practice +in various parts of England without +success—the whispered scandal followed +me everywhere—until Mr Courtney came +into his father’s property, and settled out +in San Diego; then he wrote and begged +me for the sake of our old friendship, to +let the past be forgotten between us, and +to come out here and hold an appointment +on Beauregard as medical overseer +to the plantation. As soon as I could +bring down my pride to accept a benefit +from the man I had so deeply wronged, +I brought you over here, and we have +been dependants on Edward Courtney’s +bounty ever since. Lizzie, what do we +owe the man who has placed us under +such an obligation?’</p> + +<p>‘Our lives, should he require them,’ she +answered, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>She was deeply humiliated by what she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span> +had heard. She had never dreamt that +the evident trouble under which her father +laboured could be the brand of shame. +Her proud independent spirit writhed +under the knowledge that she had been +reared on the bread of charity,—that the +very name she passed by was not her +own, and that the best spirit which she +and her father could claim from their +benefactor, was one of tolerance only. +She could have cried out to Dr Fellows +then and there, to take her away from +the surroundings which had become hateful +to her, because they must evermore +be associated with the bitter story of his +guilt. But she only hung her head, and +spoke in a whisper. Her father had been +sufficiently degraded by having to tell her +such a story, and he had been very good +to her, and it was not his daughter’s part +to add to his suffering. But she threw<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span> +the full depth of its meaning into the +answer she returned him, and he caught +at it eagerly.</p> + +<p>‘You are right, Liz. Our lives, and all +we have, should be at his disposal, in +return for all his goodness to us. You +cannot feel that more deeply than I do. +And now I want to hear you take a solemn +oath to that effect.’</p> + +<p>‘<i>An oath!</i>’ cried Lizzie, startled at the +idea.</p> + +<p>‘Yes! an oath before Almighty God. +Nothing short of it will satisfy me, and +set my mind at rest.’</p> + +<p>‘Ah, father!’ she exclaimed, remembering +another oath which she had heard +that evening, ‘will not my promise do +as well? You know that I would not +dare to break it. It would be as sacred +to me as any oath.’</p> + +<p>‘No, Lizzie—no! I am not asking this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span> +for myself, but for another—for my +friend Edward Courtney, to whom we +owe so much, and nothing short of +an oath will do. Say, “I swear before +Almighty God, and by all my hopes +of salvation, that I will never repeat +what I may see, or hear, or suspect +this night.”’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, father! you frighten me! What +terrible thing is going to happen?’</p> + +<p>‘Are you a child, to be scared by a few +words? If you will not swear it, Lizzie, I +will send you out of the bungalow this +minute, to the house of our next neighbours, +and you shall not return until I +fetch you. But I want your assistance, +and if you will do as I require you, you +can stay and help me.’</p> + +<p>‘For Quita’s sake then, father, “I +swear before Almighty God, and by all +my hopes of salvation, that I will never<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span> +repeat what I may see, or hear, or suspect +this night.”’</p> + +<p>‘That is my brave, good daughter,’ +said the Doctor, as he laid his hand +for a moment on her head, before he +gathered up the medicines he had +selected, and left the room.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i082.jpg" alt=""></div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i083a.jpg" alt=""></div> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IV.</h2> +</div> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i083b.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="L"> +</div> + +<p><span class="drop-cap">L</span>IZ stood where he had left her, +awestruck and bewildered. All +her private trouble of that +evening—the sickening doubts she had +conceived of her lover’s fidelity, and her +fears for Maraquita’s safety—faded before +the humbling truths she had just heard. +<i>This</i>, then, was the solution of the riddle +which had so long puzzled her—the meaning +of her father’s secret anxiety and depression. +He was a criminal, whose crime +was known to the law, and who had only<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> +escaped justice by yielding up his birthright +and hiding on the plantation of his +benefactor, Mr Courtney. It was a <i>very</i> +bitter truth to swallow.</p> + +<p>Liz wondered how much Mrs Courtney +and Maraquita knew of their disgrace, +and what revulsion of feeling it might +not cause in the breast of Henri de +Courcelles. The thought of her lover +caused a sharp pang to Lizzie. What +terrible thing was about to happen in +the future for her with regard to him? +Her father’s revelation had raised a new +barrier between them—one which honour +compelled her to feel could never be +surmounted until she was permitted to +reveal it; and what consequences might +not follow such a confession. As Liz +pondered on the difficulties in her path, +she shivered to hear the keening of the +night breeze as it sighed through the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span> +branches of the coffee trees, and the +far-off wailing which could occasionally +be heard from the negroes’ huts. They +seemed like a requiem over the ashes +of her love and blighted hope.</p> + +<p>The tears were standing on her cheeks +when she was roused from her reverie by +the opening of the door, and her father +stood before her again.</p> + +<p>‘Do you want me?’ she said +quickly.</p> + +<p>Dr Fellows answered her in a tone of +portentous gravity,—</p> + +<p>‘Yes, Liz, though not in the way you +imagine. Set your mind at rest concerning +Maraquita. There is nothing to +be alarmed at about her. But you must +execute a commission at once for me. +You must carry this basket to Mammy +Lila on the Shanty Hill.’</p> + +<p>Liz glanced at the large basket which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span> +her father carried in his hand, with astonishment.</p> + +<p>‘I am to go to the Shanty Hill to-night, +father? Do you know that it is +five miles away, and it is just two o’clock? +Cannot it wait until the morning?’</p> + +<p>‘If it could have waited till the +morning I should not have told you to +take it now,’ replied the Doctor sternly. +‘Have you already forgotten your own +acknowledgment that we owe (if necessary) +our very lives to Edward Courtney.’</p> + +<p>‘But what has this to do with Mr +Courtney?’</p> + +<p>‘Ask no questions, but do as I bid you. +If any one else could do the work as well +as yourself, I should not trouble you, Liz. +But I can trust no one but you. Carry +the basket to Mammy Lila’s hut, and +leave it there. Tell her it comes from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span> +me, and my message to her is “<i>Silence +and secrecy</i>.”’</p> + +<p>‘I will go,’ said Lizzie shortly, as she +took the basket from her father’s hand.</p> + +<p>‘Go by the path that skirts the outer +plantation, and cross the ravine by Dorrian’s +glen; it is the shorter way,’ continued +Dr Fellows; and then suddenly +twisting his daughter round so as to look +into her face, he asked her,—‘Have you +any fear? It is dangerous traversing these +roads by night, and alone. There may +be snakes across the path, or panthers +lurking in the thickets. Are you sure +you are not afraid?’</p> + +<p>The contemptuous curl of Liz’s lip +showed him the futility of the question.</p> + +<p>‘<i>Afraid!</i>’ she echoed. ‘When have +you ever known me afraid yet? Besides, +if this is to be done for <i>Mr Courtney</i>, +my life is at his service.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>‘More than your life, Lizzie—your sacred +honour. Remember your oath, never to +reveal what you may hear, see, or suspect +this night.’</p> + +<p>‘I have not forgotten it,’ said his +daughter briefly, as she threw a mantle +over her shoulders, and left the cottage +with her burden.</p> + +<p>It was with strange feelings that she +set out to accomplish her errand. The +tropical night could hardly be called dark, +for the deep blue firmament was set with +myriads of stars, but the dusky glens +and leafy coverts were full of shadows, +sufficient to mask the unexpected spring +of wild cat or panther, or to conceal the +poisonous asp wriggling through the grass +on which she trod.</p> + +<p>Yet she went bravely on, her only +means of defence a stout stick with +which she stirred the leaves in her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> +path, in order to unearth a hidden +enemy.</p> + +<p>The covered basket she bore was rather +heavy, and she had no knowledge what +it contained. Most women would have +asked the question before they started—many +would have untied and opened it +as soon as they were out of sight. Liz +did neither. A horrible suspicion had +entered her mind, which she was fighting +against with all her might, and it +left no room for idle curiosity. On the +contrary, she dreaded lest some accident +should reveal the contents of the basket +to her. She did not wish to ascertain +them. She felt intuitively that the knowledge +would be the cause of fresh unhappiness. +So she walked rapidly and without +a pause to Shanty Hill, though the five +miles seemed very long without the landmarks +familiar to her by daylight, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span> +her feet were very weary before she got +there.</p> + +<p>Mammy Lila was an old negress who +had acquired some repute as a herbalist, +and was much sought after by the Coolie +population to doctor their children. She +was the <i>sage-femme</i> of Beauregard, and had +helped Liz on many an occasion to usher +the poor little dusky mites of humanity +into a world which waited to welcome +them with stripes and hard work. Mammy +Lila was a seer into the bargain, and +expectant brides and mothers were wont +to go to her to read what fortune lay in +the future for them. She was an old +woman now, and rather infirm, but Dr +Fellows had faith in her good sense and +discretion, as he evinced on this occasion. +The immediate approach to her hut was +up a steep bit of hill, covered with loose +stones, and as Lizzie, weary with mental<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span> +and physical fatigue, toiled up it, she +stumbled against an obstacle in her path, +and shook the basket in her hand, from +which issued in another second the feeble +wailing cry of a new-born infant. Liz +almost dropped the basket in her surprise. +She had feared it, but she had resolved +<i>not</i> to believe it, and now her worst +suspicions were confirmed. She stood +still for a moment, trembling at the +discovery she had made, and then recommenced +almost to <i>run</i> up the rocky +hill, as though she would run from the +horror that assailed her. Panting with +the exertions she had made, and almost +speechless with dismay, she entered the +negress’s hut, white, scared, and hardly +able to express herself. Mammy Lila +was in bed, and had to be roused by +repeated attacks upon her door, and +when she answered the summons she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span> +was scarcely awake enough to understand +what was said to her.</p> + +<p>‘Missy Liz!’ she exclaimed in her surprise; +‘who bad now? Not little Cora, +sure! Dat chile not due for three week +yet.’</p> + +<p>‘No, no, Mammy! I have not come +for that,’ said Lizzie, in a faint voice. +‘The Doctor sent me. He said I was +to give you <i>this</i>,’ placing the basket on +the floor, ‘and to say his message to you +is “<i>Silence and secrecy</i>.”’</p> + +<p>‘Ah! good Doctor know he can trust +Mammy Lila,’ replied the old negress, +as she began to untie the basket +lid. ‘And what is this, Missy Liz—a +baby?’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know—I don’t want to know—don’t +ask me!’ cried Liz Fellows, as she +turned quickly away. ‘Only remember +father’s message, “<i>Silence and secrecy</i>,”’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span> +and with that she ran quickly down the +uneven rocky path again.</p> + +<p>The loose stones rolled away from +under her feet, and hurt them in her +rapid descent, but she cared nothing at +that moment for pain or inconvenience. +All her desire was to get out of sight +and out of hearing, and forget if possible +the horrid task that had been imposed +upon her. Maraquita—whom she had +known from babyhood, and believed to +be so innocent and pure, to have subjected +herself to this penalty of shame. +It seemed too awful and incredible a +thought to be dwelt upon. Liz remembered, +as she ran hurriedly homewards, +how she had blamed poor heedless +Rosa for the same fault,—how sternly +she had reproved the ignorant yellow +girl, who knew no better than to follow +the instincts of her fallen nature, for her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span> +depravity, and told her she ought to +have had more principle, and a better +sense of right and wrong, than to yield +to such a temptation. But Maraquita, +so much beloved, so tenderly watched, +so closely guarded, how could <i>she</i> have +so deceived her friends and lowered herself; +and <i>who</i> could have been so base +as to lead her astray? This discovery, +terribly as it affected Liz, cleared her +lover’s character at once in her eyes; +and even in the midst of her pain, she +could not help breathing a sigh of thankfulness +to think that Henri de Courcelles +was innocent of the charge imputed to +him. He could never have been flirting +with the planter’s daughter whilst she +had conceived a serious affection for +some one else. Liz recalled the fervour +of his oath with secret satisfaction; it +was no wonder indeed that he felt<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span> +justified in taking it, and she felt ashamed +of the jealous spirit that had forced it +from him.</p> + +<p>But her thoughts soon reverted to her +adopted sister, and she burned with resentment +against her unknown betrayer. Her +vow to Dr Fellows—which she felt to be +as sacred as though uttered before God’s +throne; the revelation which had been +made to her that evening of their own disgrace; +pity for her friend’s misfortune, and +love for Henri de Courcelles, were all +warring in her breast, and making her +mind a chaos, as, wearied and panting, +she stumbled over the threshold of her +father’s bungalow. She expected to find +him alone with Quita,—to be able to tell +him of her hopes and fears,—but, to her +consternation, the room was full, and as +she paused in the open doorway, her white +and anxious face made her look like a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span> +guilty person. Mr and Mrs Courtney, +with the old black nurse Jessica, were +all there, and Dr Fellows was talking +earnestly to them. As he caught sight +of his daughter, he turned to meet her.</p> + +<p>‘<i>You know all</i>,’ he whispered sternly, +as he looked into her sad eyes, and squeezed +her hand as in a vice. ‘<i>Remember your +oath.</i>’</p> + +<p>‘Why, is that Lizzie?’ exclaimed Mrs +Courtney from the sofa, where she lay +extended. ‘I thought she was nursing +our poor Quita. Whatever has she been +doing out of doors at this time of night?’</p> + +<p>‘She has been to fetch me some necessary +drugs,’ replied the Doctor quickly.</p> + +<p>Mrs Courtney had been a beautiful +creature in her youth, but though not +forty years of age, she had already lost all +pretensions to good looks. She was corpulent +and ungainly. Her large sleepy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span> +black eyes were sunk in a round face, with +a yellow complexion, and triple chins. Her +waving black hair was twisted untidily at +the back of her head, and her abundant +figure, unrestrained by belt or corset, was +enveloped in a loose dressing-gown. But +she rolled off the sofa nimbly enough when +she heard the voice of Liz Fellows.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, Liz!’ she exclaimed, grasping her +hand, ‘this is terrible news the Doctor has +to give us; our darling Quita down with +the fever. Fancy the dear child rambling +to your house in her delirium! What a +mercy she had sufficient sense left to guide +her. She might have walked into the +river. You may fancy what we felt when +we heard that she was gone. Jessica found +it out first when she went into her room +with some iced sherbet, for Quita has been +very restless at night lately. I suppose it +was this horrid fever coming on, but she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span> +has been quite out of sorts for some weeks +past. But oh! Lizzie, how <i>can</i> she have +caught it?’</p> + +<p>This long harangue had given Lizzie +an opportunity to recover her equanimity, +and she was able to reply quite +calmly,—</p> + +<p>‘It is quite impossible to say, dear Mrs +Courtney; but father does not think seriously +of the case, and so you must not be +too anxious about her.’</p> + +<p>‘But he will not let us even <i>look</i> at the +dear child. Dr Fellows, I really think you +are <i>too</i> particular. Surely her parents have +the <i>right</i> to see her.’</p> + +<p>‘Certainly, my dear madam, if you insist +upon it; but I think Mr Courtney will +uphold my decision. I have not been +able to determine if this fever which is +decimating your plantation is contagious +or not. I rather fancy it is epidemic, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span> +it is impossible to say, because it is of +no known character. It is surely more +prudent, however, to keep on the right +side. If Maraquita were in the slightest +danger—if she were even seriously ill, +I should be the first to entreat you to see +her, but as it is, your presence would only +do her harm. She is weak and exhausted, +and everything depends on her gaining +strength from sleep. Would you be so +selfish as to excite and throw her back +again, by disturbing her, or run the risk of +contracting the disease yourself?’</p> + +<p>‘Certainly <i>not</i>,’ interrupted Mr Courtney +decisively. ‘You are right, Fellows, as +you always are—’</p> + +<p>(‘Don’t say that,’ interpolated the +Doctor, in a pained voice.)</p> + +<p>‘——and I forbid my wife going near +the room where Maraquita lies. I can +trust her to you, Fellows—implicitly, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span> +with the most perfect confidence. I know +you will do your very best for my dear child, +and treat her as if she were your own.’</p> + +<p>‘Indeed—indeed I will, Courtney! If +a sense of all I owe to you—’</p> + +<p>‘Hush! I will not hear you mention it. +If such were ever the case, you have +repaid it a thousand fold. And here I +give you the best proof I could, of my +friendship and affection. I leave with you +my dearest possession—my only child. +Fellows, my dear old chum, I know there +is no need for me to recommend her to +your care. You can remember how long +it was before she came to us, how gladly +I received the gift, and how precious it +has been to me ever since. My very +life is bound up in my little Quita. You +will guard it—’</p> + +<p>‘With my own,’ interrupted the Doctor +solemnly. ‘I would lay down my life to-morrow,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span> +Courtney, to save that of any one +who is dear to you.’</p> + +<p>‘I believe it, my dear fellow, and, thank +God, there is no necessity for such a +sacrifice. You can assure us that +Maraquita is in no danger.’</p> + +<p>‘On my word of honour, she is in no +danger whatever, and in a few days she +will be quite well again. All she needs +is rest and quiet, and if you will trust +her to Liz and me, we will see that she +gets it.’</p> + +<p>‘We do trust her with you; and Liz, we +know, will make the most devoted nurse,’ +said Mr Courtney, smiling; but as he +caught sight of Lizzie’s face, the smile +faded. ‘Holloa! what is this? Are you +going to have the fever too? You are as +white as a sheet.’</p> + +<p>‘It is the heat,’ murmured Liz, in a low +voice, as she turned away; ‘and I have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span> +had a great deal of nursing lately into +the bargain, Mr Courtney. Father and I +have the heartache all day long, to see +the ravages made by the fever amongst +the coolies.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, it is sad enough,’ said the planter, +‘even for those who have not to count +the loss as I have, by pounds, shillings, +and pence. Do what we will to improve +the condition of these people, their natural +love of dirt and over feeding makes them +fall an easy prey to any disease. We are +quite sensible of what you and your father +have done for us, Lizzie. It is through +your means alone, that we have not lost +many more. You must not be disheartened +on that account.’</p> + +<p>‘The distress seems universal,’ continued +Liz; ‘the same floods that rotted +the vegetation, and caused this malarious +fever, have destroyed the rice-fields, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span> +spread a famine amongst the negro population. +The cases of starvation that reach +us every day are heartrending, because +it is so impossible to relieve them all. +Have there been any more riots in the +town, Mr Courtney?’</p> + +<p>‘No, Liz. I have heard of none since +the military were called out to quell them. +But we must keep you up no longer. It +is already morning. Come, my dear Nita, +let us leave Dr Fellows and his daughter +to get some rest for themselves.’</p> + +<p>But Mrs Courtney was still unwilling +to assent entirely to the Doctor’s wishes. +She had no suspicion of the truth, but +she felt intuitively that something had +been kept back from them, and she was +curious to find out what it was.</p> + +<p>‘Let Jessica stay, at all events,’ she +said; ‘she has been Quita’s nurse since +she was a baby, and has attended her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span> +through all her illnesses. She will break +her heart if you do not let her stay; and +she can watch Maraquita when Lizzie is +absent or engaged.’</p> + +<p>‘That sounds reasonable,’ acquiesced +Mr Courtney; ‘and perhaps Jessica had +better remain at the bungalow.’</p> + +<p>But Dr Fellows was firm in resisting +the proposal.</p> + +<p>‘Jessica can remain here if you desire +it,’ he answered, ‘but she does not enter +Quita’s room. I am not even sure that +Lizzie will do so. You have confided +your daughter to my care, Mr Courtney, +and you will not find me unworthy of +the trust. I shall be both nurse and +doctor to Maraquita, until I can bring +her to the White House again.’</p> + +<p>‘You are a good fellow,’ said Mr +Courtney, wringing the Doctor’s hand, +‘and I do not limit the confidence I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span> +place in you. Jessica shall return with +us, and we will leave Quita entirely in +your care.’</p> + +<p>‘You shall have no cause to regret it,’ +replied Dr Fellows, as he accompanied +them to the door of the bungalow. ‘You +can send down as often as you like for +news of her, and I shall be found at +my post, ready to report on her progress. +But I honestly anticipate restoring +her to you in a very short time.’</p> + +<p>As he returned from seeing them off, +and met his daughter’s eye, his face +changed, and his expression became very +grave.</p> + +<p>‘That is well over,’ he ejaculated, with +a sigh, ‘and the rest remains, Lizzie, +with you and me.’</p> + +<p>‘Which means, father, that she is safe +as far as <i>we</i> are concerned. Am I to +go into her room?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>‘No; I should prefer you should not. +There is no necessity for your presence +there, and I wish to leave you as unfettered +as I possibly can. You have no notion +how this calamity happened, Liz?’</p> + +<p>‘Not the slightest. I know so few of +her friends. I have not even heard that +she had an attachment for any one.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, it is a terrible business, but we +must stand her friends, and see her through +with it. She has told me nothing, poor +child; but she has thrown herself upon my +mercy, and entreated me to save her from +the wrath and reproaches of her parents, +and for their sakes I have promised to do +so. She implores that even <i>you</i> shall not +be told of her misfortune, and I have been +obliged to humour her. We must keep up +the deception of the fever, and as soon as +she is sufficiently recovered to return home, +the danger will be over.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>‘But—Mammy Lila!’ gasped Liz.</p> + +<p>‘Mammy Lila will do as I tell her, my +dear, and at all risks this child’s reputation +must be saved. Everything else is an +after consideration,’ replied the Doctor, as +he stumbled slightly, and saved himself +by catching at the back of a chair.</p> + +<p>‘Father, are you ill?’ cried Lizzie +quickly, as she sprang to his assistance.</p> + +<p>‘No, I think not; but I will take a +cordial, if you will mix it for me. I <i>must</i> +not be ill until this business is settled, +and Maraquita is safe under her parents’ +roof again.’</p> + +<p>‘But your hands are very cold, and you +are trembling all over. Surely you are +unfit for further work, and should go to +bed and rest. Father, trust her to me. +Don’t overtax your strength, for her sake. +You know that I am a careful and trustworthy +nurse.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>‘If I <i>die</i> in the effort, I will watch over +her myself, and without assistance!’ cried +the Doctor excitedly, as he drank the +draught she tendered him, and tottered +back to the sleeping-chamber.</p> + +<p>Lizzie looked after him with the deepest +anxiety.</p> + +<p>‘I am <i>sure</i> he is ill,’ she said to herself, +and if I am not very much mistaken, he +has the symptoms of the fever strongly +upon him. Oh, my poor father! is it +possible that when you need the attention +and skill you have bestowed on others, +you will sacrifice yourself for the sake of +this frail girl? Yes, I feel you will, even +should it result in your own death. And +I would have it so, though Heaven only +knows what I should do without you—sooner +than see you shrink from paying +off one tithe of the heavy debt you owe +to Maraquita’s father. But the bearing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span> +of this heavy burden laid upon us! Did +Mr Courtney but know the weight of it, +he would surely acknowledge his forbearance +has not been in vain.’</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i109.jpg" alt=""></div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i110a.jpg" alt=""></div> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER V.</h2> +</div> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i110b.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="T"> +</div> + +<p><span class="drop-cap">T</span>HE overseer of Beauregard occupied +another bungalow on +the plantation, a perfect bower +of beauty, which, whilst lying close to +the White House, was entirely concealed +from observation by the glorious +foliage that environed it. Its wooden +walls were clothed in creepers, and surrounded +by tall cocoa palms, and feathery +bamboos and orange trees, with their +double wealth of fruit and flower. The +heavy perfumes by which the atmosphere +was laden would have proved too much<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span> +for any one but a man acclimatised to +the West Indies, but they suited the +sensuous, pleasure-loving nature of Henri +de Courcelles perfectly. As he sat, or +rather reclined, on a long bamboo lounge +in his verandah, with a cigar between +his lips, and his handsome eyes half +closed, he looked the picture of lazy +content. He was dressed in full white +trousers, and a linen shirt, thrown open +at the throat, round which a crimson +silk neckerchief was carelessly knotted. +His dark curling hair was thrown off +his brow, and his olive complexion was +flushed with the mid-day heat. His +work was over for the time being, and +he was free to rest and enjoy himself +until the sun went down. He had +been on horseback by six o’clock that +morning, riding round the coffee and +sugar plantations, keeping the coolies<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span> +up to their work, and receiving the +complaints of, or distributing his orders +amongst, the men who worked under +him. The labourers on Beauregard had +long come to the conclusion that it was +lost time to prefer any request out of +the ordinary routine to Henri de Courcelles. +Charming as he was when in +the society of his equals, he was a stern +and implacable overseer, being quick to +find fault, and slow to extend forgiveness, +and having no sympathy whatever +with the people he ruled over. He +looked upon the negroes as so many +brute beasts out of which it was his +duty to get as much work as possible, +and he had often turned away with disgust +on encountering Lizzie Fellows +with a dusky baby on her lap, or with +her arm beneath the head of a dying +negress. He did not give vent to his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span> +opinions in public. It would scarcely +have been safe, surrounded as he was +by the creatures he despised, and often +at their mercy; but they knew them, +all the same, and were ripe to seize the +first opportunity for revenge. Liz—with +her calm practical brain, and reflective +mind, should have seen for herself that +a man who could swear at an unoffending +coolie, or thrust a little child roughly +from his path, or strike his horse between +the ears with his hunting crop, +for no reason except to gratify a passing +temper, would never make a kind husband +or father. But the ancients never did +a wiser thing than to pourtray love +as blind. It blinds the cleverest of us +to mental as well as physical defects, +until some fatal day, the rose-coloured +glasses drop from our eyes, and we see +the man, or woman, love has idealised,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span> +in their true colours. Liz saw some of +De Courcelles’ faults, it is true, and grieved +over them, but there was always some +extenuating circumstance for them in +her love-blinded eyes; and if there had +not been, it was only sufficient for her +lover to turn his glorious Spanish orbs +reproachfully on her, to bring her, metaphorically, +to his feet. Well, after all, perhaps, +if love were not foolish, and weak, +and blind, it would not be love at all, +but only prudence; and the majority of +us would fare badly enough if <i>some one</i> did +not see us through rose-coloured glasses. +It would be terrible to stand before the +world as we really are, in all the hideous +nakedness of our evil tempers, and inclinations, +and devices, and have no +sweet, generous, pitying, and all-believing +love somewhere to throw a cloak +above our mortal nature, and believe<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span> +that the making of a saint lurks behind +it.</p> + +<p>Henri de Courcelles was thinking +somewhat self-reproachfully of Liz that +morning. The interview he had had +with her the night before haunted him +like a bitter taste when the draught is +swallowed. He knew he had lied to +her, and though the lie didn’t trouble +him, her complete belief in his sincerity +did. If we tell an untruth, and it is +fiercely combatted and denied by the +opposing party, we are apt to tell a +dozen more to uphold the first, until we +almost swear ourselves into believing it. +But if the falsehood is at once received +as truth, and believed in with the most +innocent faith, it makes us, if we have +any feeling left whatever, doubly ashamed +of ourselves. Henri de Courcelles had +quite ceased to love Liz Fellows—indeed,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span> +it is doubtful if he had ever loved her at +all—but he had admired and esteemed her, +and these very feelings had killed those +of a warmer nature. She was too good +for him—too far above him. She +humbled him every time she opened +her mouth. Maraquita Courtney was a +woman much more to his taste—sweet, +ripe, youthful Maraquita, with her outspoken +love and unbridled passion,—her +red lips and wreathing white arms, and +utter disregard of truth or principle. +But Monsieur de Courcelles had not +been easy about Maraquita lately. He +was perplexed and anxious. He did not +quite foresee how matters would turn +out, nor what prospect lay in the future +for them. He was somewhat ashamed +of the duplicity of which he had been +guilty to Liz Fellows, but he consoled +himself with the idea that it had been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span> +forced upon him by his relations with +Maraquita, and that it behoved him, as +a man of honour, to divert suspicion +from her, even at the risk of deceiving +another woman.</p> + +<p>As he was dreaming and ruminating +on these things, he was surprised to see +Mr Courtney approaching the bungalow. +It was not the planter’s custom to visit +his overseer, and their business hours, +which were usually passed in the office +at the White House, were over for the +day. De Courcelles sprang to his feet +as his employer appeared, and proffered +his seat for his acceptance. Mr Courtney +sank into it without a word. He +did not seem uneasy, but he was certainly +unprepared to open the conversation. +De Courcelles was the first to +speak.</p> + +<p>‘I suppose you have come to speak<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span> +to me about Verney’s grant, sir. I +should have given you the papers to +sign this morning, but as you were +not in the office, I brought them away +with me again. Will you see them +now?’</p> + +<p>‘No, no! They can wait till to-morrow,’ +replied Mr Courtney impatiently. +‘Verney knows they are all right, and +the land is his. I was unable to attend +to business this morning, for I had a disturbed +night, and slept late in consequence.’</p> + +<p>‘I am sorry to hear that, sir. What +disturbed you?’</p> + +<p>‘The news has evidently not yet reached +you. Our poor Maraquita has been +dangerously ill.’</p> + +<p>De Courcelles started, and changed +colour. His olive complexion turned to a +sickly yellow, and his brilliant eyes became +dull and lustreless. The planter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span> +was not blind to the emotion he expressed.</p> + +<p>‘Miss Courtney—ill?’ stammered the +overseer.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, very ill, and with this terrible +fever. How she contracted it we are +unable to discover, but she left her bed, +and wandered in her delirium into the +plantation, and fortunately towards the +Doctor’s bungalow, where she now lies. +You may imagine what her mother and I +felt when we heard she was missing. I +thought Mrs Courtney would have gone +distracted. However, the first thing I +thought of was to ask for Dr Fellows’ +assistance, and luckily we found her there, +but very, very ill.’</p> + +<p>‘She <i>is</i> better, I hope?’ gasped De +Courcelles.</p> + +<p>‘She <i>is</i> better, and, I thank God, out of +danger,’ replied Mr Courtney, looking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span> +him steadfastly in the face, ‘and in a few +days we hope to have her at the White +House again. Lizzie Fellows, who has +been like a sister to her, is nursing her +with the greatest care. She is a most +estimable young woman, clever, courageous, +and thoroughly honest—good all round, +in fact, and will prove a treasure to any +man who is fortunate enough to win her. +By the way, De Courcelles, I have heard +a rumour that you are engaged to be +married to Miss Fellows. Is it true?’</p> + +<p>The overseer stammered still more.</p> + +<p>‘Yes—no—that is to say, sir, there +<i>has</i> been some idea of such a thing between +us, but nothing is definitely settled.’</p> + +<p>Mr Courtney regarded the young man +sternly.</p> + +<p>‘<i>Some idea!</i> Do you mean to tell me +that you would presume to trifle with the +girl, and hold out a prospect you have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span> +no intention of fulfilling? Do you forget +that she is the daughter of one of my +oldest friends, and second only in my +affections to my own child? Dr Fellows +is not the man to permit any one to play +fast and loose with his daughter, and I +should be as ready as himself to take up +the cudgels in her behalf.’</p> + +<p>‘Indeed, sir, there is no necessity for +such warmth on your part. You are +judging me without a hearing. Lizzie +and I perfectly understand each other. +We are the best of friends, but at present I +cannot see any prospect of our being more.’</p> + +<p>‘You mean to say that your salary is +not sufficient to keep a wife upon?’</p> + +<p>‘I have never looked on it in that light, +Mr Courtney. Miss Fellows is devoted +to her father and her profession, and we +have hardly spoken of the time when +she will be called upon to leave them.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>‘Then you ought to have done so, +Monsieur de Courcelles. A man has no +right to make love to a girl unless he can +talk of marriage to her. Now I have +more than an ordinary interest in Liz +Fellows, and if it is for her happiness to +marry you, I am ready to further your +plans. You need not wish to bring your +wife to a prettier home than the one you +now occupy; but I will engage to furnish +it afresh, and double your present salary on +the day you marry her. Will that bring +matters between you to a crisis?’</p> + +<p>Henri de Courcelles shifted his feet, and +looked uncertain.</p> + +<p>‘I am not sure, sir; you see, you are +precipitating them. Miss Fellows would +be as astonished as I am, if she could +overhear our present conversation. We +have never spoken of marriage as a necessary +contingency to our friendship.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span>‘Then you don’t love the girl, and you +don’t intend to marry her?’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t say that, Mr Courtney. It is +impossible to say what we may decide +upon in the future; but for the present, +I positively deny that we have any fixed +plans whatever.’</p> + +<p>Mr Courtney looked dissatisfied for a +moment, then, with the air of a man who +has made up his mind to do a disagreeable +thing, he proceeded,—</p> + +<p>‘Well! no one can settle these matters +satisfactorily, but the parties concerned, +and so I have no more to say about it. +But there is another subject uppermost +in my mind, which I feel I must mention +to you. It is a delicate one, which I +would much rather avoid, but I cannot +shirk my duty. I have been unable to +help observing, De Courcelles, that you +admire my daughter Maraquita. I can<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span> +hardly suppose you entertain any hopes +from that quarter, but if you do, you +must dismiss them at once, and for ever, +for I have quite different views for Miss +Courtney.’</p> + +<p>The handsome young overseer had +flushed dark crimson during his employer’s +speech, but he did not immediately +reply to it.</p> + +<p>‘I hope I may be mistaken,’ continued +Mr Courtney, ‘and I hope I have not +offended you by mentioning it, but I +have meant to do so for some time +past. Maraquita is a lovely girl. I +cannot help seeing that, though I am +her father, and doubtless you appreciate +her beauty, in common with many other +men; but it can never go any further.’</p> + +<p>‘I have never presumed to think it +could,’ replied De Courcelles, with dry +lips, and a husky voice.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>‘It is not <i>you</i> to whom I have an +objection,’ said the planter, ‘it is to +any man who cannot give Maraquita +wealth and position. She is my only +child, and I have great ambition for +her; and I have already received a +flattering proposal for her hand, from +one of the highest men in the island. +Had it not been for this unfortunate +illness, I should have submitted his +letter to my daughter by this time. +But I have little doubt how she will +receive it. Meanwhile, I think it but +kind and just to let you know of my +intentions, and to warn you, should there +be any need of caution, to be careful.’</p> + +<p>‘I thank you, Mr Courtney, for your +consideration,’ replied De Courcelles, in +the same hard dry voice, ‘but there is +no need of it. I hope I know my duty +and my position too well, to aspire to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span> +Miss Courtney’s hand. No one can +help admiring her, nor being grateful +for any kindness she may extend to +them, but there it ends. You have +nothing to fear for me, nor I for myself.’</p> + +<p>‘I am glad to hear you say so,’ replied +Mr Courtney, as he rose to go; ‘in a +few days I expect that you will hear +great news from the White House, and +see preparations for a grand wedding, +and then you will better understand my +fears lest all should not prosper with +my dear child, as I hope it may do. +Meanwhile, do not forget what I said +respecting Miss Fellows and yourself. +If I can forward your happiness, you +may count on my sympathy and assistance.’</p> + +<p>And with these kindly offers of help +upon his lips, Mr Courtney walked away,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span> +leaving Henri de Courcelles bewildered +by what he had heard. Maraquita ill, +and in the Doctor’s bungalow, with her +secret, perhaps, made patent to the world! +And yet her father evidently knew nothing, +and some one must have stood +her friend, and shielded her from discovery. +But Maraquita about to make +a high marriage, and be lost to him for +ever. That was a still more wonderful +revelation, and one which he found +it impossible to believe. Maraquita, +who had so often sat, during their +moonlight trysts, with her arms twined +about his neck, and assured him that +no man but himself should ever call +her his wife. Henri de Courcelles would +never have presumed, without a large +amount of encouragement, to lift his eyes +to his employer’s daughter. He knew +that his birth and his position would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span> +both preclude him as a suitor, in Mr +Courtney’s mind, and that it would be +considered the height of presumption on +his part to make proposals of marriage +for her. But he had trusted to +Maraquita’s influence with her parents, +eventually to gain their cause; he had +trusted also to certain love passages +which had taken place between them, +to bind her effectually to himself. And +now the announcement of these intended +nuptials did not make him so unhappy +on his own account as they alarmed +him for their mutual safety. What might +not Maraquita say or do, in her dismay +at the prospect of being separated from +him?</p> + +<p>Henri de Courcelles secretly acknowledged +his fickleness with regard to Liz +Fellows, who had loved him well and +constantly all along, and yet he could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span> +not believe that any one else could be +unfaithful to him. The devil invents so +many excuses for us wherewith to cover +our own frailty, but they all disappear +when we are called upon to judge our +neighbour’s sin. As soon as Mr Courtney +had left him, Henri de Courcelles, feeling +very uncomfortable under the close examination +to which he had been subjected, +resumed his cigar, and his lounging +attitude, and lay for a long time pondering +over the morning’s interview. How much +did the planter suspect, or know? Had +his assumed warning been only a blind +to entrap his overseer into an open +confession, or surprise him into betraying +himself? De Courcelles blessed his lucky +stars that his self-control had not forsaken +him, and that if Mr Courtney +were on the lookout for a probable +lover for his daughter, he had wrung<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span> +no hint of the truth from him. But +was the story of the fever true? That +was a point on which he felt he must +satisfy himself, and reaching down a +wide Panama hat, he proceeded at once +into the plantation. He looked handsome +enough, as he strolled leisurely +beneath the trees, towards the negro +quarters, the fine plaited straw hat, +which shaded his features, tipped jauntily +to one side, and a red rose in the button-hole +of his white drill jacket. But his +face looked perplexed and anxious, and +he gnawed his moustache as he went. +The negroes’ huts were situated half a +mile away from his bungalow, but they +were close to that of Dr Fellows, and De +Courcelles knew that in one place or +the other he should find Lizzie, and hear +the truth from her. But as he passed +her cottage, he caught sight of her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span> +sitting at the window, sewing. Her +face was pale, and her eyes red. She +looked as if she had been both sitting +up and weeping, though her print dress +was fresh and dainty, and her glossy +hair carefully arranged. A fear shot +through the heart of Henri de Courcelles, +as he drew near her, but the +bright smile with which she welcomed +his presence, drove it away.</p> + +<p>‘Why, Henri, what brings you here +so early?’ she asked, from the open +casement.</p> + +<p>‘Didn’t I say last night that you +would see me again to-day?’ he answered, +as he took her hand.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, but it is hardly wise of you +to walk about in the sun, unless there +is a necessity for it.’</p> + +<p>‘You are right, Lizzie; but I am a +messenger from Mrs Courtney; she sent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span> +me down for the last bulletin of her +daughter.’</p> + +<p>Lizzie looked surprised.</p> + +<p>‘How very strange! I sent up word +by one of the servants half an hour +ago!’</p> + +<p>He felt then he had not lied quite +so cleverly as usual, but he got out of +it by saying,—</p> + +<p>‘The brute has probably taken a +circuit of five miles, in order to attend +to his own business. You know what +these niggers are, Liz. However, give +me the last news of Miss Courtney, and +I will see it is delivered.’</p> + +<p>Liz’s face grew very grave.</p> + +<p>‘She is better, Henri. I have not +seen her this morning, but my father +tells me so, and that in a few days +she will be quite well. I have just +been making her some fish soup.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>‘Was she very bad with the fever?’ +he asked.</p> + +<p>‘Very bad indeed. It is lucky I +met her wandering about the plantation, +or I don’t know what might have +happened. But there is no need for +anxiety now. All danger is at an end.’</p> + +<p>‘Were you with her in her delirium? +Did she—did she—<i>rave</i> much? I only +ask for curiosity. I have heard that +some of the negroes tried to destroy +themselves during the fever; and her +parents are very anxious still.’</p> + +<p>‘Are they?’ said Liz carelessly. ‘I +thought my father had set their minds +entirely at rest. As I said before, there +is no occasion for it. Quita is quite +sensible now, and only needs to regain +her strength.’</p> + +<p>Henri de Courcelles looked much relieved. +He drew a long breath, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span> +straightened himself against the supports +of the verandah. Liz regarded +him for a moment, and then said, in a +low voice,—</p> + +<p>‘I want to tell you something, Henri. +I have been thinking over what I +mentioned to you yesterday, and I feel +I did you an injustice. I can’t tell you +<i>how</i> the conviction has been forced +upon me—but it is there. Will you +forgive me for my causeless jealousy? +I have no excuse to offer for myself, +excepting that I love you, and I fear +to lose you.’</p> + +<p>He only answered,—</p> + +<p>‘I told you plainly you were wrong!’</p> + +<p>‘I acknowledge it <i>now</i>, but <i>then</i>, I +thought only of what I had heard. But +I see how foolish I was. A long night +of reflection has shown it to me. The +illnesses and troubles of our friends<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span> +are enough to make us think, Henri. +<i>We</i> might be struck down to-morrow, +and how doubly sad it would be to go +whilst any misunderstanding existed between +us and those whom we love.’</p> + +<p>She spoke so plaintively that his +feelings were touched on her behalf.</p> + +<p>‘There is something more the matter +with you, I am afraid, Liz, than mere +regret for such a trifle. Something +worse than that must have happened +to annoy you.’</p> + +<p>‘No, no!’ she cried, in a voice of +terror; ‘nothing has happened, I assure +you, Henri; but life is uncertain, and +I may be sorry some day to think I +ever misjudged you. Things are not +always what they seem, you know, and +unexpected barriers rise sometimes to +foil the brightest hopes. Let us resolve +to be patient with each other, so that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span> +we may have nothing to reproach ourselves +with if—if—anything should occur +to part us.’</p> + +<p>The tears were standing in her patient +eyes as she raised them to his, and +the sight affected him. The man was +not wholly bad—none of us are—but +his senses drowned his better feelings. +He knew—even at that moment, when +his whole mind was fixed on Maraquita, +and full of fears for her safety—that +this woman was the more estimable of +the two, that she loved him the best, +and was the most worthy of love in +return. But his heart had gone astraying, +and he could not recall it at will. +He could only pat Liz’s hand, and +profess to laugh at her fears, all the +while he knew how well founded they +were.</p> + +<p>‘Why, what should occur to part<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span> +us?’ he answered lightly; ‘unless, indeed, +you elect to throw me over. But I +thought we had settled that point satisfactorily +last night, Liz?’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, I was not thinking of <i>that</i>!’ +she exclaimed hurriedly. ‘It was quite +another idea, and one of which there +is no need to speak of to you now, +for which, indeed, the necessity may +never arise. But we shall always be +<i>friends</i>, Henri—shall we not? true and +steadfast friends, whatever may occur?’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t understand you. You are +speaking in enigmas to me,’ he said +petulantly, as he dropped the hand he +had taken in his own.</p> + +<p>They were indeed playing at cross-purposes—she, +thinking only of the +story her father had told her, and he +of Maraquita and her possible revelations.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span>Liz sighed, and redirected her attention +to her work. The same dissatisfied +feeling which she had experienced the +night before crept over her again, and +turned her sick and cold, and it was +not dispersed when Henri de Courcelles, +after an awkward silence, lifted his broad-brimmed +hat from his brow, and walked +gloomily away.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i138.jpg" alt=""></div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i139a.jpg" alt=""></div> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VI.</h2> +</div> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i139b.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="A"> +</div> + +<p><span class="drop-cap">A</span> WEEK had passed away since +Maraquita Courtney had entered +the Doctor’s bungalow, +and the moment that Liz dreaded had +arrived—they were to meet again. +Never once had she entered Quita’s +chamber during the period of her illness. +Dr Fellows had chosen the oldest, most +stupid, and most deaf negress on the +plantation to attend to his patient’s wants, +and sternly forbidden his daughter to +enter her presence. But to-day she was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span> +pronounced convalescent, or sufficiently +so to return to the White House, +and her parents, who were naturally +anxious to have her home again, had +arranged to fetch her away that afternoon. +Dr Fellows had said to his +daughter a moment before, on passing +through the sitting-room,—</p> + +<p>‘Maraquita is up and dressed, and +will be with you in a short time. She +is still weak and nervous. Mind you +say nothing to upset her;’ and Liz had +promised, feeling almost as nervous at +the idea of the coming interview as +Quita herself could have done.</p> + +<p>She had not to wait long. In a +few minutes the bedroom door opened, +and Maraquita, leaning on the arm +of the old negress, walked slowly into +the apartment. She was robed in a +white muslin gown. Her dark hair was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span> +hanging loose upon her shoulders, and +her face was as white as her attire. +There was an ethereal look about the +girl that naturally excited pity, and the +scared expression on her features went +straight to Liz’s kindly heart. In a +moment she had sprung to her assistance.</p> + +<p>‘You are still very weak, Quita. Are +you sure you feel equal to leaving your +room?’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, yes, yes,’ replied the girl, in a +petulant tone, as if she did not like the +subject of her illness alluded to. ‘There +is nothing the matter with me now, +Lizzie. I could have returned home +two days ago, if your father would have +let me. I really think he is <i>too</i> particular.’</p> + +<p>‘How <i>can</i> he be too particular where +<i>you</i> are concerned,’ said Lizzie gravely,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span> +as she placed the trembling Quita on +the sofa. ‘Mr Courtney confided you +to his care, and trusted him to look +after you as if you were his own child, +and father has felt the charge to be a +sacred one.’</p> + +<p>‘He is very good,’ replied Maraquita, +in a low voice; ‘but I have not been +so <i>very</i> ill, Lizzie, after all, and I am +all right again now. I hope nobody +will make a fuss about it.’</p> + +<p>Liz was silent, for she did not know +what to reply. They had reached a +point where confidence came to a full +stop between them, and she could hardly +have spoken without perverting the +truth. So she tried to change the +subject.</p> + +<p>‘How soon do you expect Mr and +Mrs Courtney to fetch you, Quita?’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know. I think the Doctor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span> +has walked up to the house to tell them +I am ready. Mamma will be surprised +to find <i>you</i> didn’t nurse me, Liz. Why +didn’t you do so?’ inquired Quita nervously, +as if she wanted to find out how +much or how little of her secret had +been confided to her foster-sister’s discretion.</p> + +<p>But she had not fathomed the depths +of Lizzie’s character. She had sworn +not to reveal what she knew, and she +would have been torn to pieces on the +rack without confessing it. It was useless +of Quita, or any other person, attempting +to force it from her.</p> + +<p>‘Why didn’t I nurse you, Quita? Not +because I was unwilling; you may be +sure of that. Simply my father said he +did not wish me to do so, and that was +enough for me. I have been trained +to understand that the first duty of a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span> +medical assistant is implicit obedience. +I have full faith in my father’s discretion, +and know that he would not +lay one restriction on me that was unnecessary. +I can tell you no more than +that. Only believe that it was not my +own wish, and that if I <i>might</i> have nursed +you I gladly would.’</p> + +<p>‘It was best not, or you might have +caught the fever. You know that I +have had a touch of the fever?’ continued +Quita interrogatively, but with +downcast eyes.</p> + +<p>Liz could not answer ‘<i>Yes</i>.’</p> + +<p>‘I heard my father tell Mr and Mrs +Courtney so,’ she said, after a pause.</p> + +<p>Her reticence alarmed Maraquita. She +didn’t like Liz’s calm, collected manner +and short replies.</p> + +<p>‘Well, I suppose your father doesn’t +tell lies,’ she answered brusquely.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span>‘I have always believed him,’ said Liz +sadly. ‘But, Quita, you have talked +enough. Your face is quite flushed. +Keep quiet, like a good girl, or you +may not be able to return home with +your parents, and that will be a great +disappointment to them.’</p> + +<p>She took up her work again, and +commenced sewing, whilst Quita lay still, +but with a palpitating heart, as she +wondered what Liz could have meant +by evading her question. Could she +have read her friend’s thoughts at that +moment, her curiosity would have been +satisfied, though not in the way she desired. +Liz was marvelling, with a feeling +of contempt, as she stitched industriously +at her calico, how any woman could +bring a child into the world, lawfully or +unlawfully, and think only of her safety +afterwards, without one thought for her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span> +own flesh and blood; the flesh and +blood, too, of some one who <i>ought</i> to +be so much dearer to her than herself. +She sat there, nervously anticipating +every moment to feel Quita’s little +hand slip into hers, and to hear her +quivering voice ask for news of her +child.</p> + +<p>Liz would have loved her a thousand +times more for the weakness. She would +have forgiven her all her frailty and +wickedness in one moment, and taken +her into her arms with a loving assurance +that her infant should be as carefully +guarded as the secret of its birth. But +no such appeal came from the young +mother. On the contrary, she seemed +anxious and worried about herself alone, +and the only excuse which Liz had been +able to conjure up for her sinfulness, +grew weaker and weaker with the passing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span> +moments. But perhaps, thought Lizzie, +with her ever ready charity, perhaps +Quita had learned all she wished to +know from Dr Fellows, and her own +hasty judgment of her was a grievous +wrong. But both the girls felt there +was a barrier raised between their intercourse +that had never been there before, +and it was a relief to them to hear the +sing-song chant of the palanquin bearers +as they came through the grove to fetch +Maraquita away.</p> + +<p>In another minute Dr Fellows appeared +upon the threshold, accompanied by Mr +and Mrs Courtney, and Quita was in +her parents’ arms. In their delight at +receiving her again, they almost forgot +to ask for any particulars concerning her +illness.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, my dear child!’ exclaimed her +mother impressively, ‘I hope you have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span> +thanked Dr Fellows as you should do +for all his attention to you. I don’t +believe anybody could have brought +you round so quickly as he has. Your +father and I were dining with the +Governor, Sir Russell Johnstone, last +evening, and he said that Dr Martin +of the Fort had told him no cases of +fever had been declared convalescent +under three weeks. And here you are, +you see, almost well again in a third of +the time.’</p> + +<p>‘Not so fast, my dear madam,’ interposed +the Doctor. ‘As you are naturally +anxious to have her under your own +care, I can pronounce Miss Courtney +to be sufficiently recovered to be moved +to the White House, but I shall visit +her every day, and it will be some +weeks before she is completely off +the sick list. But she must eat as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span> +much as she can, and do as little as +she need, and she will soon be strong +again.’</p> + +<p>‘But if you think it would be more +prudent for her to remain here a little +longer under your care, my dear Fellows, +we are quite willing to leave her,’ said +Mr Courtney.</p> + +<p>‘No, no!’ cried Quita, clinging to +her mother’s neck, and sobbing. ‘Take +me home, mamma! I am longing to get +away, and to be with you.’</p> + +<p>‘That does not sound very grateful +in you, my dear,’ said her father, ‘considering +all that you owe to Dr Fellows, +and Lizzie.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t mention it!’ cried the Doctor +quickly. ‘She is weak, and nervous, +and hardly knows what she is saying, +and the worst thing in the world for +her is this agitation. She will be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span> +much better under her mother’s care. +Take her home at once, Mr Courtney, +and let this exciting scene be +ended.’</p> + +<p>He threw a mantle over Maraquita’s +shoulders as he spoke, and placed her +in the palanquin, which was in the +verandah. The bearers raised their +burden to their shoulders and set off +at a walking pace, the rest of the +party keeping by their side.</p> + +<p>They had all been so occupied with +the removal of Maraquita, that they +had hardly noticed Lizzie, who stood +at the open window watching their departure. +So this was the end of it! +The last week had passed like an unholy +dream to her,—a dream of which +she had had no time to read the import +until now. Should she ever unravel it? +Would the tangled meshes which it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span> +seemed to have woven round her, fall +off again to leave her free? She did +not see the way to burst her bonds, +but she resolved that she must know +the worst concerning herself and Henri +de Courcelles at once. She felt that +it would be impossible for her to live +on, and do her duty as it should be +done, whilst any moment might bring +an exposure to sever her from her +lover. She was still pondering on her +troubles when Dr Fellows slowly re-entered +the bungalow.</p> + +<p>‘How did she bear the journey?’ +asked Liz, as she caught sight of her +father. ‘She seemed to me too weak +to attempt it.’</p> + +<p>‘So she would have been under ordinary +circumstances, but of two evils +we must choose the least. The poor +child’s life here was one of torture,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span> +from the fear of detection. She will +feel safer at the White House, and +her recovery will be more rapid in +consequence.’</p> + +<p>‘And meanwhile, she doesn’t care +one jot if her infant lives or dies,’ said +Liz contemptuously.</p> + +<p>Dr Fellows regarded her with mild +surprise.</p> + +<p>‘You are very hard on her, my +daughter. Cannot you make some allowance +for the terrible position in which +she is placed?’</p> + +<p>‘I cannot understand it,’ she answered.</p> + +<p>‘No, and you never will—thank God +for it. Your sense of right and wrong +is too clear to permit you to be led +astray. But this poor child is very +different in character from yourself. She +is weak, and foolish, and unprincipled,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span> +and the scoundrel who has taken advantage +of her simplicity, should be +strung up at the Fort. It seems a +shame that, in order to protect her +good name, he should be allowed to +go unpunished. But perhaps you cannot +understand that also.’</p> + +<p>‘Father, you mistake me!’ cried +Lizzie. ‘I can love, or I believe I +can, as fondly as any woman, and I +can well imagine the force of the temptation +which circumstances might bring +with it. God forbid that I should +judge any error that springs from too +much love, or consider myself beyond +its reach. But I <i>cannot</i> understand the +selfishness that makes a woman shrink +from the consequences of her sin, as +if it had no claim upon her. Where +is the father of this child? If I were +Quita, I would rather go out into the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span> +world with my baby in my arms, +and beg from door to door by +<i>his</i> side, than run away as she +has done, and leave it to the care of +strangers.’</p> + +<p>‘Hush, hush!’ exclaimed the Doctor +quickly, looking round them with a face +of fear. ‘Even the walls have ears. +Remember your oath, Lizzie, and never +mention this subject, coupled with her +name, again.’</p> + +<p>‘Let me ask you at least, father, if +you have seen Mammy Lila.’</p> + +<p>‘More than once, Lizzie, and all will +be right there, until I have time to decide +what is best to be done in the future. +But it will be a terrible puzzle, and I +must think it over gravely. I am ill +and weary at present, and would rather +leave things as they are for a month +or two.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>‘I, too, feel ill and weary,’ rejoined +Lizzie sadly. ‘I have not liked to +worry you with my own troubles whilst +you were attending on Quita, but now +that she is gone, father, I must ask you +one question. What am I to do with +regard to what you told me on the +night that she came here, and you extracted +that oath of secrecy from me?’</p> + +<p>‘Do! What would you do?’ demanded +Dr Fellows, with a white face.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know. The knowledge seems +to have laid a burden on me too heavy +to be borne. Had I only myself to +consider, my task would be, comparatively +speaking, easy. I could take +care that I suffered alone. But there is +Monsieur de Courcelles; I must consider +him.’</p> + +<p>‘What has De Courcelles to do with +it?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>‘Father, how can I contemplate a +marriage with him without first telling +him the truth? Am I to leave it to +chance whether he finds out or no that—that +you did what you told me? I +could not do it. Such a life would kill +me. I will marry no man unless he +knows the whole story.’</p> + +<p>‘Would you betray my confidence?’ +exclaimed Dr Fellows bitterly. ‘Have +my long years of secret sorrow +and humiliation not been sufficient +punishment for me, but that my +child will hold me up to public +degradation?’</p> + +<p>‘No, no, father; do not say that! +Not a word that you uttered shall ever +pass my lips without your free consent. +I will do anything rather than repeat +them. I will even give up—Henri de +Courcelles.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>‘And would that break your heart, my +dear?’</p> + +<p>‘Never mind if it breaks my heart!’ +she cried, with a sudden storm of weeping; +‘if it must be, it must be, and there +is no alternative. I love him too well +to deceive him, and I love you too well +to betray you. It is no one’s fault—it +is only my misfortune; but I must +end it at once and for ever, or it will +get the better of me. To-morrow I will +tell Henri de Courcelles that our engagement +is at an end.’</p> + +<p>‘Do nothing in a hurry,’ replied her +father wearily. ‘Be patient for a few +days, Lizzie, and we may think of some +way out of this dilemma. You owe it +to Monsieur de Courcelles as well as to +yourself—’</p> + +<p>At this moment a young negress, with +a yellow handkerchief bound about her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span> +woolly head, and the tears running down +her black cheeks, hastily entered the +bungalow.</p> + +<p>‘Massa Fellows,’ she cried, ‘I bring +berry bad news. Poor Mammy Lila +gone to heaven! Mammy took sick +with fever last night, and no one to +send for Doctor but me, and I got de +chile to tend. So Mammy say, “Gib +me pepper pot, and I all right to-morrow;” +but morning time Mammy go +home. And Aunty Cora come and stay +by her, and she tell me take dis chile +back to Dr Fellows, ’cause Mammy Lila +dead, and dis nigger must go home to +her fader and moder.’</p> + +<p>‘Why, it’s Judy, Mammy Lila’s grandchild, +and she has brought the infant +back again!’ exclaimed Liz, as she saw +the bundle in the girl’s arms.</p> + + +<p>‘Mammy Lila gone! Here’s a misfortune<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span> +to upset all our plans,’ said the +Doctor.</p> + +<p>‘Father, what are we to do?’</p> + +<p>‘We can do nothing but keep the +child here—at all events for a few hours, +Liz. I know of no one else to take +charge of it, or, at least, no one whom +I could trust. To-morrow I will go +over to the Fort and consult Dr Martin; +but for the present it must remain +with you, and I will take this girl back +to Shanty Hill, to see that she speaks +to no one in the plantation. Here, +Judy, give the baby to Miss Liz, and +you shall go back to Shanty Hill +with me. Are you <i>sure</i> that Mammy +Lila is gone?’</p> + +<p>‘Sure, massa! Why, she cold as a +stone, and Uncle Josh making her coffin +already. The last words she sez was, +“Take chile back to Doctor, and say<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span> +Mammy can’t do no more;” and den +she lay her head down and shut her +eyes, and I run for Aunty Cora, and +she say Mammy dead as a door nail.’</p> + +<p>‘All right, Judy. I’m very sorry to +hear it, but I’ll go back with you all +the same.’</p> + +<p>He reached down his hat and stick as +he spoke, and turned to his daughter +before he left the room.</p> + +<p>‘I’ll be back in an hour or two, Liz. +Take the child into the inner room, +and don’t leave the house till I return. +I didn’t know the fever had reached +Shanty Hill. I must see some sanitary +precautions carried out there.’</p> + +<p>The young negress placed the infant +in Lizzie’s outstretched arms.</p> + +<p>‘You’ll be glad to get it back again, +I guess,’ she said slyly, as she deposited +it there.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span>‘I’m not so sure of that,’ replied Liz, +taking no further notice of the remark, +as she carried her burden tenderly +away.</p> + +<p>She placed it on the bed, and carefully +unfolded the wrappings round it. +She had a natural curiosity to see the +little creature born of one so near and +dear to her, even though it had no title +but to a heritage of shame. And when +she saw it, the maternal instinct so +strong in the breasts of all good and +pure women rose like a fountain in her +heart, and overflowed for the poor +motherless and fatherless baby thrown +so unexpectedly upon her care.</p> + +<p>Maraquita’s little daughter was a tiny, +fragile-looking thing, with large dark +eyes and a waxen complexion, and a +wistful, solemn expression, as if she were +asking the cold world not to spurn her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span> +for her parents’ fault. The first view +of her touched Lizzie deeply. She +hardly knew herself why she cried like +a child at the sight of those tiny hands +and feet, those grave, wondering eyes, +and the head of soft, dark hair that +nestled against her bosom. But the +best feelings of her nature rose to the +surface, and her first idea was that she +could never part with the child again, +but would tend and rear it for Maraquita’s +sake. But when she confided +her wishes to Dr Fellows, he shook his +head in dissent.</p> + +<p>‘It would never do, Lizzie. It would +be too great a risk,’ he said. ‘The +child’s presence here would excite general +curiosity. The talk would reach Maraquita’s +ears, and its proximity would +unsettle her—perhaps cause her to betray +herself. There is only one safe course<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span> +to pursue in these unhappy cases, and +that is, complete separation. Take care +of the poor little creature to-night for +me, and to-morrow I will ride over to +the Fort, and see if Dr Martin knows +of any trustworthy woman to take charge +of it. The regiment is to be relieved +next month. If I can get the child +shipped off to England, I shall consider +it the most fortunate circumstance that +could befall it, unless indeed it would +die first, which would be still better.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, father!’ cried Liz reproachfully, +as she laid her lips against the baby’s +velvet cheek.</p> + +<p>‘It sounds hard, my dear, but it can +inherit nothing but a life of shame and +loneliness, and it would be very merciful +of God to take it. You don’t know +what it is to live under the crushing +sense of shame. Besides, it is a weakly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span> +infant, and under any circumstances is +not likely to make old bones.’</p> + +<p>‘I believe that I could rear it, with +care and attention,’ repeated Liz, wistfully.</p> + +<p>‘It is impossible,’ repeated the Doctor +briefly, as he left the room.</p> + +<p>But in a few minutes he returned, +and walked up to where his daughter +was still crooning over the baby.</p> + +<p>‘Lizzie, I have been thinking over +your wish to tell Henri de Courcelles +my story. But it must not be, my dear—not +at least during my lifetime. You +will be angry with me for saying so, +but I don’t quite trust De Courcelles. +We have never got on well together. +There is something about him I don’t +understand. If I should die, Lizzie, +and sometimes I think it won’t be long, +first, you can do as you think fit, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span> +whilst I live, I hold you to your promise +of secrecy.’</p> + +<p>‘And I will keep it,’ replied Lizzie, +‘as if it had been made to God.’</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i165.jpg" alt=""></div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i166a.jpg" alt=""></div> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VII.</h2> +</div> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i166b.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="M"> +</div> + +<p><span class="drop-cap">M</span>R and Mrs Courtney could not +sufficiently express their satisfaction +at receiving their daughter +back again. Maraquita was their only +child. She had never had a brother nor a +sister. All their hopes were centred in +her, and in their love they naturally +exaggerated her beauty, and were blind +to her faults. Her father positively +idolised her, and her mother’s affection, +though rather languid and uneffusive, +was none the less real. Had Mrs<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span> +Courtney exercised a proper <i>surveillance</i> +over her daughter, Quita could never +have suffered the misfortune she had +just undergone; but it was not in her +indolent Spanish nature to look after +anything. She had had a suspicion of +Maraquita’s condition, but it was only +a suspicion, although the old black +nurse Jessica had known it for months +past. But Jessica had suckled Maraquita +from the moment of her birth, and +attended on her every hour of the day +and night since, and would have died +sooner than have brought one word of +blame on the head of her young mistress. +She had not even let the girl know that +she had guessed her terrible secret, and +so Maraquita returned to her father’s +house with as proud a bearing as if +she had done nothing to forfeit the +esteem of her fellow-creatures, and quite<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span> +ready to accept all the homage paid to +her. She was carried straight from her +palanquin to a room redolent of flowers, +and laid upon a couch, whilst the household +servants ran hither and thither, +to bring her refreshment, or to do her +service.</p> + +<p>Old Jessica was weeping for joy +at the foot of her couch to think +she had got her young mistress safely +back again, and Mr and Mrs Courtney +were almost as effusive in their gratitude +for their good fortune. Meanwhile +Maraquita lay there, lovely and +languid, pleased to see how much +pleasure she gave them by her recovery, +and without a blush of shame +to remember how that recovery had +been attained. Hers was a frivolous, +unthinking nature—easily scared by the +approach of danger, but ready to forget<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span> +everything that was not immediately before +her. She was a very common type +of our fallen humanity, intensely selfish, +and only disturbed by the misfortunes +that threatened herself. And now, +she believed that she was safe. Her +secret was known only to the Doctor, +and he had promised her, for her +father’s sake, that it should never rise +up against her. So she reclined there, +smiling, with one white hand clasped +in that of her father’s, and a bunch of +orange blossoms—emblems of woman’s +purity—with which Jessica had presented +her, laid against her cheek.</p> + +<p>‘How lovely our Quita is looking!’ +exclaimed Mrs Courtney, who was rocking +herself in a cane chair opposite, +whilst a negress fanned her with a +large palm leaf. ‘I really think her +illness has improved her. She was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span> +rather sallow before it. What would +Sir Russell Johnstone say if he could +see her now.’</p> + +<p>‘Sir Russell Johnstone,’ repeated Quita, +whilst Mr Courtney glanced at his wife +with a look of warning.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, dear, the new Governor! Your +father and I have seen a good deal of +him lately, and he always inquires most +particularly after you.’</p> + +<p>‘Nita, my dear,’ interposed Mr Courtney, +‘you must not forget that our +child is still far from strong, and that +Fellows cautioned us against any excitement.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t believe that pleasurable excitement +can hurt any one, Mr Courtney, +but if you think it desirable, I will +drop the subject.’</p> + +<p>‘No, no, mother, pray go on. What +was it you were going to say? I want<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span> +to hear all your news. It seems as if +I had been shut up so long. Tell me +everything you can think of about Sir +Russell, and—and—our other friends. +It will do me good to listen.’</p> + +<p>‘Sir Russell will have a great deal +to say to you himself by-and-by I expect, +Maraquita,’ continued her mother, +‘and he will want us to take you up +to see Government House. It is such +a beautiful place. You have not seen +half of it at the balls. And the furniture +is something superb. It will be +a happy woman who is fortunate enough +to be chosen to reign over it.’</p> + +<p>‘Is Sir Russell going to marry, then, +mamma?’</p> + +<p>‘He wishes to do so, Quita.’</p> + +<p>‘And is the lady in San Diego?’</p> + +<p>‘He has told your father so, my +dear.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>‘Quita,’ exclaimed Mr Courtney, as +the girl turned her lustrous eyes upon +him, ‘cannot you guess the truth? +Sir Russell Johnstone is almost as +eager for your recovery as we are. He +has proposed to me for your hand, and +he is impatient to have your answer.’</p> + +<p>‘Sir Russell Johnstone, the Governor +of San Diego, wants to marry <i>me</i>!’ +said Maraquita, in a dazed voice.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, my dear. It is a great honour, +but I will not have you biassed,’ returned +her father. ‘You shall do exactly +as you like about it.’</p> + +<p>‘Sir Russell?’ repeated Quita, in the +same dreamy tone. ‘But he is so +old, and so ugly.’</p> + +<p>‘<i>Old!</i>’ cried Mrs Courtney. ‘Why, +child, you are raving! He is not a +day over forty, and a very good-looking +man, although somewhat bald. But<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span> +that has nothing to do with the matter. +It is the position you must look at, +and the honour of the thing. Fancy +being Lady Russell, and at the head +of all the ladies of San Diego, and +then going, by-and-by, to live in +England, and see all the sights of +London, and the Queen, perhaps, and +the Royal Family. Why, that chance +alone would be worth all the rest, in +my estimation!’</p> + +<p>‘Nita! I won’t have our daughter +persuaded to do anything against her +inclinations.’</p> + +<p>‘Dear me, Mr Courtney, I am not +trying to persuade her! I am only +showing her the proper way in which +to consider Sir Russell’s proposal. Why, +he’s the highest match in the island, +and Quita will never get such another +chance if she lives to be a hundred!’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span>‘That’s true enough,’ replied her husband, +‘but she shouldn’t marry the +Prince of Wales himself, if she hadn’t +a fancy for him, whilst I have the +money to keep her.’</p> + +<p>‘But stop, father,’ interrupted Quita, +‘there is no harm in talking it over +with mother, and I like to talk of +it. It’s a great compliment, isn’t it? +I wonder whatever made Sir Russell +think of me?’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, my dear girl, don’t talk such +nonsense!’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney. +‘You <i>must</i> know how pretty you are, +even if nobody’s told you so, and that +there’s not another woman in San +Diego can compare with you. Sir Russell +has got a pair of eyes in his head +like other men, and he sees you will +make the handsomest Governor’s lady +in the West Indies. And so you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span> +will, though it’s your mother says +it.’</p> + +<p>Maraquita was evidently much impressed +by the news which had been +told her. She lay quiescent on her +sofa, but her large eyes were gazing +into space, and a faint rose flush had +mounted to her face.</p> + +<p>‘Do you think he is <i>sure</i> to take +me to England?’ she inquired, after a +pause.</p> + +<p>‘Why, naturally, my love, when his +three years’ term is over here. And +he tells me he has a lovely place in +the country there, and he’s a Member +of Parliament into the bargain, and +knows all the grandest people in London. +Why, you would live like a queen, +and be the luckiest woman in the +world.’</p> + +<p>‘And <i>we</i> should have to part<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span> +with her,’ said Mr Courtney, with a +sigh.</p> + +<p>‘Well, I suppose that would come +some day, in any case,’ replied his +wife, ‘and there’ll be plenty of time +to think of it. Sir Russell has only +been in office six months, and by the +time his term is ended, I don’t see +why <i>we</i> shouldn’t visit England too, +Mr Courtney. You’ve promised to take +me there, times out of mind.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, yes! unlikelier things have +happened,’ said her husband, brightening +up.</p> + +<p>‘And I should have a splendid wedding, +shouldn’t I?’ mused Maraquita.</p> + +<p>‘You should have the grandest wedding +that’s ever been seen in San Diego,’ +replied her mother, ‘and everybody in +the island, black and white, to see it. +It would be a universal holiday, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span> +we would send for your wedding dress +to Paris, Quita. Monsieur de Courcelles +was telling me the other day that—’</p> + +<p>But Mrs Courtney was summarily +stopped in her recital by a burst of +hysterical tears from Maraquita.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, no! I can’t do it; I don’t like +him enough,’ she sobbed. ‘He is old +and ugly. I <i>won’t</i> marry him. Don’t +say any more about it.’</p> + +<p>Of course both her parents were full +of concern for her agitation.</p> + +<p>‘I told you how it would be!’ exclaimed +the father. ‘She is far too weak to hear +so exciting a topic. You should have +held your tongue till she is stronger, and +able to decide the matter herself. Don’t +cry, my dearest child. Try and compose +yourself, or I shall be obliged to summon +Dr Fellows.’</p> + +<p>‘You should have more sense,’ said<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span> +her mother decidedly. ‘No one wishes +you to do anything that is objectionable +to you, Quita. There is nothing to cry +for at having a grand proposal made +you. However, let us drop the subject +for to-day, and perhaps you had better +lie down in your own room and have +a siesta. Jessica has prepared it for +you.’</p> + +<p>The two women supported the girl +between them to her sleeping-chamber, +when Mrs Courtney despatched the black +nurse for some iced lemonade.</p> + +<p>‘Quita,’ she whispered, as she lifted +her daughter on to the bed, ‘you haven’t +deceived me? There is a mystery about +this illness of yours which may ruin your +whole life. Take my advice, my dear, +and marry Sir Russell Johnstone. It +will be your salvation.’</p> + +<p>‘But, mother,’ whispered Maraquita back<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span> +again, with her face hidden in her mother’s +sleeve, ‘there—there is <i>some one else</i>.’</p> + +<p>‘Do you suppose I don’t know that, +and that I needn’t go far to find him, +either, Quita? But no woman ever +married yet, my dear, without there being +“<i>some one else</i>.” But he will be no +good to you, and you must forget him +as soon as you can. You’ve made a fool +of yourself, and your only remedy lies +in marriage; but you can’t marry <i>him</i>. +Your father would never hear of such +a thing. He looks high for you, and he +has a right to do so. He would as soon +consent to your marrying Black Sandie +as—as—’</p> + +<p>‘Hush, mother!’ cried Maraquita. +‘Don’t speak his name: I cannot bear +it.’</p> + +<p>‘He has behaved like a villain to you, +my dear, and you ought to despise him<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span> +for it. It is only for your sake that I +have not had him turned off the plantation. +But if I hold my tongue, you +must promise to think well over the +advantages of Sir Russell’s proposal.’</p> + +<p>‘I will—I will—’</p> + +<p>‘It is a perfect godsend, and you would +be a fool to reject it. I can’t understand +your being so upset over a piece of good +fortune,’ said Mrs Courtney, as she bent +over her. ‘I hope—I <i>hope</i>, Maraquita, +that you won’t let this folly interfere +with it.’</p> + +<p>She said so meaningly, for she had +not failed to observe the manner in +which the young overseer and Maraquita +had looked at each other on the +occasions of Henri de Courcelles’ visits +to the White House. Her daughter +flushed slightly, and turned her head +away.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span>‘Of course not,’ she answered pettishly. +‘But if I did, what of it, mamma? My +father says I am not to be biassed in +my inclinations, and that means I may +choose for myself.’</p> + +<p>‘So long as you choose an eligible +person, Maraquita; but you quite mistake +your father if you imagine he will +consent to your marriage with any one +beneath yourself. He is very particular +on that score. You are our only child, +and will inherit all his fortune, and you +have a right to make a good match. +Now, pray, my dear, don’t be foolish. +All girls have their little fancies, you +know, but they learn to get over them, +and you must do the same, won’t +you?’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know what you are talking +about, mamma,’ replied Quita uneasily. +‘All I have to think about now, I suppose,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span> +is whether I shall marry Sir Russell +Johnstone or not.’</p> + +<p>‘My dear girl, you make me miserable +by even suggesting a doubt on the +subject. I am sure of one thing,—if +you <i>don’t</i> marry him, you will never +cease to reproach yourself, and be +ready to die of envy at seeing +Mademoiselle Julie Latreille or one of +the other San Diego belles in your +place.’</p> + +<p>‘<i>Julie Latreille!</i>’ cried Maraquita. +‘Why, she can’t hold a candle to me! +Every one said so at the last regimental +ball.’</p> + +<p>‘Of course she can’t, dear, and she +wouldn’t know how to conduct herself +as the Governor’s lady either. But when +a man is disappointed in one direction, +he is apt to try and console himself in +another. And Sir Russell is <i>very</i> much<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span> +in love with you, Maraquita; I never +saw a man more so.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, he won’t expect me to be in +love with him, I hope.’</p> + +<p>‘What a silly thing to say, my dear! +If you will only consent to marry him, +I’ll guarantee that Sir Russell will be +satisfied with anything you may choose +to give him. Of course, you will be +very grateful to him, and kind and +affectionate and all that,’ continued Mrs +Courtney as an afterthought; ‘but it +is quite unnecessary that any young +lady should profess to be in love with +her husband. You can leave all that to +the men.’</p> + +<p>Maraquita sighed, and said nothing. +She possessed a very warm temperament, +like most people born of a mixture of +bloods, and the prospect of being tied +to a man for whom she did not care,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span> +was most displeasing to her. Her +thoughts reverted to another lover, whom +a marriage with the Governor would +force her to give up, and the tears +gathered in her eyes and rolled slowly +down her cheeks.</p> + +<p>‘Come, my dear,’ exclaimed her +mother hastily, as she watched the +signs of her emotion, ‘we will drop +this subject for to-day, and you must +try and go to sleep. In a short time +you will see all the advantages of Sir +Russell’s proposal, and be very grateful +for them. But at present you are weak, +and must not think too much. I will +leave you alone now, and Jessica shall +fan you to sleep.’</p> + +<p>But it was very little sleep that +visited Maraquita’s eyes that day, and +it was in vain that old Jessica closed +the green jalousies over her windows,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span> +and brought her cooling drinks, and +fanned her incessantly to keep off the +flies. Quita’s large dark eyes were +fixed upon space, whilst she revolved +the question in her mind whether she +could possibly marry Sir Russell Johnstone, +and always came back to the +conclusion that it was impossible. When +night arrived, her mother was so distressed +to find the symptoms of fever +strong upon her, that she wanted +to send at once for Dr Fellows, +but Quita entreated her not to do +so.</p> + +<p>‘Mamma, dear, let me have my own +way, and I shall be all right in the +morning. Let me sleep quite alone. +Jessica fidgets me. She jumps up +twenty times in the night to see if I +am asleep or want anything, and when +she sleeps herself she snores. She is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span> +a good old creature, but I’d rather be +left to myself.’</p> + +<p>‘But, Quita, my dear, supposing you +should be ill in the night, and no one +near you!’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney. +‘Why, I shouldn’t be able to sleep +myself for thinking of it. Let <i>me</i> sleep +in the next room to yours, my darling. +The curtain can be drawn over the +open door, and you will be as much +alone as if it were shut. And I should +be within call if you required me.’</p> + +<p>‘No, no,’ replied the girl fretfully. +‘That would be worse than having +Jessica in my room, for I should +never be certain <i>when</i> you were coming. +I want to be <i>alone</i>, mother—really +and truly <i>alone</i>—and when the darkness +falls, I shall sleep soundly.’</p> + +<p>‘Very well, my dear,’ said Mrs +Courtney. ‘If it is your whim, you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span> +shall be indulged in it, but I shall +not dare tell your father that I have +consented, or he will insist on sitting up +with you himself.’</p> + +<p>She kissed her daughter then, and +professed to leave her for the night, +but she whispered to old Jessica that +after she had prepared everything that +was necessary, she was to lie down +on the mat outside the door of Maraquita’s +chamber, and listen to every +sound that issued from it.</p> + +<p>The old negress obeyed with alacrity. +She possessed the faculty, common to +coloured people, of staying awake for +hours if necessary, and even of sleeping +with one eye open. The inner +door of her young mistress’s apartment +opened on a corridor, paved with +marble, but there were two other doors +to it which led out to the garden.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span> +Jessica sat down on a white bear-skin +mat in the corridor, and listened for a +possible summons. The night drew on +apace. The lamps were extinguished +throughout the White House, and the +master and mistress had retired to rest. +The coloured servants were sleeping on +mats in the verandahs, and everything +was hushed in silence, when midnight +struck from the large clock over the +stables. The old negress’s eyes were +just about to close in slumber, when +she was startled into consciousness +again by the fall of a light footstep +on the matted bedroom floor. Maraquita +had left her bed. Jessica sat up +straight and listened. The light step +became more palpable. Quita had put +on her shoes and stockings, and was +passing through the door that led to +the plantation. Quick and stealthy as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span> +a panther, and almost as noiselessly, +old Jessica crept round another way, +just in time to see a dark-robed form +walking down the path towards the +overseer’s bungalow.</p> + +<p>‘I thinking so,’ mused the old woman; +‘I <i>sure</i> dat man at de bottom of it! +Curse him! He’s stolen away my poor +missy’s heart, and brought her into all +dis trouble, and now she’s out of it, +she can’t rest without him. Ah, if the +massa only knew, he’d <i>kill him</i>. And +<i>I’ll</i> kill him if he don’t let my missy +alone. I’ll make him drink obeah water +and he shall die. My poor little missy +to go through all dis trouble for a +man who don’t care for her no more +than he do for Jerusha. If I only tell +Jerusha! <i>Dat</i> would finish him once +and for ever.’</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Maraquita (for it was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span> +indeed she) was making what haste she +could towards her lover’s home. She +felt very weak as she tried to walk, +and her limbs trembled under her, but +she would not give in, for her reputation +was at stake, and what will a +woman <i>not</i> do to save her good name? +Henri de Courcelles’ study or room of +business was at the back of the bungalow, +and he was in the habit of sitting +up there late into the night, reading. +Well did the poor girl know her way +to that room at the back of the house—well +did she know her lover’s habits +and customs—too well, unfortunately, for +her own peace of mind. Henri de +Courcelles was surprised and delighted—but +not startled—when her slight +form passed through the open door, +and stood before him. He knew that +she would come to him as soon as she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span> +was able, but he had hardly expected +she would have been able to do so +so soon. He leapt from his chair and +clasped her in his arms.</p> + +<p>‘Quita, my darling,’ he exclaimed, +‘you have returned to me at last!’</p> + +<p>The girl did not speak, but she +clung to his embrace as if she would +never leave it.</p> + +<p>‘You are trembling, my dearest! +You were imprudent, perhaps, to risk +visiting me so soon. Sit down, and let +me lie at your feet and hear all you +have to tell me.’</p> + +<p>He placed her in the chair from +which he had risen, as he spoke, and +threw himself on his knees beside +her.</p> + +<p>‘Do you know what I have suffered +during your illness?’ he exclaimed. ‘I +thought the suspense would have driven<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span> +me mad. And then the awful fear +lest you should betray yourself. But +tell me, Quita, is all danger over? Is +our secret safe?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes!’ she answered wearily. ‘It is +over.’</p> + +<p>‘Thank Heaven for that! And no +one is the wiser.’</p> + +<p>‘No one except Dr Fellows, of course. +I couldn’t deceive <i>him</i>. But even +Liz does not know. No one knows +except him—and you and me.’</p> + +<p>‘And the child, dearest. Where is +it?’</p> + +<p>The girl gave a sudden gesture of +repugnance.</p> + +<p>‘Don’t speak of it: I cannot bear +the thought. I am trying so hard to +forget everything. And yet, Henri, I +<i>must</i> speak, for this once only. Dr +Fellows has sent it away to some one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span> +up the hills, but I shall never be happy +till it is out of San Diego. Cannot +you manage it for me? Can’t you +send it away to America or England, +so that I may never hear it spoken of +again?’</p> + +<p>‘Perhaps you would like me to drop +it in the sea,’ he answered gloomily. +It cannot be pleasant for a man to +hear a woman express nothing but +horror of the child she has borne to +him.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know <i>what</i> I want,’ rejoined +Quita sadly, ‘only I am so frightened +of what may happen. If my father +should ever come to hear of it, I think +he would <i>kill</i> me.’</p> + +<p>‘No one shall molest you!’ exclaimed +De Courcelles sternly. ‘You are my +wife, Quita, and the man who injures +you must answer for it to me.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>‘Ah, don’t talk nonsense!’ she said, +shrinking a little from him. ‘You know, +Henri, that I am <i>not</i> your wife.’</p> + +<p>‘But why should you not be so, +Maraquita? Why not take the bull by +the horns, and let me confess everything +to your father?’</p> + +<p>‘What are you thinking of?’ she cried, +in a voice of terror. ‘You would only +bring down his wrath upon my head. He +will never consent to my marrying you.’</p> + +<p>‘Then marry me without his consent, +Quita. Surely that should not be distasteful +to you, after all that has passed +between us. Come, dearest, you love +me, do you not? You have so often +assured me so. Why not cross with +me to Santa Lucia, and we will break +the news of our marriage to your parents +from there. Say “<i>Yes</i>,” Maraquita, for +the sake of our child,’ he whispered.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>‘It is <i>impossible</i>!’ she said back again. +‘You are asking me to give up my +father and mother for you. It would +break their hearts. They would never +speak to me again.’</p> + +<p>‘But why not? They are wealthy, +and you are their only child. They +can enrich any one on whom your +happiness may be placed. They would +be angry at first, naturally, but they +would soon come round, for they could +not live without you, Maraquita. A +few weeks would see us all together +again.’</p> + +<p>‘You are mistaken, Henri. My father +loves me dearly, but his prejudices are +very strong. Only to-night, my mother +was telling me that he would never +countenance my marriage to any one +whom he did not consider an equal +match to myself.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span>‘Heavens! Maraquita! Can Mrs Courtney +suspect anything?’</p> + +<p>‘God knows! She has not actually +mentioned the subject to me, but her +words fell very much like a warning. +Perhaps they were so. Perhaps she +intended to caution me on my future +conduct. She has at any rate shown +me very decidedly that my father expects +me to accede to the views he has +formed for me.’</p> + +<p>De Courcelles turned pale.</p> + +<p>‘What views?’ he stammered. ‘Mr +Courtney gave me some hints the other +day that you were likely to make a +grand marriage, but I felt—I <i>knew</i>, that +it could not be true.’</p> + +<p>‘But it <i>is</i> true, Henri. Sir Russell +Johnstone, the Governor of the island, +has proposed for me, and my father insists +on my accepting him.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span>‘And you <i>will</i>?’ cried De Courcelles, +in a voice of anguish.</p> + +<p>‘What am I to do?’ asked Maraquita +wildly. ‘Can I go to my parents +and tell them I have disgraced +myself? How would that benefit +us? I have already told you they +would never consent to my marrying +<i>you</i>. And <i>this</i> marriage will, at +all events, shelter me from any risk +in the future. No one will be able +to harm me when I am the Governor’s +wife.’</p> + +<p>‘You will do it!’ exclaimed Henri +de Courcelles fiercely; ‘I feel that you +<i>will do it</i>!’</p> + +<p>At that moment he saw the girl in +her true colours—selfish, avaricious and +worldly-minded, yet, with the insane +blindness of passion, he would have +wrested her from the hands of his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span> +rival, even though his victory bound +him to a life-long curse. His Nemesis +had already overtaken him. He had +seized his prey, but he could not hold +it. He had made Maraquita (as he +fondly believed) his own. In doing so, +he had outraged every law of morality +and friendship. He had even thrown +over Liz Fellows, whom he knew loved +him so purely and truly, and yet his +sins had been sinned in vain. Quita +no more belonged to him than the +plantation of Beauregard did. She was +straining at her fetters even now, and +before long she would burst them altogether, +to become the wife of the +Governor of San Diego. As the truth +struck home to him, De Courcelles’ +pain turned to anger.</p> + +<p>‘You cannot! You <i>dare not</i>!’ he continued. +‘You are in my power, Maraquita,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span> +and I defy you to throw me +over.’</p> + +<p>Then her bravado changed to craven +fear. She could lie and deceive, and +be selfish and ungrateful, this beautiful +piece of feminine humanity, but she was +a terrible coward, and her lover’s Spanish +eyes were gleaming on her like two +daggers.</p> + +<p>‘Ah, don’t be angry with me, Henri!’ +she exclaimed pitifully. ‘You know how +much I love you. Haven’t I given +you good proof of my affection? Do +you think it possible that I could +marry any one else of my own free +will?’</p> + +<p>‘Then you will never marry any one +else, Maraquita, for you shall not be +coerced into it whilst I live. But I +don’t feel sure of you yet. Will you +promise me, if the Governor’s suit is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span> +pressed more closely upon you, to save +yourself by flying with me?’</p> + +<p>‘I will!—on one condition, Henri.’</p> + +<p>‘What is it?’</p> + +<p>‘That you will shelter me from the +shame you have brought upon me. <i>I</i> +dare not do anything in the matter, +but you are cleverer than I am, and +may manage it without detection. Only +get <i>it</i>—you know what I mean—sent +away from San Diego, or devise +some plan by which it can never be +brought in judgment against me, and +I—I—will do anything you ask +me.’</p> + +<p>‘You give me your solemn word to +that effect?’</p> + +<p>‘My solemn word, Henri,’ she answered, +with downcast eyes.</p> + +<p>‘Then it shall be done—if I have +to steal it away with my own hands.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span> +But after we are married, surely <i>then</i>, +Maraquita—’ he said wistfully.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, don’t talk of that now!’ cried +the girl hurriedly. ‘It will be time +enough to discuss what we shall do, +when the time arrives. But I must +go now, Henri, or Jessica may miss +me. Perhaps you will come up and +see me to-morrow.’</p> + +<p>‘I will come up, without fail, whether +they let me see you or not. One kiss, +my darling. Remember that I look +upon you as <i>my wife</i>, and no one +shall wrest you from me.’</p> + +<p>‘<i>No one</i>—no one!’ she answered +feverishly, as she returned his passionate +kisses, and almost wished she had the +courage to be true to him. Yet as +she crept back to her home through +the shadowy, moonlit paths—for she +would not let De Courcelles accompany<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span> +her, for fear of being intercepted—she +knew she had been lying, and had +no more intention of marrying him than +before. She had used his entreaties +as a means to her own end, and if +<i>that</i> were accomplished, she would have +no hesitation in breaking the promise +she had given him. She could always +fall back—so she thought—on the duty +which she owed her parents, and if +the great misfortune of being found +out befell her, and the wrath of her +father and mother proved too hard to +bear, why, Henri de Courcelles was +ready and eager to marry her.</p> + +<p>Maraquita did not argue with her +own conscience in so many words, but +such were the thoughts that flitted +through her brain as she traversed the +slight distance between the overseer’s +bungalow and the White House, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span> +noiselessly re-entered her chamber. +Jessica, who had watched her go and +return, never closed her faithful eyes +in slumber until she was assured that +her young mistress was safely in her +bed again, and, for the first time since +she had sought it, fast asleep.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i203.jpg" alt=""></div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i204a.jpg" alt=""></div> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VIII.</h2> +</div> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i204b.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="M"> +</div> + +<p><span class="drop-cap">M</span>EANWHILE Lizzie Fellows, +unconscious of her lover’s infidelity, +sat up the livelong +night, cradling his deserted infant in her +arms. Whilst the members of the White +House were wrapped in slumber, and even +Maraquita and Henri de Courcelles had +gained a temporary relief from their +perplexities, and everything was hushed +and silent in the Doctor’s bungalow, +Liz rocked the wailing infant to and fro, +or slowly paced up and down the room<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span> +singing a soft lullaby to try and soothe +it. But the puny little creature refused +to be comforted. It wanted the warmth +and shelter of its mother’s bosom, and +bleated as pitifully for it as an orphaned +lamb standing beside the dead body of +the ewe on a bleak hillside. Liz, who +had had a great deal of experience with +children, tried all her arts to quiet it +in vain. The baby was determined she +should have no rest that night.</p> + +<p>‘Poor wee mite,’ she whispered, as +she laid her cheek against its face, and a +natural instinct made it turn its soft lips +towards it to find the breast. ‘How +can she leave you to the care of +strangers? How can she sleep in +comfort, not knowing if you cry, or are +at peace? If you were <i>mine</i>, I would +die sooner than give up my mother’s +right to feed and cherish you, yes, even<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span> +if the world stoned me for it. How I +wish I might bring you up for my +own little girl—my little tiny Maraquita!’</p> + +<p>How startled we should be sometimes +if the wishes we carelessly utter were +to be immediately fulfilled! Liz little +thought as she crooned over the unconscious +baby, that the hour was rapidly +approaching when her puzzle would be +not how to keep it, but how to get rid +of it. Yet so it was.</p> + +<p>All that night she walked the room +with its little downy head nestled close +to her bosom, and its tiny fingers locked +round her own. A dozen times she +warmed the milk, of which it could only +take a few drops, to keep the flickering +life in its frail body, and covered it +warmly with flannel, to increase the +circulation of its blood, although the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span> +hot night air permeated the apartment. +It was so feeble, that sometimes she +almost thought its heart had stopped +beating, and uncovered it with a sudden +terror. But the infant slept on, although +each breath it drew seemed like a wail, +until the shadows dispersed, and the +glorious West Indian sun rose like a +king, and flooded the island with his +glory. There seemed to be no dawn +to the watcher, or rather it was so +momentary, that the night changed as +if by magic into day, and the windows +of heaven were thrown open suddenly +to let the sunlight stream upon the +land. It was the waking signal for all +life. The big magnolia flowers opened +their creamy blossoms as they felt its +rays; the trumpet creepers unfolded +their leaves; the mimosa spread herself +out as though she would bask in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span> +returning light. A hundred scents filled +the morning air, and from the grove of +trees came many a chirp—first singly +and then in twos and threes, as the +birds encouraged their mates to rouse +themselves, and come forth to pick up +the insects before they hid in the long +grasses from the noonday heat. From +the negro quarters was borne a sort +of humming sound, as of a disturbed +bee-hive, as the Aunt Sallies and +Chloes and Uncle Toms turned out +of their beds, and made their toilets +in the open air. The morning had +broken. It was five o’clock, and in +another half-hour the overseer would be +amongst them, and accept no excuses +if the whole gang were not drawn up +in readiness to march down to the +cotton fields or the coffee plantation.</p> + +<p>Liz sat in her room with the baby<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span> +on her knee, listening for the sound +of his mustang’s feet. How often had +she been roused from her sleep as +they passed her window, and breathed +a prayer for her lover’s safety before +she laid her head on her pillow again—or +watched for him after a night’s +vigil, and given him a bright smile +and a wave of her hand as a morning +welcome. But to-day she shrank from +seeing him. A cloud had risen between +them, with the knowledge of her +father’s secret, which made her afraid +to meet the eyes of the man from +whom she would be, perhaps, but too +soon parted for ever. Besides, were a +look from her to bring him to the open +window, the sacred trust she held in her +arms might be betrayed. Liz blushed +as she wondered what explanation +she could possibly give Henri de<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span> +Courcelles of the child’s presence there, +and how curious he would become to +learn its parentage, and moved further +from the window as the thought struck +her.</p> + +<p>She need not have been afraid. She +heard his palfrey canter by, and caught +a glimpse of his handsome figure as he +rode past the bungalow; but his head +was filled with thoughts of Maraquita, +and how he could accomplish the task +she had set him, and he never even +turned his head in her direction. Liz +sighed as she observed the defalcation. +It was foolish, no doubt, and unworthy +of a sensible woman, for her first wish +had been to avoid him. But who is +sensible in love?</p> + +<p>The little child was sleeping soundly +at last, and Liz laid it on the pillows +of her bed, and commenced her morning<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span> +toilet. The thought of her father +had suddenly struck her. If he was +to ride to the Fort that morning and +consult Dr Martin about a foster-nurse +for the baby, it was time he was roused +and went upon his way. The cool +hours are soon over in that climate, +and when the sun has fairly risen, it +is unsafe for any European to ride +about, and her father had not looked +well of late.</p> + +<p>The excitement of Maraquita’s illness, +and the necessity for concealment, had +told on Dr Fellows, and made his +face more drawn and haggard than it +had been before. And though he had +brought much trouble on her, and +might prove the cause of her losing +what she most cared for, still Lizzie +loved him dearly, and pitied more than +she blamed him. To live for years<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span> +under a load of shame and the fear +of detection, what greater curse could +any human creature be called upon to +suffer? Liz’s own burthen sunk into +insignificance beside it.</p> + +<p>Her mind reverted to her early days, +when she used to wonder why <i>her</i> +father’s hair was grey, whilst that of +Maraquita’s was brown, or why Mr +Courtney played hide-and-seek with +them in the plantation, whilst Dr Fellows +shook his head and told her such +games were only meant for little boys +and girls. Liz understood it now, and +felt almost glad to think she could +show her sympathy with all he had +gone through, even though she had to +sacrifice her own future in order to +pass it by his side.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Henri de Courcelles had +completed his journey, and reined in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span> +his steed at the negroes’ quarters. +The hands were all ready to receive +him—the men chiefly dressed in white +or striped linen jackets, with dark +blue trousers, and the women in print +petticoats, and gaily coloured orange +or crimson handkerchiefs knotted about +their woolly hair. They were a fine-looking +set of coolies, all free men, +as they were termed by courtesy, but +in reality as much slaves as any before +the passing of the Abolition Act. They +were not all of African blood. Many +had come from the East Indies—had +been shipped across in hundreds at a +time from Calcutta to San Diego, +under a promise of higher pay, and +less work, than they could obtain in +their own country, and had been +landed penniless and powerless, to find +themselves compelled to take any wages<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span> +that were offered them, and do any +work they were ordered, because they +had no means of returning to India. +These coolies were not so muscular +and capable of hard labour as the +Africans, but they were handsomer, both +in face and figure. Some of the women +had almost perfect features, and were +lithe and supple as young roes; but +they all bore, more or less, an expression +of melancholy. They were not +so well able to cast off care, and +make the best of the present, as +their companions in slavery, but they +were more crafty and more desirous +of revenge. Amongst them—standing +very much to the front, in fact, as +if she wished to attract attention—was +a young girl of perhaps fifteen—the +age of a child in our country, but of +a grown woman in hers. She was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span> +tall for her nationality, and had a +beautifully rounded figure, with tiny +hands and feet, and a face fit for a +sultan’s harem. She was evidently a +coquette, and thought much of her +personal appearance, for a bunch of +white flowers was twined in her long +plaits of hair, and a crimson handkerchief +was tied across her bosom. In +her arms she held an infant of a few +months old, a lusty crowing boy, who +showed evident signs of having a mixture +of white blood in his composition, +and of whom his mother seemed inordinately +proud. She was standing +so close to Henri de Courcelles’ horse, +that as he dismounted he brushed up +against her, and so roughly as almost +to knock her infant out of her arms.</p> + +<p>‘Ah, sahib! take care of the little +baby!’ she cried warningly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>‘Who’s that? Jerusha! Then keep +your cub out of my way, will you? +Now then, my men, are you all ready? +March!’</p> + +<p>The coolie girl frowned ominously as +the overseer addressed her, but she +made no answer. Only as the rest +of the labourers moved off in single +file to the fields, she remained to the +last, sulking, as if she had no intention +to move.</p> + +<p>‘Now then, Jerusha!’ exclaimed Henri +de Courcelles impatiently, as he told off +the last negro, and saw her standing +there. ‘Make haste, will you?’ and +he cracked the whip he held as he +spoke. He seldom used the whip. It +was only his insignia of office, and +served as a signal for starting, but it +sounded differently in Jerusha’s ears that +morning.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span>‘You dare beat <i>us</i>?’ she demanded +menacingly.</p> + +<p>‘I am not going to beat you, but +I dare do anything, so don’t be a +fool,’ he replied, half laughing.</p> + +<p>‘I’m sick,’ persisted Jerusha. ‘The +child kept me up all night. I’m not +fit to work. Sahib must let me go back +to my hut.’</p> + +<p>‘I will let you do no such thing,’ +replied De Courcelles. ‘You’re only +shamming. You’re as “fit” as any +woman on the plantation, and you +must work like the rest. Now, move +on, and look sharp about it.’</p> + +<p>But Jerusha was obstinate, and had +got the bit between her teeth. She +considered herself a privileged person, +and at one time had been able to do +pretty much as she liked with the +overseer. But that time was past. He<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span> +was tired of her, and disposed to +treat her, in consequence, a little more +harshly than the rest. Jerusha had +reckoned without her host when she +thought she could give herself airs. +When De Courcelles ordered her to +move on, she shrugged her shoulders +and stood still.</p> + +<p>‘Now, are you going?’ he asked +her sharply.</p> + +<p>‘I telling sahib I’m too sick.’</p> + +<p>‘And I tell you you’re a liar. If +you won’t move of your own accord, I +will make you.’ He raised his whip +as he spoke, and Jerusha observed the +movement.</p> + +<p>‘You don’t <i>dare</i> strike me!’ she said +defiantly; but before the words were +well out of her mouth, he had done +it, and the long lash curled round her +shoulders and stung the baby’s cheek,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span> +and made the youngster squall. Jerusha’s +big black eyes flashed fire on +him.</p> + +<p>‘You coward,’ she cried, ‘to strike +your own child! Some day I pay you +out for this. Some day <i>my</i> whip strike +<i>you</i>.’</p> + +<p>He laughed carelessly at the girl’s +threat as she joined the gang of +labourers, and he flung himself across +his palfrey’s back, and rode after them. +But after a while, when the sun’s +rays began to beat rather fiercely on +his Panama hat, and he found his +servant had neglected to fill the straw-covered +flask that hung at his saddle +bow, he called the yellow girl Rosa +and gave the flask to her, and +directed her to carry it to the Doctor’s +bungalow.</p> + +<p>‘Ask Miss Lizzie to fill it with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span> +fresh sherbet or milk for me, Rosa, +and tell her I am coming in to breakfast +with her by-and-by.’</p> + +<p>The residents in hot climates invariably +partake of two breakfasts; one a +light meal taken at break of day, and +the other a more substantial one, which +they can discuss at leisure when the +morning’s business is concluded. Rosa, +who was a lazy wench, who preferred +running messages, or doing odd jobs, +to regular work at any time, ran with +alacrity to the Doctor’s bungalow, and +began to sneak around it. A negro +employed on business can very seldom +go straight to the matter in hand. +He generally slinks about first, peering +into windows, and listening at doors, +and on this wise it came about that +Rosa’s cunning face was very soon to +be seen at the open window of Liz<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span> +Fellows’ room. The apartment was +empty, Liz having just left it to go +to that of her father, but from a +bundle of flannel on the bed proceeded +a wailing cry, which roused all +Rosa’s curiosity. The black people +are proverbially curious, but this was +a case in which the offence might +surely be termed a venial one. And +with poor Rosa too, who had so lately +been bereft of her own child.</p> + +<p>As soon as she recognised the cry, +she leapt into the room through the +window, and rushed up to the bed. +Yes! it was actually a baby, and a +white baby too, and in Miss Liz’s +bed! What inference but <i>one</i> could +be drawn in any ignorant mind from +such a circumstance? Miss Liz, who +had been so angry with her for the +same thing; who had said her poor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span> +little Carlo had better never have been +born; who had talked so much to her +of virtue, and purity, and the sanctity of +marriage. Miss Liz had a baby in +<i>her</i> bed, that she had never told anybody +about! Here was a glorious opportunity +for revenge. Rosa’s eyes rolled +about and showed their yellow whites +as she thought of it. Miss Liz hadn’t +pitied her, or so she chose to believe. +Why should she pity Miss Liz? And +why shouldn’t Massa Courcelles, and +all the niggers, and the people at the +White House, know what she had +done? The engagement between Liz +and Henri de Courcelles had been kept +so secret that no one could say it was +a positive fact, but most of the plantation +hands knew he had courted the +Doctor’s daughter, and believed that +it would end in marriage. Rosa showed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span> +all her white teeth as she chuckled +over the idea that now perhaps the +overseer would have nothing more to +do with Miss Lizzie, and she would +be pointed at and scorned, as Rosa +had been, when first she appeared +out of doors with little Carlo in her +arms. As the yellow girl thought +thus, she slipped off the bed, where, +she had mounted to better examine the +baby, and left the room as noiselessly +as she had entered it. A cunning +idea had flashed across her brain,—that +if Miss Lizzie caught her there, +she would hide the infant, and no +one would be ever the wiser. So she +must get back to the field without +seeing her, and invent some excuse +for her return, on the way. She was +quite ready with it by the time she +reached the side of De Courcelles,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span> +and she lied so glibly that at first +he did not suspect her of an untruth.</p> + +<p>‘Miss Liz have got no sherbet, +Massa! She very sick all night, and +drink all de sherbet. But Miss Liz +want to see you berry particuler and +berry directly, please, Massa. She +got something berry important to +say; and she tell me,—“Rosa, go +and fetch Massa Courcelles here directly, +and come back with him all de +way.”’</p> + +<p>‘That’s a curious message, Rosa. +What does Miss Liz want <i>you</i> for?’ +asked De Courcelles, as he turned his +steps towards the bungalow, with the +yellow girl by his side.</p> + +<p>‘How can <i>I</i> tell Massa Courcelles? +P’r’aps Miss Liz want me to mind +de baby a bit. P’r’aps she want to ask<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span> +my ’pinion. Miss Liz know how well +I look after my poor little Carlo ’fore +de fever come and taken him to +heaven.’</p> + +<p>The words naturally attracted the overseer’s +attention.</p> + +<p>‘<i>The baby!</i>’ he exclaimed, taken off +his guard. ‘What do you mean?’</p> + +<p>Rosa’s cunning eyes looked full into +his own.</p> + +<p>‘You not <i>know</i>?’ she said inquisitively. +‘Miss Liz not tell you she got +a little baby at the bungalow—and in +her own bed too? Ah, Miss Liz berry +sly—but it’s truth, Massa. I have seen +it with my own eyes. A little white +baby, too, only dressed like a little nigger +in a cotton shirt.’</p> + +<p>‘Rosa, you must be dreaming. You +are lying to me,’ said Henri de +Courcelles, suddenly alive to the danger<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span> +of the girl’s discovery. ‘How +can Miss Liz have a baby at the +bungalow?’</p> + +<p>‘Ah, Missy Liz knows that best +herself,’ replied the yellow girl, with +an oracular nod; ‘but it’s God’s truth, +all de same, Massa, and dere’s not +much difference ’tween white gal and +yaller gal, after all. Miss Liz berry +angry with me because little Carlo +come a bit too soon, but dere’s a baby +come to her now, and I shall have my +revenge.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t talk nonsense!’ exclaimed +De Courcelles; ‘and don’t presume to +speak to me in that way of Miss +Liz.’</p> + +<p>But though he affected to be angry, +he saw a light glimmering through the +clouds of perplexity that overshadowed +him, all the same. What if this child—for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span> +he could not doubt <i>which</i> child +Rosa meant—should be taken by the +plantation hands for Lizzie’s? How +fortunately the circumstance would divert +public suspicion from his poor Maraquita! +It never occurred to him what +a piece of dastardly cruelty it would be +to shift the blame from one woman +to the other, so selfish does the +madness of passion render us. But +he could not understand how the infant +came to be at the bungalow, and +he was painfully curious on the subject.</p> + +<p>‘Massa Courcelles not believe me?’ +continued Rosa, as they drew in sight +of Lizzie’s window; ‘then Massa just +come here and look for himself.’</p> + +<p>The yellow girl was standing before +the open casement, and beckoning to +him as she spoke, and something<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span> +stronger than mere curiosity urged him +to obey her summons. He drew near +on tiptoe, and peeped in. The infant +was still lying on the bed, its tiny +face uncovered to the air.</p> + +<p>De Courcelles was not a man much +subject to the softer emotions, but as +he looked at it, he trembled. In another +moment he had started backwards, +for the bedroom door opened, +and Lizzie herself appeared upon the +threshold, and, taking up the baby, +carried it into the outer room.</p> + +<p>‘Now do you believe I telling lies?’ +exclaimed Rosa triumphantly, as she +looked up into the overseer’s pale face; +and before he could prevent her, she +had run round the house, and in at the +front door.</p> + +<p>Fearful of what discovery might +follow her intrusion, De Courcelles<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span> +hurried after her, and arrived just in +time to see the mock curtsey which +she dropped to the Doctor’s daughter. +Lizzie herself, taken at a disadvantage, +and utterly unprepared at that early +hour of the morning for visitors, +was standing by the table, white +as a sheet, holding the baby in her +arms, and apparently unable to say a +word.</p> + +<p>‘Good morning, Miss Lizzie!’ cried +Rosa, with another deep reverence. +‘Massa Courcelles and I jest come +round to see you and de new +baby, and to ask how you both do +to-day.’</p> + +<p>‘What do you mean?’ said Lizzie, +though she knew well enough, as she +stood before them white and trembling.</p> + +<p>‘Ah, Miss Lizzie, you berry sly.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span> +You know berry well what I mean. I +want to see dat nice baby of yours. +Is he like my little Carlo? Ah! I +know he’s white, like his moder, but +I will love him all de same, if you will +let me.’</p> + +<p>‘Henri,’ said Lizzie, with an assumption +of great calmness, in order to cover +the shaking of her voice, ‘will you +stand by silent and hear this girl insult +me?’</p> + +<p>‘Certainly not,’ he replied. ‘Go back +to the field, Rosa, and continue your +work. You said Miss Lizzie asked you +to return with me, or you should not +have come.’</p> + +<p>‘She deceived you,’ said Lizzie. ‘I +have not seen her nor spoken to her +this morning.’</p> + +<p>‘I know dat berry well,’ cried Rosa +impudently; ‘but I come to see dat<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span> +baby of yours, and I bring Massa +Courcelles to see it too. And now I +will go back to my work with a light +heart, for I wish you joy, Miss Lizzie, +and I hope de Lord won’t send for +dat baby of yours same He did for my +poor little Carlo,’ and with another +curtsey, the yellow girl turned on her +heel, and ran out of the bungalow, leaving +Henri de Courcelles and Lizzie together.</p> + +<p>She was the first to speak.</p> + +<p>‘Had you any knowledge of Rosa’s +intentions when she brought you here?’ +she asked quietly.</p> + +<p>‘Not the slightest, upon my honour,’ +he replied. ‘I sent her to you with +my empty flask, to beg a little sherbet, +and she returned with a message that +you desired to see me at once, and +that <i>she</i> was to accompany me back<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span> +again. On the way, she told me a +story that I found it almost impossible +to believe.’</p> + +<p>‘And what was the story?’</p> + +<p>‘That—that—you have a white +infant at the bungalow. Is it +true?’</p> + +<p>‘You can see for yourself that it is +true! What then?’</p> + +<p>‘Whose child is it? Where does +it come from?’ he asked, in a nervous +voice, for he fully believed that, being +alone, she would confide the secret of +Maraquita’s shame to him.</p> + +<p>But she was silent.</p> + +<p>‘Why will you not tell me?’ he +continued, more boldly; ‘it is impossible +but that you must know. You +cannot be sheltering a child of +whose origin you are not aware.’</p> + +<p>‘Why should it be impossible?’ she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span> +answered; ‘might I not have found +it, or adopted it?’</p> + +<p>‘Nonsense!’ he rejoined impatiently; +‘where did you find it then?’</p> + +<p>Again she was silent.</p> + +<p>‘Lizzie! I resent this want of confidence +between us. Considering how +we stand to one another, I have a +right to ask you whose child that is. +Do you know what Rosa thinks and +says about it?’</p> + +<p>‘It is nothing to me,’ returned Lizzie +proudly, ‘<i>what</i> Rosa may think or say.’</p> + +<p>‘But it may be a great deal to +<i>me</i>. It is not very pleasant for me +to hear your name handled and defamed +by the black brutes I look +after,—to know they speak of you +lightly, and say—’</p> + +<p>‘What do they <i>dare</i> to say?’ +she exclaimed, as she turned and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span> +faced him, with the infant on her +breast.</p> + +<p>‘That that infant is your own!’</p> + +<p>There was the silence of a minute +between them, and then she said, in +a low voice,—</p> + +<p>‘And what do <i>you</i> say?’</p> + +<p>‘That I require to be satisfied who +it belongs to, and that you must tell +me.’</p> + +<p>‘<i>I cannot!</i>’</p> + +<p>There was such an amount of quiet +despair in her voice as she pronounced +the words, that De Courcelles felt at +once that Maraquita’s secret was safe, +and that she would not disclose it +even to <i>him</i>. And with the conviction, +came a glad, unworthy satisfaction that +her guilt and his would be concealed, +even at the expense of their most +faithful friend.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>‘<i>You cannot?</i>’ he repeated, in a voice +of feigned astonishment. ‘But I say +<i>you must</i>, or everything shall be over +between us!’</p> + +<p>‘Henri!’ she exclaimed earnestly, +‘think—think what you are doing. +You cannot possibly suspect <i>me</i>! Why, +I—I—<i>love you</i>!’ she ended falteringly, +as if that confession must clear her +at once, and for ever.</p> + +<p>‘It’s all very fine talking,’ he answered +roughly, ‘but facts are ugly things; and +if there is any honourable explanation +of them, I have a right to demand +it. You have a newly-born infant in +your arms, and all the plantation is +talking of it. If you are not its +mother, <i>who is</i>?’</p> + +<p>Lizzie turned away from him proudly.</p> + +<p>‘Go and find out for yourself,’ she +said. ‘If you can suspect me even for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span> +one moment, you are unworthy of my +affection. I will not lower myself to +contradict your base suspicion. Think +what you will, and act as you think +best. I can tell you no more than I +have done already.’</p> + +<p>‘Then I am to believe Rosa’s +story?’</p> + +<p>‘You can believe what you choose. +This child was given in trust to me +by my father, and I am not at +liberty to speak to you, or any one, +concerning it. It is by an unhappy +accident that it has even been +seen. I cannot remedy that, but I +can prevent the mischief going further. +If you cannot accept my word that +it bears no relationship to myself, +I can do no more than deny it. +On any other subject, my lips are +sealed.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span>Admiration for her sisterly devotion +and fidelity had almost made him forget +the part he had to play; but the +thought of Maraquita came to his +assistance, and nerved him to complete +his cruel task.</p> + +<p>‘Well, I will not court your confidence +further, Lizzie,’ he said, rising, +‘but you must consider our engagement +at an end. It would be impossible +to be happy in married life +with a secret like this between us. +You <i>may</i> have told me the truth, but +I am not convinced of it; and where +there is distrust, there can be no +love. Let us part now, and for +ever.’</p> + +<p>For the first time, the extent of the +sacrifice she was making seemed to +strike Lizzie’s mind.</p> + +<p>‘No! no!’ she screamed, rushing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span> +after him; ‘I cannot part with you +thus! Oh, Henri! think a moment! +Think how I have loved you! Can +you imagine it possible that I should +have been so false to you—so false +to myself? I swear to you on my +knees, and before God, that this child +is not mine. Will not that content +you?’</p> + +<p>‘No! nothing will content me now—not +even if you attempted to cast +the blame on some one else. You +have spoken too late, Lizzie. Nothing +but conscious guilt would have +kept your lips closed until this moment.’</p> + +<p>‘You shall <i>not</i> believe it of me!’ +she exclaimed vehemently. ‘I will not +throw my good name away so recklessly. +My father is sleeping still. He +has been ill and weary lately, and I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span> +thought it kind to let him rest; but +he would never forgive me for letting +him sleep on whilst his daughter’s fair +name was being called in question. +Stay but one moment, Henri, and my +father shall tell you that I speak the +truth.’</p> + +<p>She flew past him to the Doctor’s +sleeping apartment as she spoke, and +Henri de Courcelles, anxious to know +the best or worst at once, stood where +she had left him, gazing after her retreating +form.</p> + +<p>But in another moment a piercing +cry of agony sent him to her side. +He found her standing by the bed, +staring at her father’s still, cold +features.</p> + +<p>‘He is gone!’ she exclaimed wildly. +‘See here, Henri, he is dead—<i>dead</i>, +and can never now release me from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span> +my oath! O God! have pity on +me!’</p> + +<p>And with that she fell to weeping +over the prostrate form.</p> + +<p>‘<i>Dead!</i>’ echoed De Courcelles, momentarily +awed into the reverence we +all feel at the approach of the White +King. ‘But now, at least, you are free +to tell me the truth, Lizzie.’</p> + +<p>‘Never!’ she cried. ‘My lips are +sealed as his own for evermore. If +I could keep my vow to the living, +how much more do you suppose will +I hold it sacred to the dead? Act as +you think right, Henri, but I will never +tell you the name of the mother of this +child.’</p> + +<p>‘Then all is over between us,’ he +returned, as he slunk away, heartily +ashamed of himself, and yet with a +load lifted from his breast as he remembered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span> +that he had unconsciously, +but surely, obeyed Maraquita’s behest, +and might boldly claim the reward she +had promised for it.</p> + + +<p class="center">END OF VOL. I.</p> + +<hr class="tiny"> +<p class="center">COLSTON AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/back_cover.jpg" alt="back cover"></div> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="transnote"> +<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> + +<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> + +<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> + +<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p> +</div></div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75274 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75274-h/images/back_cover.jpg b/75274-h/images/back_cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8f9c6e7 --- /dev/null +++ b/75274-h/images/back_cover.jpg diff --git a/75274-h/images/cover.jpg b/75274-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d601e6c --- 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