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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75275 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+  A CROWN OF SHAME.
+
+  VOL. II.
+
+
+
+
+  A CROWN OF SHAME.
+
+  _A NOVEL._
+
+  BY
+  FLORENCE MARRYAT,
+
+  AUTHOR OF
+  ‘LOVE’S CONFLICT,’ ‘MY SISTER THE ACTRESS,’
+  ETC. ETC.
+
+  _IN THREE VOLUMES._
+
+  VOL. II.
+
+  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.         26
+
+  CHAPTER III.        50
+
+  CHAPTER IV.         81
+
+  CHAPTER V.         106
+
+  CHAPTER VI.        137
+
+  CHAPTER VII.       157
+
+  CHAPTER VIII.      193
+
+  CHAPTER IX.        213
+
+
+
+
+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.
+
+
+He left Liz weeping over the dead body of her father. How paltry all
+other troubles seemed to be, as she did so. She had no power, at
+that moment, to realise any fact but one,--that he had left her, and
+without a warning. He, who had been her sole protector and companion,
+beside whom she had walked every moment of her life, sharing his
+knowledge, and his duties, and his cares, had gone forth into the
+dreamland without her, and for the future she must struggle through
+life as best she might, alone. Liz was not ignorant of the cause of
+her father’s death, but she had been quite unprepared for it. She had
+known for some time past that he had a weak heart, but men lived with
+such, sometimes to their three score years and ten. He had passed a
+tranquil and unexciting life. The passions which had raged stormily
+perhaps in his youth had forsaken him in his latter days, and he had
+appeared likely to live on to a good old age. But the events of the
+last week had greatly upset him. Liz had no doubt, as she looked at his
+pale, calm features, that his sudden death lay, in a great measure,
+at Maraquita’s door, and the fact did not make her feel more tenderly
+towards her adopted sister. But the infant was wailing in her arms,
+and she felt that something must be done at once. This was no time for
+weeping, or inaction. She turned on her heel, with set features, and
+teeth closely clenched together, and passed into the outer room to
+summon her negress attendant Chloe to her aid. Chloe was conspicuous
+only by her absence, but on the threshold of the outer door she found
+the yellow girl, Rosa, slowly rocking herself to and fro.
+
+‘What are you doing here?’ demanded Lizzie sternly. ‘Have you not
+brought me into enough trouble already?’
+
+The girl turned round and caught the folds of her dress, and buried
+her face in them, crying. The coloured people are very emotional, and
+a sudden remorse had stabbed the depths of poor Rosa’s heart.
+
+‘Oh, Miss Lizzie,’ she sobbed, ‘I’se so sorry the poor Doctor dead!
+Massa Courcelles tell me so as he went out. The dear good Doctor, who
+was so berry kind to me in my sickness, and so good to my little Carlo,
+and now he gone too, and me nebber see him any more, and my heart is
+broke, Miss Liz, my heart is broke!’
+
+This tribute to her dead father’s virtues affected Liz more than
+anything else could have done.
+
+‘If _you_ are so sorry for his loss, Rosa,’ she answered gently,
+‘what do you suppose _I_ must feel. I seem to have lost everything
+to-day--_everything_,’ she added, in a vague and weary tone.
+
+‘Oh, Missy Liz, I’se so sorry!’ repeated Rosa. ‘But what can I do to
+help you, and to take some of dis trouble off you? Let me do something,
+Missy Liz, to show I’se real sorry.’
+
+‘You can go up to the White House, Rosa, and tell Mr Courtney
+of--of--_this_, and say I should like to see him as soon as he can come
+to me. I can’t find Chloe anywhere.’
+
+‘Ah! dat Chloe no good. She too stupid!’ cried Rosa, with all a
+negress’s jealousy. ‘And may I come back, too, Missy Liz, with Massa
+Courtney, and help you nurse the baby, same as you helped me with
+little Carlo?’
+
+The allusion to the child brought the trouble it had caused her too
+vividly to Lizzie’s mind. She dropped into a chair, and burst into
+tears.
+
+‘Oh, Rosa! Rosa! you have spoiled my life for me. How could you be so
+cruel?’
+
+The yellow girl crawled on her knees to the side of the Doctor’s
+daughter.
+
+‘Missy Liz, what I done so bad? Isn’t dat baby your own baby, then?’
+
+‘Of course it isn’t! How could you think such a thing of me? It is a
+little nurse-child which was left in charge of my dear father, and I
+was minding it for him. But you made Monsieur de Courcelles believe
+that it belongs to me, and you have parted us for ever. He was to have
+been my husband, Rosa, but he never will be so now; never--never!’
+
+Rosa’s eyes opened with surprise.
+
+‘Missy Liz, you must tell him I’se a liar. I know noting of de baby,
+only I see it on your bed, and I’se so sorry I speak to Massa
+Courcelles about it. It was de debbil spoke, Missy Liz, and not me.
+Something seem to come in my head and say dat chile like my little
+Carlo, and you no better den me. But I see now I’se all wrong, and you
+too good to do such a drefful thing. You tell Massa Courcelles I’se a
+liar, and it’ll be all right again, Missy Liz.’
+
+‘No, Rosa, it will never be right again in the way you mean. I _did_
+tell Monsieur de Courcelles what you say, but he refused to believe me.
+No one will believe me now, I am afraid,’ said Liz mournfully, ‘and I
+must bear the brunt of my own rash promise.’
+
+‘Oh! Missy Liz, must you keep dat baby dat isn’t yours, and take de
+trouble of it all your life?’
+
+‘I think so, Rosa. I have nowhere to send it; and you would not have me
+turn it out on the cold world alone? No, my dear dead father left it
+to me as a sacred charge,’ cried Lizzie, weeping, ‘and I will guard it,
+whatever it may cost me. It will be something to do for his sake.’
+
+‘Oh, Miss Lizzie!’ exclaimed Rosa, awed by a display of heroism she
+could not understand, ‘you berry good woman! I nebber know till dis day
+how good a woman you are. Let me stay with you, Miss Lizzie. Send dat
+Chloe back to huts, and let me be your servant, ’stead of her. Chloe
+don’t know nuffin of children. _She_ not had a little boy, like me. Let
+me nurse dat baby for you, and I will be faithful, trust me, Missy Liz,
+and nebber let de debbil speak through my mouth again.’
+
+‘I believe you, Rosa,’ replied Lizzie. ‘I believe you are sorry for the
+mischief you have done, and that you would undo it if you could. You
+were a good mother to little Carlo, and you would be a kind nurse to
+this poor little one. If it can be managed, it shall be arranged so,
+but we can do nothing without the leave of Mr Courtney. Go now and tell
+him of the grief I am in, and we will talk of these things another day.’
+
+‘But I will come back and hold de baby for you, Missy Liz!’ exclaimed
+the yellow girl, as she set off towards the White House.
+
+Liz walked back into the death chamber, and mechanically performed
+the necessary offices to prepare her father’s body for the grave. She
+did not weep again as she did so. The blow of her two great losses,
+coming so quickly one upon the other, had stunned her, and dried up
+the sources of her tears. She would have time to think and weep, she
+thought, by-and-by. When Mr Courtney arrived post-haste in answer to
+her summons, his grief appeared to be scarcely less than her own. He
+had been sincerely and deeply attached to this erring friend of his
+youthful days, and had never anticipated losing him so soon. He shed
+tears freely over the silent corpse, and kept on assuring Lizzie that
+her future should be one of his first cares.
+
+‘Don’t let that trouble you, my dear,’ he reiterated. ‘I looked upon
+your dear father as my brother, and you shall never miss his protection
+whilst I can extend it to you. From this moment, Lizzie, I shall regard
+you as my daughter, and as soon as the sad ceremonies which we must go
+through, are concluded, I shall carry you off to the White House, and
+consider you second only in my affection to Maraquita.’
+
+‘Dear Mr Courtney, you are too good to me,’ gasped Lizzie,
+‘but--but--please don’t speak of my future to me to-day.’
+
+‘No, no, of course not. It was thoughtless of me,’ said the planter;
+‘but I did it with the view to set your mind at ease. To-day we must
+give up entirely to thoughts of my dear and valued friend.’
+
+He imagined that the girl’s mind was too distracted to dwell on
+anything but her great loss; but Lizzie had remembered that before the
+morrow, the scandal that was being spread abroad concerning her would
+reach his ears, and render her unfit in his eyes to be the companion of
+his daughter.
+
+When he had told her what arrangements he had made for the funeral,
+which (according to the custom in hot climates) was to take place that
+evening, Mr Courtney, with a farewell grasp of his dead friend’s hand,
+turned to leave the bungalow, when his eye fell upon the yellow girl,
+Rosa, squatting on the floor with the baby in her arms.
+
+‘What infant is that?’ he demanded indifferently, for it was so wrapped
+up in flannel that he could not see its face.
+
+Liz had anticipated the question, and dreaded it; but she felt evasion
+would be useless, and had not attempted to send the child out of his
+sight.
+
+‘It is a little girl which was confided to my dear father’s care,’ she
+answered, in a low voice. ‘And he was going to consult Dr Martin at the
+Fort about a nurse to take the charge of it, when he was called away.’
+
+Mr Courtney’s eyes opened somewhat at her explanation.
+
+‘Is it a white child then?’ he asked.
+
+‘Yes, it is a white child,’ replied Lizzie, with a deep sigh, as she
+stood trembling at what might follow. But Mr Courtney said no more on
+the subject. Perhaps his mind was too full of his lost friend to think
+of minor things, anyway he left the bungalow without another word or
+look, and Lizzie breathed more freely when he had gone. She spent the
+remainder of the day beside the remains of the father whom she had
+loved so well, and when the sun had sunk in the west, and the cool sea
+breezes commenced to blow over San Diego, she followed his coffin to
+the little European burial ground, which was situated on the top of a
+hill, and in full view of the glorious ocean. She saw that there were
+many friends, both white and coloured, gathered round the open grave
+but she was in no fit condition to recognise who they were. Only, as
+the last words of the solemn service were concluded, and she heard the
+sods of earth rattle on the coffin lid, and felt as if she must throw
+herself in with them, and be buried with all she loved best in this
+world, she found some one supporting her failing steps on either side,
+and looking up saw she was standing between Mr Courtney and Captain
+Norris.
+
+‘Come, my dear child,’ whispered the former. ‘It is all over now. Let
+us see you safely to your home.’
+
+They led her between them back to the empty bungalow, and the three
+friends sat down together in the sitting-room, whilst Rosa squatted
+in the verandah with Maraquita’s baby in her arms. Liz, making an
+effort to battle with her emotion, busied herself with setting some
+light refreshment before her guests. Mr Courtney drank a glass of iced
+sherbet in silence, and then cleared his throat as though to force
+himself to speak.
+
+‘Lizzie, my dear, I have a good deal to say to you, and I wish to say
+it now. I might leave it till to-morrow, but I think it will do you
+good to fix your mind at once upon business, and to settle what you are
+to do in the future.’
+
+Lizzie turned a little paler than she had been. She had understood her
+future to be settled that morning. But she guessed why it required
+further explanation now.
+
+‘Captain Norris, than whom I think your dear father had no warmer
+friend, has been talking to me on the subject this afternoon, and has
+consented to become the guardian and trustee of your interests.’
+
+‘I am of age,’ interrupted Lizzie, with open eyes; ‘I require no
+guardian.’
+
+‘Stop, my dear, and let me finish what I have to say. You may not
+require a personal guardian, but your monetary interests may need
+looking after. I am not likely to forget you at my death, Lizzie.’
+
+‘Indeed, Mr Courtney, you are too good to me,’ said Liz,--‘as you were
+to my poor father,’ she added, in a lower voice.
+
+‘Your father was my dearest friend: I can never forget that,’ replied
+the planter; ‘and I am only following the dictates of my affection
+for him in making a suitable provision for his daughter. I have been
+thinking the matter over deeply, Lizzie, and I have decided that I
+cannot spare you from amongst my coolies. Why should you not carry on
+the work from which your father has been so suddenly called away? I
+know you are competent to do so, from what he himself has told me, and
+in any difficult cases you can always call in the assistance of the
+Doctor from the Fort. What I propose is that you should continue to
+live in this bungalow (the furniture and effects of which I shall make
+over to you as your own property), and to work amongst the coloured
+people; and I will gladly pay you the same remuneration as heretofore.
+Don’t you think it will be the best plan, Lizzie, and that you will be
+happier if you bravely try to forget your grief, in carrying on a life
+of activity and usefulness?’
+
+‘I am _sure_ it will be best,’ she answered, in a low tone.
+
+Her pride, which had made her divine at once the cause of her
+benefactor’s change of mind, would have also prompted her to refuse his
+offers of assistance, but she was helpless in the matter. She had no
+friends to go to, no resources to fall back upon. What could she have
+done, left alone in San Diego, but live on charity, which she would
+rather have died than accept? Mr Courtney’s proposal was at least not a
+humiliating one. He offered her money in return for her labour, and she
+was resolved to earn it, and thanked Heaven she was capable of doing
+so. That he should not even have alluded to his promise of the morning
+wounded but did not surprise her. He had heard the wretched slander,
+which was doubtless already going the round of the plantation,
+concerning her. Henri de Courcelles had, perhaps, repeated it, and Mr
+Courtney already regretted that he had held out hopes he could not
+fulfil. Well, he should not read her disappointment in her eyes. She
+would put a brave face on the matter, and battle (as best she could)
+for herself; for the oath she had taken to her dead father was doubly
+sacred, now that all hope of release from it was over.
+
+‘We will do all in our power to make your life comfortable,’ continued
+Mr Courtney; ‘and you may always depend on me, Lizzie, as your friend.’
+
+He did not include his wife’s and daughter’s friendship with his own,
+and Lizzie noticed the omission, and shrunk under it.
+
+‘Mr Courtney,’ she said, in a firm voice, though her eyes were full of
+tears, ‘I thank you for your offers of assistance, and I accept them
+gratefully. I did not know till a few days back, the whole extent to
+which my poor father was indebted to you, but I shall never forget it,
+and if I can ever repay it in the slightest degree, I will.’
+
+‘Hush, my dear! It was nothing. Don’t speak of it now.’
+
+‘It was his _life_, Mr Courtney, and I should not be his daughter were
+I unmindful of it. I should have liked to relieve you of the burden,
+now _he_ is gone, but I don’t know what I could do, without friends,
+and in a foreign country. So I will remain on (as you are good enough
+to propose), and work among your plantation hands, and do all I
+possibly can to return your kindness to us both.’
+
+‘Lizzie, my dear, I don’t wish you to think of it as if it were a
+favour. The obligation is quite as much on my side. And you mustn’t
+speak of yourself as friendless, either, my dear. You have friends on
+all sides, I am sure of that. You know what _I_ feel towards you; and
+here is Captain Norris, grieving only second to myself for your loss;
+and every one in San Diego loves and respects you. You may take my word
+for that, Lizzie.’
+
+Mr Courtney had risen, as if to take his departure, whilst he spoke,
+and now stood in the doorway, with his straw hat in his hand, and
+beckoned her towards him.
+
+‘By the way,’ he added, in a lower tone, ‘what do you intend to do
+about that child, Lizzie?’ jerking his head towards Rosa and the baby.
+
+‘What should I do about it?’ she returned. ‘I know no place to send it
+to. It was in the charge of Mammy Lila, but she died of the fever. I
+suppose I must keep it here.’
+
+‘Where are its parents?’ demanded the planter inquisitively.
+
+‘It has none, Mr Courtney, or none who will own it.’
+
+‘Dear me! That is very strange, and very awkward. Who confided it to
+your father’s care?’
+
+‘I am not at liberty to tell you, sir.’
+
+‘Do you know then?’
+
+She paused for a moment, and then answered, in a husky tone,--
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘And you will not tell me, Lizzie?’
+
+‘I am bound under a solemn oath, Mr Courtney, not to reveal anything
+about that child, and I must beg of you not to question me.’
+
+‘It looks bad for you, my dear, and may be the cause of a great deal of
+future unhappiness. There are not so many Europeans on the island that
+such an event can occur without comment; and if you persist in holding
+your tongue on the subject, people _will_ talk about it, and to your
+disadvantage.’
+
+‘Then they _must_ talk, Mr Courtney,’ replied Lizzie boldly, though she
+had turned very pale. ‘I cannot break my promise to my father, for any
+consideration, not even to save my reputation.’
+
+‘Lizzie,’ whispered the planter presently, ‘promise me at least to send
+the child away. Let _me_ send it away for you. You don’t know _what_
+people are saying about you. Even De Courcelles has heard the rumour,
+and came to me for an explanation of it. I will ask you no questions,
+my dear, but let me help you in the matter by sending the infant to one
+of the sister islands. I cannot bear to think that any one should dare
+to say a word against you, for your father’s sake.’
+
+‘You are very kind, Mr Courtney, but I have made up my mind on this
+subject, and the child will remain with me. Sending her away now to the
+care of a hireling, will not remove the stain her presence here has
+cast upon my character; and I have reasons for wishing to bring her up
+myself. If you object to it, I will relieve you of the burden of both
+of us; but that infant is my father’s last charge to me, and I will
+keep it.’
+
+‘If you would only trust _me_ with the secret of its birth, I could
+fight your battle with you,’ said Mr Courtney sadly.
+
+‘I will trust no one, sir. I have lost all that I cared for in this
+world, through its means, and I will at least have the satisfaction of
+knowing that I have remained true to myself.’
+
+‘Very well, my dear; good-night; and remember I am still your friend,’
+replied the planter, as he walked slowly away.
+
+Lizzie looked after him for a moment, and then returning to the
+apartment, and regardless of the presence of Hugh Norris, she flung
+herself into a chair, and burst into a flood of tears.
+
+‘_Still my friend!_’ she repeated. ‘Yes, but a friend without any trust
+or confidence left in me. Ah! what is the use of his assurances? I can
+read his heart too well! I have not a friend left in the world.’
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+As she said the words, Captain Norris sprang towards her.
+
+‘_Not a friend left in the world_, Liz! Oh! how can you say such a
+cruel thing whilst I am here?’
+
+She could not answer him immediately for weeping, but she stretched
+forth her hand and laid it on his arm.
+
+‘Forgive me, Captain Norris. I know that you are my friend, but grief
+makes us all selfish. Yet that they should think such a thing of
+me,--that even Mr Courtney, who has known me from a little child,
+should suspect me of so unworthy an action, it is bitterly, _bitterly_
+hard.’
+
+‘You are speaking in riddles to me, Lizzie! Of _what_ do they suspect
+you? Surely of nothing of which you need be ashamed? If so, they
+must answer to _me_ for it. Your dead father honoured me with his
+friendship, and no one shall insult his daughter whilst I am able to
+prevent it.’
+
+‘I should have known that I might count upon your championship,
+Captain Norris; but it is useless. I have entangled myself in a net
+from which I see no prospect of freedom. You must leave me to bear the
+consequences by myself.’
+
+‘I shall do no such thing!’ replied the Captain warmly. ‘What is the
+worth of friendship if it cannot stand by you in the time of need?
+Confide in me, Lizzie. Tell me your trouble, and let us devise a way
+out of it together.’
+
+‘We cannot do that,’ replied Lizzie mournfully; ‘but you shall hear it,
+all the same. If I did not tell you, San Diego would soon do so. All
+the hands are talking of it by this time. Even that yellow girl in the
+verandah is ready to believe me to have fallen to a level with herself.’
+
+‘You alarm me!’ exclaimed Hugh Norris. ‘What is it they dare to say of
+you?’
+
+‘That that child is mine!’
+
+‘_What_ child? I did not know there was a child here.’
+
+‘You are the last to hear of it then,’ replied Lizzie bitterly. ‘The
+smallest lad on the plantation has discussed it before now. I mean the
+infant which Rosa has in her arms. It is _not_ mine! I hope you will
+believe me when I say so. But I have no means of proving the truth of
+what I say.’
+
+‘You surprise me beyond measure,’ said Captain Norris. ‘In what does
+the difficulty lie, and why cannot you appeal to the real parents to
+help you out of it?’
+
+‘Captain Norris, you must not question me too closely, lest I should
+betray a secret I have sworn to keep. Be satisfied with what I tell
+you. It was only yesterday my father gave me that child to nurse for
+him. He asked me to keep it through the night, and in the morning he
+would get a proper person to take charge of it. You have heard the
+sequel. By the morning, God had called him away, and I am left with
+this burden on my hands for ever!’
+
+‘But, Lizzie, forgive me if I do not follow you. What reason is there
+for your keeping the child? What interest had your father in it? Why
+should you not send it to the people he intended to entrust it to?’
+
+‘Perhaps I might have done so if this suspicion had not fallen upon me;
+but _now_, what would be the use of it? Absent or present, the child
+will be regarded as mine. I shall have to bear the stigma; I may as
+well have the satisfaction of knowing I have fulfilled my dead father’s
+wishes.’
+
+‘Do you know who are the parents of the child?’
+
+Lizzie was silent.
+
+‘I see that you do. Surely they will never permit you innocently to
+bear this awful shame?’
+
+‘Captain Norris, when my father first showed me that child, he
+extracted a solemn oath from me never to reveal anything I knew or
+might guess concerning it. It is useless your questioning me. My tongue
+is tied, and whatever my silence may cost me, I am bound to endure.’
+
+‘But surely your lover, De Courcelles, does not believe this slanderous
+lie about you, Lizzie? _He_ will stand up in your defence, whatever the
+world may say, and fight it with you?’
+
+‘Oh, don’t talk of him! Don’t mention his name!’ cried Lizzie, with a
+sudden burst of grief. ‘He _does_ believe it, Captain Norris, and he
+has cast me off. We are parted for ever. Our engagement is at an end.’
+
+‘The cur!’ exclaimed Norris contemptuously.
+
+‘You shall not call him so! What else could he do?’ rejoined Lizzie
+hastily. ‘What would _you_ do, if the woman you had engaged yourself to
+marry, proved to be a wanton? You would say she was not fit to be your
+wife, and you would be right. Until this stigma is lifted off me, I am
+not fit to become the wife of any honest man.’
+
+‘But it does not rest upon you, in _my_ estimation,’ replied her
+companion. ‘I do not believe it; no one should ever make me do so
+except yourself. I would take your word against that of a thousand
+witnesses, Lizzie.’
+
+‘Thank you, thank you!’ she exclaimed, reddening with pleasure at the
+sound of his honest voice. ‘You are indeed a friend in the time of
+need. But Monsieur de Courcelles thinks otherwise. He has told me to
+my face that unless I will divulge the names of the parents of this
+child, everything between us must be at an end. And so it is at an end.
+I cannot break my word to the dead. Besides--there are other reasons
+why I should be true to my trust.’
+
+‘You will at least tell me one thing, Lizzie. You know to whom this
+child belongs, do you not? I ask it in your own interests.’
+
+‘I do.’
+
+‘Then go to them, my dear, and tell them the dilemma in which the
+promise you have given on their account has placed you. Ask them to
+release you from it. Surely no one could be so inhuman as to desire
+their shame (for I presume shame is at the bottom of this mystery) to
+spoil the life of an innocent woman? Oh! if I only knew their names
+myself, I would proclaim them far and wide, until I forced them to
+release you from this cruel bondage.’
+
+‘It is _impossible_, Captain Norris!’
+
+‘Impossible for you to go to them?’
+
+‘Impossible that my going could do any good in the matter. I cannot rid
+myself of the blame, without shifting it on the shoulders of another,
+and that my oath forbids me to do. Pray leave me, Captain Norris.
+Leave me to bear it as best I may--_alone_! You heard what Mr Courtney
+has kindly proposed,--that I shall live on here, and continue my dear
+father’s work. I mean to do so, and if God spares the child, it shall
+live with me. The coloured people will not despise us. They have too
+many of such cases amongst themselves, and for the rest, I am strong
+enough to suffer without sinking under it.’
+
+‘But not _alone_, dear Lizzie!’ exclaimed Hugh Norris, taking her
+hand. ‘If your engagement to Monsieur de Courcelles is indeed broken
+off, let me speak again. You would not listen to me last week on _his_
+account; listen to me now on your own. Come to me, and let me fight the
+battle of life for all three of us--you and me and the child. If it
+were _really_ your child, Lizzie, I should say the same. When I told
+you I loved you, I did not mean that I loved some ideal creature raised
+from my own imagination, but _you_--yourself, with all your faults (if
+you have faults) and follies (which cannot be greater than my own), and
+am willing to condone everything, for the privilege of loving you. Let
+me try to make you forget this sorrow. In England, amidst new scenes
+and new friends, you may learn to feel differently, even towards me,
+and look back on San Diego as a bad dream, that has passed away for
+ever.’
+
+Lizzie pressed his hand gratefully.
+
+‘How good you are to me,’ she answered, ‘and how true! I am sure you
+will make the best and most loving of husbands, and some woman will be
+very happy with you. But that woman will not be _me_! I would not wrong
+you, my dear friend, by accepting your generous proposal. Why should
+I cast this shadow over your honourable life, or profess to offer you
+a heart not worthy of your acceptance? I love Henri de Courcelles!
+Ah! don’t shrink from me. I know he is unworthy and unjust, nor can I
+believe he has ever really cared for me; but he managed to win my love,
+and I cannot take it back from him so suddenly. By-and-by, perhaps,
+when this wound is somewhat healed, and time has enabled me to see
+more clearly, I shall be strong enough to shake off the fascination
+that enthralls me; but just now, I can only weep over its decay, as
+I weep over the grave of my lost father. And so you see how utterly
+unworthy I am of the noble offer you have made me.’
+
+‘Not in _my_ eyes,’ persisted Hugh Norris. ‘I can never think of you
+but as the dearest and most self-sacrificing of women, and I shall keep
+the place in my heart open for you to my life’s end. But I will worry
+you no further now. Only say if I can do anything for you, Lizzie,
+before I go.’
+
+‘Nothing,’ she sighed. ‘Unless it be to come to see me again, and
+comfort me as you have done to-day.’
+
+His face brightened with pleasure at her proposal, and he acceded to it
+joyfully.
+
+‘I will come up to-morrow if it will not be too soon,’ he answered. ‘I
+have not landed my coolies yet, and the _Trevelyan_ may be in port for
+some weeks yet.’
+
+‘How is that?’ demanded Lizzie.
+
+‘On account of this fever, and also of the town riots. My consignee
+is afraid of both moral and physical infection. There was an attack
+planned on Government House last night, and only just discovered in
+time. The rebels had laid a train of gunpowder right under the state
+rooms. There would have been a fearful sacrifice of life had they
+succeeded.’
+
+‘How terrible! Were they caught?’
+
+‘Unfortunately they were not, for they got off to the Alligator Swamp
+as soon as the alarm was given. And no one dares follow them there: the
+danger is too great. They are watching outside it, however, and as
+soon as they come out, they will be killed or arrested.’
+
+‘Poor creatures,’ said Liz, with a shudder, ‘they will not be able
+to hold out long. Twelve hours in the Alligator Swamp is said to be
+certain death. Its poisonous atmosphere kills all those who escape the
+alligators. It is too fearful to think of.’
+
+‘Yes, I fancy the poor devils will be forced to surrender, and they
+will get no quarter from the Governor, Sir Russell Johnstone. He is
+in a great state of alarm about himself, and resolved to stamp the
+insurrection out at any cost.’
+
+‘One cannot blame him. It is a case in which the few must suffer for
+the many. Is the Governor a nice man, Captain Norris?’
+
+‘So-so. A very ordinary-looking Englishman,--more fit to till his own
+acres, I should imagine, than to govern a colony. He has certainly done
+little as yet to quell the ill-feeling in San Diego, which seems to be
+increasing every day. But I shall not be able to keep my coolies on
+board much longer. There are six hundred of them, and I shall not be
+sorry when their backs are turned. I have had enough of their company
+on the way from Calcutta.’
+
+‘But they will make a bad exchange, I expect, from the hold of the
+_Trevelyan_ to the cotton and sugar plantations. I have heard poor
+father say you spoil your coolies, Captain Norris, and make them quite
+dissatisfied with their reception in the West Indies.’
+
+‘Oh, that’s a libel!’ cried the young man, smiling. ‘I may have tried
+to make their life aboard ship as little irksome as possible, but it
+has gone no further. But I am afraid they are mostly shipped under
+false pretences, and led to expect less work and more pay than they are
+ever likely to get in these islands. Their existence, at the best, is
+hardly worth living.’
+
+‘You are right there, and no one who has dwelt amongst them, as I have,
+could fail to sympathise with their troubles. They have much to bear,
+and little to compensate them for it. And with all their faults, they
+are a patient people, although very impulsive. That poor girl in the
+verandah did me a bad turn this morning, but she is ready to break her
+heart about it now.’
+
+‘Ah, Missy Liz, I’se _so_ sorry!’ cried Rosa, who had overheard the
+words that concerned herself.
+
+‘But you can’t undo the mischief, you see, Rosa, so try and make up for
+it by being a faithful servant to your mistress now,’ said Hugh Norris,
+as he passed over the threshold on his way home.
+
+The yellow girl did not take correction from a stranger very well. She
+shrugged her shoulders, and pulled a face after the retreating form of
+Captain Norris, as she entered the bungalow with her infant charge.
+
+‘What business of that Massa Norris to speak me?’ she inquired,
+pouting. ‘If he want to scold some one, he’d better go and find
+dat coolie girl Judy, what took the baby first. She’s a berry bad
+girl--rude and impident--with a tongue as long as an alligator’s.’
+
+‘Do you mean Mammy Lila’s granddaughter?’ inquired Lizzie. ‘When did
+you see her, Rosa?’
+
+‘Oh! she’s big enough to be seen, Missy Liz, and she’s just as cunning
+as they’re made. Judy has left Shanty Hill now, and come to live
+alongside of her own people, and dis morning Massa Courcelles has given
+her work on the plantation. And dat gal’s tongue--how it _do_ run!’
+
+‘About _me_, I suppose?’ said Liz bitterly.
+
+‘Yes, Missy Liz--that’s just it--about you. Judy tells every one how
+you went up to Shanty Hill in the middle of the night wid dis poor
+little baby in your arms, and how you was so ill and weak you nearly
+tumbled down on de floor; and Mammy Lila took de baby, and you tell
+her, “_Silence and secrecy_,” which means, “Don’t tell nuffin to nobody
+on your life.”’
+
+‘And every one believes it was my own baby I took to Mammy Lila, Rosa,
+the same as you did?’
+
+‘What _can_ they believe, Missy Liz? I didn’t know what to believe
+myself. Dere’s not too many quite white babies knocking about de
+island, you know, and dis little one has no coloured blood in it. Dat’s
+plain to be seen. And dat Judy is so impident. She’d say anything. She
+says she skeered you so when she brought the baby back agin when Mammy
+Lila died, dat you nearly fainted, and it was de shock and de trouble
+that has killed de poor Doctor right away.’
+
+‘Well, well, Rosa, don’t speak of it any more at present. It turns my
+heart sick to hear it. Take the infant into my room, and put it to bed.
+Judy’s talk, however untrue, can do me no further harm; and you mustn’t
+forget, whilst judging her, that you thought and said pretty much the
+same yourself.’
+
+‘Ah, yes, Missy Liz; but den I’se berry sorry, and I’ll be a good gal
+to you now,’ replied Rosa, with the nigger’s ready excuse for anything
+they may have done wrong.
+
+‘And I believe you, so let the matter rest,’ said Lizzie, as the yellow
+girl disappeared with the baby, and she sat down at the table, resting
+her head upon her hand.
+
+What a difference twenty-four hours had made in her life! Twenty-four
+hours ago she had possessed a father who loved her, a lover who
+respected her, friends who believed in her, a good name and a spotless
+reputation. Now, she seemed to have lost everything at one fell blow.
+Her father was gone, her lover lost, her friends stood afar off. She
+was publicly spoken of as an unmarried mother, and Maraquita’s sin
+was laid at her door. And she had no means of repudiating the scandal.
+Nothing but her bare word stood between her reputation and the world.
+Who would believe her? What woman would _not_ deny such a crushing
+shame?
+
+Her solemn oath to her father, the fathomless obligation under which
+they stood to Mr Courtney, the awful consequences to their benefactor
+which must follow a revelation of the truth, stared Lizzie in the face,
+like giant obstacles that forbid her even attempting to surmount them.
+What would she and her dead father have been but for the generosity
+extended to them through life by the planter’s hand?
+
+He, a felon and a convict, and _she_, the daughter of a disgraced and
+dishonoured man, pointed at by the finger of scorn, shunned by the
+community of the virtuous and honest, a pariah and an outcast amongst
+men. No wonder her father had exacted her silence and obedience at the
+price of her salvation.
+
+But would Maraquita be so untrue to all the instincts of honour and
+justice as to permit her adopted sister to continue to bear the shame
+which rightly belonged to herself? Liz remembered Hugh Norris’s advice
+to her to seek out the parents of the child, and beg them to clear her
+good name in the eyes of the world. The counsel was good. She only knew
+of Quita as the mother of the infant; but she could, at all events,
+secure an interview with her, and implore her to confess the truth to
+Mr and Mrs Courtney, and relieve her from so intolerable a burthen.
+Surely, thought Lizzie, if Quita knew what she was suffering--and
+likely to suffer--she could not have the heart to refuse her! Little
+Quita, whom she had held in her arms as a baby herself--who had learned
+to walk clinging to her hand--who had shared her girlish pleasures
+and sorrows with her, and told her all her secrets (except this last
+terrible one)--surely _Quita_ would never blast her whole future in
+order to shield herself from the consequences of her sin!
+
+Perhaps she did not know about Henri de Courcelles! Liz had loved this
+man too deeply to talk upon the subject; and as the engagement had
+never been publicly ratified, Quita might not be aware of the cruel
+separation her guilt had caused between them. If she knew _that_--if
+she were told that some one whom Liz loved as fondly as ever _she_
+could have loved the father of her child must be given up for ever,
+unless she spoke out--surely she would muster up courage to remove the
+heavy load she had laid upon her childhood’s friend.
+
+As Lizzie arrived at this conclusion, she lifted up her head and
+breathed more freely. A light was breaking through her darkness.
+Perhaps, after all, she had condemned her adopted sister too hastily,
+and should have waited to see her before she passed judgment. The
+time had been too short, and events had been too hurried, to enable
+Maraquita to do her justice. Perhaps she was even ignorant of the blame
+cast upon her; and with this last charitable thought of her adopted
+sister, and a resolution to see her on the first opportunity, Lizzie
+sought her bed, and tried to compose herself to sleep.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+Maraquita was lying in her silken hammock, swinging under the orange
+trees, and thinking over the events of the last few days. They had
+been important ones for her. The unexpected death of the Doctor had
+frightened her beyond measure, and more than ever did she feel that
+Henri de Courcelles owed it to her to make every exertion in his power
+to remove the proof of her shame from San Diego. Until that was done,
+she should have no rest. But she was very undecided about Sir Russell
+Johnstone. She didn’t wish to marry him--all her heart (such as it
+was) was set on Henri de Courcelles--but yet she wanted to be the wife
+of the Governor of San Diego, and certain hints from her mother had
+shown her it would be the best, and perhaps the only way, to get out
+of the scrape she was in. And if she refused Sir Russell Johnstone, it
+would be all the same; her parents would never consent to her marrying
+Monsieur de Courcelles.
+
+Maraquita tossed to and fro as she thought over these things, and
+made the hammock swing as far as its cords would admit, till the
+orange blossoms and their glossy leaves swept across her face, and old
+Jessica, who was watching from below as usual, called out to her young
+mistress to take care. Quita was trying to argue the matter out with
+herself (as silly people will) so as to make the pieces of the puzzle
+fit each other and please everybody all round, being too blind or too
+selfish, meanwhile, to see that the only person she was really bent on
+pleasing was herself. She believed that in a very few days she would be
+called upon to decide the matter, for her mother had received a letter
+from the Governor to ask if her daughter had returned to the White
+House, but she was hardly prepared, as she lay there that morning, to
+see Sir Russell’s barouche, with its pair of English horses, and its
+outriders, dash up the drive, and stop before the portals of her home.
+She flushed so rosy at the sight, that Jessica observed her emotion.
+
+‘Dat only de Governor, missy, come to see Massa Courtney. De
+Governor’s a fine gennelman, isn’t he, missy? Got beautiful coat and
+trousers and waistcoat on, and fine whiskers, and nice red face. Dat
+Government House a beautiful place, too, and dat carriage lovely. I’d
+like to see my missy in a carriage like dat, wid fine English horses,
+and coachman, and all.’
+
+‘What nonsense you are talking, Jessica,’ said Quita querulously, as
+she turned her head away. ‘Papa’s carriage is quite good enough for me,
+and I don’t want any other.’
+
+‘Ah, but some day my missy marry fine gennelman, and have everyting
+dat’s nice and beautiful. Not one of dese island fellers--overseers and
+such like,’ continued the negress contemptuously, ‘with half de blood
+black in their veins, but a real English gennelman, with plenty money,
+and all white blood.’
+
+Maraquita reddened, and yawned, and turned pettishly away. She knew
+well enough to whom old Jessica was alluding, and she resented the hint
+as an impertinence.
+
+Meanwhile Sir Russell Johnstone had rushed into the presence of Mr and
+Mrs Courtney.
+
+‘Fancy, my dear sir,’ he was exclaiming, ‘that yesterday the
+police actually discovered a train of gunpowder laid right under
+the banqueting-room of Government House! Had it not been for their
+vigilance, at the next dinner-party I gave, we might all have been
+blown up--I, you, your wife, even your lovely daughter. It is too
+horrible a catastrophe to contemplate!’
+
+‘Horrible indeed!’ echoed his host. ‘But are you sure that all is now
+safe? Has a thorough search been made?’
+
+‘They tell me so, and that I need have no further alarm. But it has
+shaken my nerves, I can tell you that. And the delinquents are not
+caught either, though the native police are on the alert.’
+
+‘How is that?’
+
+‘They have escaped to the Alligator Swamp; though why they can’t pursue
+them there, beats me altogether.’
+
+‘Ah, my dear Sir Russell,’ cried Mr Courtney, ‘you don’t know what the
+Alligator Swamp is like, or you would not be surprised. Even a negro
+will not venture to enter it, unless he is in fear of his life. It is
+a regular morass of green slime. It is impossible to tell at each step
+you take whether you will sink to the bottom of it or not; and it is
+infested with alligators or caymen of the largest and most ferocious
+breed. No living creatures but the caymen could breathe such an
+atmosphere; for the green swamp raises poisonous fungi, the vapours
+alone of which are almost certain death. These wretches who have
+plotted against your life cannot possibly escape punishment. If they
+do not fall into the hands of the police, they will certainly die, the
+victims of the pestilential atmosphere of the Alligator Swamp.’
+
+‘I am glad to hear it,’ replied the Governor, who was a short, stout
+man of ordinary appearance, and with rather a round and rosy face, ‘for
+I don’t consider my appointment worth the risk of being blown up. The
+island seems to me to be in a regular state of rebellion, and I don’t
+like it. If any more plots against my safety are discovered, I shall
+resign, and return to England. Her Majesty would be the last person to
+wish me to remain if there is the slightest fear of danger.’
+
+‘Oh, there must not be--there _shall_ not be!’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney
+pathetically, as the pictures of a retreating Governor and a lost
+son-in-law floated before her mental vision. ‘These wretches must be
+brought to judgment, and executed. I would have them all hanged, if I
+were you, Sir Russell. The idea of their attempting such an outrage!
+Hanging would be too good for them.’
+
+‘I am not sure if I _can_ hang them; but, if so, you may be sure I
+will,’ rejoined the Governor. ‘Why, it makes a man quite nervous of
+going to his bed. It’s absurd--ridiculous--an insult to the British
+Government!’
+
+‘It must be stamped out at any cost,’ said Mr Courtney; ‘and until
+it is--until things are more settled--if you would like to vacate
+Government House for a little while, and would accept the hospitality
+of Beauregard, Sir Russell, why, all I can say is, that everything I
+possess (humble as it may be) is at your service.’
+
+‘But wouldn’t they say I had run away?’ replied the Governor. ‘I should
+like it above all things, but the papers have been rather spiteful
+about me of late, and I am afraid they would declare I had shown the
+white feather.’
+
+‘But you must think of your own safety--_that_ is the first
+consideration, surely!’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney. ‘And you must think of
+others too, Sir Russell,--of those who care for you. My poor Maraquita
+will be in a fever of anxiety as soon as she hears this news.’
+
+She had begun to be afraid that his own peril had somewhat displaced
+Maraquita from the Governor’s thoughts, and the idea that he might
+even be frightened out of San Diego without fulfilling his promise,
+filled her with alarm. She determined that if possible the engagement
+should be ratified at once, and then, if anything further happened to
+frighten Sir Russell back to England, he would be compelled to take his
+wife with him. Her _ruse_ had the desired effect, and the mention of
+her daughter turned the Governor’s thoughts in another direction.
+
+‘Ah, the beautiful Miss Courtney. Pray don’t think that I have
+forgotten her, in the exercise of my functions. To quell this native
+rebellion is the first duty I owe to my Queen and country, but my heart
+has been at the White House, my dear madam, all the time. How is your
+sweet daughter? Have you told her of my proposal? Is it possible I may
+have the great pleasure of seeing her?’
+
+Mrs Courtney was not quite sure what to answer. She glanced at her
+husband, but he was standing with his back to her, and would make no
+sign, so she was thrown upon her own resources. Yet she was a woman,
+and when it is a matter of _finesse_, when do a woman’s resources fail?
+
+‘She is better, dear Sir Russell--much better, almost well, in fact,
+but still weak, and unequal to any exertion. I _did_ try to approach
+the subject of your most flattering proposal to her on her return home,
+but her agitation became so great, I was forced to relinquish it. You
+must not condemn her weakness. The prospect is a very dazzling one to a
+simple and innocent girl like our Maraquita.’
+
+‘Do you mean to tell me, then, that she is favourably disposed towards
+me?’ inquired the Governor excitedly.
+
+It is true that he was a Governor, and would perhaps have been somewhat
+surprised at any woman in San Diego refusing his suit. But at the
+same time he was fifty years of age, stout, bald, and past the age of
+romance, and it was enough to make any such man excited, to hear that
+a pure and lovely girl of eighteen was ready and eager to fly into his
+arms. He was quite aware of the value of the position he had to offer
+to the planter’s daughter, but he was conceited enough to be gulled
+into the belief that she could actually fall in love with him, more
+than with the advantages which a marriage with him would entail. His
+rosy face became rubicund with expectant pleasure, and he already
+saw himself with the most beautiful woman in San Diego folded in his
+embrace.
+
+‘_Favourably disposed!_’ echoed Mrs Courtney. ‘My dear Sir Russell,
+that is not the word! Maraquita is overpowered by the preference you
+have shown towards her, only too shy to offer you her timid girlish
+love in return. She is so afraid she can give you nothing worth the
+having in exchange for your noble proposal to make her your wife.’
+
+‘If she will give me _herself_, it is all I ask,’ returned the
+Governor. ‘And now, tell me, may I see her, and plead my cause in
+person?’
+
+‘Oh, Sir Russell, one moment!’ cried Mrs Courtney, hurriedly. ‘Let Mr
+Courtney offer you some refreshment, whilst I prepare our sweet girl
+for your visit. You do not know how shy and sensitive she is. The very
+mention of marriage makes her blush. Let me go to my child, and when
+she is calm enough to receive you, I will return and tell you so.’
+
+‘As you please, my dear madam, but don’t try my patience too far. Mr
+Courtney and I will have a cigar together, and talk over our plans
+for the future, whilst you are gone.’ And with a courtly bow to his
+hostess, Sir Russell let her leave the room.
+
+Mrs Courtney hastened at once to Maraquita’s side. _Hastened_ is
+not exactly the word for the ungraceful waddle which she used when
+she wished to expedite her footsteps, but she walked as fast as her
+unwieldy form would permit her, to the shady spot where Quita’s hammock
+swung under the orange trees, and having dismissed Jessica to the
+house, she entered at once upon her subject.
+
+‘Quita, my darling, Sir Russell Johnstone has come for your answer to
+his proposal.’
+
+She was clever in her own way, this half-educated, half-bred Spanish
+woman. She knew that if she gave Quita time to reflect, she would
+probably think of a way out of the dilemma in which she found herself,
+or consult her lover, and be persuaded perhaps to elope with him, and
+ruin her prospects for ever. She had read enough of her daughter’s mind
+on the first day she returned home, to see that all her inclinations
+were opposed to marrying Sir Russell Johnstone, and if she were
+persuaded to consent to it, it must be through _finesse_, or an appeal
+to her ambition. What Mrs Courtney wanted now, was to hurry Maraquita
+into accepting the Governor’s proposal, and make her so far commit
+herself that she could not back out of it afterwards. And she had
+good materials to work upon, for Maraquita was a youthful copy of her
+mother, as vain, and selfish, and indolent, and heartless, and as fond
+of luxuries and the good things of this life. But she was considerably
+startled at hearing she had to make up her mind so soon, and her large
+dark eyes--so like those of a deer--opened wide with consternation and
+alarm.
+
+‘Oh, mother! Surely I need not give him an answer to-day. It is so very
+soon. I have had no time to think about it.’
+
+‘_No time to think about it!_’ echoed Mrs Courtney; ‘why, the case
+is plain enough. What thinking does it require? Sir Russell offers
+to make you Lady Johnstone, and the mistress of Government House. He
+has an income of many thousands a year, and your father will settle a
+handsome dowry on you if you marry him. You will be the richest woman,
+and the woman of highest rank, in San Diego, and every soul in the
+island will exclaim at your good fortune. What more, in the name of
+Heaven, do you want, Maraquita?’
+
+‘I am so afraid I sha’n’t love him,’ sighed the girl, with a last
+remnant of womanly feeling.
+
+‘Very well,’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney, turning her back upon her
+daughter, and professing to be about to leave her, ‘I will go and tell
+Sir Russell, and at once! He is waiting your answer, and I can’t keep
+a Governor on tenterhooks for hours. If you refuse him, he says he is
+going back to England by the next steamer, and shall never return
+here, as he is sick of San Diego, and will only stay on condition you
+become his wife. But as you won’t try to love him, it is of no use.’
+
+‘Stay, mother, stay!’ cried Quita hurriedly; ‘don’t go just yet. Wait
+one moment, and speak to me. Is it _really_ true that Sir Russell will
+leave San Diego if I don’t marry him?’
+
+‘Didn’t I say so, Maraquita. He declares that nothing shall make him
+stay; and if he returns, it will be with a Lady Johnstone to preside
+over Government House for him. He will marry an English girl, and
+you will have the mortification of seeing some woman, with half your
+beauty, enjoying all the advantages you have been fool enough to
+refuse. Quita, I have no patience with you.’
+
+‘But, mamma--mamma, I haven’t refused him. I don’t _mean_ to refuse
+him! If (as you say) I must make up my mind at once, I _have_ made it
+up! I accept Sir Russell’s proposal, and you can go and tell him so.’
+
+‘Oh, my darling girl!’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney effusively, ‘I was sure
+you would see this grand prospect in its proper light at last. How
+proud and delighted your father will be to hear your decision. But you
+must give Sir Russell his answer in person, my love. You must let me
+bring him here, and tell him yourself that you will be his wife.’
+
+‘But I am not fit to see any one. I am so untidy!’ cried Quita, jumping
+out of her hammock, and standing before her mother.
+
+She was clothed in a long loose robe, of saffron colour, with hanging
+sleeves, that showed her white arms, and a belt that spanned her
+slender waist. Her dusky hair lay in a rippling mass upon her
+shoulders, and her fair face was flushed with excitement, and perhaps
+regret. She had never looked more lovely in her life, and Mrs Courtney
+regarded her with pardonable pride and admiration.
+
+‘You are charming, my dear! I will not have you wait to make a single
+alteration in your dress; and Sir Russell is so impatient, that he
+will readily pardon the negligence of your morning attire. He knows
+you have been ill, and are disinclined for much exertion. Sit down in
+this chair, Quita, and I will bring him to you in another minute. Oh,
+my dear child,’ concluded Mrs Courtney, with a close embrace, ‘how
+thankful I am that all is about to end so happily for you! You have
+half killed me by your thoughtlessness and imprudence.’
+
+There were genuine tears in her mother’s eyes as she pronounced the
+words, and Quita felt for the first time, perhaps, what a terrible risk
+she had run.
+
+‘Never mind, mamma!’ she whispered, ‘it is over now, and _he_--he has
+promised me that I shall never hear anything more about it. Let us try
+and forget it ever occurred.’
+
+‘Yes, my dearest girl, that is just what you must do. Blot out the
+past, like a hideous dream. It has been a terrible experience for you,
+and so long as you remained unmarried, I should always have trembled
+for your safety. But now--as the wife of the Governor, my dear child’s
+future is assured, and we will never mention the hateful subject
+again--not even to each other.’
+
+‘No! and, mamma, you told me the other day that (excepting for certain
+reasons) you would have had some changes made on the plantation.
+Couldn’t you manage to have those changes made now. Not too suddenly,
+you know, so as to excite suspicion, but as if they were brought
+about in the natural course of events. Can’t you persuade papa,’ said
+Maraquita, hiding her face in her mother’s bosom, ‘to engage a--a--new
+overseer? It would be better for all of us.’
+
+‘You are quite right, my darling,’ whispered Mrs Courtney back again,
+‘and I am glad you have so much sense. Trust me, dear, that you shall
+not be annoyed in this matter. As soon as your marriage is settled, I
+will take you up on the hill range for change of air, and before you
+return we will have done what you suggest. I have a dozen good reasons
+to give your father for engaging some one else in that person’s place.’
+
+‘Don’t be harsh with him,’ faltered Maraquita; ‘remember that--that--’
+
+But this was a dangerous topic, on which Mrs Courtney did not choose to
+dilate.
+
+‘I can remember nothing now, my dear, except that Sir Russell is
+waiting for your answer, and that I must go and fetch him to you.
+Now, be a woman, Maraquita! Think of all you owe to yourself, and the
+brilliant future that lies before you! I really believe I should go out
+of my mind with grief if anything happened to prevent it.’
+
+Mrs Courtney walked back to the house as quickly as she was able, and
+Maraquita lay in the bamboo chair, with her eyes closed, and the unshed
+tears trembling like dewdrops on her long dark lashes. She had not to
+wait long! In another minute her mother had returned, in company with
+the Governor, and Quita had to disperse the vision of her handsome
+Spanish lover, with his graceful form and romantic bearing, and open
+her eyes upon a stout and pursy little Englishman, with a bald head and
+uninteresting features, and legs too short for his body.
+
+But there was no mistaking the expression of his beaming face, and the
+girl saw at a glance that the matter had been concluded for her, and
+she was already in his eyes the future Lady Johnstone.
+
+‘My dear Miss Courtney--may I not say my dear Maraquita?’ he commenced,
+‘I cannot tell you how flattered I feel by your kind acceptance of my
+offer, nor how much I hope it will be the forerunner of our life-long
+happiness.’
+
+He raised the hand she extended, to his lips as he spoke, and she felt
+compelled to reply, in a faltering voice,--
+
+‘I hope it will--’
+
+‘I won’t hear of any doubts about it,’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney
+triumphantly. ‘I feel _sure_, Sir Russell, that my sweet child’s
+happiness is safe in your hands; and as for yours--why, if the
+affection and duty of a simple and innocent girl can secure it, it
+will be as safe as her own. You must not forget, my dear sir, that you
+have chosen to honour a very young girl--almost a child--with your
+preference, and will, I know, make allowance for any faults that may
+arise from ignorance of the world and of society.’
+
+‘I know that I have chosen the loveliest and sweetest girl in San
+Diego!’ cried the Governor enthusiastically, ‘and that it will be the
+aim of my life to surround her with every luxury and pleasure that
+I can afford; and as for her faults, I shall never see any to make
+allowance for.’
+
+‘Oh, Sir Russell,’ replied Mrs Courtney, in the same strain, ‘you must
+not spoil my child! I know myself that her chief fault is that which
+will mend every day; still she is _very_ young--there is no denying
+that--and will often need a little kindly counsel as to how she should
+act in her high position.’
+
+‘She will only need to be herself, and to act on her own impulses, to
+make the most charming hostess that ever presided at the Government
+House. But we have not yet spoken of when the marriage is to take
+place, Mrs Courtney,--and I hope you will persuade Maraquita not to
+keep me waiting too long.’
+
+‘You are very impatient,’ she replied, smiling, ‘but you must not
+forget that my dear child has been ill, and is still very weak and
+fragile. Still, if you make a point of it, I am sure neither Mr
+Courtney nor myself will stand in the way of a speedy wedding.’
+
+‘But what will Miss Maraquita say?’ demanded the Governor, bending over
+her.
+
+‘My mother can decide for me,’ she murmured faintly. ‘I have never
+disobeyed you yet, mamma, have I?’
+
+‘Never! my dear, never! You have been the best and most dutiful of
+daughters, and deferred to your parents’ wishes in all things--’
+
+But here the remembrance of certain late events put a sudden stop to
+Mrs Courtney’s eloquence, and she watched the crimson blood that rose
+to Quita’s cheek, in alarm. The girl was still weak: it was dangerous
+to provoke an emotion which she might find it impossible to quell.
+
+‘But I think we have discussed this exciting topic sufficiently for
+to-day,’ she continued. ‘Maraquita is easily upset, and I should
+be sorry to see her thrown back again. Will you settle the knotty
+question of the wedding-day with me, Sir Russell, after you have
+finished talking to my daughter? I don’t fancy you will find there are
+many difficulties in the way--but we must think first of Maraquita’s
+strength, and how we can restore it for the important occasion.’
+
+‘Certainly! that is the chief consideration,’ replied Sir Russell;
+‘what do you propose to do about it?’
+
+‘I was thinking of taking her up to the hill range for a week, to
+escape these enervating land breezes. I think a little change would do
+her more good than anything else.’
+
+‘The very thing!’ exclaimed Sir Russell, ‘and you can have the use of
+the Government Bungalow, and all that is in it. When will you start?
+To-morrow? If so, I will send word at once to have everything in
+readiness for your reception. Don’t trouble yourself about taking your
+carriage and horses, mine will be there, and at your entire disposal.
+And I trust that after the rest of a day or two, Maraquita will permit
+me to join your party, and accompany her on her excursions in search
+of health. I have an Arab pony that carries a lady to perfection, and,
+with your leave, I will send it up for her use. What does my _fiancée_
+say? Does my proposal meet with her approval?’
+
+‘She would be a very ungrateful girl, and very hard to please, if it
+did not,’ said her mother, answering for her; and then perceiving that
+Quita’s self-command was almost at an end, and that she was on the
+point of breaking down, she added playfully,--
+
+‘And now I am going to be hard-hearted and carry you off, Sir Russell,
+for my poor child is overcome with all this excitement, and unable to
+bear any more at present. Please be good, and return with me to the
+White House; and if you will call upon us again this evening, I have
+no doubt she will be calmer, and better able to thank you for all your
+kind offers on her behalf.’
+
+The Governor rose at once (for he was a gentleman, although he was ugly
+and ill-formed), and took his leave. As he did so, he stooped down and
+kissed Maraquita on the cheek. It was not an out-of-the-way thing for
+a newly-accepted lover to do, but the salute, quietly as it was given,
+seemed to sting her. She did not resent it whilst her mother and Sir
+Russell Johnstone were in sight, but as soon as the doors of the White
+House had closed upon them, she hid her face in her hands, and burst
+into a flood of tears.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+She was still weeping quietly, when the branches of the orange tree
+which formed a leafy bower around her, were parted, and a voice
+exclaimed, with passionate intensity,--
+
+‘Maraquita!’
+
+The girl sprang to her feet without any effort to conceal her tears.
+Henri de Courcelles stood beside her.
+
+‘Oh, go!’ she implored, ‘go at once. You don’t know the risk you are
+running. My mother suspects us, and she may be back in another moment.
+For _my_ sake, Henri, go.’
+
+‘Not unless you will tell me the cause of your grief. Is it because
+this burden is too heavy for you? If so, come with me, and let us share
+it, and fight the world together.’
+
+‘I cannot talk with you about it now, Henri,’ replied Maraquita, with
+a look of alarm; ‘it is impossible. You _must_ leave me. I see Jessica
+coming from the house.’
+
+‘Then where will you meet me, for I shall not rest until you have
+satisfied my curiosity; besides, I have important news for you
+about--it.’
+
+This intelligence made Quita change her mind. She was intensely anxious
+to have the assurance of her own complete safety, and she could be
+cunning enough where her inclinations were concerned.
+
+‘Have you done--what I asked you?’ she gasped.
+
+‘I have made everything right, but I cannot explain the matter to you
+in a moment, nor where there is any fear of our being overheard.’
+
+‘Wait for me in the oleander thicket, then,’ cried Maraquita. ‘I will
+be there in five minutes.’
+
+Henri de Courcelles nodded acquiescence, and disappeared as old Jessica
+came up to her young mistress.
+
+‘Missus Courtney send me to ask if my missy like to have someting to
+eat and drink now; and will missy come back to de house, or will she
+have it brought out here under de trees?’ asked the negress.
+
+‘Neither, Jessica. Tell mamma I am not hungry or thirsty, only very
+sleepy, and I want to be left alone for an hour or two. I can call you
+when I wake.’
+
+‘If missy sleepy, better come and sleep in house,’ urged Jessica. ‘So
+many flies and ’skeeters about here.’
+
+‘I wish you would let me do as I like, Jessica,’ said Quita, ‘and keep
+your suggestions to yourself.’
+
+‘I’se very sorry, missy. I won’t say any more, only stop here and keep
+off de flies and tings from your face.’
+
+‘You’re enough to drive a saint mad!’ cried Maraquita, stamping her
+foot. ‘Didn’t I tell you I wanted to be left alone? What is it to you
+if I like flies and mosquitoes buzzing about me? Go back to the house,
+and don’t come near me again till I give you leave.’
+
+The old nurse obeyed without a murmur; but she _did_ murmur, for all
+that. The coloured people are very secretive, and can assume an
+appearance of complete innocence, all the time they are cognisant of
+their employer’s most important secrets.
+
+‘Ah! my poor little missy,’ muttered Jessica to herself, as she
+shambled on her bare flat feet towards the house, ‘you think ole black
+nurse blind, but she see too well. She know all about de baby at
+Doctor’s bungalow, and who’s de fader and moder of it, as well as you.
+And she will see her little missy revenged, before many moons is ober
+her head, into de bargain. Cuss dat oberseer!’
+
+Meanwhile Maraquita, having watched Jessica into the house, through the
+branches of the orange tree, stole out the opposite side, and, keeping
+well out of view of the windows, took her way towards the oleander
+thicket, which lay between her home and De Courcelles’ bungalow. It
+was a wild patch of flowering shrubs, densely planted together, and
+forming a sufficient ambush to conceal any number of persons from
+the public gaze. There was a wooden bench in one part of it, where
+Maraquita and De Courcelles had often held their moonlight trysts
+together; and there she found him eager to tell his news, and claim his
+reward.
+
+Quita sunk down upon the bench, and trembled. She was not only weak
+from her recent illness, but she dreaded the scene which might follow
+the impending revelation.
+
+‘You are far from well yet, my Quita,’ said Henri de Courcelles, as he
+folded his arms about her trembling form; ‘but I have something to tell
+you which will set your mind at rest.’
+
+‘Tell it to me quickly, then,’ rejoined Maraquita. ‘Have you sent it
+out of the island? Are you _sure_ I shall never hear of it again?’
+
+‘No, I cannot quite promise you that,’ replied De Courcelles, with
+an intuitive disgust (even in the midst of his passion) for her
+undisguised selfishness. ‘It has never been in my hands, so it was
+impossible I could form any plans for it. But circumstances have fallen
+out so fortunately, that I don’t see any chance of suspicion falling
+upon _you_.’
+
+‘What do you mean? I don’t understand you,’ said Quita pettishly. ‘If
+it is to remain in San Diego, the secret may come out any day, and my
+only safety will be in leaving the island.’
+
+‘Wait a moment, dearest, and listen to me. It seems that the day before
+the Doctor’s death, he brought the child home to his bungalow, where it
+now is--’
+
+‘With Lizzie? In the bungalow?’ cried Quita, turning ashy pale. ‘Oh, my
+God! then all is over, and I am lost!’
+
+‘Hush! hush! Maraquita. Nothing of the sort. Liz refuses to say a word
+upon the subject. _I_ have questioned her narrowly; so has your father;
+and all she will answer is that before his death Dr Fellows extracted a
+solemn oath from her never to disclose anything concerning the child,
+and that her lips are sealed.’
+
+‘Oh, but it will come out; it is sure to come out some day!’ exclaimed
+Quita, weeping, as she wrung her hands in abject fear. ‘You have ruined
+me, Henri! You have destroyed all my future prospects! I shall be
+branded for ever as a dishonest woman!’
+
+‘But it is impossible! All the plantation--I may say all San
+Diego--already believes the child to be Lizzie’s own.’
+
+Maraquita stared at him in astonishment.
+
+‘They believe _that_! But what does Lizzie say?’
+
+‘She can say nothing! Her lips are sealed by her oath!’
+
+‘Some day the shame may prove too hard to bear, and they will be forced
+open.’
+
+‘It will be too late then to assert her innocence. The world of San
+Diego is quite convinced by this time that she is the mother of the
+infant, and her attempts to cast the blame on you will only appear
+to be an impudent subterfuge. She has no proof--or witness--to bring
+forward in confirmation of the truth.’
+
+‘Poor Lizzie,’ said Quita, in a low voice, visions of past
+kindnesses on the part of her adopted sister, and of a faithful
+life-long affection, floated before her mind, and made her tremble.
+Something--was it the last effort made by her Good Angel in her
+behalf--seemed to rise within her heart, and prompt her to cry out
+that _it must not be_, that she _could_ not be guilty of this dreadful
+wrong, and let her just burthen lie on the shoulders of an innocent
+woman. But then she remembered the shame and the disgrace that would
+ensue to her, and how her parents would despise and reproach her, and
+Sir Russell Johnstone would refuse to make her his wife, and moral
+cowardice made her shiver and remain silent.
+
+‘Ay! poor Lizzie,’ echoed De Courcelles. ‘I am really sorry for the
+girl; but what can be done? It is a choice between two evils. Either
+_she_ must be sacrificed, or my peerless Maraquita. Do you suppose I
+could hesitate between them? There is one thing to be said, however.
+Lizzie is not in your position. She will not feel the disgrace so
+keenly as you would. And, before long, Maraquita, we may be able to
+relieve her of her burthen.’
+
+Maraquita did not like the last allusion.
+
+‘I don’t see _how_,’ she answered lamely.
+
+‘Have you forgotten, then, what you promised, when you asked me to
+assist you to escape the inevitable blame of the consequences of our
+mutual love,--that, if your parents refused to sanction our marriage,
+you would elope with me to Santa Lucia, and not return until we were
+man and wife in the eyes of the law, as we are now in the eyes of
+Heaven?’
+
+‘But you have _not_ done as I asked you,’ she replied evasively. ‘I
+don’t see that you have done anything. _It_ is still here, closer at
+hand even than I thought it was, and (whatever you may say) liable at
+any moment to be brought home to my door. And there is another danger,
+Henri. Mamma has discovered our secret--how, I am unable to say, but
+she has told me so pretty plainly, and also that she will keep it only
+on one condition--’
+
+‘And that is--’
+
+‘That I accept the proposals of Sir Russell Johnstone.’
+
+‘_You shall not!_’ cried her lover indignantly. ‘I will not stand by
+quietly and see the woman I consider _my wife_ handed over to that
+bald-headed old Governor. I will go straight up to Mr Courtney sooner,
+and confess the truth, and ask his pardon for what I have done. Surely
+he would never wish you to marry another man, if he knew what has taken
+place between us. And if he persists in dragging you to the altar, I
+will tear you from your bridegroom’s arms, and stab you to the heart,
+before he shall claim what is mine.’
+
+Quita’s star-like eyes dilated with terror. She knew something of what
+the Spanish and Creole blood is capable of doing when roused, and
+foresaw bloodshed--perhaps murder--if Henri de Courcelles did not have
+his own way. And yet, to give up the brilliant prospect before her, in
+order to become an overseer’s wife, and one whose maiden reputation
+would be lightly spoken of, seemed to be impossible. Why had she ever
+entangled her feet in a net which threatened to drag her down to a
+life of obloquy and shame? To what friend could she turn in her great
+need? Suddenly the idea flashed across her mind that she would confess
+everything to her mother. Mrs Courtney already knew (or had guessed)
+the truth, and counselled her daughter on the best mode of escaping
+its results. She was very anxious to see Maraquita Lady Johnstone.
+If making a clean breast of her secret brought a certain amount of
+recrimination on her head, it would at the same time secure her an
+ally with whom to fight this terrible battle for a name and a position
+in life. For the first time hope and comfort seemed to enter her
+breast. If her mother were on her side, she felt she could defy Henri
+de Courcelles, and Liz Fellows, and the world. All their assertions
+would be taken as impudent lies, and only secure their own immediate
+banishment from Beauregard. But, meanwhile, her lover must be quieted
+and conciliated, and Maraquita knew how to do it full well. She had
+scarcely conceived the notion how to act in the future, before her
+white arms were wreathed about his neck.
+
+‘Henri,’ she cried, with her lips to his, ‘don’t speak to me like that!
+Don’t think of such a thing, for Heaven’s sake! Do you imagine that _I_
+would ever consent to be placed in such a position, or that any amount
+of tyranny would make me marry a man against my will? Let the worst
+come to the worst, dear; let mamma tell my father of our intrigue; it
+will only result in your having to leave San Diego. Whether _I_ shall
+be able to go too, remains to be proved. I am under age, you know, and
+if papa chooses to lock me up, or send me to England, I suppose he can.
+But even _that_ will be better than being forced to marry a man I don’t
+love; and you know that I shall always remember you, dearest, and
+think of the time that is past, as the happiest portion of my life.’
+
+Henri de Courcelles looked sullen and suspicious. The clasping arms
+were very sweet, and the ripe lips very tempting, but there was a false
+ring in Quita’s speech, which made itself apparent to his senses,
+although his judgment could not detect it. There was no fault to be
+found with her words, yet they inspired him with distrust, and he felt
+certain that she was betraying whilst she kissed him.
+
+‘I don’t know what to think of you, Maraquita,’ he said presently. ‘I
+suppose you love me, in your way, but you seem very ready to fall in
+with your parents’ plans to get rid of me.’
+
+‘But what _could_ I do, Henri, if my father was determined to separate
+us? Am I not completely in his power? Our only chance appears to me to
+lie in secrecy, and yet you speak as if you would disclose the affair
+to all San Diego.’
+
+‘And if I hold my tongue and remain quiet, what then? You will marry
+Sir Russell Johnstone before my very eyes, and I shall have to grin and
+bear it.’
+
+‘We are the most unfortunate people in the world’, sighed Maraquita,
+with mock sentimentality.
+
+‘You mean that _I_ am the most unfortunate man in the world, ever to
+have set my heart on a girl who doesn’t care two straws for me. I can
+see through you now, Maraquita. You were willing enough to commit the
+sin, but you are too great a coward to face the consequences of it.
+You have deceived and disobeyed your parents over and over again,
+when it suited your pleasure to do so, but when it comes to a question
+of marrying the man you profess to love, you take refuge behind the
+transparent screen of filial duty and affection. I was good enough
+for your lover, it appears, but I am _not_ good enough to be your
+husband. You have higher views in prospect for yourself, and I may
+go anywhere,--be kicked out of my appointment, and cast homeless on
+San Diego--what does it signify to you, so long as you become Lady
+Johnstone, and have plenty to eat and drink, and a spotless reputation.
+But it shall not be! You have made yourself _mine_, and I refuse to
+give you up. If you attempt to become the wife of any other man,
+whether in deference to your parents’ wishes, or your own, I will blast
+your name from north to south, till the commonest fellow on the island
+would refuse to give you his. Every black in San Diego shall know
+_what_ you are, a light love, a false woman, and a heartless mother.’
+
+‘You shall not--_you dare not_!’ gasped Maraquita, now thoroughly
+frightened.
+
+‘You shall see what I can _dare_!’ he exclaimed wildly. ‘For I will
+take your life and my own, sooner than give you up to another.’
+
+And with that Henri de Courcelles walked away, and left her sitting
+there by herself. As soon as she was convinced he was not coming back
+again, Quita rose, and with trembling steps walked slowly back to the
+White House. He had succeeded in completely alarming her. She had
+never seen him like this before, and he was terrible in his anger. His
+black eyes had gleamed on her like polished steel, and his hand had
+involuntarily sought his side, as though ready to grasp an invisible
+stiletto. Quita felt certain he would be capable of any violence,
+if not restrained, and fear lent her boldness. She would secure one
+friend at least in her extremity, and whatever it cost her she would
+confide her trouble to her mother. She found Mrs Courtney alone in her
+own room, lying on a sofa, with bare feet, and the last novel that
+had reached San Diego in her hand. But as she saw Maraquita enter the
+chamber, she raised herself to a sitting position.
+
+‘My dearest child! what is the matter? You are looking quite ill again.’
+
+‘Oh, mamma, mamma,’ cried Quita, sinking at her mother’s feet, ‘I am so
+unhappy!’
+
+And then, in a broken voice, and with her face still hidden, she told
+the story of her disgrace, and the danger which appeared to threaten
+her.
+
+Mrs Courtney listened in silence. She had suspected the cause of her
+daughter’s illness, and the author of her ruin, but she was hardly
+prepared to hear there was a living witness to her shame domiciled so
+close to Beauregard. Her naturally sallow complexion turned almost
+livid with horror, and her unwieldy frame shook with agitation. And
+when the girl had finished her miserable recital, all her mother could
+utter was,--
+
+‘Oh, Maraquita, Maraquita, I couldn’t have believed it of you!’
+
+‘Mother, don’t speak to me like that! I know I have been very wicked,
+but I have no friend but you, and if _you_ desert me, I shall be lost.
+Oh, mother, save me this once, and I will do everything you ask me in
+the future. You want me to became Lady Johnstone, don’t you? But you
+must think of some means of stopping Henri’s tongue, or I never shall
+be. I did not think he would be so spiteful and revengeful! He says he
+will stab me at the very altar.’
+
+‘That is all talk, my dear! he will do no such thing! He shall be sent
+out of Beauregard before a week is over his head; and if he dares to
+assail your character, your father shall have him punished for it. But
+listen to me, Quita. There is only one way to fight this scandal, and
+that is to deny everything. Now, let me understand you plainly. Are you
+_sure_ that no one but Dr Fellows and his daughter knew the secret of
+this birth?’
+
+‘_Quite_ sure, mamma! The Doctor told me so over and over again; and I
+don’t think Lizzie knows _whose_ baby it is--and if she does, she has
+taken an oath never to reveal it--and Lizzie will keep her oath!’ said
+Maraquita, with complete faith in the fidelity of her friend.
+
+‘There was no other person in the house at the time?’
+
+‘No one, mamma.’
+
+‘Then your course is plain. Whoever dares to mention this story to you,
+or at whatever time it may crop up against you, _deny it entirely_.
+Say you have never heard of such a thing before, and you are entirely
+ignorant how it could have originated. _I_--as your mother--will
+corroborate your statement, and we will uphold our assertion before the
+world. Lizzie Fellows is really the only witness that can come against
+you, and she will not break her promise, I am sure of that.
+
+‘As for that villain De Courcelles, your father shall give him a
+summary dismissal, and anything he may say in his rage will be taken
+for revenge. He can _prove_ nothing. He has only his bare word to give
+for it, and who would believe him against your own parents? Meanwhile,
+dearest, the sooner your marriage takes place the better, and then you
+will feel safe. But whatever you do, Maraquita, never acknowledge your
+shame again, even to De Courcelles. You never know who may overhear it.
+Try to believe it has never been, and then you will act as though it
+had never been. As for marrying your father’s overseer, it is out of
+the question, and like his presumption to dream of it. As if he hadn’t
+done you harm enough already, without wishing to hamper you for life!
+It’s like the unreasonable selfishness of men. But you may make your
+mind easy, my dear, your mother will save you.’
+
+‘Oh, mamma, how I wish I could go away somewhere, and never see nor
+hear anything of him again!’ sobbed Maraquita.
+
+‘So you shall, Quita, if you will only have a little patience. But
+cease crying now, my child, or you will make yourself ill. Lie down on
+my couch, and try to go to sleep. I won’t let you leave the house again
+until Monsieur de Courcelles has quitted the plantation.’
+
+And with a kiss of forgiveness, Mrs Courtney left her frail daughter to
+repose.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+The next morning Liz was walking up the avenue of orange trees that led
+to the White House, with her eyes fixed upon the ground, and her brow
+wrinkled with perplexity. After many hours of painful deliberation,
+she had come to the conclusion to take the advice of Captain Norris,
+and beg Maraquita to relieve her of the intolerable burden of shame
+she bore for her sake; but _how_ to accuse her adopted sister of her
+sin, troubled her beyond measure. She felt so deeply for her youth
+and betrayed innocence. Such a well of divine compassion for the
+injured girl was mingled with her own horror of the deed, that she
+scarcely knew whether she should feel most inclined to commiserate
+with, or to blame her. Liz pictured Quita to herself writhing on the
+ground for very shame at the discovery of her weakness, bright-eyed,
+dusky-haired Maraquita, who had always seemed so much to be envied and
+admired, prostrate in her humiliation, and her generous heart bled
+in anticipation of her sister’s pain. She conned over and over again
+the words in which she would break the truth to her, trying to make
+them as tender and little accusing as she could. She would endeavour
+(she thought) to first gain Quita’s confidence, and then to make her
+understand that, if she would only do what was just, in confessing the
+truth to her parents, Liz would be her friend, and the friend of her
+little daughter, to their lives’ end. But what she was about to ask of
+Quita was a very serious thing, and she doubted if the girl’s strength
+of mind would carry her through it.
+
+She did not ring for admittance when she reached the White House. She
+had been accustomed to enter and leave it as she chose, and experienced
+no difficulty in finding her way at once to the chamber where Maraquita
+spent most of her morning hours.
+
+This was an apartment adjoining her bedroom, and furnished more with
+a view to the repose which is so essential in the torrid climate of
+the West Indies, than to the pursuit of any active work. Its French
+windows, opening on the garden, were shaded by green jalousies,
+through which the luxuriant creepers thrust their tendrils and their
+leaves; the marble floor was strewn with plaited mats of various
+coloured straws; the furniture consisted of a couple of bamboo lounges
+and a marble table, on which stood a silver tray bearing fruit and
+cooling drinks. The only ornaments it contained were a large mirror and
+a couple of handsome vases filled with roses. Everything about the room
+was conducive to coolness and repose; and Maraquita, attired in white
+muslin, with a palm leaf in her hand, and stretched full length on one
+of the couches, with her eyes half closed, was a personification of the
+goddess of Sleep or Indolence, or perhaps both.
+
+She started, and coloured slightly as Liz slipped into the room through
+the verandah. Her last conversation with Henri de Courcelles was in
+her mind. She had been thinking of it as Liz entered, and a secret
+intuition made her feel that her adopted sister would allude to the
+subject. A craven fear took possession of her, and made her heart beat
+to suffocation; but only for a moment. The next she had remembered her
+mother’s caution and promised championship, and had resolved to carry
+out her advice (if necessary) to the very letter. As she sank back upon
+her couch, Lizzie advanced towards her with affectionate solicitude.
+
+‘Have I startled you, Quita? I hope not. It seems so long since we met;
+and so much has happened since then, that I felt I must come up and see
+you to-day. How are you, dear? Quite strong again?’
+
+As she sat down by the girl’s side, and laid her hand tenderly upon
+her arm, Quita turned pettishly away.
+
+‘That is rather a silly question for a lady doctor to ask me, Lizzie.
+How can I be quite strong again after such a nasty attack of fever? I
+am as weak as I can well be, and mamma is going to take me up to the
+hill range to-morrow or next day for change of air.’
+
+‘I am glad of that, dear. It will be the best thing for you, for you
+must have suffered much, my poor Quita, I am sure, both in mind and
+body.’
+
+Quita did not like this thrust, but she parried it bravely.
+
+‘Well, I _did_ suffer with the fever, as you know, and the only wonder
+is that it didn’t kill me, as it has done so many of the coolies. It
+was your poor father who saved my life. And then that _he_ should go
+himself! I have felt that terribly, Liz. I was very fond of him. He was
+like a second father to me, and his sudden death has cut us all up, as
+well as you.’
+
+There were tears in Maraquita’s voice as she spoke, which brought the
+kindred drops welling up to Lizzie’s eyes, and for a few moments the
+girls wept together as for a common loss.
+
+‘Oh, Quita,’ said Liz, as soon as she could speak calmly again, ‘I know
+that you and your father and mother have felt for me in my trouble,
+for, kind as you have been to us, you can never realise the depth of
+it. My father was my world. He stood between me and every anxiety, and
+now that he is gone, I feel as if I stood alone, the centre of a storm
+of suspicion, and accusation, and reproach.’
+
+Maraquita paled under this allusion, but she felt obliged to say,--
+
+‘What do you mean?’
+
+‘Can you ask me, Quita?’ exclaimed Liz suddenly. ‘Is it possible that
+the rumours that are afloat concerning me have failed to reach your
+ears? Mr Courtney told me that he had heard them. Surely he repeated
+them to you.’
+
+‘No, papa has told me nothing, and I don’t know what rumours you allude
+to,’ replied Quita; but had the room not been darkened to shut out the
+morning heat, Lizzie must have seen the crimson blood that rushed to
+her face with fear of what was coming.
+
+‘Then I must tell you,’ said Lizzie, drawing nearer to the couch, while
+she looked cautiously about the room to be sure that no one was within
+hearing. ‘Indeed I came up here this morning expressly to tell you,
+for the burden of secrecy and shame is more than I can bear.’
+
+Whilst Lizzie beat about the bush, as though afraid to mention the
+forbidden topic, Quita had felt timid and constrained, but now that she
+seemed prepared to speak out, the defiance that is born of fear entered
+the younger girl’s breast, and emboldened her to say or do anything in
+the defence of her honour.
+
+‘What secrecy? What shame? What have you been doing, Lizzie?’ she
+exclaimed, with well-feigned surprise. ‘You talk in riddles to me
+to-day.’
+
+‘Ah, you have heard nothing, Quita. I can see that. You do not know
+the terrible duty that has been laid upon me. But turn your face this
+way, dear, and let me whisper to you. Don’t mind what I may say, Quita.
+Remember that I am your sister, who has known you from a baby, and
+that I sympathise with and feel for you in any trouble or sorrow you
+may have to endure. You remember the night you came to our bungalow?’
+
+‘I remember the night I was _told_ I went there, Liz; but I was half
+delirious with the fever, and can vouch for nothing myself.’
+
+‘I can well understand that you were half crazy with fear and pain,
+dearest, but it was not the fever that made you so.’
+
+‘The Doctor said it was the fever,’ argued Maraquita, with wide-open,
+innocent eyes. ‘He told papa and mamma so.’
+
+‘I know he did, for _your_ sake, and that they believed it. He
+extracted a solemn oath from me at the same time, never to reveal what
+I might see or hear that night. And I never _have_ revealed it, Quita,
+and I never _will_. It shall lie hidden in my heart until my death.
+Only _you_ must help me to bear it, or I shall die.’
+
+Lizzie was sobbing now, though very quietly, behind the shelter of her
+hands, whilst Maraquita lay on the couch silent but pondering what she
+would say.
+
+‘Speak to me,’ cried Lizzie presently. ‘Say something, for God’s sake,
+and put me out of my pain.’
+
+‘What am I to say?’ replied Maraquita. ‘You frighten me when you talk
+like that. Has anything terrible happened since your poor father’s
+death, and how can _I_ help you out of it?’
+
+‘I will tell you what has happened,’ said Lizzie presently. ‘Mammy Lila
+is dead, and the child is with me, and every one is talking about it,
+and saying it is mine. What am I to do, Quita--what _am_ I to do? I
+cannot speak, because my lips are closed by the oath my father made me
+take; and if I _could_ speak, do you think I would betray my dearest
+friend? And can I send it from me--the poor, helpless, tender little
+creature who has no one to look after it and love it but myself?’
+
+‘But whose child is it?’ inquired Maraquita, with her dark eyes fixed
+full on those of her adopted sister.
+
+Lizzie regarded her for a moment in silent consternation. Was it
+possible that Quita was in ignorance of her child’s birth, and had her
+late father managed so skilfully as to keep her unaware of what had
+happened? Such things _had_ been. But the next minute Liz had rejected
+the idea with scorn. At any rate Maraquita must have known what lay
+before her when she found her way to the Doctor’s bungalow, and if she
+affected ignorance now, it was only because she was unaware that Lizzie
+knew the whole truth.
+
+‘Oh, Maraquita,’ she exclaimed, ‘don’t be afraid of confessing it to
+me, for I know everything! My father was obliged to confide in me. He
+could not have managed without my assistance. But my oath seals my lips
+to all the world but you. But is it right to keep such a secret from
+your father and mother, especially when doing so involves the ruin of
+any other woman? You don’t know what the charge of that little infant
+has brought upon me? Even Mr Courtney suspects my honesty. And as for
+Monsieur de Courcelles--’
+
+‘What has Monsieur de Courcelles to do with it?’ cried Quita hastily.
+
+Lizzie coloured. She had never spoken of her relations with Henri de
+Courcelles to Quita before, but this was no time to let feeling get the
+better of justice.
+
+‘He has everything to do with _me_,’ she answered, in a low tone.
+‘Quita, I have never told you before, that I am engaged to be married
+to Monsieur de Courcelles.’
+
+‘_You_--engaged to be married--to _Henri_? Oh, it is not true! You are
+deceiving me!’ exclaimed Quita, as she sprang to a sitting position,
+and turned a face of ashy pallor to her companion.
+
+But Lizzie suspected no more than she saw. She only thought that Quita
+was astonished that she should have been kept in the dark with regard
+to so important a subject, and hastened to defend her own conduct.
+
+‘Indeed, it _is_ true! I daresay you are surprised that I should not
+have told you, Quita (for I have told you almost everything), but
+I have felt so deeply about it, that I _could_ not speak; and our
+engagement has never been made public, though it has lasted over a
+year.’
+
+‘_You_--engaged to _Henri de Courcelles_!’ repeated Quita incredulously.
+
+‘Yes! Although he has broken it off, of his own accord, and left me, I
+cannot feel that I am free from him. For I love him, Quita. I love him
+with my whole heart and soul. I did not think it was in me to love any
+creature as I love him. And since we have parted, I have been unable
+to sleep, or eat, or drink, for longing after him,--longing, above all
+things, to clear my character in his eyes, even though I never saw him
+afterwards. Oh, Quita, I must, I _must_ do this! To live on letting him
+think me false and frail, will kill me! If you will not help me out of
+this awful dilemma, my death will be on your head.’
+
+But the news she had just heard had hardened Maraquita’s heart. All the
+love she was capable of feeling had been given to De Courcelles, and if
+he and Lizzie had combined to deceive her, why they might suffer for
+it. That was all she thought of, as she clenched her teeth upon her
+upper lip, to prevent her betraying her emotion.
+
+‘Maraquita! won’t you save my love to me?’ wailed Lizzie. ‘All I ask is
+to clear my name in the eyes of Henri de Courcelles, and then the rest
+of the world may think and say what they choose.’
+
+‘I don’t in the least understand what you are driving at,’ replied
+Maraquita. ‘What can _I_ do to make up your quarrel? Monsieur de
+Courcelles and you are both old enough to look after yourselves. If he
+won’t believe you, he is not likely to believe _me_.’
+
+‘But I cannot speak--my lips are sealed,’ cried Lizzie wildly; ‘and
+he will not accept my word, instead of an explanation. Don’t you
+understand me, Quita? Henri has heard this scandalous report about the
+child, and believes it to be mine. He demands the name of the mother,
+and no one but you can satisfy him. Oh, Quita, release me from this
+awful vow, that threatens to ruin my character and blast my whole life!
+Think, dear--is it fair that I should lose everything I love and value
+most, because of your fault? Be brave and generous enough to share the
+blame with me, and I promise you before God that it shall never go any
+further.’
+
+Maraquita sat straight up on her couch, and stared at her adopted
+sister.
+
+‘What do you want me to do? Speak plainly, for I do not comprehend
+your meaning.’
+
+‘I want you to tell your parents what you have done. They will pity,
+and love, and forgive you, Quita, as I do. They will feel it was your
+youth and ignorance that were at fault, and not your heart; and you
+will feel happier, my poor sister, when your mother has shared your
+secret, and forgiven it. I want you to tell Mr and Mrs Courtney that
+the child in my bungalow is yours.’
+
+‘_What!_’ cried Quita shrilly. ‘You want me to tell a lie in order to
+screen yourself?’
+
+‘_A lie!_’ repeated Lizzie. ‘You know it is not a lie; you know when
+you came to us that night that you were delivered of a daughter, and
+that my poor father took charge of it for you. Oh, Quita, if you could
+see her,--her little waxen hands and feet, her wistful dark eyes, so
+like your own, and her tiny mouth, which just begins to smile, your
+mother’s heart would yearn to claim her for your own!’
+
+For one moment Quita trembled at the picture Liz had conjured up, but
+the next, fear of ruining her own prospects crushed the softer feeling
+in her heart.
+
+‘I deny it!’ she exclaimed loudly. ‘I deny every word you have uttered.
+You are either mad, or you mistake me for some other woman. How _dare_
+you insinuate that I have ever had a child?’
+
+‘_You deny it!_’ echoed Lizzie, rising to her feet. ‘You can actually
+look me in the face, and deny it, Quita?’
+
+‘Most emphatically I do, and resent the insult you have laid upon me.
+I know nothing about the child which is in your bungalow. It may be
+yours, or any other woman’s, but it certainly is not _mine_; and if my
+parents heard you had accused me of such a dishonour, they would turn
+you from their doors!’
+
+‘What is all this about?’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney, as she entered the
+room. ‘Lizzie, you ought to know better than to let Maraquita excite
+herself with talking, when she has scarcely recovered from her late
+illness. She will have a relapse, if we do not take care.’
+
+She had heard from Jessica that the Doctor’s daughter had entered the
+house, and, fearful of what she might have come to say, had hastened
+to the rescue of her daughter. Lizzie stood before her, silent and
+confused, but Quita appealed to her mother’s protection at once.
+
+‘Mamma, just hear what Lizzie has told me. She says there is a baby
+at her bungalow which was left in the charge of her father, and she
+accuses me of being the mother of it, and wants me to tell a lie to you
+and papa, in order to screen herself from suspicion.’
+
+‘_Lizzie_ accuses _you_ of being _a mother_!’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney,
+with well-acted surprise. ‘Oh, it is _impossible_! Quita, you are
+dreaming!’
+
+‘Tell mamma if I am dreaming, Lizzie! Repeat to her what you said just
+now.’
+
+‘I shall do no such thing, Quita! I said what I did to you in
+confidence, and I refuse to repeat it to any one.’
+
+‘Because you know how mamma would resent such a foul calumny. Oh,
+mamma,’ continued Quita to her mother, ‘what have I ever done to be
+accused of such a dreadful thing? What would Sir Russell say if he
+heard of it?’
+
+‘I cannot believe my ears,’ said Mrs Courtney. ‘Do I hear aright,
+Lizzie, that you have _dared_ to link my daughter’s name with such
+a shameful story? What induced you to do it? Speak! I must have an
+answer.’
+
+‘I cannot speak, Mrs Courtney; I have nothing to say.’
+
+‘Because you know yourself to be guilty. Don’t imagine that we have not
+heard the scandal that is abroad concerning you. But I little thought
+you would have the audacity to try and throw the blame upon my poor
+Maraquita, she who has been like a sister to you.’
+
+‘I have never denied the benefits which I and my poor father have
+received from your family, Mrs Courtney, nor been ungrateful for them.’
+
+‘And what do you call your conduct of this morning, then? You have
+deceived us all, Lizzie,--Mr Courtney, myself, and your poor father. We
+thought you a pure and good girl, or you never would have been allowed
+to associate with my daughter.’
+
+‘I _am_ pure,’ interposed Lizzie, with the indignant tears standing on
+her hot cheeks. ‘I have done nothing to make you regret the favours you
+have shown me.’
+
+‘Oh, don’t speak to me like that, Lizzie, when you know that you are
+the mother of a child which you dare not own.’
+
+‘I am not! I am NOT!’ cried the girl, half choked with her emotion and
+sense of impotency to resent the charge made against her.
+
+‘And I say you _are_,’ continued Mrs Courtney, ‘and all San Diego says
+it with me. And, not content with degrading yourself, you would try to
+degrade _my_ daughter also. Shame upon you! Is this your gratitude?
+You who, but for our bounty would have been pointed at all your days
+as the daughter of a felon, who have now lowered yourself beyond the
+ordinary level of your sex.’
+
+‘Oh, Mrs Courtney, say what you like to me, but spare the memory of my
+dead father!’ cried Lizzie, through her sobs.
+
+‘If I have not spared it, you have only yourself, and your own conduct,
+to blame. I have been very good to you hitherto, Lizzie, but I can be
+so no longer. You have raised a barrier between us with your own hand.
+For the sake of his old friendship for your father, Mr Courtney wishes
+you to remain on the plantation, but you are no fit companion for
+Maraquita, and from this day you must consider the doors of the White
+House are closed against you.’
+
+‘You will not find me attempt to alter your decision, Mrs Courtney. I
+came up here this morning to ask Maraquita to do me a simple act of
+justice, but she has refused it, and I can no longer look upon her as
+my sister and my friend, nor shall I have any wish to seek her society.’
+
+‘Insolent!’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney. ‘Why, under no circumstances would
+you be permitted to do so. Maraquita is engaged to be married to the
+Governor of the island, Sir Russell Johnstone. In a few weeks she will
+be reigning at Government House, and will receive no lady there who
+cannot vouch for the possession of an unspotted reputation. So now
+perhaps you will see the harm you have done yourself by your impudent
+attempt to forge off your own error upon her.’
+
+‘It would have made no difference to my behaviour, madam, if Maraquita
+had already been the Governor’s wife. The blameless burden laid upon me
+still remains, and she will not lift it by the raising of her little
+finger. I suppose it is my fate to suffer and be silent. But I think
+the time will come when Quita will be sorry she had not more pity for
+me to-day.’
+
+‘Mamma, mamma,’ cried Quita hysterically, ‘tell her to go! I can bear
+no more of her reproaches. It is wicked of her to speak like that. You
+know that I have done nothing; but if such a story were to come to Sir
+Russell’s ears, it might ruin me for ever.’
+
+‘It shall _not_ come to his ears!’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney angrily; ‘and
+if you attempt to repeat it, Elizabeth Fellows, I will have your name,
+and your dead father’s name, branded from one end of San Diego to the
+other until not a soul in the island shall speak to you. See if I do
+not.’
+
+‘You will never have the opportunity to carry out your cruel threat,
+madam. I have told your daughter, and I tell you, that my vow of
+secrecy to my beloved father is sacred, and nothing shall make me break
+it. From this hour, I shall never mention the subject to any living
+creature again.’
+
+And with those words Liz turned on her heel and walked out of the White
+House. As she disappeared, Maraquita threw herself into her mother’s
+arms in a burst of tears.
+
+‘Oh, I am lost--I am lost!’ she cried, trembling with fear. ‘We have
+made her angry, and she may go and tell the story everywhere, from
+revenge. How I wish I had never seen De Courcelles. It was wicked of
+him to take advantage of me like that. And all the time he was engaged
+to be married to Lizzie. Oh, mother, I hate him--_I hate him!_ I wish
+that he was dead!’
+
+It is the proof of an ephemeral and fancied passion that directly
+misfortune or peril comes upon it, it turns to reproaching and
+dislike. There is little need to say that Maraquita’s love for Henri
+de Courcelles was founded on a basis of self-esteem. Had it been
+otherwise, their mutual error would have made her cling all the closer
+to him as her one haven of safety.
+
+‘If he _is_ engaged to her, my dear,’ replied Mrs Courtney, with a view
+to consolation, ‘so much the better. They are a very suitable pair,
+and their marriage would rid you of a troublesome suitor. I have heard
+something of it before, but subsequent events made me think I was
+mistaken. But I don’t like Monsieur de Courcelles. I consider him a
+dangerous enemy, and should be glad to know that he had settled down in
+life.’
+
+‘But you _promised_ me that papa should send him away from Beauregard,’
+said Quita fearfully.
+
+‘And so he shall, my love, as soon as ever we are on the hill range.
+You may rest assured of that. Only we have no power to send him out of
+San Diego, and he may prove troublesome to us yet. However, I have my
+own story to tell papa, and it is one that will provide against any
+emergency. But the first thing to be done, Quita, is to get you away;
+and the next, to make you Lady Johnstone. Then we shall be perfectly
+safe.’
+
+‘You will take care that no one else comes in to see me to-day,’ said
+Quita languidly, ‘for I feel quite worn out by the annoyance I have
+undergone?’
+
+‘Certainly, my dearest girl. Jessica shall see that you are not
+disturbed. And now try and sleep, Quita, and don’t be afraid that there
+will be any repetition of so disagreeable a scene. I think I have let
+Miss Lizzie have a piece of my mind, and that she will see I mean
+what I said. Depend upon it, my dear, that no ill-natured stories or
+repetitions can ever harm you in the future. The girl is too honest
+to break her word; and if she suffers a little from keeping it, she
+deserves as much, for her mean attempt to coerce you. Now, you must
+promise me to think no more about the matter.’
+
+Maraquita gave the required promise, because she wanted to be left
+alone; but as she lay in the silent and shaded room, the description
+that her adopted sister had given her of little waxen hands and
+fingers, of two dark wistful eyes, and a baby mouth beginning to smile,
+recurred again and again to her, until something very like the longing
+of motherhood stirred in her bosom, and made her sob herself to sleep.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+Liz Fellows went home that day sadder than she had been before. Her
+lover’s defalcation had been a natural sequence to the misfortune
+that had overtaken her, compared to this. He had judged her harshly,
+and without proof, but he at least believed (or she thought he did)
+that she had been untrue to him, and his anger and contempt were
+those of a dishonoured man. But Maraquita’s conduct admitted of no
+such palliation. She _knew_ better than any one else, that Liz was
+innocent of the charge laid against her, and yet she could coolly
+deny the fact, and appeal to her mother to join her in turning her
+adopted sister from their doors. She could shield herself behind the
+humiliation of her friend,--deny her maternity, and delegate her sacred
+duties--her most holy feelings--to another woman.
+
+‘Feelings! Duties!’ Liz stamped her foot impatiently, as the terms
+occurred to her mind. Maraquita _had_ no feelings, and recognised
+no duty. She was lower than the feeble little animals, who would
+die sooner than desert their young. She had brought a helpless
+infant--presumably the infant of her lover--into the world, and would
+not even acknowledge it was hers. _Who_ was the father of this child,
+thought Liz, that he could stand by quietly and see the desertion
+of his offspring? Had _he_ no natural instincts, any more than the
+partner of his sin? Would they _both_ leave their infant to the tender
+mercies of the world, whilst they went their own ways--one, to be
+married to the Governor of San Diego--the other, Heaven best knew
+where? Well, she had staked her last chance, and lost it. Henri de
+Courcelles would never now receive the proof of her innocence. He was
+lost to her for ever, and she must bear the burden of shame laid upon
+her guiltless head as best she might. As she re-entered the bungalow, a
+wail from Quita’s hapless infant smote her with compassion.
+
+‘My poor little orphan!’ she exclaimed, as she took it in her arms.
+‘You are an outcast as well as myself. You have no parents worthy of
+the name, and I shall never know the joy of being a mother. We must
+comfort each other under this great calamity as best we may. They say
+you are my little daughter, and since they say so, I almost wish you
+were. But I will love you like a daughter, and teach you to love me
+like a mother, and so you shall comfort my bruised heart, and I will
+try and make your life happy.’
+
+Up to that moment Rosa had fed and washed the baby, and slept with it
+in her arms, but now Lizzie took all these sweet maternal duties into
+her own hands. She nursed it all that day, and when night came she laid
+it in her own bed. When it was fairly asleep, and Rosa had run over to
+the negroes’ quarters to chat with her friends, Liz sat down to her
+sewing in the sitting-room, calmer and less perplexed than she had been
+for days past.
+
+Up to that time she had cherished hope, but now all hope was over. She
+knew the worst. It was bitterly hard to know it, but at all events
+suspense was at an end, and there was no new trouble to learn. As she
+sat by the shaded lamplight, wondering if Mr Courtney knew the name
+of her father’s family, and if the knowledge could be of any use to
+herself, she heard a light footstep creeping softly along the verandah,
+a footstep which she recognised at once, and which she had been wont to
+jump up and welcome. But now Liz sat still, with burning cheeks bent
+over her needlework. If Maraquita wished to come to any terms with her,
+she must be the one to propose them. Liz had prayed her last prayer to
+the companion of her childhood. Presently a very low and fearful voice
+called her by her name.
+
+‘Lizzie, Lizzie! Are you quite alone?’
+
+But Lizzie refused to answer, and Maraquita was compelled to advance
+into the room. She looked very white and scared, and the folds of her
+long mantle fell round a fragile figure.
+
+‘Lizzie! Why will you not speak to me? Papa and mamma have gone to the
+theatre with Sir Russell Johnstone; but I excused myself on the plea of
+a headache, so that I might come and see you.’
+
+‘And what do you want with me?’ demanded Lizzie coldly.
+
+‘Cannot you guess? I am so unhappy at what took place this morning. I
+shall not rest until things are right again between us.’
+
+‘I do not understand you, Quita! I conclude you spoke the truth this
+morning, or what you believed to be the truth, and I have nothing more
+to say upon the subject.’
+
+‘Oh, Lizzie, have pity on me! You know it was not the truth; but what
+can I do? Everything that makes life valuable to me seems slipping
+through my fingers. I could not make up my mind to confess to my own
+ruin.’
+
+‘And so you would ruin me instead--I, who have been like a sister to
+you? You would save your own character at the expense of mine?’
+
+‘But not for always, Lizzie. Only let me get this marriage over, and I
+shall be better able to see my way before me. And I shall be rich, too,
+and able to reward you for your kindness. The child shall never be any
+burden to you, Lizzie. You may depend upon me for that.’
+
+‘And do you suppose I would take your money?’ cried the other
+contemptuously. ‘Do you ask me to sell my honour? You accuse me
+publicly of being the unmarried mother of this child, and then offer
+to pay me for the disgrace. You are only heaping insult upon insult,
+Quita. You had better leave me before you make me forget myself.’
+
+‘Oh, no, Lizzie, I cannot leave you,’ exclaimed the unhappy girl,
+drawing nearer to her, ‘until you have heard all I have to say! You
+have always been my best friend, Lizzie. As a little child I used to
+run to you in every trouble, and trust you to get me out of every
+scrape. You will not do less for me now, Lizzie, will you?’
+
+‘You ask too much, Maraquita. You forget that in helping you out of
+this danger, I involve myself, in the way which good women dread above
+everything. I have done it, but it is at the expense of our friendship.
+I can never be friends with you again.’
+
+‘But you must--you _must_!’ cried Quita, falling on her knees, and
+hiding her face in Lizzie’s lap, ‘for your father’s sake, Lizzie, if
+not for mine.’
+
+‘I have done it for my father’s sake,’ replied Lizzie, as she moved
+away from Maraquita’s clasp. ‘Do you suppose I have not been thinking
+of _him_ all to-day, and of the promise I made him? Nothing else would
+have kept me silent; but it is over now, and we need say no more upon
+the subject. I beg of you, Quita, to leave me, and go home again, for
+your presence here is very painful to me.’
+
+‘Oh, Lizzie, don’t be so hard! I am not the unfeeling creature you
+take me for. It is only fear of my parents that makes me shrink from
+confessing the truth. They would kill me, Lizzie, if they knew it. They
+would not let me live to disgrace them.’
+
+‘Nonsense!’ exclaimed Lizzie. ‘They would do nothing of the sort. They
+would reproach you as they have me, and you richly deserve it. But tell
+the truth whilst you are about it, Maraquita. Say that you have no
+feeling either for your child or its father (whoever he may be), and I
+may believe what you say.’
+
+‘But you are wrong,’ interposed Quita eagerly. ‘I love him dearly, and
+I should have loved _it_ also, if I had not been afraid. And I can
+prove it to you, Lizzie, for I have come here to-night to see the baby,
+and I shall come as often as I can without exciting suspicion. Where is
+she? Let me see her at once.’
+
+‘What baby?’ demanded Liz, with affected ignorance.
+
+‘Oh, Liz! how can you ask? Why, my own baby, of course! The one you
+have in charge.’
+
+‘I thought you denied this morning that you were a mother, Quita?’
+
+‘I was obliged to do so. What could I say, with mamma or papa liable to
+come in at any moment? You might as well have asked me to cut my own
+throat. But here, alone with you, I can say anything! I confess it is
+mine, Lizzie, and that I knew all about it from the beginning. I told
+your dear father everything; and he promised that he and you should
+stand my friends, and prevent my secret from being published to the
+world.’
+
+‘I have heard all this before,’ said Lizzie, still engaged upon her
+sewing.
+
+‘And now you will let me see her, won’t you? You will let me hold her
+in my arms for a little while? I must not stay long, for fear that
+meddlesome old Jessica should come after me. You will take me to my
+baby at once, Lizzie?’
+
+‘No,’ replied the Doctor’s daughter firmly.
+
+‘What do you mean? Isn’t she here?’
+
+‘Yes; but you will not see her.’
+
+‘How dare you keep me from her? She is mine, not yours.’
+
+‘You did not say so this morning.’
+
+‘Ah, but then I was mad!’
+
+‘Are you prepared, then, to take your child back to the White House
+with you? Will you confess the lie of which you have been guilty to
+your parents, and exonerate me in their eyes of the charge you have
+brought against me?’
+
+Maraquita shrank backward.
+
+‘Oh, Liz! that is too much. I should destroy all my prospects at a blow
+by such an admission. Besides, it has nothing to do with the matter.
+All I want is to see the child. Surely you will not refuse so trifling
+a request?’
+
+‘I do refuse it.’
+
+‘But you have no right to do so.’
+
+‘By your own account, Maraquita, I have every right. You declared
+before your mother that this child was mine. Therefore I will keep it
+as such, and I refuse to let you see her.’
+
+‘And I am determined not to leave the bungalow till I have done so!’
+cried Quita, rushing towards the bedroom door.
+
+But Lizzie had reached it before she did, and stood with her back
+against the panels.
+
+‘You shall not enter here,’ she said, in a tone of authority.
+
+Then Quita took to beseeching. She fell on her knees again, and held
+Lizzie tightly clasped about her feet.
+
+‘Oh, my dear sister, let me see my baby, if only for a minute! I have
+been thinking of her ever since this morning, Lizzie,--of the dark eyes
+you spoke of,--the tiny waxen hands and feet, and the rosebud mouth;
+and I feel as if I should die if I do not have her in my arms, and kiss
+her, and tell her that I am her mother.’
+
+‘Will you tell the world so, Maraquita?’
+
+‘You know that I cannot.’
+
+‘Then you will not see your child until you do,’ replied Lizzie, as
+she locked the bedroom door, and put the key into her pocket. ‘You
+have openly disgraced me by palming on me the consequences of your own
+sin. You have denied your motherhood, and given up your most sacred
+rights and duties. Well, for your sake, and to conceal your shame, I
+accept them; and the first act which I exercise is to keep the child to
+myself.’
+
+‘You actually refuse?’ cried Quita, starting to her feet, crimson with
+indignation.
+
+‘Emphatically. There is only one way you can secure the privilege, and
+that is by an open confession of the truth.’
+
+‘Then I shall never do it! And you may carry the burden to your life’s
+end!’ exclaimed Maraquita furiously. ‘And another with it, for you do
+not know all. You have never asked me the name of the father of this
+child! You came crying to me this morning about Henri de Courcelles,
+and how much you loved him, and how anxious he was to discover the
+parentage of my baby. He has lied to you! He has made use of this
+dilemma to get rid of you; for he knows whose baby this is as well
+as I do. He knows the mother and the father of it--for the father is
+_himself_!’
+
+She watched the light fade out of Lizzie’s eyes as the cruel truth
+smote upon her heart, and she grasped at the back of a chair to save
+herself from falling. But when the first shock was over, she refused to
+believe the story.
+
+‘_Henri!_’ she exclaimed, in a faint voice. ‘But it is _impossible_!
+Henri is--is--_mine_!’
+
+‘He pretended to be!’ cried Quita maliciously, ‘because it was a good
+blind for them up at the White House, I suppose, but he has been mine
+and mine only for the last twelve months, and he is nearly mad at the
+idea of losing me now.’
+
+‘And why must he lose you?’ said Lizzie quickly, forgetting her own
+pain in her lover’s wrongs. ‘If what you say is true, why do you not
+marry him, and take care of your little child between you?’
+
+Maraquita shrugged her shoulders.
+
+‘Because my people will not hear of such a marriage for me, and think I
+should lower myself by becoming the wife of an overseer.’
+
+‘Not so much as you have lowered yourself already, Quita.’
+
+‘Perhaps not, but nobody knows that! And then I am already engaged, so
+it is of no use talking about anything else.’
+
+‘Poor Henri,’ sighed Lizzie.
+
+‘I can’t see why he is to be pitied! He knew from the beginning that it
+must all end some day. But I little dreamt it would end like this. _I_
+am the one who has suffered all the risk and the blame, and yet no one
+seems to pity _me_.’
+
+Lizzie was silent. Her heart was burning within her, and yet pride
+prevented her speech. It was cruelly humiliating to find that all the
+time she had been engaged to be married to De Courcelles, he had been
+carrying on with another girl, and had even had the audacity to make
+his own fault the putative cause for breaking off his engagement to
+her. She could not decide at the moment whether she loved or hated him
+the most, his conduct appeared in so mean and despicable a light.
+
+‘You are right, Maraquita,’ she continued, after a pause. ‘He is not
+worthy of your pity or mine. He has cruelly deceived us both--and you
+perhaps the most, since even, if he loved you best, he has served you
+worst! Even now--in the first pitiless agony of hearing your news--I
+can thank God I do not stand in your position. And if you should ever
+think better of your decision regarding him, remember I shall not stand
+in your light, for from this day Henri de Courcelles will be less than
+nothing to me.’
+
+‘But the child!--you will not desert the child?’ exclaimed Quita, with
+something like maternal anxiety in her voice.
+
+Liz shuddered.
+
+‘It will be a double burthen to me now,’ she answered; ‘but I have
+already resolved to do as my father would have wished me, and I will
+not shirk my self-imposed duty. I will do my utmost for the child.’
+
+‘Oh, Lizzie, you are very good! You make me feel so ashamed of myself,’
+said Quita, attempting to kiss her adopted sister.
+
+But Lizzie sprung aside from her.
+
+‘Don’t touch me!’ she cried. ‘Don’t stay near me any longer, or I
+shall be unable to conceal the loathing I feel for your conduct! False
+lover--false mother--false friend! Oh, Maraquita, Maraquita! it
+would have been better if God had called you to Himself when you were
+as innocent as your unfortunate baby! You and he, between you, have
+destroyed all my faith in human nature.’
+
+And Liz, throwing herself into a chair, and laying down her head upon
+the table, sobbed so bitterly and unrestrainedly, that Quita, terrified
+at the sound, which might attract spectators to spread abroad the news
+of her being in the bungalow, fled out into the darkness again, and
+made her way back to the White House.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+Mr Courtney was quite as proud as his wife of the grand marriage his
+daughter was about to make. He was inordinately fond of Maraquita,
+and would have considered her a fit match for a prince of the blood
+royal. At the same time, he was only a planter, and it was a great
+thing to know that his child was going to marry the highest man in the
+island. He had plenty of money to bestow on her--Sir Russell Johnstone
+had opened his eyes when his future father-in-law had mentioned the
+dowry he would receive with his bride--and when Maraquita had obtained
+rank and position, his best wishes for her would be gratified. He
+was sitting in the room which he called his office, and had just
+dismissed Monsieur de Courcelles, when his wife entered the apartment.
+Mr Courtney had had occasion to find fault with the overseer that
+morning. He had not attended to several important matters during the
+week, and seemed sluggish and indifferent to his master’s orders. Mr
+Courtney suspected that he had been drinking also, and accused him of
+the fact, and De Courcelles’ answers had been too sullen to please him.
+He was brooding over the change in the young man’s behaviour, when Mrs
+Courtney came panting into the room. It was not often she honoured her
+husband with her presence during business hours, and he saw at once
+that she had some communication of importance to make to him.
+
+‘Well, my dear, what is it? Quita not worse this morning, I hope?’
+
+‘Oh, no, Mr Courtney! The dear child grows stronger every hour, under
+the knowledge of her delightful prospects, and I am most anxious that
+nothing should occur to mar her recovery, for dear Sir Russell is
+naturally anxious to have the wedding as soon as possible.’
+
+‘Of course; but that is for you and Quita to decide. You know that I
+shall spare no money to expedite matters. The sooner the dear girl is
+Lady Johnstone, the better.’
+
+‘So _I_ say, Mr Courtney,’ replied his wife, looking anxiously round.
+‘But are you likely to be undisturbed for a few minutes? Have you
+dismissed Monsieur de Courcelles for the day?’
+
+‘Yes, and not in the best of humours. He is getting lazy, Nita, and I
+am not sure that he is keeping as sober as he should be. He gave me
+something very like insolence this morning. Do you know if anything is
+wrong with him? Is his engagement with Lizzie Fellows still going on?’
+
+‘Oh, Mr Courtney, this is the very subject on which I wished to see
+you. De Courcelles has been behaving very badly, in my estimation.
+You will hardly believe, even when I tell you so, that he has had the
+presumption to lift his eyes to our Maraquita, and to swear he will be
+revenged if she marries any other man.’
+
+‘_Impossible!_’ cried Mr Courtney, starting. He had had his own
+suspicions respecting the young overseer’s admiration for his daughter
+and heiress, and, on a former occasion, he had told him so, but he had
+never had any idea that it had come to an open avowal between them.
+‘Do you mean to tell me,’ he continued, ‘that De Courcelles has had
+the audacity to address Maraquita on this subject, and to make her
+cognisant of his affection?’
+
+‘Oh, Mr Courtney, where can your eyes be? How blind you men are! Why,
+he has been at the poor child’s feet for twelve months past; and Quita
+has kept him gently off, fearing to deprive you of a valuable servant;
+but now it has gone too far, and I feel it is time I spoke.’
+
+‘I thought he admired her, and told him there was no hope for him, some
+little time back; but he assured me I was mistaken. I offered, at the
+same time, to forward his marriage with Lizzie Fellows, but he declared
+that there was no engagement between them.’
+
+‘Then he has been deceiving you all round, and is not worthy of your
+trust and confidence. He _was_ engaged to Lizzie. She told Quita so
+yesterday, only he broke it off on account of this disgraceful affair
+at the bungalow. But all the while he has been persecuting our poor
+girl with his addresses, until she is positively afraid of him, or what
+he may do.’
+
+‘But what can he do? Surely he has not dared to threaten her?’
+
+‘He has said he will kill her at the very altar, sooner than she shall
+marry Sir Russell, or any other man, and has thrown the poor child into
+such a state of distress and perturbation, that I feel certain, unless
+her mind can be set at complete rest concerning him, it will greatly
+retard her recovery.’
+
+‘But it _must_ be set at rest. This is quite unbearable!’ exclaimed
+the planter, striding up and down the room; ‘De Courcelles must leave
+Beauregard at once. I shall give him his dismissal this afternoon.’
+
+‘Not this afternoon, Mr Courtney. Wait until we are safe on the hill
+range, and then send him straight away. Maraquita will have no peace
+until she hears that he is gone.’
+
+‘Fancy the presumption of his aspiring to the hand of our daughter!’
+continued Mr Courtney indignantly. ‘A man without a sixpence beyond
+his weekly stipend, and no chance of increasing that. It is the most
+barefaced impudence I ever heard of. He shall get the sack before he is
+a day older.’
+
+‘But you will do it on some other pretence I hope, Mr Courtney. You
+will not bring in Quita’s name. I should be sorry for it to get known
+that he dared to fall in love with her. People are so ill-natured; they
+might say she had given the fellow some encouragement.’
+
+‘They will not dare to say anything against _Lady Russell_,’ said the
+father triumphantly. ‘When do you start for the hill range, my dear;
+and when is the wedding to be?’
+
+‘We go to-morrow morning. I have ordered our palanquins for four
+o’clock, and Joseph has arranged the coolie service as far as the
+Government bungalow. Quita wanted to ride up with Sir Russell, but I
+am afraid of taxing her strength as yet. As for the wedding, they have
+fixed it between themselves for the fourteenth of next month. Quita’s
+things cannot all be ready, but Sir Russell is willing to take her as
+she is, until the trousseau is complete. I never saw a man more in love
+in my life. He is quite infatuated with her.’
+
+‘And well he may be, for there is not a prettier nor sweeter girl on
+all the islands. Well, my dear, De Courcelles must go, there is no
+doubt of that, unless, indeed, he will marry Lizzie Fellows. _That_
+would put a stop to all unpleasantness at once.’
+
+‘_Marry Lizzie Fellows!_’ echoed Mrs Courtney; ‘what, after he has been
+in love with our Quita! Well, I should be very much surprised if he
+could do that.’
+
+‘But he was engaged to her (as you say), or nearly so. Poor Fellows
+told me as much himself. And it would be but reasonable for De
+Courcelles to settle down. He can’t have Maraquita, that’s quite
+certain, and he might do worse than fulfil his word to poor Lizzie.’
+
+‘What, after she has disgraced herself?’
+
+‘My dear, are you certain she _has_ disgraced herself? She assured
+me most solemnly that child was not her own, and had nothing to
+do with her, and I have never known Lizzie tell a lie. It is as
+incomprehensible to me as it is to you, and I cannot understand my old
+friend Fellows leaving the poor girl in such a painful position. Still,
+you must not forget that I have been just as true to him as Lizzie
+evidently is to some other person; and we should be the last people
+to disbelieve her word, because she is unable to give us any further
+explanation of it.’
+
+Mrs Courtney had greatly fidgeted and changed colour under her
+husband’s kindly pleading.
+
+‘Oh, Mr Courtney, I really have no patience with you! Do you honestly
+think any woman would incur such a public disgrace, without making an
+effort to clear her character? I questioned Lizzie closely myself only
+yesterday, and she refused to open her lips, even to _me_, who have
+known her from a baby. It is quite incredible, and there is only one
+solution of the mystery--that she pretends to possess this stern sense
+of honour, in order to hide her want of it.’
+
+‘Is it possible that De Courcelles can be the father of this child?’
+said Mr Courtney musingly, hitting the right nail on the head without
+knowing it.
+
+‘I daresay he is! I shouldn’t be surprised at anything I might hear of
+Monsieur de Courcelles.’
+
+‘Well, my dear, I suppose he must go,’ returned her husband, with a
+sigh; ‘and I will speak to him as soon as ever you have left the White
+House. I cannot have Maraquita annoyed; and indeed if he has behaved
+shabbily to poor Lizzie, it is not right he should continue to live in
+her sight. So you may consider that matter settled.’
+
+Upon which assurance Mrs Courtney returned to her own room, to promise
+her daughter that she should never again be subjected to her cast-off
+lover’s appeals or reproaches; and the following morning De Courcelles
+watched their palanquins leaving Beauregard, from the shelter of the
+oleander thicket. A few hours after, he walked as usual into the
+presence of his employer. When the day’s business had been disposed of,
+the overseer rose to go, but Mr Courtney detained him.
+
+‘Take a chair for a few minutes, De Courcelles, I have something of
+importance to say to you. You may remember a brief conversation
+that took place between us a few weeks back, on the occasion of Miss
+Courtney’s illness. I warned you that it would be wise to keep your
+admiration of her within bounds, and you assured me that you had done
+so. My wife tells me a different story. She says that Maraquita is both
+distressed and annoyed by your evident predilection for her, and I
+cannot have my daughter annoyed. Therefore I think it is best that we
+should part.’
+
+Mr Courtney was an honest man by nature, unused to _finesse_ or
+intrigue of any kind, and he had quite forgotten his wife’s caution
+with respect to introducing Quita’s name as a reason for the overseer’s
+dismissal. He had gone straight at his fences, and the leap was over.
+Henri de Courcelles flushed dark crimson as the subject was thus openly
+mentioned to him.
+
+‘I am quite unaware how I can have annoyed Miss Courtney,’ he replied.
+‘I have not even seen her since her recovery.’
+
+‘Is that the case?’ demanded the planter. ‘Then perhaps it was before.
+But anyway, as she is so shortly to be married to the Governor of San
+Diego, you must see the propriety of discontinuing any false hopes you
+may have entertained concerning her.’
+
+‘Miss Courtney’s engagement is, then, a settled thing?’ said De
+Courcelles bitterly.
+
+‘Certainly, and the wedding-day is fixed for the fourteenth of next
+month. My daughter will soon rank as the highest lady in the island,
+and any kindness which, as a young and thoughtless girl, she may
+have shown you (or any other friend) in the past, must not form any
+pretension for claiming to be on familiar terms with the Governor’s
+wife, or Sir Russell Johnstone might resent it as an insult.’
+
+‘I understand you perfectly, sir, and Lady Johnstone need fear no
+recognition of any claims I may have had upon Miss Courtney, from me.’
+
+‘_Claims!_ I do not understand the term, De Courcelles. What _claims_
+could you possibly have upon my daughter? You are forgetting yourself.
+Miss Courtney can never have been anything to you but a gracious young
+mistress and friend.’
+
+‘That is how it may be, sir. Miss Courtney knows her own secrets best,
+and doubtless she has chosen wisely in electing to become the wife of
+the Governor. Rank and position cover a multitude of sins.’
+
+Mr Courtney did not like the style of address adopted by his overseer,
+but he scarcely knew how to resent it. He was half afraid to tell
+him to speak out. What if Maraquita had really been light of conduct,
+and employed her leisure time in flirting with his overseer? It
+would be a very embarrassing discovery, but not an unnatural one,
+when De Courcelles’ extreme beauty and grace of form were taken into
+consideration. So he thought it prudent to change the topic.
+
+‘Well, well,’ he said testily, ‘we are not here to discuss Miss
+Courtney’s conduct, but your own. You have not been quite the same as
+usual lately, De Courcelles. I have observed an unsteadiness, and a
+disposition to sloth in you, which has grieved me. Come now, let us
+talk this matter over like two men of the world. We will suppose you
+_have_ had a slight predilection for my daughter. I am not surprised at
+it, and I do not blame you; but you must have known it could never be
+anything more. Well, in a few weeks she will be married, and pass out
+of your life. What is the use of spoiling the rest of it for her sake?
+Why not settle down and make a home for yourself? If you were married,
+all this little unpleasantness would be smoothed away.’
+
+‘That is easy to say, Mr Courtney, but not so easy to do.’
+
+‘I don’t agree with you. There is a nice girl close to your elbow, of
+whom I spoke to you at the same time I mentioned my daughter. I mean
+Lizzie Fellows. Ah, you start! You have heard this rumour about her, I
+suppose, in common with others, and fancy it is true. But I am sure it
+is not, De Courcelles. I have known Lizzie from a child, and I would
+stake my life upon her honesty.’
+
+‘You allude to the infant of which she was left in charge, sir?’
+
+‘I am glad to hear you mention it like that. It proves you believe
+her story. You told me there was no engagement between you, but Mrs
+Courtney informs me there was, and you broke it off on account of this
+child. But women jump at conclusions so: perhaps she is mistaken.’
+
+De Courcelles was quite capable of defending himself.
+
+‘Miss Fellows and I were _not_ regularly engaged at the time you spoke
+to me, sir, nor have we been since. Only when Lizzie refused to give
+me any explanation concerning her nurse-child, I said in my haste that
+want of confidence was the death of friendship, and that we had better
+not meet again.’
+
+‘And you regret so hasty a decision?’
+
+‘Why do you ask me, sir?’
+
+‘Because if you and Lizzie like each other, I should be pleased to see
+you married. I am fond of the girl, and consider her a sacred charge;
+and marriage would silence these cruel slanders against her, sooner
+than anything else. If you can make up your minds on the subject,
+De Courcelles, I will do for you what I promised before--raise your
+salary, furnish the Oleander Bungalow afresh, and settle it on you and
+your wife, and all these little disagreeables will be forgotten before
+three months are over our heads.’
+
+‘And if not, sir?’ inquired the overseer hastily.
+
+‘If _not_, De Courcelles, we must part. I am sorry to say it, but I
+shall consider your refusal (or Lizzie’s) as a proof that the less you
+are about the White House in the future the better. Not the slightest
+taint--not even the bare suspicion of one--must rest on the fair name
+of the future Lady Johnstone.’
+
+‘I understand you, Mr Courtney, and I will consider your proposal. How
+soon do you expect to get my answer?’
+
+‘Not until you are quite prepared to give it me. You have plenty of
+time before you. My wife and daughter will be away on the hills for a
+month, and I have no wish to part with an old friend in such a hurry.
+Think of it well, De Courcelles. I will look over any of the little
+derelictions of duty to which I have alluded, in consideration of the
+disappointment which you must have suffered; but my decision is final
+with regard to Miss Fellows. You must either marry her, or leave my
+service.’
+
+De Courcelles left the planter’s presence grinding his teeth with
+rage. He had burned, while listening to his talk about his daughter’s
+marriage and future prospects, to tell him to his face that Maraquita
+was, to all intents and purposes, _his_ wife, and the mother of the
+child at the bungalow. But he dared not! He was afraid not only of
+the planter but of the negro population, if such a story got wind in
+the plantation. Revenge is sometimes very swift and sure in the West
+Indies, especially when the natives are in a state of insubordination.
+Besides, he would gain nothing by such an admission. It would not
+give him back Maraquita--faithless, perjured Maraquita, who, having
+slipped from his grasp into the arms of the Governor of San Diego,
+had instigated her parents, by a tissue of falsehoods, to dismiss him
+summarily from Beauregard. And it would have robbed him of the hope of
+revenge--a hope sweeter to a Spanish Creole even than love. As Henri
+de Courcelles thought of it, his hand tightened over the stiletto he
+always carried in his belt. Banishment from Beauregard would mean to
+sit down for the remainder of his life under this bitter wrong, without
+the satisfaction of feeling he had avenged it. At all hazards he must
+remain near this false love of his. She should never feel secure from
+him. He would appear before her in her most triumphant moments, and
+make her tremble with the fear that he was about to accuse her openly
+of her secret crime. Maraquita Courtney should never know another
+peaceful moment, whilst he lived to terrify her. But the opportunity
+depended on his marrying Lizzie Fellows. Well, if it must be so, it
+must be so. Henri de Courcelles, strolling down the path between the
+rows of coffee trees, and caressing his handsome moustaches as he
+went, seemed to have no doubt that he had but to ask to obtain. The
+conceit of men, where women are concerned, knows no bounds. Every
+woman, according to their creed, is only too ready to fly into their
+arms. The good old days when knights were not considered worthy to ask
+for a lady’s hand until they had achieved some doughty deed to make
+her proud of them, are gone for ever. Yet, if a girl is particular, or
+indifferent, or hard to please, she is voted to be either a prude or
+a jilt. The rougher sex require a few hard raps occasionally, to keep
+them in order, and the woman who puts them in their place, confers a
+benefit on the whole of her kind. As Monsieur de Courcelles strolled
+along, his footsteps carried him in the direction of Lizzie’s bungalow,
+and thinking no time like the present, he halted on the threshold, and
+called her by her name. The recollection of how he had last left her
+presence made him hesitate to walk boldly into it, but he was quite
+confident that he had but to ask her forgiveness to obtain it. Lizzie
+was just about to visit her sick negroes. She was dressed in a white
+gown, covered with an apron and a high bib of brown holland, and on her
+head she wore a broad-brimmed hat, tied with a black ribbon. She looked
+pale and weary, but the look of perplexity was gone from her face, and
+her general expression was calm. She was filling her basket with such
+medicines as were necessary, when she heard her name called in the old
+familiar tones of De Courcelles. As the sound struck on her ear, she
+turned even whiter than before, but resentment prevented her losing her
+presence of mind.
+
+‘What do you want with me?’ she demanded sharply.
+
+‘Only a few words of explanation and apology. May I come in, Lizzie? I
+have been longing to do so ever since we parted.’
+
+‘You can enter if you wish it, monsieur, but I cannot imagine what you
+can possibly have to say to me. I have looked upon our last meeting as
+a final one.’
+
+‘But may you not change your opinion of it, and of me?’ replied the
+overseer, as he entered the room, and advanced to her side. ‘I know I
+sinned against you grossly, almost beyond forgiveness, but you must
+make allowance for the whirlwind of passion I was in,--for the awful
+doubt that had assailed me.’
+
+‘I cannot admit that as any excuse for your conduct, monsieur. You had
+my word that I was innocent, and you were supposed to be my friend.
+There is no friendship without trust and confidence.’
+
+‘Do not say “_supposed_,” Lizzie. I _was_ your friend, as I am now, and
+ever will be, if you will forgive my hasty words, and reinstate me in
+my old position.’
+
+‘That can never be,’ she rejoined hastily. ‘You were _supposed_ to be
+much more than my friend, but you deceived me all along.’
+
+‘How can you speak so? How did I deceive you, Lizzie?’
+
+‘I would rather not discuss the subject, monsieur,’ said Lizzie, taking
+up her basket. ‘This is my time for visiting my patients, and they will
+be expecting me. I must wish you good-morning.’
+
+‘No, no; I cannot let you go until we have arrived at some
+explanation!’ exclaimed De Courcelles, detaining her by the folds of
+her dress. ‘You accuse me of deceiving you, and yet I thought my fault
+lay in being too outspoken. I know I shouldn’t have said what I did.
+I regret it deeply, from the bottom of my heart, and I humbly ask your
+pardon for the implied affront. Is not that sufficient?’
+
+‘It is more than sufficient,’ replied Lizzie coolly, as she disengaged
+her gown from his grasp, ‘and more than I wished you to say. However,
+I accept your apology, and we will say no more about it. Now, will you
+please to let me go?’
+
+‘No, you must stay! Put off your visits till this afternoon, and hear
+me out. I have not told you half my story. Have you quite forgotten
+that we are engaged to be married, Lizzie?’
+
+‘I have not forgotten it, but I have ceased to believe in it. You
+ruptured our engagement of your own free will.’
+
+‘But that was in my anger, and a few angry words, Lizzie, are powerless
+to undo the tie which had existed for a twelvemonth. I did not mean
+what I said. I have regretted it ever since, and I am here this morning
+to ask you to forgive it, and let our engagement stand as it did
+before.’
+
+He was drawing closer to her, confident in his powers of fascination,
+but she pushed him from her.
+
+‘Monsieur de Courcelles, I am surprised at you! I am surprised now
+to think that I should ever have believed in you, or thought the
+engagement you entered into with me anything but a blind for your more
+serious intentions in another quarter.’
+
+He started backward with astonishment, little dreaming that she knew
+the whole of Maraquita’s sad history.
+
+‘I don’t understand you,’ he gasped. ‘I have never been engaged to any
+woman but yourself. I don’t desire to marry any other woman. I came
+here to-day with the express purpose of asking you to condone the past,
+and marry me as soon as may be convenient to you.’
+
+A few weeks before, how her heart would have beat at such a proposal,
+how her cheek would have flamed assent, and her humid eyes have sought
+his with grateful love. But now she sprang aside as if he had insulted
+her, and flashed defiance on him to repeat the offence.
+
+‘How _dare_ you?’ she panted. ‘How dare you speak to me of
+marriage--you, who have treated me with scorn and contumely?’
+
+‘But I have acknowledged my error, Lizzie. Surely you are not a woman
+to resent a fault for ever. You _used_ to love me, I am sure of that.’
+
+‘Don’t be _too_ sure,’ she interposed hastily. ‘I loved _something_, I
+know,--some creature conjured up by my imagination, but not the man of
+flesh and blood I see before me. For I did not know you then, and no
+one can love an unknown person.’
+
+‘Lizzie, you are very hard upon me! I am not perfect, any more than
+other men, but I don’t know what I can have done to merit such bitter
+taunts from you. At all events, try and know me now as the man who
+loves you, and entreats you to marry him. Lizzie, be my wife! Mr
+Courtney is aware of our attachment, and has made a very generous offer
+of assistance, if we marry each other. If your affection for me was
+ever true, you will not refuse me now.’
+
+‘My affection for you _was_ true,’ replied Lizzie, looking him full in
+the face; ‘and all the more does that make me say I will never marry
+you now. _Never!_ Not if there was not another man in the world.’
+
+‘But _why_? Surely you will give me a reason for your refusal, Lizzie.’
+
+‘My reason is soon given, monsieur. Maraquita--my earliest friend and
+my adopted sister--was here last night. She came to ask permission to
+see the child, of whom both of you have accused me of being the mother,
+and I refused her. I told her since I had to bear the blame, I would
+also maintain the authority over it. And then--in a moment of passion,
+I suppose--somewhat like that moment which influenced you basely to get
+out of your engagement to me by means of a lie--she told me the name
+of the child’s father. _Now_, do you wonder that I say that henceforth
+there never can be any communion between you and me, except of the
+most ordinary kind. The man who could take advantage of his own sin to
+ruin the character of an innocent woman, will never make a good husband
+to any one, and I have done with you for ever!’
+
+Henri de Courcelles turned his face away to the open window, the dark
+blood mantling for very shame into his cheeks.
+
+‘I have nothing to say for myself,’ he muttered presently. ‘I am only
+a man, and men are very open to temptations such as these. But if I
+have sinned, I have also suffered. I was led on by a heartless woman,
+who has deserted her child, and thrown me over for the first suitor who
+presents himself with money and position in his hands. I would have
+married her willingly, but she refused to marry me. She is an infernal
+jilt, with as false a heart and tongue as ever woman had; and she has
+been my ruin. She is nothing to me now, and she never will be. If you
+took compassion on me, Lizzie, and healed my sore heart with your pure
+affection, you should never have reason to complain of even my thoughts
+straying that way. I hate the very name of her.’
+
+‘That is no palliation of your fault, in my eyes, monsieur. I should
+feel for you more if you told me her desertion had made you miserable.
+But why do you not appeal to Mr Courtney to stop this unnatural
+marriage? Did he know the truth, he would surely never allow his
+daughter so to prostitute herself.’
+
+‘What good should I effect by that, Lizzie? Mr Courtney would only
+banish me at once from Beauregard. Do you suppose he would give up the
+prospect of Maraquita becoming the Governor’s wife, for the sake of
+an overseer? Besides, he already suspects that I admire her, and has
+told me as much, with the adjoinder that the only condition on which I
+can retain my situation is to fulfil my engagement with you, and settle
+down at the Oleander Bungalow as a married man. In that case, he has
+promised to refurnish the house, and raise my salary. So, you see, we
+should be very comfortable; and, if you wished it, you could retain
+your medical appointment over the plantation.’
+
+‘And so _I_ am to be made the scapegoat to bear your sins into the
+wilderness, and to patch up your injured character at Beauregard! You
+have mistaken me altogether. I am capable, I think, of making great
+sacrifices for a man who loves me, but not for one who rightly belongs
+to another woman. You will not retain your position at Beauregard
+through _my_ means.’
+
+‘Then I am ruined,’ returned the overseer fiercely, ‘and I owe my
+downfall to you two women! You have destroyed my life between you. I
+shall be turned off the plantation, without a prospect of employment.
+And if I become desperate, it will be laid at your door.’
+
+‘At Maraquita’s, if you please, monsieur, but not at mine. I would
+have clung to you through good and evil report, had you been true to
+me. But I cannot forget the cruel infamy you put upon me, knowing it
+to be false. It is a crime past a woman’s forgiveness,--a calumny that
+will cling to me through life, even though you married me in church
+to-morrow. Yet I would rather go down to the grave enduring it, than
+become your wife.’
+
+‘It is finished then!’ exclaimed De Courcelles, seizing his hat and
+rushing from the apartment, ‘and I will trouble you no more on the
+subject, now or ever,’--and the next moment he was striding hurriedly
+towards his home.
+
+Lizzie trembled as he left her, but she did not weep. Her stock of
+tears was exhausted. And had they not been, a cry from the infant in
+the next room would have dried them at their fount. She summoned Rosa,
+who was basking asleep in the verandah, to its assistance, and with a
+deep, deep sigh for her dead past, lifted her basket, and took her way
+to the coolie quarters.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+Jerusha, the East Indian coolie, sat at the door of her hut, nursing
+her baby on her knee, and with a very sullen expression on her
+countenance. Indeed, all the hands on Beauregard had borne more or
+less of a rebellious look of late. They had no particular grudge
+against Mr Courtney, who was a kind, if rather an indolent master,
+delegating all his duties to his overseer; but they detested Henri
+de Courcelles, and the accounts of his cruelty, and selfishness, and
+dishonesty, formed the staple portion of their conversation. His very
+beauty, and evident self-consciousness of it, the vast superiority
+which he assumed over them, and the rigour with which he carried out
+the rules of the plantation, all combined to set the coolies against
+him, and they thirsted to find out something which might degrade him
+from his office. The reports from the Fort, too, the constant attempts
+at rising which had to be quelled, had incited them on to imitation,
+and altogether the plantation workers were seething under a sense of
+wrong, and ripe for rebellion. Poor little Jerusha, with her handsome
+half-caste baby in her arms, might have furnished them with a pretext
+for denouncing the overseer, had not her case been too common a one
+amongst them. But to the girl it meant the devastation of her life.
+She had not courted her destiny. She had been landed in San Diego, a
+poor trembling Indian coolie amongst a herd of fellow-sufferers, who
+had been persuaded to leave Calcutta under a promise of good wages,
+and plenty of food, and very little work, and after a voyage of four
+months (during which they had been herded between decks like so many
+swine), had been marched ashore at San Diego, too weak and frightened
+and disappointed to have any hope left in them, unless it were that
+they might die. They had been all standing together for hire, when
+De Courcelles had sauntered by and picked out the likely ones for Mr
+Courtney’s plantation. Jerusha well remembered how he came like a
+prince amongst them, and how handsome he had looked in his white linen
+suit and broad-brimmed hat, with the blue silk handkerchief knotted at
+his throat, and the crimson rose blooming in his button-hole,--and
+when he had stopped beside her and spoken to her in his low soft tone,
+she had thought him more glorious still. She had not sought him out,
+this poor little Indian girl, but he had pertinaciously come after her.
+He had asked for her the very day after she had entered the plantation,
+and put so many questions as to whether her hut was comfortable, and
+her food sufficient, that Jerusha was quite bewildered. And then he
+had given her new clothes, smart dresses--such as the natives love
+to deck themselves in--and gold earrings for her ears; and the usual
+consequence followed. She fell to the tempter’s seductive arts. It was
+a sort of heaven to the poor untaught coolie to be selected from all
+the other girls to be the favourite of the handsome young overseer. She
+never troubled her head to think how long his preference would last.
+She knew that he would never marry her--she would have laughed at so
+ludicrous an idea--and yet she fancied somehow that her happiness would
+never end, and was terribly disappointed and bitterly incensed when the
+day came that De Courcelles ordered her back to her quarters with the
+other coolies, and refused to make any difference between them. She had
+reproached him with his conduct on the occasion which has been related,
+but, if anything, it had had the effect of making him more severe with
+her, and Jerusha realised at last that all was over between them,
+and that she had been only a tool and a plaything to minister to his
+short-lived pleasure. She was pondering resentfully on his neglect as
+she sat on the ground, with both her hands clasped round her knees to
+make a cradle for her little Henri, as she would persist in calling the
+child, greatly to the annoyance of the overseer. Henri was a beautiful
+infant, large and round and buoyant, with much more of the father than
+the mother in his appearance. He was gaily dressed in a short calico
+shirt of red and white striped cotton, with bangles on his fat brown
+arms, and a string of blue beads round his neck, and as Jerusha rocked
+him to and fro, and heard him crow with delight at the exercise, the
+gloom on her face would suddenly disappear, and she would seize the boy
+in her arms and kiss him vehemently. As she was thus amusing herself, a
+shadow fell between her and the setting sun, and old Jessica from the
+White House stood before her. Jessica had been much put out by her
+young mistress leaving her behind when she started for the hill range.
+It was the first time such a thing had occurred, and the old nurse felt
+it accordingly. Had she not waited on Missy Quita, hand and foot, ever
+since she was a baby? and if she _had_ been sharp enough to discover
+her secret, had she not kept it as faithfully as Missy would have done
+herself? And why should Missy Quita leave her behind just as she had
+obtained her wish and was on the road to make the great marriage that
+Jessica had always foretold for her? The faithful old negress felt
+aggrieved; and when sunset came, and Mr Courtney had gone out for his
+evening drive, and the White House seemed deserted, her heart turned to
+her old friends in the negro quarters, and she walked down to have a
+chat with them, and unburden herself of her troubles.
+
+‘Eh, Jerusha, gal!’ she exclaimed, as she caught sight of the young
+East Indian, ‘and how’s de baby? He berry fine boy, Jerusha. He make
+big strong coolie, bime-by.’
+
+‘Coolie,’ repeated Jerusha scornfully. ‘My little Henri never make
+coolie boy. I tell you dat, Aunty Jess. Henri’s a lord’s son, and he’ll
+be gennelman, bime-by.’
+
+‘You go ways, Jerusha; you talking nonsense! Lords is only for great
+ladies like my Missy Quita.’
+
+‘Missy Quita going to marry a lord?’ said Jerusha inquisitively, as
+Jessica took a seat beside her.
+
+‘Wall, he’s not quite a lord yet, but I ’spect he will be bime-by. But
+he’s a great rich gennelman, and the Governor of San Diego, and that’s
+next to being a king--jes’ so! But I wish my missy take me up to hills
+with her. I never been lef’ behind before. I can’t tell why my missy
+think to go widout me.’
+
+‘Praps she want de lord all to herself--’
+
+‘I not interferin’ wid her little games! All her life I let her do jes’
+as she like; and she don’t mind ole Jessica! Ah, I know more dan one
+secret ob my missy’s--you bet, Jerusha!’
+
+‘I dessay! All gals hab dere secrets, and dere lovers too. Dis lord not
+Missy Quita’s first lover, _I_ know.’
+
+‘Why, o’ course not--handsome young lady like dat. But de good looks
+not allays de good heart. Missy not grateful, ’pears to me,’ grumbled
+Jessica. ‘She not want me any longer now she got Sir Russell to wait on
+her.’
+
+‘De good looks not allays de good heart,’ echoed Jerusha; ‘you may
+well say _dat_, Aunty Jess. De good looks sometimes cover de debbil’s
+heart--like Massa Courcelles’!’
+
+‘Sakes! what you know ’bout _him_, Jerusha?’
+
+‘I don’t know no _good_ of him, Aunty.’
+
+‘Jes’ like all de rest ob de world. I nebber could bear dat oberseer;
+he berry bad fellow; and dis morning he ’sulted me dreffully. Jes’
+hear, Jerusha. I comin’ from White House, quiet as could be, wid
+nothin’ to do, now my missy gone, when I meet dat Courcelles walkin’
+along and swearin’ to himself. He came straight up to me and he say,
+“Out ob my way, you d--d old hag! If it hadn’t been for your peepin’
+and listenin’, I believe I should have had my own way. Wait till I get
+you down to de cotton fields agen, and I’ll serve you out for dis.”’
+
+‘Laws, Aunty Jess, and what _you_ say?’
+
+‘_I_ say “You jes’ stop dat, you bad man. I knows all about you; and
+you’ll nebber get me down to cotton fields agen, for if you tries it,
+I’ll blow de roof ob de Oleander Bungalow off your head, and tell de
+ole master eberyting!”’
+
+‘An’ what is der to tell?’ cried Jerusha, with sudden interest.
+
+‘Sakes, gal, more than _you_ guess! But I don’t see why I shouldn’t
+tell you, now my missy safe, and goin’ to marry de Governor. ’Sides, my
+missy not behave berry grateful to me. ’Tis de way wid de white folk.
+Why, Jerusha, dat oberseer Missy Quita’s lover for ober a year, and she
+go out night after night to meet him in de bungalow, as I’m a livin’
+woman--’
+
+‘She--go--meet--Massa Courcelles?’ gasped Jerusha.
+
+‘Sure! And more, dat baby down at Doctor’s bungalow no more Miss
+Lizzie’s child than it is yours. Dat baby ’long to Missy Quita and
+Massa Courcelles. _I_ knows! but I never tell till my missy so
+ungrateful as to leave me behind, and dat man swear and call me “d--d
+hag!” But you nebber tell nobody else, Jerusha! You keep dat secret
+like your life, till de wedding’s ober--and then, what matter?’
+
+‘Dat baby is _his_? Oh, de false man!’ cried the coolie, with flashing
+eyes, as she sprang to her feet, and held little Henri at arm’s length.
+‘And dis chile ob mine, dis white-skinned boy, who you think _he_
+’long to, Aunty Jessica? Why, to that villain too! Dat’s his fader!
+Your fine Massa Courcelles, what ruin your missy and me same time!’
+
+‘What you say, Jerusha? Your baby’s fader de oberseer?’
+
+‘Sure! Didn’t he favour me ober all de other coolie girls on de
+plantation? Didn’t he give me my earrings and bangles and my Sunday
+shawl, and tell me I de prettiest girl he ebber see? And I fool enough
+to believe him, Aunty; I thinkin’ he lub me allays, and be good to me,
+for little Henri’s sake. But when he found I should hab a baby, he
+sent me back to de fields, and I work dere till I nearly drop. And he
+beat me--yes, Aunty!’ shrieked Jerusha in her rage, as she turned her
+flaming eyes up to the skies; ‘he whipped me and my poor baby, and
+laughed when I dared him to strike us! And I vowed to hab my revenge
+on him, and I will hab it yet. Massa Courcelles shall live to wish he
+nebber deceived a poor coolie girl, or struck her baby! That’s so!’
+
+‘And _I’ll_ help you, Jerusha, for I hate dat man, and I swore once to
+give him obeah water for deceiving my poor missy. And now he serve you
+de same--dat’s twice bad; and I know anudder heart what he’s broken,
+though she as good and pure as de white May lilies in de garden--and
+dat’s Miss Lizzie.’
+
+‘Nebber _Miss Lizzie_!’ cried Jerusha incredulously. ‘Miss Lizzie do
+wicked ting? Why, she’s de best woman I ebber see!’
+
+‘No, no, Jerusha! I not mean dat. Only dis villain make lub to de
+poor gal, and promise to marry her, and now she breakin’ her heart
+because he so false. Rosa tell me eberyting. She pretend to be asleep
+in verandah dis morning, and hear all they say. Miss Lizzie ’clare she
+nebber, nebber marry him now.’
+
+‘She miserable woman if she do,’ said Jerusha. ‘But hush, Aunty Jess,
+here come Miss Lizzie. Don’t say nuffin ’bout little Henri ’fore her.
+She too good and sweet! She not like us! I never dare tell her who was
+his fader.’
+
+As the coolie spoke, Lizzie came up to them, pale but smiling. She
+carried her basket as usual on her arm, and as soon as she saw little
+Henri, she drew a small sponge-cake from a selection of such dainties
+which she carried for the sick, and held it out to him.
+
+‘What a beauty he grows, Jerusha! He will soon be out of arms now, and
+toddling after you everywhere.’
+
+‘Yes, Missy Liz, he bery fine boy,’ replied the young mother, in a
+subdued tone.
+
+‘Is anything the matter?’ said Lizzie, quickly glancing from Jerusha to
+the old nurse. ‘No bad news of Miss Maraquita, I hope, Jessica?’
+
+‘Oh, no, Missy Liz. Missy quite well enough, I guess. ’Tis them she
+leave behind what feel bad.’
+
+‘You miss her, I daresay, and the White House seems dull without her.
+Well, you will soon be gay enough when the wedding takes place.’
+
+‘I s’pose so, Missy Liz. Is dat baby at your bungalow all right,
+missy?’ continued Jessica inquisitively.
+
+Lizzie flushed to the roots of her hair. She had encountered some
+impertinence on this subject before, and she feared a repetition of it.
+
+‘It is quite well, Jessica, although it is very weakly, and I am not at
+all sure of rearing it.’
+
+‘A good ting if it die,’ said the nurse; ‘and if all such babies died,
+Missy Liz--we’ve no room for them here.’
+
+‘You shouldn’t say that, Jessica,’ returned Lizzie mildly; ‘for it may
+be God’s will that it should live.’
+
+‘Better say good ting if its _fader_ died!’ exclaimed Jerusha. ‘That’s
+the sort we’ve no room for. Ah, Missy Liz, no use you opening your eyes
+like dat. We know plenty on dis plantation, we do!--and we know de good
+from de bad too, and may de Lord help us to root ’em out.’
+
+‘Have you any special enemy here then, Jerusha?’ demanded Lizzie.
+
+‘Yes, I have,’ replied the coolie, with dogged determination. ‘Massa
+Courcelles is my special enemy, and I hate him!’
+
+‘Monsieur de Courcelles, Jerusha? Has he been unkind to you, or done
+you any wrong?’
+
+‘He has done me _dis_ wrong!’ cried Jerusha, holding out her baby. ‘He
+has given me dis chile, and blows on the top of it!’
+
+She would have said more, but Lizzie put her hand to her head, and,
+with a low cry, passed swiftly from them. The women gazed after her in
+astonishment. They could not understand a nature without any feeling
+of revenge in it,--with only the deepest pain for the sins of one it
+loved, and a horror of hearing them mentioned by others. They thought
+that Lizzie had misunderstood them, or had not heard aright.
+
+‘Dat’s funny!’ exclaimed Jerusha. ‘’Pears I didn’t put things right, or
+she would have smacked little Henri on the head, or killed him dead, as
+I’d like to kill dat baby at de bungalow.’
+
+‘Missy Liz not one of _our_ sort,’ said Jessica. ‘She allays berry
+quiet and gentle, but I guess she _feel_ same as rest.’
+
+‘Does she _know_ about dat baby at de bungalow?’
+
+‘I ’spect she knows eberyting, and dat dese low niggers say it is _her_
+chile: same as Massa Courcelles did! Poor Miss Lizzie, she’s too good
+for us. She oughter run a knife into him and the chile too.’
+
+‘That’s so,’ cried Jerusha; ‘and dat’s what _I_ will do for her! I full
+of revenge, Jessica. I like to get up some night and fire de Oleander
+Bungalow, and burn dat man in his bed! I like to stick him wid knife,
+same as pig--an’ to make him drink poison water till he die.’
+
+‘Better give him de obeah water--dat safe and silent,’ replied the
+nurse; ‘but you must do it secret, Jerusha. You mustn’t tell anybody
+but me.’
+
+‘I telling no one; but I watch and wait, and I hab my revenge. I swear
+it on my little Henri’s head!’ said Jerusha solemnly.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+
+Meanwhile Maraquita, up on the hill range, was fast recovering her
+equanimity. With Lizzie and the Doctor’s bungalow out of sight; with
+her mother’s assurance that De Courcelles should be banished from
+Beauregard before they returned to it; with recuperated health, and
+the prospect of a marriage beyond her most ambitious dreams, life
+seemed to stretch out like one long vista of pleasure before her.
+Hers was a shallow, frivolous nature, incapable of looking beyond the
+present, or of dwelling long upon the past. She was a terrible coward
+though, and had she remained on the plantation, and been subjected
+to the entreaties and reproaches of her lover, might have thrown up
+everything to link her fate with his, and regretted it bitterly for
+ever afterwards. The marriage she was about to make with Sir Russell
+Johnstone was in reality far better suited to her. So long as he was
+attentive to her, and loaded her with presents, she didn’t mind his
+being middle-aged and ugly, for she had very little sentiment in her
+nature, and no idea of love as it should be betwixt man and woman.
+Her notion of a lover was of some one who must be always paying her
+compliments, or giving her pretty things, or devising schemes for
+her enjoyment, and in these particulars Sir Russell was perfect. He
+displayed all the infatuation and imbecility which usually attacks
+an elderly man who finds himself in sudden and unexpected possession
+of a beautiful girl; and Maraquita could never inhale too much of the
+incense of flattery. She bridled, and simpered, and blushed under his
+adoring glances, as if she had never been subjected to such an ordeal
+before; whilst Mrs Courtney would entreat ‘dear Sir Russell to spare
+her little girl such a battery of admiration, or he would frighten
+her back into her shell.’ Quita was beginning to give herself also
+all the airs and graces of a Governor’s wife, and to hold her head
+above even her own mother. The Government Bungalow was charmingly
+commodious, and filled with official servants, whom the little lady
+ordered about as if they already belonged to her; and in fact she had
+already reconciled herself so effectually to her new position, that
+she had almost forgotten that which was just past, and which she was
+ready to try and believe had never existed. She rode with the Governor,
+and walked with him, and smiled at his compliments, and even suffered
+him to embrace her, without the least display of repugnance or dislike.
+Not that the recollection of Henri de Courcelles had entirely ceased
+to trouble her. She thought of him often, but with no warmer feeling
+than fear. She would start, every now and then, in the midst of her
+occupation, to remember the threat he had made her, and to shiver under
+the apprehension that he might fulfil it. She would run at such times
+to her mother, and implore her to find out if De Courcelles had really
+left their service, and if he had quitted San Diego, or was lingering
+round Beauregard. She declared that she never could summon courage to
+be married until she knew that there was no fear of her former lover
+way-laying her on her way to church, as he had sworn to do, and perhaps
+injuring or frightening her into a betrayal of the secret between them.
+Mrs Courtney became so anxious at last that her daughter’s mind should
+be set at rest, that she asked her husband to join them on the hills
+for a few days, thinking it would be safer to confer with him on the
+subject by word of mouth, than through a letter. Mr Courtney came up as
+soon as his business would permit him, and the first moment his wife
+had him to herself, she broached the distasteful subject.
+
+‘What have you done about De Courcelles, Mr Courtney? Have you given
+him warning to leave us?’
+
+‘I have, my dear, for I feel very dissatisfied concerning him. I
+sent for him as soon as you had left home, as I told you I should,
+and informed him that reports had reached me concerning himself and
+Maraquita that I could not pass over without comment.’
+
+‘Oh, Mr Courtney! I _begged_ you not to use our dear girl’s name.’
+
+‘Well, I couldn’t tell him a lie, Nita, and I really could invent no
+better excuse for sending him away. So I thought honesty would be, as
+usual, the best policy.’
+
+‘But what did he say to it?’ demanded Mrs Courtney breathlessly. ‘Did
+he deny the fact, or--or--tell any falsehoods about it?’
+
+‘Not that I am aware of. He neither admitted nor denied the truth of
+my statement, but I could see from his manner that it had hit home. So
+I told him he could stay on the plantation on one condition only, and
+that was that he fulfilled his engagement with Lizzie Fellows.’
+
+‘I _wish_ you hadn’t,’ replied his wife, with a look of vexation. ‘I
+don’t want him to stay, under any circumstances. Things can never be
+the same again between us after the avowal of his impudent pretensions,
+and I can’t see how the matter would be improved by his marrying Lizzie
+Fellows. In fact, Mr Courtney, I think you should also try and provide
+for Lizzie elsewhere, for Quita can hardly notice her when she is Lady
+Johnstone, after what she has done.’
+
+‘Nita, I don’t believe she has done anything she need be ashamed of.
+I have full faith in Lizzie, as I have told you before, and I will
+not insult her by a suspicion of wrong. However, with regard to her
+marrying Henri de Courcelles, you may set your mind at rest, for she
+has refused him.’
+
+‘Lizzie has _refused_ to marry De Courcelles?’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney,
+with amazement.
+
+‘Have I not said so? De Courcelles seemed quite ready to accede to
+my proposal, and I gave him a week to settle it in. Before a couple
+of days were over our heads, however, he came to tell me that it was
+of no use, and Miss Fellows had refused to have anything to do with
+him. I told him I couldn’t go back from my word, and that (under
+the circumstances) I refused to retain him on the plantation as an
+unmarried man, so I would pay him a quarter’s salary, and he must clear
+out in a week. But before I did so, I walked down to Lizzie’s bungalow,
+and had a very plain conversation with her on the subject.’
+
+Mrs Courtney’s complexion faded to a dull yellow.
+
+‘About the nurse-child? Does she still deny that it is hers?’
+
+‘Emphatically, and with such undeniable sincerity, that I quite believe
+her. I would stake my life that she has nothing to do with that child
+except to take care of it. She is a most injured woman, in my opinion,
+and I urged her, for her own sake as well as ours, to do as her father
+(were he living) would command her, and reveal the name of the mother
+of the infant.’
+
+‘Oh, Mr Courtney, how _very_ wrong of you to try and make Lizzie break
+her oath! Why, it would be _perjury_!’ cried Mrs Courtney, virtuously
+indignant, and trembling with anxiety, ‘and I would rather think she
+had fallen, than commit such a crime. Surely she was not so weak as to
+be persuaded to do such a thing?’
+
+‘No; she is adamant, and her lips are closed like a vice. She refuses
+to say anything upon the subject, excepting to reiterate her former
+assertion that the child is not hers. And she told me the reason she
+had rejected Monsieur de Courcelles’ proposal is because he has said
+the same thing of her as other people.’
+
+‘Well, of course. What can she expect?’ said his wife, looking
+infinitely relieved. ‘It is very hard on the poor girl, but she is
+bound to keep her oath; and people _will_ talk. I have heard the
+coolies speaking of it in the most confident manner, as if they had not
+the slightest doubt that she is the baby’s mother.’
+
+‘I’d like to hear a coolie talking of her affairs in _my_ presence!’
+returned Mr Courtney, clenching his fist. ‘He wouldn’t talk again in
+a hurry. If I can’t do anything else for the daughter of my poor dead
+friend, I will protect her. But there was something Lizzie said that
+somewhat puzzled me, Nita. In speaking of De Courcelles, she used these
+terms,--“_He_, who of all others should have died before he accused
+me of a crime of which he _knew_ I was guiltless.” She emphasised the
+word “_knew_” so deeply that it attracted my attention, and I asked her
+_how_ De Courcelles should _know_ of her innocence above other people.
+But I could get nothing further out of her. She blushed to her eyes,
+poor girl, and was silent; but I was sure she felt she had gone too
+far. What can De Courcelles know for certain, Nita? Is it possible he
+can have anything to do with this mysterious little stranger at the
+bungalow?’
+
+‘Dear me, Mr Courtney, how can _I_ answer the question?’ exclaimed his
+wife pettishly. ‘I don’t see anything peculiar in Lizzie’s words. She
+meant, doubtless, that being her betrothed husband, he should have had
+more faith in her virtue; and so he should. But men judge women by
+themselves, and so we seldom come off scot-free. But are you going to
+get another overseer? _That_ is the most important thing to me. I can’t
+think of that De Courcelles’ presumption with any patience.’
+
+‘Yes, yes, my dear! it is all settled, and he leaves us next week. I
+have already engaged his successor--Mr Campbell, who used to manage the
+Glendinning estates before old Mr Houston died. He bears an excellent
+character, and, I trust, may prove all we require. He is noted for his
+kindness to his coolies; and I am afraid De Courcelles has not raised
+the character of Beauregard in that respect.’
+
+‘Oh, he is a wretch all round!’ cried Mrs Courtney; ‘and I shall
+not breathe freely till he is gone. I hope he will leave the island
+altogether.’
+
+‘That I cannot tell you, for I have nothing to do with his movements
+after he quits the plantation. I think he is sure to do so, however,
+as he is not a favourite in San Diego, and would find it difficult to
+get another situation here. But let us talk of something more pleasant,
+Nita. How is our Maraquita getting on with the Governor? Is it all
+plain sailing?’
+
+‘_Plain sailing?_’ echoed Mrs Courtney. ‘What a term to apply to it.
+Why, they positively _adore_ each other, my dear, and are never happy
+when apart. Sir Russell is only _too_ charming. He follows Quita about
+everywhere, and waits on her like a slave. He has given her the most
+exquisite diamond pendant, and an Arab horse that cost him two hundred
+pounds. I am longing to see our darling installed as the mistress of
+Government House. Sir Russell means to go over to Trinidad for the
+honeymoon. The Government steamer will take them on board directly
+after the wedding-breakfast; and they will be absent for a month.
+The day after they return to Government House, the marriage will be
+celebrated by a splendid ball. He is going to issue invitations to
+everybody in the island--high and low. Isn’t it noble of Sir Russell?
+But he says he would ask the whole world, if he could, to witness his
+triumph in the possession of so lovely a bride.’
+
+‘I don’t wonder at his enthusiasm,’ exclaimed the father, ‘for he has
+got the loveliest girl in the British possessions! But what about her
+fal-lals, my dear? Can they be got ready in time?’
+
+‘Only just enough to go on with, Mr Courtney; but Sir Russell is as
+impatient as a boy of twenty, and refuses to wait a day over the
+month. I have sent my orders to England, as you desired me; but, of
+course, they can’t be here in time. The wedding-dress I can luckily
+supply. Perhaps you have forgotten the exquisite dress of Honiton
+lace you gave me when the dear child was born. I am having it made up
+over white satin; and she could wear nothing, Sir Russell says, more
+elegant or appropriate. As the happy event is taking place in the hot
+season, Maraquita can wear nothing but white muslin and lace, which I
+shall have no trouble in procuring for her; and by the time the rainy
+season sets in, her dresses will have arrived from England. Really, Mr
+Courtney, it seems as if the fates smiled upon her, for nothing could
+be more fortunate than everything has turned out.’
+
+The planter acquiesced in his wife’s opinion, and the few days he spent
+on the hills confirmed it as his own. No two people could appear to be
+happier than Quita and her _fiancé_. She suffered herself to be loved,
+and caressed, and petted to any extent; and Sir Russell was always
+ready to gratify her. Her proud father thought she looked lovelier than
+ever, under the consciousness of her coming honours, and went back to
+Beauregard fully satisfied that she was the most fortunate girl in the
+world. But as the time passed on, and the moment drew near when the
+mother and daughter must also quit the hills, Quita’s agitation became
+very apparent.
+
+‘Mamma,’ she would say, in a horrified whisper, clinging fast to her
+mother’s hand, ‘are you quite, _quite_ sure _he_ has left Beauregard?’
+
+‘Quite sure, my dearest. Your father sent him away a fortnight ago, and
+Mr Campbell, the new overseer, is living at the Oleander Bungalow in
+his stead.’
+
+‘But might he not be hiding somewhere near? At Shanty Hill, or in the
+Miners’ Gulch? There are public-houses in both those places.’
+
+‘Quita, my child, you must get over this foolish fear. In the first
+place, your father is quite convinced that De Courcelles has left San
+Diego, as there is no vacant situation in the island for which he
+could apply; and in the second, even if he were in the neighbourhood he
+would not dare to speak to you, far less to try and injure you.’
+
+‘Ah, mamma, you don’t know Henri! You should have seen his eyes when
+he said he would stab me at the altar. He is terrible when he is in a
+rage. And I feel convinced he will keep his word. He will hang about
+Beauregard till my wedding-day, and then he will hide in the church
+and shoot me, and I shall die in my wedding-dress, bespattered with
+blood!’ replied Quita, relapsing into tears at the awful picture she
+had conjured up in her imagination.
+
+‘Quita, you will make yourself ill if you go on like this!’ said Mrs
+Courtney, with grave solicitude. ‘You are really too silly to be
+reasoned with. Do you forget you are going to be the Governor’s wife?
+You are not going to marry a nobody, but a man high in position and
+power, and no one will dare to assail you either by word or deed. The
+church in which you are married will be lined with the military; and
+if you are nervous, Sir Russell will have a special guard of honour to
+protect you. But don’t let _him_ guess at any of your nervous fears,
+for Heaven’s sake, or he may get curious to learn the cause of them.
+Rely on me, Quita, that all will be well.’
+
+‘But there is another thing, mamma,’ said the girl, after a pause.
+‘I am horribly afraid that old Jessica knows too much. One night
+when--when--I had been at the bungalow, I found her awake and watching
+for my return. And two or three times she has muttered hints that I
+could not misunderstand.’
+
+‘Oh, Quita, Quita, what trouble you have got yourself into. It seems as
+if we should never surmount the difficulties in our path. I shall know
+no peace until you are Lady Johnstone.’
+
+‘Nor I either, mamma! But can’t we send Jessica away too? I don’t
+intend to take her to Government House, and you will have no use for
+her when I am gone.’
+
+‘My dear, I am afraid it would be dangerous to dismiss her. She would
+guess the reason, and these negroes are very revengeful. They will
+serve you to the death, so long as you make them your friends; but
+once turn round on them, and their malice knows no bounds. Jessica
+has been with you since your birth, and to send her adrift just as
+you are going to be married, would be to set her tongue going like a
+mill-wheel. No, Quita, you must pursue a more politic course! I think
+we made a mistake in not bringing Jessica up to the hills with us. Had
+I known what you tell me now, I would not have consented to her being
+left behind; but you must take her some presents when we return, and do
+all in your power to conciliate her. Don’t encourage any familiarity,
+nor appear to understand any hints she may give you, but keep her in a
+good temper, my dear child, until after the fourteenth, whatever you
+do.’
+
+Acting on her mother’s advice, Maraquita took a gaily-coloured shawl
+and a necklace of gilt beads to Jessica when she returned to the White
+House, and made the old nurse’s heart repent that she had been led
+into repeating any scandal about her missy. But the departure of the
+overseer was too important an event to be passed over in silence,
+and Maraquita was doomed to hear a repetition of what was thought
+concerning it in the coolie quarters.
+
+‘Missy seen de new oberseer?’ Jessica commenced, the first moment they
+were left alone. ‘He berry fine man,--broader den Massa Courcelles,
+and plenty more colour in face; nice hair too--same colour as de
+carrots--and a soft voice, kinder like a woman’s.’
+
+‘No, Jessica, I haven’t seen him yet; but papa has asked him to dine
+with us this evening.’
+
+‘Ah, Missy won’t like him same as Massa Courcelles, for sure,--but
+Massa Campbell good man for all dat, and Massa Courcelles berry bad
+man--all de niggers dance when he go ’way, and Jerusha she throw mud
+after him, and frighten his horse so he stand right up on his two legs.’
+
+‘Was he hurt?’ cried Quita suddenly.
+
+However frivolous a woman may be, she cannot quite lose all interest,
+at a moment’s notice, in the man she has loved.
+
+‘Oh, no, missy! Massa Courcelles same like part of horse. He nebber
+thrown; only, he swear and curse plenty at Jerusha.’
+
+‘Who _is_ Jerusha?’ asked Quita, betrayed by curiosity into forgetting
+her studied reticence; ‘and why should she throw dirt at Monsieur de
+Courcelles?’
+
+‘Ah, missy not knowing. Jerusha only a poor coolie, but all de niggers
+would throw dirt at Massa Courcelles if they dared. But he been berry
+bad man to poor Jerusha--same as he been to my missy,’ added Jessica,
+in a lower tone.
+
+Maraquita turned deathly white.
+
+‘How has he hurt Jerusha?’ she asked, in spite of herself.
+
+‘He’s left her with a baby, Missy Quita--a nice baby, too, most as
+white as himself, with his eyes and hair; but Jerusha feel bad about
+it, ’cause he’s treated her berry cruel, and whipt them both with de
+cowhide.’
+
+Maraquita turned her head aside, and burst into tears. She would
+have given worlds that the old nurse should not have witnessed her
+emotion, but she could not restrain it. How true it is that the love
+of most women is founded on vanity, and that even if they do not want
+a man themselves, they cannot bear that any one else should have him.
+Besides, this degrading _liaison_ with a coolie girl had taken place
+at the very time that Henri de Courcelles had been swearing eternal
+love to herself. Quita did indeed feel at that moment that she had
+parted with a woman’s best possession for nothing. She had never been
+so terribly humiliated before. Jessica was not slow to take advantage
+of her young mistress’s weakness.
+
+‘Don’t cry, missy,’ she said; ‘dat man not worth one tear from my
+missy’s bright eyes. He false and cruel, and got bad heart. Missy
+forget all about dis trouble when she marry de Governor. And Missy Liz
+will keep de secret, nebber fear, and old Jessica too. Nobody tell
+nuffin, de Governor nebber know, and den eberyting go right.’
+
+But this allusion roused the instinctive fear in Maraquita’s bosom.
+She forgot her mother’s caution, and the folly of resenting the
+old nurse’s hints. She forgot everything, except the awful fear of
+exposure, and in her alarm she played her worst card, and turned round
+upon Jessica like a fury.
+
+‘What do you mean by speaking to me like that?’ she panted. ‘How _dare_
+you pretend to think that I cried because I was in trouble for any one
+but the poor coolie girl? I know I am a fool to feel such things. Any
+one is a fool who wastes a tear on you coloured people, for you are all
+false, and mischief-making, and scandalous; but it is too bad that you
+should speak as though I were crying for myself. What trouble could I
+be in? I have everything I want, and in a few days I shall marry the
+Governor, and none of you will dare to say a word against me; and if
+you do, Sir Russell will have you whipped, and put in prison, and you
+may lie and die there, for aught I care.’
+
+It was a foolish and childish rage in which she indulged, but Quita
+was not much raised above the coloured people she professed to scorn,
+either in intellect or education. Yet it was sufficient to excite the
+desire for revenge in the object of her wrath.
+
+‘Missy have me whipped and put in prison?’ she shrieked; ‘_me_--who
+hab nursed her in my bosom, ever since she was a tiny baby? Oh, no,
+Missy Quita, you nebber mean dat! I will tell Massa Courtney, and de
+Governor, eberyting before dat. I tell dem all I know. I clare de
+character of poor Missy Liz, down at de Doctor’s bungalow, and I tell
+_whose_ child dat is what she nurse day and night.’
+
+‘Oh, Jessica!’ cried Maraquita, frightened beyond expression, as she
+threw herself on her knees before the old negress, ‘don’t say that.
+I was beside myself. I didn’t stop to weigh my words. I know you are
+good and faithful, and will be true to me, and keep my terrible secret,
+for you wouldn’t ruin your poor little missy who loves you; would you,
+Jessica?’
+
+But the old negress was not to be so easily conciliated. She looked
+very surly, even whilst Maraquita’s white arms were wreathed about her
+withered neck.
+
+‘Missy Quita, you berry ungrateful gal,’ she murmured presently. ‘How
+many nights I sit up and watch and wait, while you flirting wid dat
+overseer, fear your moder or some one come and find you out? Den when
+you taken bad, ole Jess know your trouble all de time, and nebber speak
+one word. But now you going to be grand rich lady, you want to kick
+old Jessica out, and forget all she done for you. But I won’t be kicked
+out, Missy Quita. You must take me to Government House, and give me
+good wages, or I won’t keep your secret any longer; and it isn’t no
+good saying I’m ungrateful, missy, ’cause you were ungrateful first,
+and you knows it.’
+
+Maraquita saw the terrible mistake she had made, when it was too late.
+Why had she not remembered her mother’s advice to conciliate the old
+negress until the marriage was an accomplished fact? _Then_, Mrs
+Courtney would have devised some plan to keep her quiet. But now there
+was but one course open to her,--to promise to give Jessica everything
+she demanded, however unreasonable.
+
+‘Why, of course, Nursey,’ she answered, with assumed playfulness. ‘Did
+you think I was going to leave my old darkey behind? What should I do
+without you? You shall come to Government House as soon as I am settled
+there, and dress me in the mornings, as you have always been used to
+do; and perhaps some day you may nurse my little children as you nursed
+me. Will that content you, Jessica?’ she added, with trembling lips
+that ill-concealed her anxiety.
+
+‘And missy will raise my wages?’ demanded the negress; ‘Governor’s
+lady give better wages than planter’s daughter, and I hab worked for
+eighteen long years in your service, Missy Quita.’
+
+‘Yes, yes! You shall have any wages you like, Jessica. I shall tell Sir
+Russell what a good servant you have been to me, and he will be proud
+to reward you. But perhaps you would rather have a pension,’ said Quita
+wistfully, ‘or a lump sum of money, that will enable you to go back to
+your own country, and live there.’
+
+‘No, missy; I rather live and die with you. You seem like my own child
+to me, and San Diego like my country. I no want go way; and if missy
+good to me, I keep her secrets always, and no one shall hear ole Jess
+tell de truth about her.’
+
+Maraquita felt this was only a compromise, but she had no alternative
+but to accept it. There was a hard, stony look in old Jessica’s eyes
+that alarmed her, and made her doubt her promises of fidelity. She was
+not slow to perceive, either, the mercenary motive of her demand for
+higher wages, but she could not afford to comment on it. She had put
+herself in the power of another woman--the most terrible bondage the
+sex is ever subjected to--and she saw no way to loosen her chains,
+except by perfect acquiescence. But she loathed the old negress, even
+while she forced herself to caress her. The affection of her whole life
+seemed to have faded beneath the ordeal to which it had been subjected.
+Jessica was no longer the kind and faithful nurse who had tended her
+from her infancy, and to whom she had run in every dilemma, but a hard
+and grasping creditor, who had possession of that which might ruin her
+life, and demanded her very blood in ransom. However, there seemed no
+way but one out of the scrape, and so Maraquita promised to do all and
+everything that the negress might require, and tried to soothe her
+ruffled feelings with soft words and caresses.
+
+But she did not feel sure that she had succeeded, even though Jessica
+paid her some honied compliments in return, and lay down in her bed
+that night longing more than ever that the wedding-day had come and
+gone.
+
+All went smoothly, however. No one saw or heard anything further of
+Henri de Courcelles, nor was Quita even annoyed by the mention of his
+name. He seemed to have totally disappeared from Beauregard, and Mr
+Courtney fully believed that he had left the island. The old nurse made
+no further disagreeable allusions to the past, and appeared to be as
+devoted to her young mistress as she had ever been, so that Maraquita
+regained her lightness of heart, and turned her attention entirely to
+the brilliant prospects before her. The fourteenth was close at hand,
+and the preparations for the Governor’s wedding, which was to take
+place in the Fort church, were on a scale of magnificence never before
+attempted in San Diego. The church was to be embowered in flowers; the
+military were to line the road leading to it; half the gentry in the
+island were to be engaged in singing a choral service; and a splendid
+barouche, drawn by four horses, and preceded by a guard of honour, was
+to convey the newly-married couple back to Beauregard.
+
+Here, naturally, all were in a flutter. Mrs Courtney, never a good
+housekeeper, was nearly out of her mind over the wedding-breakfast and
+the completion of Maraquita’s dress, and was thankful to delegate the
+issuing of the invitations to her husband and her daughter. Mr Courtney
+made out the list of names, whilst Maraquita wrote the invitations in
+a very irregular hand on gold-edged paper. Half-way down the list she
+came upon the name of Miss Fellows.
+
+‘_Lizzie?_’ she exclaimed, with rather rashly expressed astonishment.
+
+‘Of course! why not?’ returned her father quickly.
+
+‘Well, because, although _we_ don’t believe the reports about her,
+papa, _other_ people do, and some of the ladies of San Diego might
+object to meet her.’
+
+Mr Courtney consigned the ladies of San Diego to a warmer region, but
+held to his determination.
+
+‘There shall be no festivity held in my house to which Lizzie Fellows
+is not invited,’ he answered sternly; ‘and the fact that she is still
+welcomed here, will be the best denial of these infamous calumnies
+against her. I should be ashamed of you, my daughter, if you consented
+to her name being omitted from our guests. The poor girl has suffered
+enough from the death of her father, and the rascality of that
+scoundrel De Courcelles, to say nothing of these cruel rumours, without
+our turning our backs upon her.’
+
+The mention of De Courcelles’ name was enough to stop Maraquita’s
+tongue, and she wrote the invitation without further comment. Only,
+as both she and her mother anticipated, Lizzie’s reply was in the
+negative. She made her recent loss the excuse for not joining in any
+gaiety; but Maraquita and Mrs Courtney knew that after the insults they
+had hurled at her, she would never place her foot voluntarily again
+within the walls of the White House.
+
+
+END OF VOL. II.
+
+
+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 75275 ***
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+    <title>
+      A crown of shame (vol. 2 of 3) | Project Gutenberg
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+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75275 ***</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. II.</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. II.</p>
+
+<p>LONDON:<br>
+<span class="large">F. V. WHITE &amp; 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_26">      26</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>CHAPTER III.</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_50">      50</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>CHAPTER IV.</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_81">      81</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>CHAPTER V.</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_106">      106</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>CHAPTER VI.</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_137">      137</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>CHAPTER VII.</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_157">      157</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>CHAPTER VIII.</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_193">      193</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>CHAPTER IX.</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_213">     213</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 &amp; Co., 31 Southampton Street, Strand,<br>
+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="H">
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="drop-cap">H</span>E left Liz weeping over the
+dead body of her father.
+How paltry all other troubles
+seemed to be, as she did so. She
+had no power, at that moment, to
+realise any fact but one,—that he had
+left her, and without a warning. He,
+who had been her sole protector and
+companion, beside whom she had walked<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span>
+every moment of her life, sharing his
+knowledge, and his duties, and his cares,
+had gone forth into the dreamland without
+her, and for the future she must
+struggle through life as best she might,
+alone. Liz was not ignorant of the
+cause of her father’s death, but she
+had been quite unprepared for it. She
+had known for some time past that
+he had a weak heart, but men lived
+with such, sometimes to their three
+score years and ten. He had passed
+a tranquil and unexciting life. The
+passions which had raged stormily perhaps
+in his youth had forsaken him
+in his latter days, and he had appeared
+likely to live on to a good old age.
+But the events of the last week had
+greatly upset him. Liz had no doubt,
+as she looked at his pale, calm features,
+that his sudden death lay, in a great<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span>
+measure, at Maraquita’s door, and the
+fact did not make her feel more
+tenderly towards her adopted sister.
+But the infant was wailing in her arms,
+and she felt that something must be
+done at once. This was no time for
+weeping, or inaction. She turned on
+her heel, with set features, and teeth
+closely clenched together, and passed
+into the outer room to summon her
+negress attendant Chloe to her aid.
+Chloe was conspicuous only by her
+absence, but on the threshold of the
+outer door she found the yellow girl,
+Rosa, slowly rocking herself to and
+fro.</p>
+
+<p>‘What are you doing here?’ demanded
+Lizzie sternly. ‘Have you not
+brought me into enough trouble already?’</p>
+
+<p>The girl turned round and caught
+the folds of her dress, and buried her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span>
+face in them, crying. The coloured
+people are very emotional, and a sudden
+remorse had stabbed the depths of
+poor Rosa’s heart.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Miss Lizzie,’ she sobbed, ‘I’se
+so sorry the poor Doctor dead! Massa
+Courcelles tell me so as he went out.
+The dear good Doctor, who was so
+berry kind to me in my sickness, and
+so good to my little Carlo, and now
+he gone too, and me nebber see him
+any more, and my heart is broke, Miss
+Liz, my heart is broke!’</p>
+
+<p>This tribute to her dead father’s
+virtues affected Liz more than anything
+else could have done.</p>
+
+<p>‘If <i>you</i> are so sorry for his loss,
+Rosa,’ she answered gently, ‘what do
+you suppose <i>I</i> must feel. I seem to
+have lost everything to-day—<i>everything</i>,’
+she added, in a vague and weary tone.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span>‘Oh, Missy Liz, I’se so sorry!’ repeated
+Rosa. ‘But what can I do to
+help you, and to take some of dis
+trouble off you? Let me do something,
+Missy Liz, to show I’se real
+sorry.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You can go up to the White House,
+Rosa, and tell Mr Courtney of—of—<i>this</i>,
+and say I should like to see him as soon
+as he can come to me. I can’t find Chloe
+anywhere.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Ah! dat Chloe no good. She too
+stupid!’ cried Rosa, with all a negress’s
+jealousy. ‘And may I come back, too,
+Missy Liz, with Massa Courtney, and
+help you nurse the baby, same as you
+helped me with little Carlo?’</p>
+
+<p>The allusion to the child brought
+the trouble it had caused her too vividly
+to Lizzie’s mind. She dropped into a
+chair, and burst into tears.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span>‘Oh, Rosa! Rosa! you have spoiled
+my life for me. How could you be so
+cruel?’</p>
+
+<p>The yellow girl crawled on her knees
+to the side of the Doctor’s daughter.</p>
+
+<p>‘Missy Liz, what I done so bad?
+Isn’t dat baby your own baby, then?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Of course it isn’t! How could you
+think such a thing of me? It is a
+little nurse-child which was left in
+charge of my dear father, and I was
+minding it for him. But you made
+Monsieur de Courcelles believe that it
+belongs to me, and you have parted
+us for ever. He was to have been my
+husband, Rosa, but he never will be so
+now; never—never!’</p>
+
+<p>Rosa’s eyes opened with surprise.</p>
+
+<p>‘Missy Liz, you must tell him I’se a
+liar. I know noting of de baby, only I
+see it on your bed, and I’se so sorry<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span>
+I speak to Massa Courcelles about it. It
+was de debbil spoke, Missy Liz, and not
+me. Something seem to come in my
+head and say dat chile like my little
+Carlo, and you no better den me. But I
+see now I’se all wrong, and you too good
+to do such a drefful thing. You tell
+Massa Courcelles I’se a liar, and it’ll be
+all right again, Missy Liz.’</p>
+
+<p>‘No, Rosa, it will never be right again
+in the way you mean. I <i>did</i> tell Monsieur
+de Courcelles what you say, but he
+refused to believe me. No one will believe
+me now, I am afraid,’ said Liz
+mournfully, ‘and I must bear the brunt
+of my own rash promise.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh! Missy Liz, must you keep dat
+baby dat isn’t yours, and take de trouble
+of it all your life?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I think so, Rosa. I have nowhere to
+send it; and you would not have me turn<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>
+it out on the cold world alone? No, my
+dear dead father left it to me as a sacred
+charge,’ cried Lizzie, weeping, ‘and I
+will guard it, whatever it may cost me.
+It will be something to do for his sake.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Miss Lizzie!’ exclaimed Rosa,
+awed by a display of heroism she could
+not understand, ‘you berry good woman!
+I nebber know till dis day how good a
+woman you are. Let me stay with you,
+Miss Lizzie. Send dat Chloe back to
+huts, and let me be your servant, ’stead
+of her. Chloe don’t know nuffin of
+children. <i>She</i> not had a little boy, like
+me. Let me nurse dat baby for you,
+and I will be faithful, trust me, Missy Liz,
+and nebber let de debbil speak through
+my mouth again.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I believe you, Rosa,’ replied Lizzie.
+‘I believe you are sorry for the mischief
+you have done, and that you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span>
+would undo it if you could. You were
+a good mother to little Carlo, and you
+would be a kind nurse to this poor
+little one. If it can be managed, it
+shall be arranged so, but we can do
+nothing without the leave of Mr
+Courtney. Go now and tell him of
+the grief I am in, and we will talk
+of these things another day.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But I will come back and hold de
+baby for you, Missy Liz!’ exclaimed
+the yellow girl, as she set off towards
+the White House.</p>
+
+<p>Liz walked back into the death
+chamber, and mechanically performed the
+necessary offices to prepare her father’s
+body for the grave. She did not weep
+again as she did so. The blow of her
+two great losses, coming so quickly one
+upon the other, had stunned her, and
+dried up the sources of her tears. She<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span>
+would have time to think and weep, she
+thought, by-and-by. When Mr Courtney
+arrived post-haste in answer to her summons,
+his grief appeared to be scarcely
+less than her own. He had been sincerely
+and deeply attached to this erring
+friend of his youthful days, and had
+never anticipated losing him so soon.
+He shed tears freely over the silent
+corpse, and kept on assuring Lizzie that
+her future should be one of his first
+cares.</p>
+
+<p>‘Don’t let that trouble you, my dear,’
+he reiterated. ‘I looked upon your dear
+father as my brother, and you shall
+never miss his protection whilst I can
+extend it to you. From this moment,
+Lizzie, I shall regard you as my
+daughter, and as soon as the sad ceremonies
+which we must go through, are
+concluded, I shall carry you off to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>
+White House, and consider you second
+only in my affection to Maraquita.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Dear Mr Courtney, you are too good
+to me,’ gasped Lizzie, ‘but—but—please
+don’t speak of my future to me to-day.’</p>
+
+<p>‘No, no, of course not. It was
+thoughtless of me,’ said the planter; ‘but
+I did it with the view to set your mind
+at ease. To-day we must give up entirely
+to thoughts of my dear and valued
+friend.’</p>
+
+<p>He imagined that the girl’s mind was
+too distracted to dwell on anything but
+her great loss; but Lizzie had remembered
+that before the morrow, the
+scandal that was being spread abroad
+concerning her would reach his ears,
+and render her unfit in his eyes to be
+the companion of his daughter.</p>
+
+<p>When he had told her what arrangements
+he had made for the funeral,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>
+which (according to the custom in hot
+climates) was to take place that evening,
+Mr Courtney, with a farewell grasp
+of his dead friend’s hand, turned to leave
+the bungalow, when his eye fell upon
+the yellow girl, Rosa, squatting on the
+floor with the baby in her arms.</p>
+
+<p>‘What infant is that?’ he demanded
+indifferently, for it was so wrapped up
+in flannel that he could not see its
+face.</p>
+
+<p>Liz had anticipated the question, and
+dreaded it; but she felt evasion would
+be useless, and had not attempted to
+send the child out of his sight.</p>
+
+<p>‘It is a little girl which was confided
+to my dear father’s care,’ she answered,
+in a low voice. ‘And he was going to
+consult Dr Martin at the Fort about a
+nurse to take the charge of it, when he
+was called away.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span>Mr Courtney’s eyes opened somewhat
+at her explanation.</p>
+
+<p>‘Is it a white child then?’ he asked.</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes, it is a white child,’ replied Lizzie,
+with a deep sigh, as she stood trembling
+at what might follow. But Mr Courtney
+said no more on the subject. Perhaps
+his mind was too full of his lost friend
+to think of minor things, anyway he left
+the bungalow without another word or
+look, and Lizzie breathed more freely
+when he had gone. She spent the remainder
+of the day beside the remains
+of the father whom she had loved so
+well, and when the sun had sunk in the
+west, and the cool sea breezes commenced
+to blow over San Diego, she
+followed his coffin to the little European
+burial ground, which was situated on the
+top of a hill, and in full view of the
+glorious ocean. She saw that there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>
+were many friends, both white and
+coloured, gathered round the open grave
+but she was in no fit condition to recognise
+who they were. Only, as the last
+words of the solemn service were concluded,
+and she heard the sods of earth
+rattle on the coffin lid, and felt as if she
+must throw herself in with them, and
+be buried with all she loved best in
+this world, she found some one supporting
+her failing steps on either side,
+and looking up saw she was standing
+between Mr Courtney and Captain
+Norris.</p>
+
+<p>‘Come, my dear child,’ whispered the
+former. ‘It is all over now. Let us
+see you safely to your home.’</p>
+
+<p>They led her between them back to
+the empty bungalow, and the three
+friends sat down together in the sitting-room,
+whilst Rosa squatted in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span>
+verandah with Maraquita’s baby in her
+arms. Liz, making an effort to battle
+with her emotion, busied herself with
+setting some light refreshment before
+her guests. Mr Courtney drank a
+glass of iced sherbet in silence, and
+then cleared his throat as though to
+force himself to speak.</p>
+
+<p>‘Lizzie, my dear, I have a good
+deal to say to you, and I wish to
+say it now. I might leave it till to-morrow,
+but I think it will do you
+good to fix your mind at once upon
+business, and to settle what you are to
+do in the future.’</p>
+
+<p>Lizzie turned a little paler than she
+had been. She had understood her
+future to be settled that morning. But
+she guessed why it required further explanation
+now.</p>
+
+<p>‘Captain Norris, than whom I think<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>
+your dear father had no warmer friend,
+has been talking to me on the subject
+this afternoon, and has consented to
+become the guardian and trustee of your
+interests.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I am of age,’ interrupted Lizzie, with
+open eyes; ‘I require no guardian.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Stop, my dear, and let me finish what
+I have to say. You may not require a
+personal guardian, but your monetary interests
+may need looking after. I am not
+likely to forget you at my death, Lizzie.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Indeed, Mr Courtney, you are too
+good to me,’ said Liz,—‘as you were to
+my poor father,’ she added, in a lower
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>‘Your father was my dearest friend: I
+can never forget that,’ replied the planter;
+‘and I am only following the dictates of
+my affection for him in making a suitable
+provision for his daughter. I have been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>
+thinking the matter over deeply, Lizzie,
+and I have decided that I cannot spare
+you from amongst my coolies. Why
+should you not carry on the work from
+which your father has been so suddenly
+called away? I know you are competent
+to do so, from what he himself has told
+me, and in any difficult cases you can
+always call in the assistance of the Doctor
+from the Fort. What I propose is that
+you should continue to live in this
+bungalow (the furniture and effects of
+which I shall make over to you as your
+own property), and to work amongst the
+coloured people; and I will gladly pay
+you the same remuneration as heretofore.
+Don’t you think it will be the best plan,
+Lizzie, and that you will be happier if
+you bravely try to forget your grief, in
+carrying on a life of activity and usefulness?’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>‘I am <i>sure</i> it will be best,’ she answered,
+in a low tone.</p>
+
+<p>Her pride, which had made her divine
+at once the cause of her benefactor’s change
+of mind, would have also prompted her
+to refuse his offers of assistance, but she
+was helpless in the matter. She had no
+friends to go to, no resources to fall back
+upon. What could she have done, left
+alone in San Diego, but live on charity,
+which she would rather have died than
+accept? Mr Courtney’s proposal was at
+least not a humiliating one. He offered
+her money in return for her labour, and
+she was resolved to earn it, and thanked
+Heaven she was capable of doing so.
+That he should not even have alluded
+to his promise of the morning wounded
+but did not surprise her. He had heard
+the wretched slander, which was doubtless
+already going the round of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span>
+plantation, concerning her. Henri de
+Courcelles had, perhaps, repeated it, and
+Mr Courtney already regretted that he
+had held out hopes he could not fulfil.
+Well, he should not read her disappointment
+in her eyes. She would put a
+brave face on the matter, and battle (as
+best she could) for herself; for the oath
+she had taken to her dead father was
+doubly sacred, now that all hope of release
+from it was over.</p>
+
+<p>‘We will do all in our power to make
+your life comfortable,’ continued Mr Courtney;
+‘and you may always depend on me,
+Lizzie, as your friend.’</p>
+
+<p>He did not include his wife’s and
+daughter’s friendship with his own, and
+Lizzie noticed the omission, and shrunk
+under it.</p>
+
+<p>‘Mr Courtney,’ she said, in a firm
+voice, though her eyes were full of tears,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>
+‘I thank you for your offers of assistance,
+and I accept them gratefully. I did not
+know till a few days back, the whole
+extent to which my poor father was indebted
+to you, but I shall never forget it,
+and if I can ever repay it in the slightest
+degree, I will.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Hush, my dear! It was nothing.
+Don’t speak of it now.’</p>
+
+<p>‘It was his <i>life</i>, Mr Courtney, and I
+should not be his daughter were I unmindful
+of it. I should have liked to
+relieve you of the burden, now <i>he</i> is gone,
+but I don’t know what I could do, without
+friends, and in a foreign country. So
+I will remain on (as you are good enough
+to propose), and work among your plantation
+hands, and do all I possibly can to
+return your kindness to us both.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Lizzie, my dear, I don’t wish you to
+think of it as if it were a favour. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span>
+obligation is quite as much on my side.
+And you mustn’t speak of yourself as
+friendless, either, my dear. You have
+friends on all sides, I am sure of that.
+You know what <i>I</i> feel towards you; and
+here is Captain Norris, grieving only
+second to myself for your loss; and every one
+in San Diego loves and respects
+you. You may take my word for that,
+Lizzie.’</p>
+
+<p>Mr Courtney had risen, as if to take his
+departure, whilst he spoke, and now stood
+in the doorway, with his straw hat in his
+hand, and beckoned her towards him.</p>
+
+<p>‘By the way,’ he added, in a lower
+tone, ‘what do you intend to do about
+that child, Lizzie?’ jerking his head towards
+Rosa and the baby.</p>
+
+<p>‘What should I do about it?’ she returned.
+‘I know no place to send it to.
+It was in the charge of Mammy Lila, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>
+she died of the fever. I suppose I must
+keep it here.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Where are its parents?’ demanded the
+planter inquisitively.</p>
+
+<p>‘It has none, Mr Courtney, or none
+who will own it.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Dear me! That is very strange, and
+very awkward. Who confided it to your
+father’s care?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I am not at liberty to tell you, sir.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Do you know then?’</p>
+
+<p>She paused for a moment, and then
+answered, in a husky tone,—</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And you will not tell me, Lizzie?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I am bound under a solemn oath, Mr
+Courtney, not to reveal anything about
+that child, and I must beg of you not to
+question me.’</p>
+
+<p>‘It looks bad for you, my dear, and may
+be the cause of a great deal of future<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>
+unhappiness. There are not so many
+Europeans on the island that such an
+event can occur without comment; and if
+you persist in holding your tongue on the
+subject, people <i>will</i> talk about it, and to
+your disadvantage.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Then they <i>must</i> talk, Mr Courtney,’
+replied Lizzie boldly, though she had
+turned very pale. ‘I cannot break my
+promise to my father, for any consideration,
+not even to save my reputation.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Lizzie,’ whispered the planter presently,
+‘promise me at least to send the
+child away. Let <i>me</i> send it away for you.
+You don’t know <i>what</i> people are saying
+about you. Even De Courcelles has heard
+the rumour, and came to me for an explanation
+of it. I will ask you no questions,
+my dear, but let me help you in the
+matter by sending the infant to one of the
+sister islands. I cannot bear to think that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span>
+any one should dare to say a word against
+you, for your father’s sake.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You are very kind, Mr Courtney, but I
+have made up my mind on this subject,
+and the child will remain with me. Sending
+her away now to the care of a hireling,
+will not remove the stain her presence
+here has cast upon my character; and I
+have reasons for wishing to bring her up
+myself. If you object to it, I will relieve
+you of the burden of both of us; but that
+infant is my father’s last charge to me, and
+I will keep it.’</p>
+
+<p>‘If you would only trust <i>me</i> with the
+secret of its birth, I could fight your battle
+with you,’ said Mr Courtney sadly.</p>
+
+<p>‘I will trust no one, sir. I have lost all
+that I cared for in this world, through its
+means, and I will at least have the satisfaction
+of knowing that I have remained
+true to myself.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span>‘Very well, my dear; good-night; and
+remember I am still your friend,’ replied
+the planter, as he walked slowly away.</p>
+
+<p>Lizzie looked after him for a moment,
+and then returning to the apartment, and
+regardless of the presence of Hugh Norris,
+she flung herself into a chair, and burst
+into a flood of tears.</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>Still my friend!</i>’ she repeated. ‘Yes,
+but a friend without any trust or confidence
+left in me. Ah! what is the use of his
+assurances? I can read his heart too
+well! I have not a friend left in the
+world.’</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i025.jpg" alt=""></div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i026a.jpg" alt=""></div>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER II.</h2>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i026b.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="A">
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="drop-cap">A</span>S she said the words, Captain
+Norris sprang towards her.</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>Not a friend left in the
+world</i>, Liz! Oh! how can you say
+such a cruel thing whilst I am here?’</p>
+
+<p>She could not answer him immediately
+for weeping, but she stretched
+forth her hand and laid it on his arm.</p>
+
+<p>‘Forgive me, Captain Norris. I know
+that you are my friend, but grief makes
+us all selfish. Yet that they should think
+such a thing of me,—that even Mr<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span>
+Courtney, who has known me from a
+little child, should suspect me of so unworthy
+an action, it is bitterly, <i>bitterly</i>
+hard.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You are speaking in riddles to me,
+Lizzie! Of <i>what</i> do they suspect you?
+Surely of nothing of which you need be
+ashamed? If so, they must answer to
+<i>me</i> for it. Your dead father honoured
+me with his friendship, and no one shall
+insult his daughter whilst I am able to
+prevent it.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I should have known that I might
+count upon your championship, Captain
+Norris; but it is useless. I have entangled
+myself in a net from which I
+see no prospect of freedom. You must
+leave me to bear the consequences by
+myself.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I shall do no such thing!’ replied the
+Captain warmly. ‘What is the worth of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>
+friendship if it cannot stand by you in
+the time of need? Confide in me, Lizzie.
+Tell me your trouble, and let us devise
+a way out of it together.’</p>
+
+<p>‘We cannot do that,’ replied Lizzie
+mournfully; ‘but you shall hear it, all the
+same. If I did not tell you, San Diego
+would soon do so. All the hands are
+talking of it by this time. Even that
+yellow girl in the verandah is ready to
+believe me to have fallen to a level
+with herself.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You alarm me!’ exclaimed Hugh
+Norris. ‘What is it they dare to say
+of you?’</p>
+
+<p>‘That that child is mine!’</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>What</i> child? I did not know there
+was a child here.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You are the last to hear of it then,’
+replied Lizzie bitterly. ‘The smallest
+lad on the plantation has discussed it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span>
+before now. I mean the infant which
+Rosa has in her arms. It is <i>not</i> mine!
+I hope you will believe me when I say
+so. But I have no means of proving
+the truth of what I say.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You surprise me beyond measure,’
+said Captain Norris. ‘In what does the
+difficulty lie, and why cannot you appeal
+to the real parents to help you out of it?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Captain Norris, you must not question
+me too closely, lest I should betray a secret
+I have sworn to keep. Be satisfied with
+what I tell you. It was only yesterday
+my father gave me that child to nurse
+for him. He asked me to keep it through
+the night, and in the morning he would
+get a proper person to take charge of
+it. You have heard the sequel. By
+the morning, God had called him away,
+and I am left with this burden on my
+hands for ever!’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>‘But, Lizzie, forgive me if I do not
+follow you. What reason is there for
+your keeping the child? What interest
+had your father in it? Why should you
+not send it to the people he intended to
+entrust it to?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Perhaps I might have done so if this
+suspicion had not fallen upon me; but
+<i>now</i>, what would be the use of it? Absent
+or present, the child will be regarded as
+mine. I shall have to bear the stigma;
+I may as well have the satisfaction of
+knowing I have fulfilled my dead father’s
+wishes.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Do you know who are the parents of
+the child?’</p>
+
+<p>Lizzie was silent.</p>
+
+<p>‘I see that you do. Surely they will
+never permit you innocently to bear this
+awful shame?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Captain Norris, when my father first<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>
+showed me that child, he extracted a
+solemn oath from me never to reveal
+anything I knew or might guess concerning
+it. It is useless your questioning
+me. My tongue is tied, and whatever
+my silence may cost me, I am bound to
+endure.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But surely your lover, De Courcelles,
+does not believe this slanderous lie about
+you, Lizzie? <i>He</i> will stand up in your
+defence, whatever the world may say, and
+fight it with you?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, don’t talk of him! Don’t mention
+his name!’ cried Lizzie, with a sudden
+burst of grief. ‘He <i>does</i> believe it,
+Captain Norris, and he has cast me off.
+We are parted for ever. Our engagement
+is at an end.’</p>
+
+<p>‘The cur!’ exclaimed Norris contemptuously.</p>
+
+<p>‘You shall not call him so! What else<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>
+could he do?’ rejoined Lizzie hastily.
+‘What would <i>you</i> do, if the woman you
+had engaged yourself to marry, proved
+to be a wanton? You would say she
+was not fit to be your wife, and you
+would be right. Until this stigma is
+lifted off me, I am not fit to become the
+wife of any honest man.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But it does not rest upon you, in <i>my</i>
+estimation,’ replied her companion. ‘I do
+not believe it; no one should ever make
+me do so except yourself. I would take
+your word against that of a thousand
+witnesses, Lizzie.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Thank you, thank you!’ she exclaimed,
+reddening with pleasure at the sound of
+his honest voice. ‘You are indeed a
+friend in the time of need. But Monsieur
+de Courcelles thinks otherwise. He
+has told me to my face that unless I will
+divulge the names of the parents of this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>
+child, everything between us must be at
+an end. And so it is at an end. I cannot
+break my word to the dead. Besides—there
+are other reasons why I should
+be true to my trust.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You will at least tell me one thing,
+Lizzie. You know to whom this child
+belongs, do you not? I ask it in your
+own interests.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I do.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Then go to them, my dear, and tell
+them the dilemma in which the promise
+you have given on their account has
+placed you. Ask them to release you
+from it. Surely no one could be so
+inhuman as to desire their shame (for
+I presume shame is at the bottom of
+this mystery) to spoil the life of an
+innocent woman? Oh! if I only knew
+their names myself, I would proclaim
+them far and wide, until I forced<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>
+them to release you from this cruel
+bondage.’</p>
+
+<p>‘It is <i>impossible</i>, Captain Norris!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Impossible for you to go to them?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Impossible that my going could do
+any good in the matter. I cannot rid
+myself of the blame, without shifting it
+on the shoulders of another, and that
+my oath forbids me to do. Pray leave
+me, Captain Norris. Leave me to bear
+it as best I may—<i>alone</i>! You heard
+what Mr Courtney has kindly proposed,—that
+I shall live on here, and continue
+my dear father’s work. I mean to do
+so, and if God spares the child, it shall
+live with me. The coloured people will
+not despise us. They have too many
+of such cases amongst themselves, and
+for the rest, I am strong enough to suffer
+without sinking under it.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But not <i>alone</i>, dear Lizzie!’ exclaimed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>
+Hugh Norris, taking her hand. ‘If your
+engagement to Monsieur de Courcelles
+is indeed broken off, let me speak again.
+You would not listen to me last week
+on <i>his</i> account; listen to me now on your
+own. Come to me, and let me fight the
+battle of life for all three of us—you
+and me and the child. If it were <i>really</i>
+your child, Lizzie, I should say the same.
+When I told you I loved you, I did not
+mean that I loved some ideal creature
+raised from my own imagination, but <i>you</i>—yourself,
+with all your faults (if you
+have faults) and follies (which cannot be
+greater than my own), and am willing
+to condone everything, for the privilege
+of loving you. Let me try to make you
+forget this sorrow. In England, amidst
+new scenes and new friends, you may
+learn to feel differently, even towards
+me, and look back on San Diego as a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>
+bad dream, that has passed away for
+ever.’</p>
+
+<p>Lizzie pressed his hand gratefully.</p>
+
+<p>‘How good you are to me,’ she answered,
+‘and how true! I am sure you
+will make the best and most loving of
+husbands, and some woman will be very
+happy with you. But that woman will
+not be <i>me</i>! I would not wrong you, my
+dear friend, by accepting your generous
+proposal. Why should I cast this
+shadow over your honourable life, or
+profess to offer you a heart not worthy of
+your acceptance? I love Henri de Courcelles!
+Ah! don’t shrink from me. I
+know he is unworthy and unjust, nor
+can I believe he has ever really cared
+for me; but he managed to win my
+love, and I cannot take it back from
+him so suddenly. By-and-by, perhaps,
+when this wound is somewhat healed,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>
+and time has enabled me to see more
+clearly, I shall be strong enough to
+shake off the fascination that enthralls
+me; but just now, I can only weep
+over its decay, as I weep over the grave
+of my lost father. And so you see
+how utterly unworthy I am of the noble
+offer you have made me.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Not in <i>my</i> eyes,’ persisted Hugh
+Norris. ‘I can never think of you but
+as the dearest and most self-sacrificing
+of women, and I shall keep the place
+in my heart open for you to my life’s
+end. But I will worry you no further
+now. Only say if I can do anything for
+you, Lizzie, before I go.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Nothing,’ she sighed. ‘Unless it be
+to come to see me again, and comfort
+me as you have done to-day.’</p>
+
+<p>His face brightened with pleasure at her
+proposal, and he acceded to it joyfully.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span>‘I will come up to-morrow if it will
+not be too soon,’ he answered. ‘I have
+not landed my coolies yet, and the
+<i>Trevelyan</i> may be in port for some
+weeks yet.’</p>
+
+<p>‘How is that?’ demanded Lizzie.</p>
+
+<p>‘On account of this fever, and also of
+the town riots. My consignee is afraid
+of both moral and physical infection.
+There was an attack planned on Government
+House last night, and only just
+discovered in time. The rebels had laid
+a train of gunpowder right under the
+state rooms. There would have been
+a fearful sacrifice of life had they succeeded.’</p>
+
+<p>‘How terrible! Were they caught?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Unfortunately they were not, for they
+got off to the Alligator Swamp as soon
+as the alarm was given. And no one
+dares follow them there: the danger is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>
+too great. They are watching outside
+it, however, and as soon as they come
+out, they will be killed or arrested.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Poor creatures,’ said Liz, with a
+shudder, ‘they will not be able to hold
+out long. Twelve hours in the Alligator
+Swamp is said to be certain death. Its
+poisonous atmosphere kills all those who
+escape the alligators. It is too fearful to
+think of.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes, I fancy the poor devils will be
+forced to surrender, and they will get
+no quarter from the Governor, Sir
+Russell Johnstone. He is in a great
+state of alarm about himself, and resolved
+to stamp the insurrection out at
+any cost.’</p>
+
+<p>‘One cannot blame him. It is a case
+in which the few must suffer for the
+many. Is the Governor a nice man,
+Captain Norris?’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>‘So-so. A very ordinary-looking
+Englishman,—more fit to till his own
+acres, I should imagine, than to govern
+a colony. He has certainly done little
+as yet to quell the ill-feeling in San
+Diego, which seems to be increasing
+every day. But I shall not be able to
+keep my coolies on board much longer.
+There are six hundred of them, and I
+shall not be sorry when their backs are
+turned. I have had enough of their
+company on the way from Calcutta.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But they will make a bad exchange,
+I expect, from the hold of the <i>Trevelyan</i>
+to the cotton and sugar plantations. I
+have heard poor father say you spoil
+your coolies, Captain Norris, and make
+them quite dissatisfied with their reception
+in the West Indies.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, that’s a libel!’ cried the young
+man, smiling. ‘I may have tried to make<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>
+their life aboard ship as little irksome
+as possible, but it has gone no further.
+But I am afraid they are mostly shipped
+under false pretences, and led to expect
+less work and more pay than they
+are ever likely to get in these islands.
+Their existence, at the best, is hardly
+worth living.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You are right there, and no one
+who has dwelt amongst them, as I have,
+could fail to sympathise with their
+troubles. They have much to bear,
+and little to compensate them for it.
+And with all their faults, they are a
+patient people, although very impulsive.
+That poor girl in the verandah did me
+a bad turn this morning, but she is
+ready to break her heart about it now.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Ah, Missy Liz, I’se <i>so</i> sorry!’ cried
+Rosa, who had overheard the words
+that concerned herself.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>‘But you can’t undo the mischief, you
+see, Rosa, so try and make up for it by
+being a faithful servant to your mistress
+now,’ said Hugh Norris, as he passed
+over the threshold on his way home.</p>
+
+<p>The yellow girl did not take correction
+from a stranger very well. She
+shrugged her shoulders, and pulled a
+face after the retreating form of Captain
+Norris, as she entered the bungalow with
+her infant charge.</p>
+
+<p>‘What business of that Massa Norris
+to speak me?’ she inquired, pouting.
+‘If he want to scold some one, he’d
+better go and find dat coolie girl Judy,
+what took the baby first. She’s a berry
+bad girl—rude and impident—with a
+tongue as long as an alligator’s.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Do you mean Mammy Lila’s granddaughter?’
+inquired Lizzie. ‘When did
+you see her, Rosa?’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>‘Oh! she’s big enough to be seen,
+Missy Liz, and she’s just as cunning
+as they’re made. Judy has left Shanty
+Hill now, and come to live alongside of
+her own people, and dis morning Massa
+Courcelles has given her work on the
+plantation. And dat gal’s tongue—how
+it <i>do</i> run!’</p>
+
+<p>‘About <i>me</i>, I suppose?’ said Liz
+bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes, Missy Liz—that’s just it—about
+you. Judy tells every one how you went
+up to Shanty Hill in the middle of the
+night wid dis poor little baby in your
+arms, and how you was so ill and weak
+you nearly tumbled down on de floor;
+and Mammy Lila took de baby, and you
+tell her, “<i>Silence and secrecy</i>,” which
+means, “Don’t tell nuffin to nobody on
+your life.”’</p>
+
+<p>‘And every one believes it was my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>
+own baby I took to Mammy Lila, Rosa,
+the same as you did?’</p>
+
+<p>‘What <i>can</i> they believe, Missy Liz?
+I didn’t know what to believe myself.
+Dere’s not too many quite white babies
+knocking about de island, you know, and
+dis little one has no coloured blood in
+it. Dat’s plain to be seen. And dat
+Judy is so impident. She’d say anything.
+She says she skeered you so
+when she brought the baby back agin
+when Mammy Lila died, dat you nearly
+fainted, and it was de shock and de
+trouble that has killed de poor Doctor
+right away.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Well, well, Rosa, don’t speak of it
+any more at present. It turns my heart
+sick to hear it. Take the infant into
+my room, and put it to bed. Judy’s
+talk, however untrue, can do me no
+further harm; and you mustn’t forget,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>
+whilst judging her, that you thought and
+said pretty much the same yourself.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Ah, yes, Missy Liz; but den I’se
+berry sorry, and I’ll be a good gal to
+you now,’ replied Rosa, with the nigger’s
+ready excuse for anything they may have
+done wrong.</p>
+
+<p>‘And I believe you, so let the matter
+rest,’ said Lizzie, as the yellow girl disappeared
+with the baby, and she sat
+down at the table, resting her head upon
+her hand.</p>
+
+<p>What a difference twenty-four hours
+had made in her life! Twenty-four hours
+ago she had possessed a father who loved
+her, a lover who respected her, friends
+who believed in her, a good name and
+a spotless reputation. Now, she seemed
+to have lost everything at one fell blow.
+Her father was gone, her lover lost, her
+friends stood afar off. She was publicly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>
+spoken of as an unmarried mother, and
+Maraquita’s sin was laid at her door.
+And she had no means of repudiating
+the scandal. Nothing but her bare word
+stood between her reputation and the
+world. Who would believe her? What
+woman would <i>not</i> deny such a crushing
+shame?</p>
+
+<p>Her solemn oath to her father, the
+fathomless obligation under which they
+stood to Mr Courtney, the awful consequences
+to their benefactor which must
+follow a revelation of the truth, stared
+Lizzie in the face, like giant obstacles
+that forbid her even attempting to surmount
+them. What would she and her
+dead father have been but for the generosity
+extended to them through life by
+the planter’s hand?</p>
+
+<p>He, a felon and a convict, and <i>she</i>,
+the daughter of a disgraced and dishonoured<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>
+man, pointed at by the finger
+of scorn, shunned by the community of
+the virtuous and honest, a pariah and an
+outcast amongst men. No wonder her
+father had exacted her silence and obedience
+at the price of her salvation.</p>
+
+<p>But would Maraquita be so untrue to
+all the instincts of honour and justice as
+to permit her adopted sister to continue to
+bear the shame which rightly belonged to
+herself? Liz remembered Hugh Norris’s
+advice to her to seek out the parents of
+the child, and beg them to clear her good
+name in the eyes of the world. The
+counsel was good. She only knew of
+Quita as the mother of the infant; but
+she could, at all events, secure an interview
+with her, and implore her to confess
+the truth to Mr and Mrs Courtney, and
+relieve her from so intolerable a burthen.
+Surely, thought Lizzie, if Quita knew what<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span>
+she was suffering—and likely to suffer—she
+could not have the heart to refuse
+her! Little Quita, whom she had held
+in her arms as a baby herself—who had
+learned to walk clinging to her hand—who
+had shared her girlish pleasures and
+sorrows with her, and told her all her
+secrets (except this last terrible one)—surely
+<i>Quita</i> would never blast her whole
+future in order to shield herself from the
+consequences of her sin!</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps she did not know about Henri
+de Courcelles! Liz had loved this man
+too deeply to talk upon the subject;
+and as the engagement had never been
+publicly ratified, Quita might not be
+aware of the cruel separation her guilt
+had caused between them. If she knew
+<i>that</i>—if she were told that some one
+whom Liz loved as fondly as ever <i>she</i>
+could have loved the father of her child<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>
+must be given up for ever, unless she
+spoke out—surely she would muster up
+courage to remove the heavy load she
+had laid upon her childhood’s friend.</p>
+
+<p>As Lizzie arrived at this conclusion,
+she lifted up her head and breathed more
+freely. A light was breaking through her
+darkness. Perhaps, after all, she had condemned
+her adopted sister too hastily, and
+should have waited to see her before she
+passed judgment. The time had been too
+short, and events had been too hurried, to
+enable Maraquita to do her justice. Perhaps
+she was even ignorant of the blame
+cast upon her; and with this last charitable
+thought of her adopted sister, and a resolution
+to see her on the first opportunity,
+Lizzie sought her bed, and tried to compose
+herself to sleep.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i049.jpg" alt=""></div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i050a.jpg" alt=""></div>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER III.</h2>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i050b.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="M">
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="drop-cap">M</span>ARAQUITA was lying in her
+silken hammock, swinging under
+the orange trees, and thinking
+over the events of the last few days.
+They had been important ones for her.
+The unexpected death of the Doctor had
+frightened her beyond measure, and more
+than ever did she feel that Henri de
+Courcelles owed it to her to make every
+exertion in his power to remove the
+proof of her shame from San Diego.
+Until that was done, she should have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span>
+no rest. But she was very undecided
+about Sir Russell Johnstone. She didn’t
+wish to marry him—all her heart (such
+as it was) was set on Henri de Courcelles—but
+yet she wanted to be the
+wife of the Governor of San Diego, and
+certain hints from her mother had shown
+her it would be the best, and perhaps
+the only way, to get out of the scrape
+she was in. And if she refused Sir
+Russell Johnstone, it would be all the
+same; her parents would never consent
+to her marrying Monsieur de Courcelles.</p>
+
+<p>Maraquita tossed to and fro as she
+thought over these things, and made the
+hammock swing as far as its cords
+would admit, till the orange blossoms
+and their glossy leaves swept across her
+face, and old Jessica, who was watching
+from below as usual, called out to her
+young mistress to take care. Quita was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>
+trying to argue the matter out with herself
+(as silly people will) so as to make
+the pieces of the puzzle fit each other
+and please everybody all round, being
+too blind or too selfish, meanwhile, to
+see that the only person she was really
+bent on pleasing was herself. She believed
+that in a very few days she would
+be called upon to decide the matter, for
+her mother had received a letter from
+the Governor to ask if her daughter had
+returned to the White House, but she
+was hardly prepared, as she lay there
+that morning, to see Sir Russell’s
+barouche, with its pair of English
+horses, and its outriders, dash up the
+drive, and stop before the portals of
+her home. She flushed so rosy at the
+sight, that Jessica observed her emotion.</p>
+
+<p>‘Dat only de Governor, missy, come
+to see Massa Courtney. De Governor’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>
+a fine gennelman, isn’t he, missy? Got
+beautiful coat and trousers and waistcoat
+on, and fine whiskers, and nice red face.
+Dat Government House a beautiful place,
+too, and dat carriage lovely. I’d like to
+see my missy in a carriage like dat, wid
+fine English horses, and coachman, and
+all.’</p>
+
+<p>‘What nonsense you are talking, Jessica,’
+said Quita querulously, as she
+turned her head away. ‘Papa’s carriage
+is quite good enough for me, and I
+don’t want any other.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Ah, but some day my missy marry
+fine gennelman, and have everyting dat’s
+nice and beautiful. Not one of dese
+island fellers—overseers and such like,’
+continued the negress contemptuously,
+‘with half de blood black in their veins,
+but a real English gennelman, with
+plenty money, and all white blood.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>Maraquita reddened, and yawned, and
+turned pettishly away. She knew well
+enough to whom old Jessica was alluding,
+and she resented the hint as an
+impertinence.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Sir Russell Johnstone had
+rushed into the presence of Mr and Mrs
+Courtney.</p>
+
+<p>‘Fancy, my dear sir,’ he was exclaiming,
+‘that yesterday the police actually
+discovered a train of gunpowder laid
+right under the banqueting-room of
+Government House! Had it not been
+for their vigilance, at the next dinner-party
+I gave, we might all have been
+blown up—I, you, your wife, even your
+lovely daughter. It is too horrible a
+catastrophe to contemplate!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Horrible indeed!’ echoed his host.
+‘But are you sure that all is now safe?
+Has a thorough search been made?’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>‘They tell me so, and that I need have
+no further alarm. But it has shaken my
+nerves, I can tell you that. And the
+delinquents are not caught either, though
+the native police are on the alert.’</p>
+
+<p>‘How is that?’</p>
+
+<p>‘They have escaped to the Alligator
+Swamp; though why they can’t pursue
+them there, beats me altogether.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Ah, my dear Sir Russell,’ cried Mr
+Courtney, ‘you don’t know what the
+Alligator Swamp is like, or you would
+not be surprised. Even a negro will not
+venture to enter it, unless he is in fear
+of his life. It is a regular morass of
+green slime. It is impossible to tell at
+each step you take whether you will sink
+to the bottom of it or not; and it is infested
+with alligators or caymen of the
+largest and most ferocious breed. No
+living creatures but the caymen could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>
+breathe such an atmosphere; for the
+green swamp raises poisonous fungi, the
+vapours alone of which are almost certain
+death. These wretches who have
+plotted against your life cannot possibly
+escape punishment. If they do not fall
+into the hands of the police, they will
+certainly die, the victims of the pestilential
+atmosphere of the Alligator
+Swamp.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I am glad to hear it,’ replied the
+Governor, who was a short, stout man
+of ordinary appearance, and with rather
+a round and rosy face, ‘for I don’t consider
+my appointment worth the risk of
+being blown up. The island seems to
+me to be in a regular state of rebellion,
+and I don’t like it. If any more plots
+against my safety are discovered, I shall
+resign, and return to England. Her
+Majesty would be the last person to wish<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span>
+me to remain if there is the slightest fear
+of danger.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, there must not be—there <i>shall</i> not
+be!’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney pathetically,
+as the pictures of a retreating Governor
+and a lost son-in-law floated before her
+mental vision. ‘These wretches must be
+brought to judgment, and executed. I
+would have them all hanged, if I were
+you, Sir Russell. The idea of their
+attempting such an outrage! Hanging
+would be too good for them.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I am not sure if I <i>can</i> hang them;
+but, if so, you may be sure I will,’ rejoined
+the Governor. ‘Why, it makes a
+man quite nervous of going to his bed.
+It’s absurd—ridiculous—an insult to the
+British Government!’</p>
+
+<p>‘It must be stamped out at any cost,’
+said Mr Courtney; ‘and until it is—until
+things are more settled—if you would like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>
+to vacate Government House for a little
+while, and would accept the hospitality
+of Beauregard, Sir Russell, why, all I
+can say is, that everything I possess
+(humble as it may be) is at your service.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But wouldn’t they say I had run
+away?’ replied the Governor. ‘I should
+like it above all things, but the papers
+have been rather spiteful about me of
+late, and I am afraid they would declare
+I had shown the white feather.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But you must think of your own
+safety—<i>that</i> is the first consideration,
+surely!’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney. ‘And
+you must think of others too, Sir Russell,—of
+those who care for you. My poor
+Maraquita will be in a fever of anxiety
+as soon as she hears this news.’</p>
+
+<p>She had begun to be afraid that
+his own peril had somewhat displaced
+Maraquita from the Governor’s thoughts,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>
+and the idea that he might even be
+frightened out of San Diego without
+fulfilling his promise, filled her with
+alarm. She determined that if possible
+the engagement should be ratified at once,
+and then, if anything further happened
+to frighten Sir Russell back to England,
+he would be compelled to take his wife
+with him. Her <i>ruse</i> had the desired
+effect, and the mention of her daughter
+turned the Governor’s thoughts in another
+direction.</p>
+
+<p>‘Ah, the beautiful Miss Courtney.
+Pray don’t think that I have forgotten
+her, in the exercise of my functions.
+To quell this native rebellion is the
+first duty I owe to my Queen and
+country, but my heart has been at the
+White House, my dear madam, all
+the time. How is your sweet daughter?
+Have you told her of my proposal?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>
+Is it possible I may have the great
+pleasure of seeing her?’</p>
+
+<p>Mrs Courtney was not quite sure
+what to answer. She glanced at her
+husband, but he was standing with his
+back to her, and would make no sign,
+so she was thrown upon her own resources.
+Yet she was a woman, and
+when it is a matter of <i>finesse</i>, when
+do a woman’s resources fail?</p>
+
+<p>‘She is better, dear Sir Russell—much
+better, almost well, in fact, but
+still weak, and unequal to any exertion.
+I <i>did</i> try to approach the subject
+of your most flattering proposal to
+her on her return home, but her agitation
+became so great, I was forced to
+relinquish it. You must not condemn
+her weakness. The prospect is a very
+dazzling one to a simple and innocent
+girl like our Maraquita.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span>‘Do you mean to tell me, then, that
+she is favourably disposed towards me?’
+inquired the Governor excitedly.</p>
+
+<p>It is true that he was a Governor,
+and would perhaps have been somewhat
+surprised at any woman in San Diego
+refusing his suit. But at the same time
+he was fifty years of age, stout, bald,
+and past the age of romance, and it
+was enough to make any such man
+excited, to hear that a pure and lovely
+girl of eighteen was ready and eager
+to fly into his arms. He was quite
+aware of the value of the position he
+had to offer to the planter’s daughter,
+but he was conceited enough to be
+gulled into the belief that she could
+actually fall in love with him, more than
+with the advantages which a marriage
+with him would entail. His rosy face
+became rubicund with expectant pleasure,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>
+and he already saw himself with
+the most beautiful woman in San Diego
+folded in his embrace.</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>Favourably disposed!</i>’ echoed Mrs
+Courtney. ‘My dear Sir Russell, that
+is not the word! Maraquita is overpowered
+by the preference you have
+shown towards her, only too shy to offer
+you her timid girlish love in return.
+She is so afraid she can give you nothing
+worth the having in exchange for
+your noble proposal to make her your
+wife.’</p>
+
+<p>‘If she will give me <i>herself</i>, it is all
+I ask,’ returned the Governor. ‘And
+now, tell me, may I see her, and plead
+my cause in person?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Sir Russell, one moment!’ cried
+Mrs Courtney, hurriedly. ‘Let Mr
+Courtney offer you some refreshment,
+whilst I prepare our sweet girl for your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span>
+visit. You do not know how shy and
+sensitive she is. The very mention of
+marriage makes her blush. Let me go
+to my child, and when she is calm
+enough to receive you, I will return and
+tell you so.’</p>
+
+<p>‘As you please, my dear madam, but
+don’t try my patience too far. Mr
+Courtney and I will have a cigar together,
+and talk over our plans for the
+future, whilst you are gone.’ And with
+a courtly bow to his hostess, Sir Russell
+let her leave the room.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs Courtney hastened at once to
+Maraquita’s side. <i>Hastened</i> is not
+exactly the word for the ungraceful
+waddle which she used when she wished
+to expedite her footsteps, but she walked
+as fast as her unwieldy form would
+permit her, to the shady spot where
+Quita’s hammock swung under the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>
+orange trees, and having dismissed
+Jessica to the house, she entered at once
+upon her subject.</p>
+
+<p>‘Quita, my darling, Sir Russell Johnstone
+has come for your answer to his
+proposal.’</p>
+
+<p>She was clever in her own way, this
+half-educated, half-bred Spanish woman.
+She knew that if she gave Quita time
+to reflect, she would probably think of
+a way out of the dilemma in which she
+found herself, or consult her lover, and
+be persuaded perhaps to elope with him,
+and ruin her prospects for ever. She
+had read enough of her daughter’s mind
+on the first day she returned home, to
+see that all her inclinations were opposed
+to marrying Sir Russell Johnstone,
+and if she were persuaded to
+consent to it, it must be through <i>finesse</i>,
+or an appeal to her ambition. What<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span>
+Mrs Courtney wanted now, was to hurry
+Maraquita into accepting the Governor’s
+proposal, and make her so far commit
+herself that she could not back out of
+it afterwards. And she had good materials
+to work upon, for Maraquita was
+a youthful copy of her mother, as vain,
+and selfish, and indolent, and heartless,
+and as fond of luxuries and the good
+things of this life. But she was considerably
+startled at hearing she had to
+make up her mind so soon, and her
+large dark eyes—so like those of a deer—opened
+wide with consternation and
+alarm.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, mother! Surely I need not give
+him an answer to-day. It is so very soon.
+I have had no time to think about it.’</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>No time to think about it!</i>’ echoed Mrs
+Courtney; ‘why, the case is plain enough.
+What thinking does it require? Sir<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>
+Russell offers to make you Lady Johnstone,
+and the mistress of Government
+House. He has an income of many
+thousands a year, and your father will
+settle a handsome dowry on you if you
+marry him. You will be the richest
+woman, and the woman of highest rank,
+in San Diego, and every soul in the island
+will exclaim at your good fortune. What
+more, in the name of Heaven, do you
+want, Maraquita?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I am so afraid I sha’n’t love him,’
+sighed the girl, with a last remnant of
+womanly feeling.</p>
+
+<p>‘Very well,’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney,
+turning her back upon her daughter, and
+professing to be about to leave her, ‘I
+will go and tell Sir Russell, and at once!
+He is waiting your answer, and I can’t
+keep a Governor on tenterhooks for hours.
+If you refuse him, he says he is going<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>
+back to England by the next steamer,
+and shall never return here, as he is sick
+of San Diego, and will only stay on condition
+you become his wife. But as you
+won’t try to love him, it is of no use.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Stay, mother, stay!’ cried Quita
+hurriedly; ‘don’t go just yet. Wait one
+moment, and speak to me. Is it <i>really</i>
+true that Sir Russell will leave San Diego
+if I don’t marry him?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Didn’t I say so, Maraquita. He declares
+that nothing shall make him stay; and if
+he returns, it will be with a Lady Johnstone
+to preside over Government House for
+him. He will marry an English girl, and
+you will have the mortification of seeing
+some woman, with half your beauty, enjoying
+all the advantages you have been
+fool enough to refuse. Quita, I have no
+patience with you.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But, mamma—mamma, I haven’t refused<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>
+him. I don’t <i>mean</i> to refuse him!
+If (as you say) I must make up my
+mind at once, I <i>have</i> made it up! I
+accept Sir Russell’s proposal, and you
+can go and tell him so.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, my darling girl!’ exclaimed Mrs
+Courtney effusively, ‘I was sure you would
+see this grand prospect in its proper light
+at last. How proud and delighted your
+father will be to hear your decision. But
+you must give Sir Russell his answer in
+person, my love. You must let me bring
+him here, and tell him yourself that you
+will be his wife.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But I am not fit to see any one. I am
+so untidy!’ cried Quita, jumping out of her
+hammock, and standing before her mother.</p>
+
+<p>She was clothed in a long loose robe, of
+saffron colour, with hanging sleeves, that
+showed her white arms, and a belt that
+spanned her slender waist. Her dusky<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span>
+hair lay in a rippling mass upon her
+shoulders, and her fair face was flushed
+with excitement, and perhaps regret. She
+had never looked more lovely in her life,
+and Mrs Courtney regarded her with
+pardonable pride and admiration.</p>
+
+<p>‘You are charming, my dear! I will
+not have you wait to make a single alteration
+in your dress; and Sir Russell is so
+impatient, that he will readily pardon the
+negligence of your morning attire. He
+knows you have been ill, and are disinclined
+for much exertion. Sit down in
+this chair, Quita, and I will bring him to
+you in another minute. Oh, my dear
+child,’ concluded Mrs Courtney, with a
+close embrace, ‘how thankful I am that all
+is about to end so happily for you! You
+have half killed me by your thoughtlessness
+and imprudence.’</p>
+
+<p>There were genuine tears in her mother’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>
+eyes as she pronounced the words, and
+Quita felt for the first time, perhaps, what
+a terrible risk she had run.</p>
+
+<p>‘Never mind, mamma!’ she whispered,
+‘it is over now, and <i>he</i>—he has promised me
+that I shall never hear anything more about
+it. Let us try and forget it ever occurred.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes, my dearest girl, that is just what
+you must do. Blot out the past, like a
+hideous dream. It has been a terrible
+experience for you, and so long as you
+remained unmarried, I should always have
+trembled for your safety. But now—as
+the wife of the Governor, my dear child’s
+future is assured, and we will never mention
+the hateful subject again—not even to
+each other.’</p>
+
+<p>‘No! and, mamma, you told me the
+other day that (excepting for certain reasons)
+you would have had some changes
+made on the plantation. Couldn’t you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>
+manage to have those changes made now.
+Not too suddenly, you know, so as to
+excite suspicion, but as if they were
+brought about in the natural course of
+events. Can’t you persuade papa,’ said
+Maraquita, hiding her face in her mother’s
+bosom, ‘to engage a—a—new overseer?
+It would be better for all of us.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You are quite right, my darling,’
+whispered Mrs Courtney back again, ‘and
+I am glad you have so much sense.
+Trust me, dear, that you shall not be
+annoyed in this matter. As soon as your
+marriage is settled, I will take you up
+on the hill range for change of air, and
+before you return we will have done
+what you suggest. I have a dozen good
+reasons to give your father for engaging
+some one else in that person’s place.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Don’t be harsh with him,’ faltered
+Maraquita; ‘remember that—that—’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>But this was a dangerous topic, on
+which Mrs Courtney did not choose to
+dilate.</p>
+
+<p>‘I can remember nothing now, my
+dear, except that Sir Russell is waiting
+for your answer, and that I must go and
+fetch him to you. Now, be a woman,
+Maraquita! Think of all you owe to
+yourself, and the brilliant future that lies
+before you! I really believe I should go
+out of my mind with grief if anything
+happened to prevent it.’</p>
+
+<p>Mrs Courtney walked back to the
+house as quickly as she was able, and
+Maraquita lay in the bamboo chair,
+with her eyes closed, and the unshed tears
+trembling like dewdrops on her long dark
+lashes. She had not to wait long! In
+another minute her mother had returned,
+in company with the Governor, and Quita
+had to disperse the vision of her handsome<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span>
+Spanish lover, with his graceful form
+and romantic bearing, and open her eyes
+upon a stout and pursy little Englishman,
+with a bald head and uninteresting features,
+and legs too short for his body.</p>
+
+<p>But there was no mistaking the expression
+of his beaming face, and the girl saw
+at a glance that the matter had been concluded
+for her, and she was already in
+his eyes the future Lady Johnstone.</p>
+
+<p>‘My dear Miss Courtney—may I not
+say my dear Maraquita?’ he commenced,
+‘I cannot tell you how flattered I feel
+by your kind acceptance of my offer, nor
+how much I hope it will be the forerunner
+of our life-long happiness.’</p>
+
+<p>He raised the hand she extended,
+to his lips as he spoke, and she felt
+compelled to reply, in a faltering
+voice,—</p>
+
+<p>‘I hope it will—’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span>‘I won’t hear of any doubts about it,’
+exclaimed Mrs Courtney triumphantly. ‘I
+feel <i>sure</i>, Sir Russell, that my sweet child’s
+happiness is safe in your hands; and as for
+yours—why, if the affection and duty of
+a simple and innocent girl can secure it,
+it will be as safe as her own. You must
+not forget, my dear sir, that you have
+chosen to honour a very young girl—almost
+a child—with your preference,
+and will, I know, make allowance for
+any faults that may arise from ignorance
+of the world and of society.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I know that I have chosen the loveliest
+and sweetest girl in San Diego!’
+cried the Governor enthusiastically, ‘and
+that it will be the aim of my life to surround
+her with every luxury and pleasure
+that I can afford; and as for her faults,
+I shall never see any to make allowance
+for.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>‘Oh, Sir Russell,’ replied Mrs Courtney,
+in the same strain, ‘you must not
+spoil my child! I know myself that her
+chief fault is that which will mend every
+day; still she is <i>very</i> young—there is no
+denying that—and will often need a little
+kindly counsel as to how she should act
+in her high position.’</p>
+
+<p>‘She will only need to be herself, and
+to act on her own impulses, to make the
+most charming hostess that ever presided
+at the Government House. But we have
+not yet spoken of when the marriage
+is to take place, Mrs Courtney,—and I
+hope you will persuade Maraquita not
+to keep me waiting too long.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You are very impatient,’ she replied,
+smiling, ‘but you must not forget that
+my dear child has been ill, and is still
+very weak and fragile. Still, if you make
+a point of it, I am sure neither Mr Courtney<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span>
+nor myself will stand in the way of a
+speedy wedding.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But what will Miss Maraquita say?’
+demanded the Governor, bending over
+her.</p>
+
+<p>‘My mother can decide for me,’ she
+murmured faintly. ‘I have never disobeyed
+you yet, mamma, have I?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Never! my dear, never! You have
+been the best and most dutiful of
+daughters, and deferred to your parents’
+wishes in all things—’</p>
+
+<p>But here the remembrance of certain
+late events put a sudden stop to Mrs
+Courtney’s eloquence, and she watched
+the crimson blood that rose to Quita’s
+cheek, in alarm. The girl was still weak:
+it was dangerous to provoke an emotion
+which she might find it impossible to
+quell.</p>
+
+<p>‘But I think we have discussed this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span>
+exciting topic sufficiently for to-day,’ she
+continued. ‘Maraquita is easily upset,
+and I should be sorry to see her thrown
+back again. Will you settle the knotty
+question of the wedding-day with me,
+Sir Russell, after you have finished talking
+to my daughter? I don’t fancy you
+will find there are many difficulties in
+the way—but we must think first
+of Maraquita’s strength, and how we
+can restore it for the important occasion.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Certainly! that is the chief consideration,’
+replied Sir Russell; ‘what do you
+propose to do about it?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I was thinking of taking her up to
+the hill range for a week, to escape these
+enervating land breezes. I think a little
+change would do her more good than
+anything else.’</p>
+
+<p>‘The very thing!’ exclaimed Sir Russell,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>
+‘and you can have the use of the Government
+Bungalow, and all that is in it.
+When will you start? To-morrow? If
+so, I will send word at once to have
+everything in readiness for your reception.
+Don’t trouble yourself about taking your
+carriage and horses, mine will be there,
+and at your entire disposal. And I trust
+that after the rest of a day or two, Maraquita
+will permit me to join your party,
+and accompany her on her excursions in
+search of health. I have an Arab pony
+that carries a lady to perfection, and, with
+your leave, I will send it up for her use.
+What does my <i>fiancée</i> say? Does my
+proposal meet with her approval?’</p>
+
+<p>‘She would be a very ungrateful girl,
+and very hard to please, if it did not,’
+said her mother, answering for her; and
+then perceiving that Quita’s self-command
+was almost at an end, and that she was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>
+on the point of breaking down, she added
+playfully,—</p>
+
+<p>‘And now I am going to be hard-hearted
+and carry you off, Sir Russell, for
+my poor child is overcome with all this
+excitement, and unable to bear any more
+at present. Please be good, and return
+with me to the White House; and if you
+will call upon us again this evening, I
+have no doubt she will be calmer, and
+better able to thank you for all your kind
+offers on her behalf.’</p>
+
+<p>The Governor rose at once (for he was
+a gentleman, although he was ugly and
+ill-formed), and took his leave. As he
+did so, he stooped down and kissed
+Maraquita on the cheek. It was not an
+out-of-the-way thing for a newly-accepted
+lover to do, but the salute, quietly as it
+was given, seemed to sting her. She
+did not resent it whilst her mother and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span>
+Sir Russell Johnstone were in sight, but
+as soon as the doors of the White House
+had closed upon them, she hid her face
+in her hands, and burst into a flood of
+tears.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i080.jpg" alt=""></div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i081a.jpg" alt=""></div>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IV.</h2>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i081b.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="S">
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="drop-cap">S</span>HE was still weeping quietly,
+when the branches of the
+orange tree which formed a
+leafy bower around her, were parted, and
+a voice exclaimed, with passionate intensity,—</p>
+
+<p>‘Maraquita!’</p>
+
+<p>The girl sprang to her feet without
+any effort to conceal her tears. Henri
+de Courcelles stood beside her.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, go!’ she implored, ‘go at once.
+You don’t know the risk you are running.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span>
+My mother suspects us, and she may be
+back in another moment. For <i>my</i> sake,
+Henri, go.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Not unless you will tell me the cause
+of your grief. Is it because this burden
+is too heavy for you? If so, come with
+me, and let us share it, and fight the
+world together.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I cannot talk with you about it now,
+Henri,’ replied Maraquita, with a look
+of alarm; ‘it is impossible. You <i>must</i>
+leave me. I see Jessica coming from
+the house.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Then where will you meet me, for
+I shall not rest until you have satisfied
+my curiosity; besides, I have important
+news for you about—it.’</p>
+
+<p>This intelligence made Quita change
+her mind. She was intensely anxious
+to have the assurance of her own complete
+safety, and she could be cunning<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span>
+enough where her inclinations were concerned.</p>
+
+<p>‘Have you done—what I asked you?’
+she gasped.</p>
+
+<p>‘I have made everything right, but
+I cannot explain the matter to you in a
+moment, nor where there is any fear of
+our being overheard.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Wait for me in the oleander thicket,
+then,’ cried Maraquita. ‘I will be there
+in five minutes.’</p>
+
+<p>Henri de Courcelles nodded acquiescence,
+and disappeared as old Jessica came
+up to her young mistress.</p>
+
+<p>‘Missus Courtney send me to ask if my
+missy like to have someting to eat and
+drink now; and will missy come back to
+de house, or will she have it brought out
+here under de trees?’ asked the negress.</p>
+
+<p>‘Neither, Jessica. Tell mamma I am
+not hungry or thirsty, only very sleepy,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span>
+and I want to be left alone for an hour
+or two. I can call you when I wake.’</p>
+
+<p>‘If missy sleepy, better come and
+sleep in house,’ urged Jessica. ‘So
+many flies and ’skeeters about here.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I wish you would let me do as I
+like, Jessica,’ said Quita, ‘and keep your
+suggestions to yourself.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I’se very sorry, missy. I won’t say
+any more, only stop here and keep off
+de flies and tings from your face.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You’re enough to drive a saint mad!’
+cried Maraquita, stamping her foot.
+‘Didn’t I tell you I wanted to be left
+alone? What is it to you if I like flies
+and mosquitoes buzzing about me? Go
+back to the house, and don’t come near
+me again till I give you leave.’</p>
+
+<p>The old nurse obeyed without a murmur;
+but she <i>did</i> murmur, for all that.
+The coloured people are very secretive,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>
+and can assume an appearance of complete
+innocence, all the time they are
+cognisant of their employer’s most important
+secrets.</p>
+
+<p>‘Ah! my poor little missy,’ muttered
+Jessica to herself, as she shambled on
+her bare flat feet towards the house, ‘you
+think ole black nurse blind, but she see
+too well. She know all about de baby
+at Doctor’s bungalow, and who’s de fader
+and moder of it, as well as you. And
+she will see her little missy revenged,
+before many moons is ober her head, into
+de bargain. Cuss dat oberseer!’</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Maraquita, having watched
+Jessica into the house, through the
+branches of the orange tree, stole out
+the opposite side, and, keeping well out
+of view of the windows, took her way
+towards the oleander thicket, which lay
+between her home and De Courcelles’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>
+bungalow. It was a wild patch of
+flowering shrubs, densely planted together,
+and forming a sufficient ambush
+to conceal any number of persons from
+the public gaze. There was a wooden
+bench in one part of it, where Maraquita
+and De Courcelles had often held their
+moonlight trysts together; and there she
+found him eager to tell his news, and
+claim his reward.</p>
+
+<p>Quita sunk down upon the bench, and
+trembled. She was not only weak from
+her recent illness, but she dreaded the
+scene which might follow the impending
+revelation.</p>
+
+<p>‘You are far from well yet, my Quita,’
+said Henri de Courcelles, as he folded his
+arms about her trembling form; ‘but I
+have something to tell you which will
+set your mind at rest.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Tell it to me quickly, then,’ rejoined<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span>
+Maraquita. ‘Have you sent it out of the
+island? Are you <i>sure</i> I shall never hear
+of it again?’</p>
+
+<p>‘No, I cannot quite promise you that,’
+replied De Courcelles, with an intuitive
+disgust (even in the midst of his passion)
+for her undisguised selfishness. ‘It has
+never been in my hands, so it was impossible
+I could form any plans for it.
+But circumstances have fallen out so
+fortunately, that I don’t see any chance
+of suspicion falling upon <i>you</i>.’</p>
+
+<p>‘What do you mean? I don’t understand
+you,’ said Quita pettishly. ‘If it
+is to remain in San Diego, the secret
+may come out any day, and my only
+safety will be in leaving the island.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Wait a moment, dearest, and listen to
+me. It seems that the day before the
+Doctor’s death, he brought the child
+home to his bungalow, where it now is—’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>‘With Lizzie? In the bungalow?’
+cried Quita, turning ashy pale. ‘Oh, my
+God! then all is over, and I am lost!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Hush! hush! Maraquita. Nothing of
+the sort. Liz refuses to say a word upon
+the subject. <i>I</i> have questioned her narrowly;
+so has your father; and all she
+will answer is that before his death Dr
+Fellows extracted a solemn oath from her
+never to disclose anything concerning the
+child, and that her lips are sealed.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, but it will come out; it is sure
+to come out some day!’ exclaimed Quita,
+weeping, as she wrung her hands in
+abject fear. ‘You have ruined me, Henri!
+You have destroyed all my future prospects!
+I shall be branded for ever as
+a dishonest woman!’</p>
+
+<p>‘But it is impossible! All the plantation—I
+may say all San Diego—already
+believes the child to be Lizzie’s own.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span>Maraquita stared at him in astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>‘They believe <i>that</i>! But what does
+Lizzie say?’</p>
+
+<p>‘She can say nothing! Her lips are
+sealed by her oath!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Some day the shame may prove too
+hard to bear, and they will be forced
+open.’</p>
+
+<p>‘It will be too late then to assert her
+innocence. The world of San Diego is
+quite convinced by this time that she is
+the mother of the infant, and her attempts
+to cast the blame on you will only appear
+to be an impudent subterfuge. She has
+no proof—or witness—to bring forward
+in confirmation of the truth.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Poor Lizzie,’ said Quita, in a low voice,
+visions of past kindnesses on the part of
+her adopted sister, and of a faithful life-long
+affection, floated before her mind, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span>
+made her tremble. Something—was it
+the last effort made by her Good Angel
+in her behalf—seemed to rise within her
+heart, and prompt her to cry out that <i>it
+must not be</i>, that she <i>could</i> not be guilty
+of this dreadful wrong, and let her just
+burthen lie on the shoulders of an innocent
+woman. But then she remembered
+the shame and the disgrace that would
+ensue to her, and how her parents would
+despise and reproach her, and Sir Russell
+Johnstone would refuse to make her his
+wife, and moral cowardice made her shiver
+and remain silent.</p>
+
+<p>‘Ay! poor Lizzie,’ echoed De Courcelles.
+‘I am really sorry for the girl;
+but what can be done? It is a choice
+between two evils. Either <i>she</i> must be
+sacrificed, or my peerless Maraquita. Do
+you suppose I could hesitate between
+them? There is one thing to be said,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>
+however. Lizzie is not in your position.
+She will not feel the disgrace so keenly
+as you would. And, before long, Maraquita,
+we may be able to relieve her of
+her burthen.’</p>
+
+<p>Maraquita did not like the last allusion.</p>
+
+<p>‘I don’t see <i>how</i>,’ she answered lamely.</p>
+
+<p>‘Have you forgotten, then, what you
+promised, when you asked me to assist
+you to escape the inevitable blame of the
+consequences of our mutual love,—that, if
+your parents refused to sanction our marriage,
+you would elope with me to Santa
+Lucia, and not return until we were man
+and wife in the eyes of the law, as we
+are now in the eyes of Heaven?’</p>
+
+<p>‘But you have <i>not</i> done as I asked
+you,’ she replied evasively. ‘I don’t see
+that you have done anything. <i>It</i> is still
+here, closer at hand even than I thought
+it was, and (whatever you may say) liable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>
+at any moment to be brought home to
+my door. And there is another danger,
+Henri. Mamma has discovered our secret—how,
+I am unable to say, but she has
+told me so pretty plainly, and also that
+she will keep it only on one condition—’</p>
+
+<p>‘And that is—’</p>
+
+<p>‘That I accept the proposals of Sir
+Russell Johnstone.’</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>You shall not!</i>’ cried her lover indignantly.
+‘I will not stand by quietly
+and see the woman I consider <i>my wife</i>
+handed over to that bald-headed old
+Governor. I will go straight up to
+Mr Courtney sooner, and confess the
+truth, and ask his pardon for what I
+have done. Surely he would never
+wish you to marry another man, if he
+knew what has taken place between us.
+And if he persists in dragging you to
+the altar, I will tear you from your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>
+bridegroom’s arms, and stab you to the
+heart, before he shall claim what is
+mine.’</p>
+
+<p>Quita’s star-like eyes dilated with
+terror. She knew something of what
+the Spanish and Creole blood is capable
+of doing when roused, and foresaw
+bloodshed—perhaps murder—if Henri de
+Courcelles did not have his own way.
+And yet, to give up the brilliant prospect
+before her, in order to become an
+overseer’s wife, and one whose maiden
+reputation would be lightly spoken of,
+seemed to be impossible. Why had
+she ever entangled her feet in a net
+which threatened to drag her down to
+a life of obloquy and shame? To what
+friend could she turn in her great need?
+Suddenly the idea flashed across her
+mind that she would confess everything
+to her mother. Mrs Courtney already<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span>
+knew (or had guessed) the truth, and
+counselled her daughter on the best
+mode of escaping its results. She was
+very anxious to see Maraquita Lady
+Johnstone. If making a clean breast
+of her secret brought a certain amount
+of recrimination on her head, it would at
+the same time secure her an ally with
+whom to fight this terrible battle for a
+name and a position in life. For the
+first time hope and comfort seemed to
+enter her breast. If her mother were
+on her side, she felt she could defy
+Henri de Courcelles, and Liz Fellows,
+and the world. All their assertions
+would be taken as impudent lies, and
+only secure their own immediate banishment
+from Beauregard. But, meanwhile,
+her lover must be quieted and conciliated,
+and Maraquita knew how to
+do it full well. She had scarcely conceived<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span>
+the notion how to act in the
+future, before her white arms were
+wreathed about his neck.</p>
+
+<p>‘Henri,’ she cried, with her lips to his,
+‘don’t speak to me like that! Don’t think
+of such a thing, for Heaven’s sake! Do
+you imagine that <i>I</i> would ever consent
+to be placed in such a position, or
+that any amount of tyranny would make
+me marry a man against my will? Let
+the worst come to the worst, dear; let
+mamma tell my father of our intrigue;
+it will only result in your having to
+leave San Diego. Whether <i>I</i> shall be
+able to go too, remains to be proved.
+I am under age, you know, and if papa
+chooses to lock me up, or send me to
+England, I suppose he can. But even
+<i>that</i> will be better than being forced to
+marry a man I don’t love; and you
+know that I shall always remember<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span>
+you, dearest, and think of the time
+that is past, as the happiest portion of
+my life.’</p>
+
+<p>Henri de Courcelles looked sullen and
+suspicious. The clasping arms were very
+sweet, and the ripe lips very tempting,
+but there was a false ring in Quita’s
+speech, which made itself apparent to his
+senses, although his judgment could not
+detect it. There was no fault to be
+found with her words, yet they inspired
+him with distrust, and he felt certain
+that she was betraying whilst she kissed
+him.</p>
+
+<p>‘I don’t know what to think of you,
+Maraquita,’ he said presently. ‘I suppose
+you love me, in your way, but you
+seem very ready to fall in with your
+parents’ plans to get rid of me.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But what <i>could</i> I do, Henri, if my
+father was determined to separate us?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span>
+Am I not completely in his power?
+Our only chance appears to me to
+lie in secrecy, and yet you speak as
+if you would disclose the affair to all
+San Diego.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And if I hold my tongue and remain
+quiet, what then? You will marry Sir
+Russell Johnstone before my very eyes,
+and I shall have to grin and bear it.’</p>
+
+<p>‘We are the most unfortunate people
+in the world’, sighed Maraquita, with
+mock sentimentality.</p>
+
+<p>‘You mean that <i>I</i> am the most unfortunate
+man in the world, ever to have
+set my heart on a girl who doesn’t care
+two straws for me. I can see through
+you now, Maraquita. You were willing
+enough to commit the sin, but you are
+too great a coward to face the consequences
+of it. You have deceived and
+disobeyed your parents over and over<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span>
+again, when it suited your pleasure to do
+so, but when it comes to a question of
+marrying the man you profess to love,
+you take refuge behind the transparent
+screen of filial duty and affection. I was
+good enough for your lover, it appears,
+but I am <i>not</i> good enough to be your
+husband. You have higher views in
+prospect for yourself, and I may go anywhere,—be
+kicked out of my appointment,
+and cast homeless on San Diego—what
+does it signify to you, so long
+as you become Lady Johnstone, and
+have plenty to eat and drink, and a
+spotless reputation. But it shall not be!
+You have made yourself <i>mine</i>, and I
+refuse to give you up. If you attempt
+to become the wife of any other man,
+whether in deference to your parents’
+wishes, or your own, I will blast your
+name from north to south, till the commonest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>
+fellow on the island would refuse
+to give you his. Every black in San
+Diego shall know <i>what</i> you are, a light
+love, a false woman, and a heartless mother.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You shall not—<i>you dare not</i>!’ gasped
+Maraquita, now thoroughly frightened.</p>
+
+<p>‘You shall see what I can <i>dare</i>!’ he
+exclaimed wildly. ‘For I will take your
+life and my own, sooner than give you
+up to another.’</p>
+
+<p>And with that Henri de Courcelles
+walked away, and left her sitting
+there by herself. As soon as she was
+convinced he was not coming back
+again, Quita rose, and with trembling
+steps walked slowly back to the White
+House. He had succeeded in completely
+alarming her. She had never
+seen him like this before, and he was
+terrible in his anger. His black eyes
+had gleamed on her like polished steel,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>
+and his hand had involuntarily sought
+his side, as though ready to grasp an invisible
+stiletto. Quita felt certain he
+would be capable of any violence, if not
+restrained, and fear lent her boldness.
+She would secure one friend at least in
+her extremity, and whatever it cost her
+she would confide her trouble to her
+mother. She found Mrs Courtney
+alone in her own room, lying on a sofa,
+with bare feet, and the last novel that
+had reached San Diego in her hand.
+But as she saw Maraquita enter the
+chamber, she raised herself to a sitting
+position.</p>
+
+<p>‘My dearest child! what is the
+matter? You are looking quite ill again.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, mamma, mamma,’ cried Quita,
+sinking at her mother’s feet, ‘I am so
+unhappy!’</p>
+
+<p>And then, in a broken voice, and with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span>
+her face still hidden, she told the story
+of her disgrace, and the danger which
+appeared to threaten her.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs Courtney listened in silence. She
+had suspected the cause of her daughter’s
+illness, and the author of her ruin, but
+she was hardly prepared to hear there
+was a living witness to her shame domiciled
+so close to Beauregard. Her naturally
+sallow complexion turned almost livid
+with horror, and her unwieldy frame
+shook with agitation. And when the
+girl had finished her miserable recital,
+all her mother could utter was,—</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Maraquita, Maraquita, I couldn’t
+have believed it of you!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Mother, don’t speak to me like that!
+I know I have been very wicked, but
+I have no friend but you, and if <i>you</i> desert
+me, I shall be lost. Oh, mother, save
+me this once, and I will do everything<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span>
+you ask me in the future. You want
+me to became Lady Johnstone, don’t
+you? But you must think of some
+means of stopping Henri’s tongue, or I
+never shall be. I did not think he would
+be so spiteful and revengeful! He says
+he will stab me at the very altar.’</p>
+
+<p>‘That is all talk, my dear! he will do
+no such thing! He shall be sent out
+of Beauregard before a week is over his
+head; and if he dares to assail your character,
+your father shall have him punished
+for it. But listen to me, Quita. There
+is only one way to fight this scandal, and
+that is to deny everything. Now, let
+me understand you plainly. Are you <i>sure</i>
+that no one but Dr Fellows and his
+daughter knew the secret of this birth?’</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>Quite</i> sure, mamma! The Doctor told
+me so over and over again; and I don’t
+think Lizzie knows <i>whose</i> baby it is—and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span>
+if she does, she has taken an oath never
+to reveal it—and Lizzie will keep her
+oath!’ said Maraquita, with complete
+faith in the fidelity of her friend.</p>
+
+<p>‘There was no other person in the
+house at the time?’</p>
+
+<p>‘No one, mamma.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Then your course is plain. Whoever
+dares to mention this story to you, or at
+whatever time it may crop up against you,
+<i>deny it entirely</i>. Say you have never
+heard of such a thing before, and you
+are entirely ignorant how it could have
+originated. <i>I</i>—as your mother—will
+corroborate your statement, and we will
+uphold our assertion before the world.
+Lizzie Fellows is really the only witness
+that can come against you, and she will
+not break her promise, I am sure of that.</p>
+
+<p>‘As for that villain De Courcelles, your
+father shall give him a summary dismissal,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span>
+and anything he may say in his rage will
+be taken for revenge. He can <i>prove</i>
+nothing. He has only his bare word to
+give for it, and who would believe him
+against your own parents? Meanwhile,
+dearest, the sooner your marriage takes
+place the better, and then you will feel
+safe. But whatever you do, Maraquita,
+never acknowledge your shame again,
+even to De Courcelles. You never know
+who may overhear it. Try to believe it
+has never been, and then you will act as
+though it had never been. As for marrying
+your father’s overseer, it is out of the
+question, and like his presumption to
+dream of it. As if he hadn’t done you
+harm enough already, without wishing to
+hamper you for life! It’s like the unreasonable
+selfishness of men. But you
+may make your mind easy, my dear,
+your mother will save you.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>‘Oh, mamma, how I wish I could
+go away somewhere, and never see nor
+hear anything of him again!’ sobbed
+Maraquita.</p>
+
+<p>‘So you shall, Quita, if you will only
+have a little patience. But cease crying
+now, my child, or you will make yourself
+ill. Lie down on my couch, and try to
+go to sleep. I won’t let you leave the
+house again until Monsieur de Courcelles
+has quitted the plantation.’</p>
+
+<p>And with a kiss of forgiveness, Mrs
+Courtney left her frail daughter to repose.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i105.jpg" alt=""></div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i106a.jpg" alt=""></div>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER V.</h2>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i106b.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="T">
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="drop-cap">T</span>HE next morning Liz was walking
+up the avenue of orange
+trees that led to the White
+House, with her eyes fixed upon the
+ground, and her brow wrinkled with perplexity.
+After many hours of painful
+deliberation, she had come to the conclusion
+to take the advice of Captain
+Norris, and beg Maraquita to relieve her
+of the intolerable burden of shame she
+bore for her sake; but <i>how</i> to accuse her
+adopted sister of her sin, troubled her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>
+beyond measure. She felt so deeply for
+her youth and betrayed innocence. Such
+a well of divine compassion for the injured
+girl was mingled with her own
+horror of the deed, that she scarcely knew
+whether she should feel most inclined to
+commiserate with, or to blame her. Liz
+pictured Quita to herself writhing on
+the ground for very shame at the discovery
+of her weakness, bright-eyed, dusky-haired
+Maraquita, who had always seemed
+so much to be envied and admired, prostrate
+in her humiliation, and her generous
+heart bled in anticipation of her sister’s
+pain. She conned over and over again
+the words in which she would break the
+truth to her, trying to make them as
+tender and little accusing as she could.
+She would endeavour (she thought) to
+first gain Quita’s confidence, and then to
+make her understand that, if she would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>
+only do what was just, in confessing the
+truth to her parents, Liz would be her
+friend, and the friend of her little daughter,
+to their lives’ end. But what she was
+about to ask of Quita was a very serious
+thing, and she doubted if the girl’s strength
+of mind would carry her through it.</p>
+
+<p>She did not ring for admittance when
+she reached the White House. She had
+been accustomed to enter and leave it as
+she chose, and experienced no difficulty
+in finding her way at once to the chamber
+where Maraquita spent most of her morning
+hours.</p>
+
+<p>This was an apartment adjoining her
+bedroom, and furnished more with a view
+to the repose which is so essential in the
+torrid climate of the West Indies, than
+to the pursuit of any active work. Its
+French windows, opening on the garden,
+were shaded by green jalousies,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span>
+through which the luxuriant creepers
+thrust their tendrils and their leaves; the
+marble floor was strewn with plaited
+mats of various coloured straws; the furniture
+consisted of a couple of bamboo
+lounges and a marble table, on which
+stood a silver tray bearing fruit and
+cooling drinks. The only ornaments it
+contained were a large mirror and a
+couple of handsome vases filled with
+roses. Everything about the room was
+conducive to coolness and repose; and
+Maraquita, attired in white muslin, with
+a palm leaf in her hand, and stretched
+full length on one of the couches, with
+her eyes half closed, was a personification
+of the goddess of Sleep or Indolence, or
+perhaps both.</p>
+
+<p>She started, and coloured slightly as
+Liz slipped into the room through the
+verandah. Her last conversation with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>
+Henri de Courcelles was in her mind.
+She had been thinking of it as Liz entered,
+and a secret intuition made her
+feel that her adopted sister would allude
+to the subject. A craven fear took possession
+of her, and made her heart beat
+to suffocation; but only for a moment.
+The next she had remembered her
+mother’s caution and promised championship,
+and had resolved to carry out her
+advice (if necessary) to the very letter.
+As she sank back upon her couch, Lizzie
+advanced towards her with affectionate
+solicitude.</p>
+
+<p>‘Have I startled you, Quita? I hope
+not. It seems so long since we met;
+and so much has happened since then,
+that I felt I must come up and see you
+to-day. How are you, dear? Quite
+strong again?’</p>
+
+<p>As she sat down by the girl’s side,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span>
+and laid her hand tenderly upon her
+arm, Quita turned pettishly away.</p>
+
+<p>‘That is rather a silly question for a
+lady doctor to ask me, Lizzie. How
+can I be quite strong again after such
+a nasty attack of fever? I am as weak
+as I can well be, and mamma is going
+to take me up to the hill range to-morrow
+or next day for change of
+air.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I am glad of that, dear. It will be
+the best thing for you, for you must have
+suffered much, my poor Quita, I am sure,
+both in mind and body.’</p>
+
+<p>Quita did not like this thrust, but she
+parried it bravely.</p>
+
+<p>‘Well, I <i>did</i> suffer with the fever, as
+you know, and the only wonder is that
+it didn’t kill me, as it has done so many
+of the coolies. It was your poor father
+who saved my life. And then that <i>he</i><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>
+should go himself! I have felt that
+terribly, Liz. I was very fond of him.
+He was like a second father to me, and
+his sudden death has cut us all up, as
+well as you.’</p>
+
+<p>There were tears in Maraquita’s voice
+as she spoke, which brought the kindred
+drops welling up to Lizzie’s eyes, and
+for a few moments the girls wept together
+as for a common loss.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Quita,’ said Liz, as soon as she
+could speak calmly again, ‘I know that
+you and your father and mother have felt
+for me in my trouble, for, kind as you
+have been to us, you can never realise
+the depth of it. My father was my world.
+He stood between me and every anxiety,
+and now that he is gone, I feel as if
+I stood alone, the centre of a storm
+of suspicion, and accusation, and reproach.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>Maraquita paled under this allusion,
+but she felt obliged to say,—</p>
+
+<p>‘What do you mean?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Can you ask me, Quita?’ exclaimed
+Liz suddenly. ‘Is it possible that the
+rumours that are afloat concerning me
+have failed to reach your ears? Mr
+Courtney told me that he had heard
+them. Surely he repeated them to you.’</p>
+
+<p>‘No, papa has told me nothing, and I
+don’t know what rumours you allude to,’
+replied Quita; but had the room not been
+darkened to shut out the morning heat,
+Lizzie must have seen the crimson blood
+that rushed to her face with fear of what
+was coming.</p>
+
+<p>‘Then I must tell you,’ said Lizzie,
+drawing nearer to the couch, while she
+looked cautiously about the room to be
+sure that no one was within hearing.
+‘Indeed I came up here this morning<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>
+expressly to tell you, for the burden of
+secrecy and shame is more than I can
+bear.’</p>
+
+<p>Whilst Lizzie beat about the bush, as
+though afraid to mention the forbidden
+topic, Quita had felt timid and constrained,
+but now that she seemed prepared
+to speak out, the defiance that is
+born of fear entered the younger girl’s
+breast, and emboldened her to say or do
+anything in the defence of her honour.</p>
+
+<p>‘What secrecy? What shame? What
+have you been doing, Lizzie?’ she exclaimed,
+with well-feigned surprise. ‘You
+talk in riddles to me to-day.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Ah, you have heard nothing, Quita.
+I can see that. You do not know the
+terrible duty that has been laid upon me.
+But turn your face this way, dear, and
+let me whisper to you. Don’t mind what
+I may say, Quita. Remember that I am<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span>
+your sister, who has known you from
+a baby, and that I sympathise with and
+feel for you in any trouble or sorrow you
+may have to endure. You remember the
+night you came to our bungalow?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I remember the night I was <i>told</i>
+I went there, Liz; but I was half delirious
+with the fever, and can vouch for
+nothing myself.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I can well understand that you
+were half crazy with fear and pain,
+dearest, but it was not the fever that
+made you so.’</p>
+
+<p>‘The Doctor said it was the fever,’
+argued Maraquita, with wide-open, innocent
+eyes. ‘He told papa and mamma
+so.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I know he did, for <i>your</i> sake, and
+that they believed it. He extracted a
+solemn oath from me at the same time,
+never to reveal what I might see or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>
+hear that night. And I never <i>have</i> revealed
+it, Quita, and I never <i>will</i>. It
+shall lie hidden in my heart until my
+death. Only <i>you</i> must help me to bear
+it, or I shall die.’</p>
+
+<p>Lizzie was sobbing now, though very
+quietly, behind the shelter of her hands,
+whilst Maraquita lay on the couch
+silent but pondering what she would say.</p>
+
+<p>‘Speak to me,’ cried Lizzie presently.
+‘Say something, for God’s sake, and
+put me out of my pain.’</p>
+
+<p>‘What am I to say?’ replied Maraquita.
+‘You frighten me when you
+talk like that. Has anything terrible
+happened since your poor father’s death,
+and how can <i>I</i> help you out of it?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I will tell you what has happened,’
+said Lizzie presently. ‘Mammy Lila
+is dead, and the child is with me, and
+every one is talking about it, and saying<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>
+it is mine. What am I to do, Quita—what
+<i>am</i> I to do? I cannot speak,
+because my lips are closed by the oath
+my father made me take; and if I <i>could</i>
+speak, do you think I would betray
+my dearest friend? And can I send
+it from me—the poor, helpless, tender
+little creature who has no one to look
+after it and love it but myself?’</p>
+
+<p>‘But whose child is it?’ inquired
+Maraquita, with her dark eyes fixed
+full on those of her adopted sister.</p>
+
+<p>Lizzie regarded her for a moment
+in silent consternation. Was it possible
+that Quita was in ignorance of her
+child’s birth, and had her late father
+managed so skilfully as to keep her
+unaware of what had happened? Such
+things <i>had</i> been. But the next minute
+Liz had rejected the idea with scorn.
+At any rate Maraquita must have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>
+known what lay before her when she
+found her way to the Doctor’s bungalow,
+and if she affected ignorance now,
+it was only because she was unaware
+that Lizzie knew the whole truth.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Maraquita,’ she exclaimed, ‘don’t
+be afraid of confessing it to me, for
+I know everything! My father was
+obliged to confide in me. He could
+not have managed without my assistance.
+But my oath seals my lips to
+all the world but you. But is it right
+to keep such a secret from your father
+and mother, especially when doing so
+involves the ruin of any other woman?
+You don’t know what the charge of
+that little infant has brought upon me?
+Even Mr Courtney suspects my honesty.
+And as for Monsieur de Courcelles—’</p>
+
+<p>‘What has Monsieur de Courcelles to
+do with it?’ cried Quita hastily.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span>Lizzie coloured. She had never spoken
+of her relations with Henri de Courcelles
+to Quita before, but this was no time to let
+feeling get the better of justice.</p>
+
+<p>‘He has everything to do with <i>me</i>,’ she
+answered, in a low tone. ‘Quita, I have
+never told you before, that I am engaged
+to be married to Monsieur de Courcelles.’</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>You</i>—engaged to be married—to
+<i>Henri</i>? Oh, it is not true! You are
+deceiving me!’ exclaimed Quita, as she
+sprang to a sitting position, and turned a
+face of ashy pallor to her companion.</p>
+
+<p>But Lizzie suspected no more than she
+saw. She only thought that Quita was
+astonished that she should have been kept
+in the dark with regard to so important
+a subject, and hastened to defend her own
+conduct.</p>
+
+<p>‘Indeed, it <i>is</i> true! I daresay you are
+surprised that I should not have told you,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>
+Quita (for I have told you almost everything),
+but I have felt so deeply about it,
+that I <i>could</i> not speak; and our engagement
+has never been made public, though
+it has lasted over a year.’</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>You</i>—engaged to <i>Henri de Courcelles</i>!’
+repeated Quita incredulously.</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes! Although he has broken it off, of
+his own accord, and left me, I cannot feel
+that I am free from him. For I love him,
+Quita. I love him with my whole heart
+and soul. I did not think it was in me to
+love any creature as I love him. And
+since we have parted, I have been unable
+to sleep, or eat, or drink, for longing after
+him,—longing, above all things, to clear my
+character in his eyes, even though I never
+saw him afterwards. Oh, Quita, I must,
+I <i>must</i> do this! To live on letting him
+think me false and frail, will kill me!
+If you will not help me out of this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span>
+awful dilemma, my death will be on your
+head.’</p>
+
+<p>But the news she had just heard had
+hardened Maraquita’s heart. All the love
+she was capable of feeling had been given
+to De Courcelles, and if he and Lizzie had
+combined to deceive her, why they might
+suffer for it. That was all she thought of,
+as she clenched her teeth upon her upper
+lip, to prevent her betraying her emotion.</p>
+
+<p>‘Maraquita! won’t you save my love to
+me?’ wailed Lizzie. ‘All I ask is to
+clear my name in the eyes of Henri
+de Courcelles, and then the rest of the
+world may think and say what they
+choose.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I don’t in the least understand what
+you are driving at,’ replied Maraquita.
+‘What can <i>I</i> do to make up your quarrel?
+Monsieur de Courcelles and you are both
+old enough to look after yourselves. If<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>
+he won’t believe you, he is not likely to
+believe <i>me</i>.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But I cannot speak—my lips are sealed,’
+cried Lizzie wildly; ‘and he will not accept
+my word, instead of an explanation. Don’t
+you understand me, Quita? Henri has
+heard this scandalous report about the
+child, and believes it to be mine. He
+demands the name of the mother, and no
+one but you can satisfy him. Oh, Quita,
+release me from this awful vow, that
+threatens to ruin my character and blast
+my whole life! Think, dear—is it fair
+that I should lose everything I love and
+value most, because of your fault? Be
+brave and generous enough to share the
+blame with me, and I promise you before
+God that it shall never go any further.’</p>
+
+<p>Maraquita sat straight up on her couch,
+and stared at her adopted sister.</p>
+
+<p>‘What do you want me to do? Speak<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span>
+plainly, for I do not comprehend your
+meaning.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I want you to tell your parents what
+you have done. They will pity, and love,
+and forgive you, Quita, as I do. They
+will feel it was your youth and ignorance
+that were at fault, and not your heart;
+and you will feel happier, my poor sister,
+when your mother has shared your secret,
+and forgiven it. I want you to tell Mr
+and Mrs Courtney that the child in my
+bungalow is yours.’</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>What!</i>’ cried Quita shrilly. ‘You
+want me to tell a lie in order to screen
+yourself?’</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>A lie!</i>’ repeated Lizzie. ‘You know
+it is not a lie; you know when you came
+to us that night that you were delivered
+of a daughter, and that my poor father
+took charge of it for you. Oh, Quita,
+if you could see her,—her little waxen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>
+hands and feet, her wistful dark eyes, so
+like your own, and her tiny mouth, which
+just begins to smile, your mother’s heart
+would yearn to claim her for your own!’</p>
+
+<p>For one moment Quita trembled at
+the picture Liz had conjured up, but
+the next, fear of ruining her own prospects
+crushed the softer feeling in her
+heart.</p>
+
+<p>‘I deny it!’ she exclaimed loudly. ‘I
+deny every word you have uttered. You
+are either mad, or you mistake me for
+some other woman. How <i>dare</i> you insinuate
+that I have ever had a child?’</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>You deny it!</i>’ echoed Lizzie, rising
+to her feet. ‘You can actually look me
+in the face, and deny it, Quita?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Most emphatically I do, and resent
+the insult you have laid upon me. I
+know nothing about the child which is
+in your bungalow. It may be yours, or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>
+any other woman’s, but it certainly is not
+<i>mine</i>; and if my parents heard you had
+accused me of such a dishonour, they
+would turn you from their doors!’</p>
+
+<p>‘What is all this about?’ exclaimed
+Mrs Courtney, as she entered the room.
+‘Lizzie, you ought to know better than
+to let Maraquita excite herself with talking,
+when she has scarcely recovered
+from her late illness. She will have a
+relapse, if we do not take care.’</p>
+
+<p>She had heard from Jessica that the
+Doctor’s daughter had entered the house,
+and, fearful of what she might have come
+to say, had hastened to the rescue of
+her daughter. Lizzie stood before her,
+silent and confused, but Quita appealed
+to her mother’s protection at once.</p>
+
+<p>‘Mamma, just hear what Lizzie has
+told me. She says there is a baby at her
+bungalow which was left in the charge of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>
+her father, and she accuses me of being
+the mother of it, and wants me to tell a
+lie to you and papa, in order to screen
+herself from suspicion.’</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>Lizzie</i> accuses <i>you</i> of being <i>a mother</i>!’
+exclaimed Mrs Courtney, with well-acted
+surprise. ‘Oh, it is <i>impossible</i>! Quita,
+you are dreaming!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Tell mamma if I am dreaming, Lizzie!
+Repeat to her what you said just now.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I shall do no such thing, Quita! I
+said what I did to you in confidence, and
+I refuse to repeat it to any one.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Because you know how mamma would
+resent such a foul calumny. Oh, mamma,’
+continued Quita to her mother, ‘what
+have I ever done to be accused of such
+a dreadful thing? What would Sir
+Russell say if he heard of it?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I cannot believe my ears,’ said Mrs
+Courtney. ‘Do I hear aright, Lizzie,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span>
+that you have <i>dared</i> to link my daughter’s
+name with such a shameful story? What
+induced you to do it? Speak! I must
+have an answer.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I cannot speak, Mrs Courtney; I have
+nothing to say.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Because you know yourself to be
+guilty. Don’t imagine that we have not
+heard the scandal that is abroad concerning
+you. But I little thought you would
+have the audacity to try and throw the
+blame upon my poor Maraquita, she who
+has been like a sister to you.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I have never denied the benefits which
+I and my poor father have received from
+your family, Mrs Courtney, nor been ungrateful
+for them.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And what do you call your conduct
+of this morning, then? You have deceived
+us all, Lizzie,—Mr Courtney, myself,
+and your poor father. We thought<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span>
+you a pure and good girl, or you never
+would have been allowed to associate with
+my daughter.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I <i>am</i> pure,’ interposed Lizzie, with
+the indignant tears standing on her hot
+cheeks. ‘I have done nothing to make
+you regret the favours you have shown
+me.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, don’t speak to me like that, Lizzie,
+when you know that you are the mother
+of a child which you dare not own.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I am not! I am <span class="allsmcap">NOT</span>!’ cried the girl,
+half choked with her emotion and sense
+of impotency to resent the charge made
+against her.</p>
+
+<p>‘And I say you <i>are</i>,’ continued Mrs
+Courtney, ‘and all San Diego says it
+with me. And, not content with degrading
+yourself, you would try to degrade
+<i>my</i> daughter also. Shame upon you!
+Is this your gratitude? You who, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span>
+for our bounty would have been pointed
+at all your days as the daughter of a
+felon, who have now lowered yourself
+beyond the ordinary level of your sex.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Mrs Courtney, say what you like
+to me, but spare the memory of my dead
+father!’ cried Lizzie, through her sobs.</p>
+
+<p>‘If I have not spared it, you have only
+yourself, and your own conduct, to blame.
+I have been very good to you hitherto,
+Lizzie, but I can be so no longer. You
+have raised a barrier between us with
+your own hand. For the sake of his
+old friendship for your father, Mr Courtney
+wishes you to remain on the plantation,
+but you are no fit companion for
+Maraquita, and from this day you must
+consider the doors of the White House
+are closed against you.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You will not find me attempt to
+alter your decision, Mrs Courtney. I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>
+came up here this morning to ask
+Maraquita to do me a simple act of
+justice, but she has refused it, and I
+can no longer look upon her as my sister
+and my friend, nor shall I have any
+wish to seek her society.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Insolent!’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney.
+‘Why, under no circumstances would
+you be permitted to do so. Maraquita
+is engaged to be married to the Governor
+of the island, Sir Russell Johnstone.
+In a few weeks she will be reigning at
+Government House, and will receive
+no lady there who cannot vouch for
+the possession of an unspotted reputation.
+So now perhaps you will see
+the harm you have done yourself by
+your impudent attempt to forge off your
+own error upon her.’</p>
+
+<p>‘It would have made no difference to
+my behaviour, madam, if Maraquita<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span>
+had already been the Governor’s wife.
+The blameless burden laid upon me
+still remains, and she will not lift it by
+the raising of her little finger. I suppose
+it is my fate to suffer and be
+silent. But I think the time will come
+when Quita will be sorry she had not
+more pity for me to-day.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Mamma, mamma,’ cried Quita hysterically,
+‘tell her to go! I can bear
+no more of her reproaches. It is wicked
+of her to speak like that. You know
+that I have done nothing; but if such
+a story were to come to Sir Russell’s
+ears, it might ruin me for ever.’</p>
+
+<p>‘It shall <i>not</i> come to his ears!’ exclaimed
+Mrs Courtney angrily; ‘and if
+you attempt to repeat it, Elizabeth
+Fellows, I will have your name, and
+your dead father’s name, branded from
+one end of San Diego to the other<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span>
+until not a soul in the island shall speak
+to you. See if I do not.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You will never have the opportunity
+to carry out your cruel threat, madam.
+I have told your daughter, and I tell
+you, that my vow of secrecy to my beloved
+father is sacred, and nothing shall
+make me break it. From this hour, I
+shall never mention the subject to any
+living creature again.’</p>
+
+<p>And with those words Liz turned on
+her heel and walked out of the White
+House. As she disappeared, Maraquita
+threw herself into her mother’s arms in
+a burst of tears.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, I am lost—I am lost!’ she cried,
+trembling with fear. ‘We have made
+her angry, and she may go and tell the
+story everywhere, from revenge. How I
+wish I had never seen De Courcelles.
+It was wicked of him to take advantage<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>
+of me like that. And all the time he
+was engaged to be married to Lizzie.
+Oh, mother, I hate him—<i>I hate him!</i>
+I wish that he was dead!’</p>
+
+<p>It is the proof of an ephemeral and
+fancied passion that directly misfortune
+or peril comes upon it, it turns to reproaching
+and dislike. There is little
+need to say that Maraquita’s love for
+Henri de Courcelles was founded on a
+basis of self-esteem. Had it been otherwise,
+their mutual error would have made
+her cling all the closer to him as her one
+haven of safety.</p>
+
+<p>‘If he <i>is</i> engaged to her, my dear,’
+replied Mrs Courtney, with a view to
+consolation, ‘so much the better. They
+are a very suitable pair, and their marriage
+would rid you of a troublesome
+suitor. I have heard something of it
+before, but subsequent events made me<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>
+think I was mistaken. But I don’t like
+Monsieur de Courcelles. I consider him
+a dangerous enemy, and should be glad
+to know that he had settled down in life.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But you <i>promised</i> me that papa should
+send him away from Beauregard,’ said
+Quita fearfully.</p>
+
+<p>‘And so he shall, my love, as soon
+as ever we are on the hill range. You
+may rest assured of that. Only we have
+no power to send him out of San Diego,
+and he may prove troublesome to us
+yet. However, I have my own story to
+tell papa, and it is one that will provide
+against any emergency. But the first
+thing to be done, Quita, is to get you
+away; and the next, to make you Lady
+Johnstone. Then we shall be perfectly
+safe.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You will take care that no one else
+comes in to see me to-day,’ said Quita<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span>
+languidly, ‘for I feel quite worn out by
+the annoyance I have undergone?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Certainly, my dearest girl. Jessica
+shall see that you are not disturbed. And
+now try and sleep, Quita, and don’t be
+afraid that there will be any repetition of
+so disagreeable a scene. I think I have
+let Miss Lizzie have a piece of my mind,
+and that she will see I mean what I said.
+Depend upon it, my dear, that no ill-natured
+stories or repetitions can ever
+harm you in the future. The girl is too
+honest to break her word; and if she
+suffers a little from keeping it, she deserves
+as much, for her mean attempt to coerce
+you. Now, you must promise me to think
+no more about the matter.’</p>
+
+<p>Maraquita gave the required promise,
+because she wanted to be left alone; but as
+she lay in the silent and shaded room, the
+description that her adopted sister had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span>
+given her of little waxen hands and fingers,
+of two dark wistful eyes, and a baby mouth
+beginning to smile, recurred again and
+again to her, until something very like
+the longing of motherhood stirred in her
+bosom, and made her sob herself to sleep.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i136.jpg" alt=""></div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i137a.jpg" alt=""></div>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VI.</h2>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i137b.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="L">
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="drop-cap">L</span>IZ FELLOWS went home that
+day sadder than she had been
+before. Her lover’s defalcation
+had been a natural sequence to the misfortune
+that had overtaken her, compared
+to this. He had judged her harshly, and
+without proof, but he at least believed (or
+she thought he did) that she had been
+untrue to him, and his anger and contempt
+were those of a dishonoured man. But
+Maraquita’s conduct admitted of no such
+palliation. She <i>knew</i> better than any one
+else, that Liz was innocent of the charge<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span>
+laid against her, and yet she could coolly
+deny the fact, and appeal to her mother to
+join her in turning her adopted sister from
+their doors. She could shield herself behind
+the humiliation of her friend,—deny
+her maternity, and delegate her sacred
+duties—her most holy feelings—to another
+woman.</p>
+
+<p>‘Feelings! Duties!’ Liz stamped her
+foot impatiently, as the terms occurred to
+her mind. Maraquita <i>had</i> no feelings, and
+recognised no duty. She was lower than
+the feeble little animals, who would die
+sooner than desert their young. She had
+brought a helpless infant—presumably the
+infant of her lover—into the world, and
+would not even acknowledge it was hers.
+<i>Who</i> was the father of this child, thought
+Liz, that he could stand by quietly and
+see the desertion of his offspring? Had
+<i>he</i> no natural instincts, any more than the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span>
+partner of his sin? Would they <i>both</i>
+leave their infant to the tender mercies
+of the world, whilst they went their own
+ways—one, to be married to the Governor
+of San Diego—the other, Heaven best
+knew where? Well, she had staked her
+last chance, and lost it. Henri de Courcelles
+would never now receive the proof
+of her innocence. He was lost to her for
+ever, and she must bear the burden of
+shame laid upon her guiltless head as
+best she might. As she re-entered the
+bungalow, a wail from Quita’s hapless
+infant smote her with compassion.</p>
+
+<p>‘My poor little orphan!’ she exclaimed,
+as she took it in her arms. ‘You are
+an outcast as well as myself. You have
+no parents worthy of the name, and I
+shall never know the joy of being a
+mother. We must comfort each other
+under this great calamity as best we may.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span>
+They say you are my little daughter, and
+since they say so, I almost wish you
+were. But I will love you like a daughter,
+and teach you to love me like a mother,
+and so you shall comfort my bruised
+heart, and I will try and make your life
+happy.’</p>
+
+<p>Up to that moment Rosa had fed
+and washed the baby, and slept with it
+in her arms, but now Lizzie took all
+these sweet maternal duties into her own
+hands. She nursed it all that day, and
+when night came she laid it in her own
+bed. When it was fairly asleep, and
+Rosa had run over to the negroes’
+quarters to chat with her friends, Liz
+sat down to her sewing in the sitting-room,
+calmer and less perplexed than
+she had been for days past.</p>
+
+<p>Up to that time she had cherished
+hope, but now all hope was over. She<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span>
+knew the worst. It was bitterly hard
+to know it, but at all events suspense
+was at an end, and there was no new
+trouble to learn. As she sat by the
+shaded lamplight, wondering if Mr Courtney
+knew the name of her father’s
+family, and if the knowledge could be
+of any use to herself, she heard a light
+footstep creeping softly along the verandah,
+a footstep which she recognised
+at once, and which she had been wont
+to jump up and welcome. But now
+Liz sat still, with burning cheeks bent
+over her needlework. If Maraquita
+wished to come to any terms with her,
+she must be the one to propose them.
+Liz had prayed her last prayer to the companion
+of her childhood. Presently a very
+low and fearful voice called her by her name.</p>
+
+<p>‘Lizzie, Lizzie! Are you quite alone?’</p>
+
+<p>But Lizzie refused to answer, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span>
+Maraquita was compelled to advance into
+the room. She looked very white and
+scared, and the folds of her long mantle
+fell round a fragile figure.</p>
+
+<p>‘Lizzie! Why will you not speak to
+me? Papa and mamma have gone to
+the theatre with Sir Russell Johnstone;
+but I excused myself on the plea of
+a headache, so that I might come and
+see you.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And what do you want with me?’
+demanded Lizzie coldly.</p>
+
+<p>‘Cannot you guess? I am so unhappy
+at what took place this morning.
+I shall not rest until things are right
+again between us.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I do not understand you, Quita! I
+conclude you spoke the truth this morning,
+or what you believed to be the
+truth, and I have nothing more to say
+upon the subject.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span>‘Oh, Lizzie, have pity on me! You
+know it was not the truth; but what can
+I do? Everything that makes life valuable
+to me seems slipping through my
+fingers. I could not make up my mind
+to confess to my own ruin.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And so you would ruin me instead—I,
+who have been like a sister to you?
+You would save your own character at
+the expense of mine?’</p>
+
+<p>‘But not for always, Lizzie. Only let
+me get this marriage over, and I shall
+be better able to see my way before me.
+And I shall be rich, too, and able to reward
+you for your kindness. The child
+shall never be any burden to you, Lizzie.
+You may depend upon me for that.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And do you suppose I would take
+your money?’ cried the other contemptuously.
+‘Do you ask me to sell my
+honour? You accuse me publicly of being<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span>
+the unmarried mother of this child,
+and then offer to pay me for the disgrace.
+You are only heaping insult upon insult,
+Quita. You had better leave me before
+you make me forget myself.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, no, Lizzie, I cannot leave you,’
+exclaimed the unhappy girl, drawing nearer
+to her, ‘until you have heard all I have
+to say! You have always been my best
+friend, Lizzie. As a little child I used to
+run to you in every trouble, and trust you
+to get me out of every scrape. You will
+not do less for me now, Lizzie, will you?’</p>
+
+<p>‘You ask too much, Maraquita. You
+forget that in helping you out of this
+danger, I involve myself, in the way
+which good women dread above everything.
+I have done it, but it is at the
+expense of our friendship. I can never
+be friends with you again.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But you must—you <i>must</i>!’ cried Quita,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span>
+falling on her knees, and hiding her face
+in Lizzie’s lap, ‘for your father’s sake,
+Lizzie, if not for mine.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I have done it for my father’s sake,’
+replied Lizzie, as she moved away from
+Maraquita’s clasp. ‘Do you suppose I
+have not been thinking of <i>him</i> all to-day,
+and of the promise I made him? Nothing
+else would have kept me silent;
+but it is over now, and we need say no
+more upon the subject. I beg of you,
+Quita, to leave me, and go home again,
+for your presence here is very painful to
+me.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Lizzie, don’t be so hard! I am
+not the unfeeling creature you take me
+for. It is only fear of my parents that
+makes me shrink from confessing the
+truth. They would kill me, Lizzie, if
+they knew it. They would not let me
+live to disgrace them.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span>‘Nonsense!’ exclaimed Lizzie. ‘They
+would do nothing of the sort. They
+would reproach you as they have me, and
+you richly deserve it. But tell the truth
+whilst you are about it, Maraquita. Say
+that you have no feeling either for your
+child or its father (whoever he may be),
+and I may believe what you say.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But you are wrong,’ interposed Quita
+eagerly. ‘I love him dearly, and I should
+have loved <i>it</i> also, if I had not been afraid.
+And I can prove it to you, Lizzie, for I
+have come here to-night to see the baby,
+and I shall come as often as I can without
+exciting suspicion. Where is she? Let
+me see her at once.’</p>
+
+<p>‘What baby?’ demanded Liz, with
+affected ignorance.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Liz! how can you ask? Why,
+my own baby, of course! The one you
+have in charge.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>‘I thought you denied this morning that
+you were a mother, Quita?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I was obliged to do so. What could
+I say, with mamma or papa liable to
+come in at any moment? You might
+as well have asked me to cut my own
+throat. But here, alone with you, I can
+say anything! I confess it is mine,
+Lizzie, and that I knew all about it from
+the beginning. I told your dear father
+everything; and he promised that he and
+you should stand my friends, and prevent
+my secret from being published to the
+world.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I have heard all this before,’ said
+Lizzie, still engaged upon her sewing.</p>
+
+<p>‘And now you will let me see her,
+won’t you? You will let me hold her in
+my arms for a little while? I must not
+stay long, for fear that meddlesome old
+Jessica should come after me. You<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>
+will take me to my baby at once,
+Lizzie?’</p>
+
+<p>‘No,’ replied the Doctor’s daughter
+firmly.</p>
+
+<p>‘What do you mean? Isn’t she here?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes; but you will not see her.’</p>
+
+<p>‘How dare you keep me from her?
+She is mine, not yours.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You did not say so this morning.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Ah, but then I was mad!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Are you prepared, then, to take your
+child back to the White House with you?
+Will you confess the lie of which you
+have been guilty to your parents, and
+exonerate me in their eyes of the charge
+you have brought against me?’</p>
+
+<p>Maraquita shrank backward.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Liz! that is too much. I should
+destroy all my prospects at a blow by
+such an admission. Besides, it has nothing
+to do with the matter. All I want<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span>
+is to see the child. Surely you will not
+refuse so trifling a request?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I do refuse it.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But you have no right to do so.’</p>
+
+<p>‘By your own account, Maraquita, I
+have every right. You declared before
+your mother that this child was mine.
+Therefore I will keep it as such, and I
+refuse to let you see her.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And I am determined not to leave
+the bungalow till I have done so!’ cried
+Quita, rushing towards the bedroom door.</p>
+
+<p>But Lizzie had reached it before she
+did, and stood with her back against the
+panels.</p>
+
+<p>‘You shall not enter here,’ she said, in
+a tone of authority.</p>
+
+<p>Then Quita took to beseeching. She
+fell on her knees again, and held Lizzie
+tightly clasped about her feet.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, my dear sister, let me see my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>
+baby, if only for a minute! I have been
+thinking of her ever since this morning,
+Lizzie,—of the dark eyes you spoke of,—the
+tiny waxen hands and feet, and the
+rosebud mouth; and I feel as if I should
+die if I do not have her in my arms,
+and kiss her, and tell her that I am her
+mother.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Will you tell the world so, Maraquita?’</p>
+
+<p>‘You know that I cannot.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Then you will not see your child
+until you do,’ replied Lizzie, as she locked
+the bedroom door, and put the key into
+her pocket. ‘You have openly disgraced
+me by palming on me the consequences
+of your own sin. You have denied your
+motherhood, and given up your most
+sacred rights and duties. Well, for your
+sake, and to conceal your shame, I accept
+them; and the first act which I exercise
+is to keep the child to myself.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span>‘You actually refuse?’ cried Quita,
+starting to her feet, crimson with indignation.</p>
+
+<p>‘Emphatically. There is only one way
+you can secure the privilege, and that is
+by an open confession of the truth.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Then I shall never do it! And you
+may carry the burden to your life’s end!’
+exclaimed Maraquita furiously. ‘And another
+with it, for you do not know all.
+You have never asked me the name of
+the father of this child! You came crying
+to me this morning about Henri de
+Courcelles, and how much you loved him,
+and how anxious he was to discover the
+parentage of my baby. He has lied to
+you! He has made use of this dilemma
+to get rid of you; for he knows whose
+baby this is as well as I do. He knows
+the mother and the father of it—for the
+father is <i>himself</i>!’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span>She watched the light fade out of
+Lizzie’s eyes as the cruel truth smote
+upon her heart, and she grasped at the
+back of a chair to save herself from falling.
+But when the first shock was over,
+she refused to believe the story.</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>Henri!</i>’ she exclaimed, in a faint voice.
+‘But it is <i>impossible</i>! Henri is—is—<i>mine</i>!’</p>
+
+<p>‘He pretended to be!’ cried Quita
+maliciously, ‘because it was a good blind
+for them up at the White House, I
+suppose, but he has been mine and
+mine only for the last twelve months,
+and he is nearly mad at the idea of
+losing me now.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And why must he lose you?’ said
+Lizzie quickly, forgetting her own pain
+in her lover’s wrongs. ‘If what you say
+is true, why do you not marry him, and
+take care of your little child between you?’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span>Maraquita shrugged her shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>‘Because my people will not hear of
+such a marriage for me, and think I
+should lower myself by becoming the
+wife of an overseer.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Not so much as you have lowered
+yourself already, Quita.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Perhaps not, but nobody knows that!
+And then I am already engaged, so it
+is of no use talking about anything else.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Poor Henri,’ sighed Lizzie.</p>
+
+<p>‘I can’t see why he is to be pitied!
+He knew from the beginning that it
+must all end some day. But I little
+dreamt it would end like this. <i>I</i> am
+the one who has suffered all the risk
+and the blame, and yet no one seems
+to pity <i>me</i>.’</p>
+
+<p>Lizzie was silent. Her heart was
+burning within her, and yet pride prevented
+her speech. It was cruelly humiliating<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>
+to find that all the time she had
+been engaged to be married to De Courcelles,
+he had been carrying on with
+another girl, and had even had the audacity
+to make his own fault the putative
+cause for breaking off his engagement
+to her. She could not decide at the
+moment whether she loved or hated him
+the most, his conduct appeared in so
+mean and despicable a light.</p>
+
+<p>‘You are right, Maraquita,’ she continued,
+after a pause. ‘He is not worthy
+of your pity or mine. He has cruelly
+deceived us both—and you perhaps the
+most, since even, if he loved you best,
+he has served you worst! Even now—in
+the first pitiless agony of hearing your
+news—I can thank God I do not stand
+in your position. And if you should ever
+think better of your decision regarding
+him, remember I shall not stand in your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>
+light, for from this day Henri de Courcelles
+will be less than nothing to me.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But the child!—you will not desert the
+child?’ exclaimed Quita, with something
+like maternal anxiety in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>Liz shuddered.</p>
+
+<p>‘It will be a double burthen to me now,’
+she answered; ‘but I have already resolved
+to do as my father would have
+wished me, and I will not shirk my self-imposed
+duty. I will do my utmost for
+the child.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Lizzie, you are very good! You
+make me feel so ashamed of myself,’ said
+Quita, attempting to kiss her adopted
+sister.</p>
+
+<p>But Lizzie sprung aside from her.</p>
+
+<p>‘Don’t touch me!’ she cried. ‘Don’t
+stay near me any longer, or I shall be
+unable to conceal the loathing I feel for
+your conduct! False lover—false mother—false<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>
+friend! Oh, Maraquita, Maraquita!
+it would have been better if God
+had called you to Himself when you were
+as innocent as your unfortunate baby!
+You and he, between you, have destroyed
+all my faith in human nature.’</p>
+
+<p>And Liz, throwing herself into a chair,
+and laying down her head upon the table,
+sobbed so bitterly and unrestrainedly,
+that Quita, terrified at the sound, which
+might attract spectators to spread abroad
+the news of her being in the bungalow,
+fled out into the darkness again, and made
+her way back to the White House.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i156.jpg" alt=""></div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i157a.jpg" alt=""></div>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VII.</h2>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i157b.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="M">
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="drop-cap">M</span>R COURTNEY was quite as
+proud as his wife of the
+grand marriage his daughter
+was about to make. He was inordinately
+fond of Maraquita, and would have
+considered her a fit match for a prince
+of the blood royal. At the same time,
+he was only a planter, and it was a great
+thing to know that his child was going
+to marry the highest man in the island.
+He had plenty of money to bestow on
+her—Sir Russell Johnstone had opened
+his eyes when his future father-in-law<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span>
+had mentioned the dowry he would receive
+with his bride—and when Maraquita
+had obtained rank and position,
+his best wishes for her would be gratified.
+He was sitting in the room which
+he called his office, and had just dismissed
+Monsieur de Courcelles, when
+his wife entered the apartment. Mr
+Courtney had had occasion to find fault
+with the overseer that morning. He
+had not attended to several important
+matters during the week, and seemed
+sluggish and indifferent to his master’s
+orders. Mr Courtney suspected that he
+had been drinking also, and accused him
+of the fact, and De Courcelles’ answers
+had been too sullen to please him. He
+was brooding over the change in the
+young man’s behaviour, when Mrs
+Courtney came panting into the room.
+It was not often she honoured her husband<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span>
+with her presence during business
+hours, and he saw at once that she had
+some communication of importance to
+make to him.</p>
+
+<p>‘Well, my dear, what is it? Quita not
+worse this morning, I hope?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, no, Mr Courtney! The dear
+child grows stronger every hour, under
+the knowledge of her delightful prospects,
+and I am most anxious that nothing
+should occur to mar her recovery,
+for dear Sir Russell is naturally anxious
+to have the wedding as soon as possible.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Of course; but that is for you and
+Quita to decide. You know that I shall
+spare no money to expedite matters. The
+sooner the dear girl is Lady Johnstone,
+the better.’</p>
+
+<p>‘So <i>I</i> say, Mr Courtney,’ replied his
+wife, looking anxiously round. ‘But are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span>
+you likely to be undisturbed for a few
+minutes? Have you dismissed Monsieur
+de Courcelles for the day?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes, and not in the best of humours.
+He is getting lazy, Nita, and I am not
+sure that he is keeping as sober as he
+should be. He gave me something very
+like insolence this morning. Do you
+know if anything is wrong with him?
+Is his engagement with Lizzie Fellows
+still going on?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Mr Courtney, this is the very
+subject on which I wished to see you.
+De Courcelles has been behaving very
+badly, in my estimation. You will hardly
+believe, even when I tell you so, that he
+has had the presumption to lift his eyes
+to our Maraquita, and to swear he will
+be revenged if she marries any other
+man.’</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>Impossible!</i>’ cried Mr Courtney, starting.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span>
+He had had his own suspicions respecting
+the young overseer’s admiration
+for his daughter and heiress, and, on a
+former occasion, he had told him so, but
+he had never had any idea that it had
+come to an open avowal between them.
+‘Do you mean to tell me,’ he continued,
+‘that De Courcelles has had the audacity
+to address Maraquita on this subject, and
+to make her cognisant of his affection?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Mr Courtney, where can your
+eyes be? How blind you men are!
+Why, he has been at the poor child’s
+feet for twelve months past; and Quita
+has kept him gently off, fearing to deprive
+you of a valuable servant; but now
+it has gone too far, and I feel it is time
+I spoke.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I thought he admired her, and told
+him there was no hope for him, some
+little time back; but he assured me I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span>
+was mistaken. I offered, at the same
+time, to forward his marriage with Lizzie
+Fellows, but he declared that there was
+no engagement between them.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Then he has been deceiving you all
+round, and is not worthy of your trust
+and confidence. He <i>was</i> engaged to
+Lizzie. She told Quita so yesterday, only
+he broke it off on account of this disgraceful
+affair at the bungalow. But all the
+while he has been persecuting our poor girl
+with his addresses, until she is positively
+afraid of him, or what he may do.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But what can he do? Surely he has
+not dared to threaten her?’</p>
+
+<p>‘He has said he will kill her at the
+very altar, sooner than she shall marry Sir
+Russell, or any other man, and has thrown
+the poor child into such a state of distress
+and perturbation, that I feel certain,
+unless her mind can be set at complete<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span>
+rest concerning him, it will greatly retard
+her recovery.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But it <i>must</i> be set at rest. This is
+quite unbearable!’ exclaimed the planter,
+striding up and down the room; ‘De
+Courcelles must leave Beauregard at
+once. I shall give him his dismissal this
+afternoon.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Not this afternoon, Mr Courtney.
+Wait until we are safe on the hill range,
+and then send him straight away. Maraquita
+will have no peace until she hears
+that he is gone.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Fancy the presumption of his aspiring
+to the hand of our daughter!’ continued
+Mr Courtney indignantly. ‘A man without
+a sixpence beyond his weekly stipend,
+and no chance of increasing that. It is
+the most barefaced impudence I ever
+heard of. He shall get the sack before
+he is a day older.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>‘But you will do it on some other pretence
+I hope, Mr Courtney. You will not
+bring in Quita’s name. I should be sorry
+for it to get known that he dared to fall in
+love with her. People are so ill-natured;
+they might say she had given the fellow
+some encouragement.’</p>
+
+<p>‘They will not dare to say anything
+against <i>Lady Russell</i>,’ said the father
+triumphantly. ‘When do you start for
+the hill range, my dear; and when is
+the wedding to be?’</p>
+
+<p>‘We go to-morrow morning. I have
+ordered our palanquins for four o’clock,
+and Joseph has arranged the coolie service
+as far as the Government bungalow.
+Quita wanted to ride up with Sir Russell,
+but I am afraid of taxing her strength as
+yet. As for the wedding, they have fixed
+it between themselves for the fourteenth
+of next month. Quita’s things cannot all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span>
+be ready, but Sir Russell is willing to take
+her as she is, until the trousseau is complete.
+I never saw a man more in love in
+my life. He is quite infatuated with
+her.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And well he may be, for there is not
+a prettier nor sweeter girl on all the
+islands. Well, my dear, De Courcelles
+must go, there is no doubt of that, unless,
+indeed, he will marry Lizzie Fellows.
+<i>That</i> would put a stop to all unpleasantness
+at once.’</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>Marry Lizzie Fellows!</i>’ echoed Mrs
+Courtney; ‘what, after he has been in love
+with our Quita! Well, I should be very
+much surprised if he could do that.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But he was engaged to her (as you
+say), or nearly so. Poor Fellows told me
+as much himself. And it would be but
+reasonable for De Courcelles to settle
+down. He can’t have Maraquita, that’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span>
+quite certain, and he might do worse than
+fulfil his word to poor Lizzie.’</p>
+
+<p>‘What, after she has disgraced herself?’</p>
+
+<p>‘My dear, are you certain she <i>has</i> disgraced
+herself? She assured me most
+solemnly that child was not her own, and
+had nothing to do with her, and I have
+never known Lizzie tell a lie. It is as
+incomprehensible to me as it is to you,
+and I cannot understand my old friend
+Fellows leaving the poor girl in such a
+painful position. Still, you must not forget
+that I have been just as true to him
+as Lizzie evidently is to some other person;
+and we should be the last people to
+disbelieve her word, because she is unable
+to give us any further explanation of it.’</p>
+
+<p>Mrs Courtney had greatly fidgeted and
+changed colour under her husband’s kindly
+pleading.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Mr Courtney, I really have no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span>
+patience with you! Do you honestly think
+any woman would incur such a public disgrace,
+without making an effort to clear
+her character? I questioned Lizzie closely
+myself only yesterday, and she refused to
+open her lips, even to <i>me</i>, who have
+known her from a baby. It is quite
+incredible, and there is only one solution of
+the mystery—that she pretends to possess
+this stern sense of honour, in order to hide
+her want of it.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Is it possible that De Courcelles can
+be the father of this child?’ said Mr
+Courtney musingly, hitting the right nail
+on the head without knowing it.</p>
+
+<p>‘I daresay he is! I shouldn’t be surprised
+at anything I might hear of
+Monsieur de Courcelles.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Well, my dear, I suppose he must go,’
+returned her husband, with a sigh; ‘and I
+will speak to him as soon as ever you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>
+have left the White House. I cannot
+have Maraquita annoyed; and indeed if he
+has behaved shabbily to poor Lizzie, it is
+not right he should continue to live in her
+sight. So you may consider that matter
+settled.’</p>
+
+<p>Upon which assurance Mrs Courtney
+returned to her own room, to promise her
+daughter that she should never again be
+subjected to her cast-off lover’s appeals or
+reproaches; and the following morning
+De Courcelles watched their palanquins
+leaving Beauregard, from the shelter of
+the oleander thicket. A few hours after,
+he walked as usual into the presence of
+his employer. When the day’s business
+had been disposed of, the overseer rose to
+go, but Mr Courtney detained him.</p>
+
+<p>‘Take a chair for a few minutes, De
+Courcelles, I have something of importance
+to say to you. You may remember<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span>
+a brief conversation that took
+place between us a few weeks back, on
+the occasion of Miss Courtney’s illness.
+I warned you that it would be wise to
+keep your admiration of her within bounds,
+and you assured me that you had done so.
+My wife tells me a different story. She
+says that Maraquita is both distressed and
+annoyed by your evident predilection for
+her, and I cannot have my daughter annoyed.
+Therefore I think it is best that
+we should part.’</p>
+
+<p>Mr Courtney was an honest man by
+nature, unused to <i>finesse</i> or intrigue of any
+kind, and he had quite forgotten his wife’s
+caution with respect to introducing Quita’s
+name as a reason for the overseer’s dismissal.
+He had gone straight at his
+fences, and the leap was over. Henri
+de Courcelles flushed dark crimson as the
+subject was thus openly mentioned to him.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span>‘I am quite unaware how I can have
+annoyed Miss Courtney,’ he replied. ‘I
+have not even seen her since her recovery.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Is that the case?’ demanded the planter.
+‘Then perhaps it was before. But anyway,
+as she is so shortly to be married to
+the Governor of San Diego, you must see
+the propriety of discontinuing any false
+hopes you may have entertained concerning
+her.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Miss Courtney’s engagement is, then,
+a settled thing?’ said De Courcelles
+bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>‘Certainly, and the wedding-day is fixed
+for the fourteenth of next month. My
+daughter will soon rank as the highest
+lady in the island, and any kindness which,
+as a young and thoughtless girl, she may
+have shown you (or any other friend) in
+the past, must not form any pretension
+for claiming to be on familiar terms with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span>
+the Governor’s wife, or Sir Russell Johnstone
+might resent it as an insult.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I understand you perfectly, sir, and
+Lady Johnstone need fear no recognition
+of any claims I may have had upon Miss
+Courtney, from me.’</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>Claims!</i> I do not understand the
+term, De Courcelles. What <i>claims</i> could
+you possibly have upon my daughter?
+You are forgetting yourself. Miss Courtney
+can never have been anything to you
+but a gracious young mistress and friend.’</p>
+
+<p>‘That is how it may be, sir. Miss
+Courtney knows her own secrets best,
+and doubtless she has chosen wisely in
+electing to become the wife of the Governor.
+Rank and position cover a multitude
+of sins.’</p>
+
+<p>Mr Courtney did not like the style of
+address adopted by his overseer, but he
+scarcely knew how to resent it. He was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>
+half afraid to tell him to speak out. What
+if Maraquita had really been light of conduct,
+and employed her leisure time in
+flirting with his overseer? It would be
+a very embarrassing discovery, but not
+an unnatural one, when De Courcelles’
+extreme beauty and grace of form were
+taken into consideration. So he thought
+it prudent to change the topic.</p>
+
+<p>‘Well, well,’ he said testily, ‘we are
+not here to discuss Miss Courtney’s conduct,
+but your own. You have not been
+quite the same as usual lately, De Courcelles.
+I have observed an unsteadiness,
+and a disposition to sloth in you, which
+has grieved me. Come now, let us
+talk this matter over like two men of the
+world. We will suppose you <i>have</i> had
+a slight predilection for my daughter.
+I am not surprised at it, and I do not
+blame you; but you must have known<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span>
+it could never be anything more. Well,
+in a few weeks she will be married, and
+pass out of your life. What is the use
+of spoiling the rest of it for her sake?
+Why not settle down and make a home
+for yourself? If you were married,
+all this little unpleasantness would be
+smoothed away.’</p>
+
+<p>‘That is easy to say, Mr Courtney,
+but not so easy to do.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I don’t agree with you. There is a
+nice girl close to your elbow, of whom
+I spoke to you at the same time I
+mentioned my daughter. I mean Lizzie
+Fellows. Ah, you start! You have
+heard this rumour about her, I suppose,
+in common with others, and fancy it is
+true. But I am sure it is not, De Courcelles.
+I have known Lizzie from a child,
+and I would stake my life upon her
+honesty.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span>‘You allude to the infant of which she
+was left in charge, sir?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I am glad to hear you mention it
+like that. It proves you believe her
+story. You told me there was no engagement
+between you, but Mrs Courtney
+informs me there was, and you broke it
+off on account of this child. But women
+jump at conclusions so: perhaps she is
+mistaken.’</p>
+
+<p>De Courcelles was quite capable of
+defending himself.</p>
+
+<p>‘Miss Fellows and I were <i>not</i> regularly
+engaged at the time you spoke to me,
+sir, nor have we been since. Only when
+Lizzie refused to give me any explanation
+concerning her nurse-child, I said
+in my haste that want of confidence was
+the death of friendship, and that we had
+better not meet again.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And you regret so hasty a decision?’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>‘Why do you ask me, sir?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Because if you and Lizzie like each
+other, I should be pleased to see you
+married. I am fond of the girl, and
+consider her a sacred charge; and marriage
+would silence these cruel slanders
+against her, sooner than anything else.
+If you can make up your minds on the
+subject, De Courcelles, I will do for you
+what I promised before—raise your salary,
+furnish the Oleander Bungalow afresh,
+and settle it on you and your wife, and
+all these little disagreeables will be forgotten
+before three months are over our
+heads.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And if not, sir?’ inquired the overseer
+hastily.</p>
+
+<p>‘If <i>not</i>, De Courcelles, we must part.
+I am sorry to say it, but I shall consider
+your refusal (or Lizzie’s) as a proof that
+the less you are about the White House<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>
+in the future the better. Not the
+slightest taint—not even the bare suspicion
+of one—must rest on the fair
+name of the future Lady Johnstone.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I understand you, Mr Courtney, and
+I will consider your proposal. How soon
+do you expect to get my answer?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Not until you are quite prepared to
+give it me. You have plenty of time before
+you. My wife and daughter will be
+away on the hills for a month, and I have
+no wish to part with an old friend in such
+a hurry. Think of it well, De Courcelles.
+I will look over any of the little derelictions
+of duty to which I have alluded, in consideration
+of the disappointment which you
+must have suffered; but my decision is final
+with regard to Miss Fellows. You must
+either marry her, or leave my service.’</p>
+
+<p>De Courcelles left the planter’s presence
+grinding his teeth with rage. He had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>
+burned, while listening to his talk about
+his daughter’s marriage and future prospects,
+to tell him to his face that Maraquita
+was, to all intents and purposes, <i>his</i>
+wife, and the mother of the child at the
+bungalow. But he dared not! He was
+afraid not only of the planter but of the
+negro population, if such a story got wind
+in the plantation. Revenge is sometimes
+very swift and sure in the West Indies,
+especially when the natives are in a state
+of insubordination. Besides, he would
+gain nothing by such an admission. It
+would not give him back Maraquita—faithless,
+perjured Maraquita, who, having
+slipped from his grasp into the arms of
+the Governor of San Diego, had instigated
+her parents, by a tissue of falsehoods, to
+dismiss him summarily from Beauregard.
+And it would have robbed him of the hope
+of revenge—a hope sweeter to a Spanish<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span>
+Creole even than love. As Henri de
+Courcelles thought of it, his hand tightened
+over the stiletto he always carried in his
+belt. Banishment from Beauregard would
+mean to sit down for the remainder of his
+life under this bitter wrong, without the
+satisfaction of feeling he had avenged it.
+At all hazards he must remain near this
+false love of his. She should never feel
+secure from him. He would appear before
+her in her most triumphant moments, and
+make her tremble with the fear that he
+was about to accuse her openly of her
+secret crime. Maraquita Courtney should
+never know another peaceful moment,
+whilst he lived to terrify her. But the
+opportunity depended on his marrying
+Lizzie Fellows. Well, if it must be so,
+it must be so. Henri de Courcelles, strolling
+down the path between the rows of
+coffee trees, and caressing his handsome<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span>
+moustaches as he went, seemed to have no
+doubt that he had but to ask to obtain.
+The conceit of men, where women are
+concerned, knows no bounds. Every
+woman, according to their creed, is only
+too ready to fly into their arms. The
+good old days when knights were not considered
+worthy to ask for a lady’s hand
+until they had achieved some doughty
+deed to make her proud of them, are gone
+for ever. Yet, if a girl is particular, or
+indifferent, or hard to please, she is voted
+to be either a prude or a jilt. The rougher
+sex require a few hard raps occasionally, to
+keep them in order, and the woman who
+puts them in their place, confers a benefit
+on the whole of her kind. As Monsieur
+de Courcelles strolled along, his footsteps
+carried him in the direction of Lizzie’s
+bungalow, and thinking no time like the
+present, he halted on the threshold, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>
+called her by her name. The recollection
+of how he had last left her presence made
+him hesitate to walk boldly into it, but he
+was quite confident that he had but to ask
+her forgiveness to obtain it. Lizzie was
+just about to visit her sick negroes. She
+was dressed in a white gown, covered with
+an apron and a high bib of brown holland,
+and on her head she wore a broad-brimmed
+hat, tied with a black ribbon. She looked
+pale and weary, but the look of perplexity
+was gone from her face, and her general
+expression was calm. She was filling her
+basket with such medicines as were necessary,
+when she heard her name called in
+the old familiar tones of De Courcelles.
+As the sound struck on her ear, she turned
+even whiter than before, but resentment
+prevented her losing her presence of mind.</p>
+
+<p>‘What do you want with me?’ she demanded
+sharply.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span>‘Only a few words of explanation and
+apology. May I come in, Lizzie? I
+have been longing to do so ever since we
+parted.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You can enter if you wish it, monsieur,
+but I cannot imagine what you can possibly
+have to say to me. I have looked
+upon our last meeting as a final one.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But may you not change your opinion
+of it, and of me?’ replied the overseer, as
+he entered the room, and advanced to her
+side. ‘I know I sinned against you grossly,
+almost beyond forgiveness, but you must
+make allowance for the whirlwind of passion
+I was in,—for the awful doubt that
+had assailed me.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I cannot admit that as any excuse for
+your conduct, monsieur. You had my
+word that I was innocent, and you were
+supposed to be my friend. There is no
+friendship without trust and confidence.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span>‘Do not say “<i>supposed</i>,” Lizzie. I
+<i>was</i> your friend, as I am now, and ever
+will be, if you will forgive my hasty words,
+and reinstate me in my old position.’</p>
+
+<p>‘That can never be,’ she rejoined
+hastily. ‘You were <i>supposed</i> to be much
+more than my friend, but you deceived
+me all along.’</p>
+
+<p>‘How can you speak so? How did I
+deceive you, Lizzie?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I would rather not discuss the subject,
+monsieur,’ said Lizzie, taking up her
+basket. ‘This is my time for visiting
+my patients, and they will be expecting
+me. I must wish you good-morning.’</p>
+
+<p>‘No, no; I cannot let you go until we
+have arrived at some explanation!’ exclaimed
+De Courcelles, detaining her by
+the folds of her dress. ‘You accuse me
+of deceiving you, and yet I thought my
+fault lay in being too outspoken. I know<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>
+I shouldn’t have said what I did. I
+regret it deeply, from the bottom of
+my heart, and I humbly ask your pardon
+for the implied affront. Is not that
+sufficient?’</p>
+
+<p>‘It is more than sufficient,’ replied
+Lizzie coolly, as she disengaged her gown
+from his grasp, ‘and more than I wished
+you to say. However, I accept your
+apology, and we will say no more about
+it. Now, will you please to let me go?’</p>
+
+<p>‘No, you must stay! Put off your
+visits till this afternoon, and hear me
+out. I have not told you half my story.
+Have you quite forgotten that we are
+engaged to be married, Lizzie?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I have not forgotten it, but I have
+ceased to believe in it. You ruptured
+our engagement of your own free will.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But that was in my anger, and a few
+angry words, Lizzie, are powerless to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span>
+undo the tie which had existed for a
+twelvemonth. I did not mean what I
+said. I have regretted it ever since, and
+I am here this morning to ask you to
+forgive it, and let our engagement stand
+as it did before.’</p>
+
+<p>He was drawing closer to her, confident
+in his powers of fascination, but she
+pushed him from her.</p>
+
+<p>‘Monsieur de Courcelles, I am surprised
+at you! I am surprised now to
+think that I should ever have believed
+in you, or thought the engagement you
+entered into with me anything but a
+blind for your more serious intentions in
+another quarter.’</p>
+
+<p>He started backward with astonishment,
+little dreaming that she knew the
+whole of Maraquita’s sad history.</p>
+
+<p>‘I don’t understand you,’ he gasped.
+‘I have never been engaged to any<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span>
+woman but yourself. I don’t desire to
+marry any other woman. I came here
+to-day with the express purpose of asking
+you to condone the past, and marry
+me as soon as may be convenient to you.’</p>
+
+<p>A few weeks before, how her heart
+would have beat at such a proposal, how
+her cheek would have flamed assent, and
+her humid eyes have sought his with
+grateful love. But now she sprang
+aside as if he had insulted her, and
+flashed defiance on him to repeat the
+offence.</p>
+
+<p>‘How <i>dare</i> you?’ she panted. ‘How
+dare you speak to me of marriage—you,
+who have treated me with scorn and
+contumely?’</p>
+
+<p>‘But I have acknowledged my error,
+Lizzie. Surely you are not a woman
+to resent a fault for ever. You <i>used</i> to
+love me, I am sure of that.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>‘Don’t be <i>too</i> sure,’ she interposed
+hastily. ‘I loved <i>something</i>, I know,—some
+creature conjured up by my imagination,
+but not the man of flesh and
+blood I see before me. For I did not
+know you then, and no one can love an
+unknown person.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Lizzie, you are very hard upon me!
+I am not perfect, any more than other
+men, but I don’t know what I can have
+done to merit such bitter taunts from
+you. At all events, try and know me
+now as the man who loves you, and entreats
+you to marry him. Lizzie, be my
+wife! Mr Courtney is aware of our attachment,
+and has made a very generous
+offer of assistance, if we marry each
+other. If your affection for me was ever
+true, you will not refuse me now.’</p>
+
+<p>‘My affection for you <i>was</i> true,’ replied
+Lizzie, looking him full in the face;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span>
+‘and all the more does that make me
+say I will never marry you now. <i>Never!</i>
+Not if there was not another man in the
+world.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But <i>why</i>? Surely you will give me a
+reason for your refusal, Lizzie.’</p>
+
+<p>‘My reason is soon given, monsieur.
+Maraquita—my earliest friend and my
+adopted sister—was here last night. She
+came to ask permission to see the child,
+of whom both of you have accused me
+of being the mother, and I refused her.
+I told her since I had to bear the blame,
+I would also maintain the authority over
+it. And then—in a moment of passion,
+I suppose—somewhat like that moment
+which influenced you basely to get out
+of your engagement to me by means of
+a lie—she told me the name of the child’s
+father. <i>Now</i>, do you wonder that I say
+that henceforth there never can be any<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span>
+communion between you and me, except
+of the most ordinary kind. The man who
+could take advantage of his own sin to
+ruin the character of an innocent woman,
+will never make a good husband to any one,
+and I have done with you for ever!’</p>
+
+<p>Henri de Courcelles turned his face
+away to the open window, the dark blood
+mantling for very shame into his cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>‘I have nothing to say for myself,’ he
+muttered presently. ‘I am only a man,
+and men are very open to temptations
+such as these. But if I have sinned, I
+have also suffered. I was led on by a
+heartless woman, who has deserted her
+child, and thrown me over for the first
+suitor who presents himself with money
+and position in his hands. I would
+have married her willingly, but she
+refused to marry me. She is an
+infernal jilt, with as false a heart and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span>
+tongue as ever woman had; and she has
+been my ruin. She is nothing to me
+now, and she never will be. If you took
+compassion on me, Lizzie, and healed my
+sore heart with your pure affection, you
+should never have reason to complain of
+even my thoughts straying that way. I
+hate the very name of her.’</p>
+
+<p>‘That is no palliation of your fault, in
+my eyes, monsieur. I should feel for you
+more if you told me her desertion had
+made you miserable. But why do you
+not appeal to Mr Courtney to stop this
+unnatural marriage? Did he know the
+truth, he would surely never allow his
+daughter so to prostitute herself.’</p>
+
+<p>‘What good should I effect by that,
+Lizzie? Mr Courtney would only banish
+me at once from Beauregard. Do you
+suppose he would give up the prospect
+of Maraquita becoming the Governor’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span>
+wife, for the sake of an overseer? Besides,
+he already suspects that I admire
+her, and has told me as much, with the
+adjoinder that the only condition on which
+I can retain my situation is to fulfil my
+engagement with you, and settle down at
+the Oleander Bungalow as a married man.
+In that case, he has promised to refurnish
+the house, and raise my salary. So, you
+see, we should be very comfortable; and,
+if you wished it, you could retain your
+medical appointment over the plantation.’</p>
+
+<p>‘And so <i>I</i> am to be made the scapegoat
+to bear your sins into the wilderness,
+and to patch up your injured character at
+Beauregard! You have mistaken me altogether.
+I am capable, I think, of making
+great sacrifices for a man who loves me,
+but not for one who rightly belongs to
+another woman. You will not retain your
+position at Beauregard through <i>my</i> means.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>‘Then I am ruined,’ returned the overseer
+fiercely, ‘and I owe my downfall to
+you two women! You have destroyed
+my life between you. I shall be turned
+off the plantation, without a prospect of
+employment. And if I become desperate,
+it will be laid at your door.’</p>
+
+<p>‘At Maraquita’s, if you please, monsieur,
+but not at mine. I would have clung to
+you through good and evil report, had
+you been true to me. But I cannot forget
+the cruel infamy you put upon me,
+knowing it to be false. It is a crime past
+a woman’s forgiveness,—a calumny that
+will cling to me through life, even though
+you married me in church to-morrow.
+Yet I would rather go down to the grave
+enduring it, than become your wife.’</p>
+
+<p>‘It is finished then!’ exclaimed De
+Courcelles, seizing his hat and rushing
+from the apartment, ‘and I will trouble<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span>
+you no more on the subject, now or ever,’—and
+the next moment he was striding
+hurriedly towards his home.</p>
+
+<p>Lizzie trembled as he left her, but she
+did not weep. Her stock of tears was
+exhausted. And had they not been, a
+cry from the infant in the next room
+would have dried them at their fount.
+She summoned Rosa, who was basking
+asleep in the verandah, to its assistance,
+and with a deep, deep sigh for her dead
+past, lifted her basket, and took her way
+to the coolie quarters.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i192.jpg" alt=""></div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i193a.jpg" alt=""></div>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VIII.</h2>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i193b.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="J">
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="drop-cap">J</span>ERUSHA, the East Indian
+coolie, sat at the door of her
+hut, nursing her baby on her
+knee, and with a very sullen expression
+on her countenance. Indeed, all the hands
+on Beauregard had borne more or less
+of a rebellious look of late. They had
+no particular grudge against Mr Courtney,
+who was a kind, if rather an indolent
+master, delegating all his duties to his
+overseer; but they detested Henri de
+Courcelles, and the accounts of his cruelty,
+and selfishness, and dishonesty, formed the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>
+staple portion of their conversation. His
+very beauty, and evident self-consciousness
+of it, the vast superiority which he
+assumed over them, and the rigour with
+which he carried out the rules of the
+plantation, all combined to set the coolies
+against him, and they thirsted to find out
+something which might degrade him from
+his office. The reports from the Fort, too,
+the constant attempts at rising which had
+to be quelled, had incited them on to
+imitation, and altogether the plantation
+workers were seething under a sense of
+wrong, and ripe for rebellion. Poor little
+Jerusha, with her handsome half-caste
+baby in her arms, might have furnished
+them with a pretext for denouncing the
+overseer, had not her case been too
+common a one amongst them. But to
+the girl it meant the devastation of her
+life. She had not courted her destiny.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>
+She had been landed in San Diego, a
+poor trembling Indian coolie amongst a
+herd of fellow-sufferers, who had been persuaded
+to leave Calcutta under a promise
+of good wages, and plenty of food, and very
+little work, and after a voyage of four
+months (during which they had been
+herded between decks like so many
+swine), had been marched ashore at San
+Diego, too weak and frightened and disappointed
+to have any hope left in them,
+unless it were that they might die. They
+had been all standing together for hire,
+when De Courcelles had sauntered by
+and picked out the likely ones for Mr
+Courtney’s plantation. Jerusha well remembered
+how he came like a prince
+amongst them, and how handsome he had
+looked in his white linen suit and broad-brimmed
+hat, with the blue silk handkerchief
+knotted at his throat, and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span>
+crimson rose blooming in his button-hole,—and
+when he had stopped beside her
+and spoken to her in his low soft tone,
+she had thought him more glorious still.
+She had not sought him out, this poor
+little Indian girl, but he had pertinaciously
+come after her. He had asked for her
+the very day after she had entered the
+plantation, and put so many questions
+as to whether her hut was comfortable,
+and her food sufficient, that Jerusha was
+quite bewildered. And then he had
+given her new clothes, smart dresses—such
+as the natives love to deck themselves
+in—and gold earrings for her ears;
+and the usual consequence followed. She
+fell to the tempter’s seductive arts. It
+was a sort of heaven to the poor untaught
+coolie to be selected from all the
+other girls to be the favourite of the
+handsome young overseer. She never<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span>
+troubled her head to think how long
+his preference would last. She knew that
+he would never marry her—she would
+have laughed at so ludicrous an idea—and
+yet she fancied somehow that her
+happiness would never end, and was
+terribly disappointed and bitterly incensed
+when the day came that De Courcelles
+ordered her back to her quarters with the
+other coolies, and refused to make any
+difference between them. She had reproached
+him with his conduct on the
+occasion which has been related, but, if
+anything, it had had the effect of making
+him more severe with her, and Jerusha
+realised at last that all was over between
+them, and that she had been only a tool
+and a plaything to minister to his short-lived
+pleasure. She was pondering resentfully
+on his neglect as she sat on
+the ground, with both her hands clasped<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span>
+round her knees to make a cradle for
+her little Henri, as she would persist in
+calling the child, greatly to the annoyance
+of the overseer. Henri was a
+beautiful infant, large and round and
+buoyant, with much more of the father
+than the mother in his appearance. He
+was gaily dressed in a short calico shirt
+of red and white striped cotton, with
+bangles on his fat brown arms, and a
+string of blue beads round his neck,
+and as Jerusha rocked him to and fro,
+and heard him crow with delight at
+the exercise, the gloom on her face
+would suddenly disappear, and she would
+seize the boy in her arms and kiss
+him vehemently. As she was thus
+amusing herself, a shadow fell between
+her and the setting sun, and old Jessica
+from the White House stood before
+her. Jessica had been much put out<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span>
+by her young mistress leaving her
+behind when she started for the hill
+range. It was the first time such a
+thing had occurred, and the old nurse
+felt it accordingly. Had she not waited
+on Missy Quita, hand and foot, ever
+since she was a baby? and if she <i>had</i>
+been sharp enough to discover her
+secret, had she not kept it as faithfully
+as Missy would have done herself? And
+why should Missy Quita leave her
+behind just as she had obtained her
+wish and was on the road to make
+the great marriage that Jessica had
+always foretold for her? The faithful
+old negress felt aggrieved; and when
+sunset came, and Mr Courtney had
+gone out for his evening drive, and
+the White House seemed deserted, her
+heart turned to her old friends in the
+negro quarters, and she walked down to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span>
+have a chat with them, and unburden
+herself of her troubles.</p>
+
+<p>‘Eh, Jerusha, gal!’ she exclaimed, as
+she caught sight of the young East
+Indian, ‘and how’s de baby? He berry
+fine boy, Jerusha. He make big strong
+coolie, bime-by.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Coolie,’ repeated Jerusha scornfully.
+‘My little Henri never make coolie boy.
+I tell you dat, Aunty Jess. Henri’s a
+lord’s son, and he’ll be gennelman, bime-by.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You go ways, Jerusha; you talking
+nonsense! Lords is only for great ladies
+like my Missy Quita.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Missy Quita going to marry a lord?’
+said Jerusha inquisitively, as Jessica
+took a seat beside her.</p>
+
+<p>‘Wall, he’s not quite a lord yet, but
+I ’spect he will be bime-by. But he’s a
+great rich gennelman, and the Governor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span>
+of San Diego, and that’s next to being
+a king—jes’ so! But I wish my missy
+take me up to hills with her. I never
+been lef’ behind before. I can’t tell why
+my missy think to go widout me.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Praps she want de lord all to herself—’</p>
+
+<p>‘I not interferin’ wid her little games!
+All her life I let her do jes’ as she like;
+and she don’t mind ole Jessica! Ah, I
+know more dan one secret ob my missy’s—you
+bet, Jerusha!’</p>
+
+<p>‘I dessay! All gals hab dere secrets,
+and dere lovers too. Dis lord not Missy
+Quita’s first lover, <i>I</i> know.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Why, o’ course not—handsome young
+lady like dat. But de good looks not
+allays de good heart. Missy not grateful,
+’pears to me,’ grumbled Jessica. ‘She
+not want me any longer now she got
+Sir Russell to wait on her.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>‘De good looks not allays de good
+heart,’ echoed Jerusha; ‘you may well
+say <i>dat</i>, Aunty Jess. De good looks
+sometimes cover de debbil’s heart—like
+Massa Courcelles’!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Sakes! what you know ’bout <i>him</i>,
+Jerusha?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I don’t know no <i>good</i> of him,
+Aunty.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Jes’ like all de rest ob de world. I
+nebber could bear dat oberseer; he berry
+bad fellow; and dis morning he ’sulted me
+dreffully. Jes’ hear, Jerusha. I comin’
+from White House, quiet as could be, wid
+nothin’ to do, now my missy gone, when
+I meet dat Courcelles walkin’ along and
+swearin’ to himself. He came straight up
+to me and he say, “Out ob my way, you
+d—d old hag! If it hadn’t been for your
+peepin’ and listenin’, I believe I should
+have had my own way. Wait till I get<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span>
+you down to de cotton fields agen, and
+I’ll serve you out for dis.”’</p>
+
+<p>‘Laws, Aunty Jess, and what <i>you</i>
+say?’</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>I</i> say “You jes’ stop dat, you bad
+man. I knows all about you; and you’ll
+nebber get me down to cotton fields
+agen, for if you tries it, I’ll blow de
+roof ob de Oleander Bungalow off your
+head, and tell de ole master eberyting!”’</p>
+
+<p>‘An’ what is der to tell?’ cried
+Jerusha, with sudden interest.</p>
+
+<p>‘Sakes, gal, more than <i>you</i> guess!
+But I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell
+you, now my missy safe, and goin’ to
+marry de Governor. ’Sides, my missy
+not behave berry grateful to me. ’Tis
+de way wid de white folk. Why, Jerusha,
+dat oberseer Missy Quita’s lover for
+ober a year, and she go out night after<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>
+night to meet him in de bungalow, as
+I’m a livin’ woman—’</p>
+
+<p>‘She—go—meet—Massa Courcelles?’
+gasped Jerusha.</p>
+
+<p>‘Sure! And more, dat baby down
+at Doctor’s bungalow no more Miss
+Lizzie’s child than it is yours. Dat
+baby ’long to Missy Quita and Massa
+Courcelles. <i>I</i> knows! but I never tell
+till my missy so ungrateful as to leave
+me behind, and dat man swear and
+call me “d—d hag!” But you nebber
+tell nobody else, Jerusha! You
+keep dat secret like your life, till
+de wedding’s ober—and then, what
+matter?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Dat baby is <i>his</i>? Oh, de false man!’
+cried the coolie, with flashing eyes, as
+she sprang to her feet, and held little
+Henri at arm’s length. ‘And dis chile
+ob mine, dis white-skinned boy, who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span>
+you think <i>he</i> ’long to, Aunty Jessica?
+Why, to that villain too! Dat’s his
+fader! Your fine Massa Courcelles,
+what ruin your missy and me same
+time!’</p>
+
+<p>‘What you say, Jerusha? Your baby’s
+fader de oberseer?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Sure! Didn’t he favour me ober all
+de other coolie girls on de plantation?
+Didn’t he give me my earrings and
+bangles and my Sunday shawl, and
+tell me I de prettiest girl he ebber see?
+And I fool enough to believe him,
+Aunty; I thinkin’ he lub me allays,
+and be good to me, for little Henri’s
+sake. But when he found I should
+hab a baby, he sent me back to de
+fields, and I work dere till I nearly
+drop. And he beat me—yes, Aunty!’
+shrieked Jerusha in her rage, as she
+turned her flaming eyes up to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span>
+skies; ‘he whipped me and my poor
+baby, and laughed when I dared him
+to strike us! And I vowed to hab
+my revenge on him, and I will hab it
+yet. Massa Courcelles shall live to
+wish he nebber deceived a poor coolie
+girl, or struck her baby! That’s so!’</p>
+
+<p>‘And <i>I’ll</i> help you, Jerusha, for I hate
+dat man, and I swore once to give him
+obeah water for deceiving my poor
+missy. And now he serve you de
+same—dat’s twice bad; and I know
+anudder heart what he’s broken, though
+she as good and pure as de white May
+lilies in de garden—and dat’s Miss
+Lizzie.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Nebber <i>Miss Lizzie</i>!’ cried Jerusha
+incredulously. ‘Miss Lizzie do wicked
+ting? Why, she’s de best woman I
+ebber see!’</p>
+
+<p>‘No, no, Jerusha! I not mean dat.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span>
+Only dis villain make lub to de poor
+gal, and promise to marry her, and now
+she breakin’ her heart because he so
+false. Rosa tell me eberyting. She
+pretend to be asleep in verandah dis
+morning, and hear all they say. Miss
+Lizzie ’clare she nebber, nebber marry
+him now.’</p>
+
+<p>‘She miserable woman if she do,’ said
+Jerusha. ‘But hush, Aunty Jess, here
+come Miss Lizzie. Don’t say nuffin
+’bout little Henri ’fore her. She too
+good and sweet! She not like us! I
+never dare tell her who was his fader.’</p>
+
+<p>As the coolie spoke, Lizzie came up to
+them, pale but smiling. She carried her
+basket as usual on her arm, and as soon
+as she saw little Henri, she drew a small
+sponge-cake from a selection of such
+dainties which she carried for the sick,
+and held it out to him.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span>‘What a beauty he grows, Jerusha!
+He will soon be out of arms now, and
+toddling after you everywhere.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes, Missy Liz, he bery fine boy,’
+replied the young mother, in a subdued
+tone.</p>
+
+<p>‘Is anything the matter?’ said Lizzie,
+quickly glancing from Jerusha to the old
+nurse. ‘No bad news of Miss Maraquita,
+I hope, Jessica?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, no, Missy Liz. Missy quite well
+enough, I guess. ’Tis them she leave
+behind what feel bad.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You miss her, I daresay, and the White
+House seems dull without her. Well,
+you will soon be gay enough when the
+wedding takes place.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I s’pose so, Missy Liz. Is dat baby
+at your bungalow all right, missy?’ continued
+Jessica inquisitively.</p>
+
+<p>Lizzie flushed to the roots of her hair.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span>
+She had encountered some impertinence
+on this subject before, and she feared
+a repetition of it.</p>
+
+<p>‘It is quite well, Jessica, although it
+is very weakly, and I am not at all sure
+of rearing it.’</p>
+
+<p>‘A good ting if it die,’ said the nurse;
+‘and if all such babies died, Missy Liz—we’ve
+no room for them here.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You shouldn’t say that, Jessica,’ returned
+Lizzie mildly; ‘for it may be
+God’s will that it should live.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Better say good ting if its <i>fader</i> died!’
+exclaimed Jerusha. ‘That’s the sort we’ve
+no room for. Ah, Missy Liz, no use
+you opening your eyes like dat. We
+know plenty on dis plantation, we do!—and
+we know de good from de bad too,
+and may de Lord help us to root ’em out.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Have you any special enemy here then,
+Jerusha?’ demanded Lizzie.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span>‘Yes, I have,’ replied the coolie, with
+dogged determination. ‘Massa Courcelles
+is my special enemy, and I hate him!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Monsieur de Courcelles, Jerusha? Has
+he been unkind to you, or done you any
+wrong?’</p>
+
+<p>‘He has done me <i>dis</i> wrong!’ cried
+Jerusha, holding out her baby. ‘He has
+given me dis chile, and blows on the top
+of it!’</p>
+
+<p>She would have said more, but Lizzie
+put her hand to her head, and, with a
+low cry, passed swiftly from them. The
+women gazed after her in astonishment.
+They could not understand a nature without
+any feeling of revenge in it,—with
+only the deepest pain for the sins of one
+it loved, and a horror of hearing them
+mentioned by others. They thought
+that Lizzie had misunderstood them, or
+had not heard aright.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>‘Dat’s funny!’ exclaimed Jerusha.
+‘’Pears I didn’t put things right, or she
+would have smacked little Henri on the
+head, or killed him dead, as I’d like to
+kill dat baby at de bungalow.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Missy Liz not one of <i>our</i> sort,’ said
+Jessica. ‘She allays berry quiet and
+gentle, but I guess she <i>feel</i> same as
+rest.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Does she <i>know</i> about dat baby at de
+bungalow?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I ’spect she knows eberyting, and dat
+dese low niggers say it is <i>her</i> chile: same
+as Massa Courcelles did! Poor Miss
+Lizzie, she’s too good for us. She
+oughter run a knife into him and the
+chile too.’</p>
+
+<p>‘That’s so,’ cried Jerusha; ‘and dat’s
+what <i>I</i> will do for her! I full of revenge,
+Jessica. I like to get up some night and
+fire de Oleander Bungalow, and burn dat<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span>
+man in his bed! I like to stick him wid
+knife, same as pig—an’ to make him
+drink poison water till he die.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Better give him de obeah water—dat
+safe and silent,’ replied the nurse;
+‘but you must do it secret, Jerusha. You
+mustn’t tell anybody but me.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I telling no one; but I watch and
+wait, and I hab my revenge. I swear it
+on my little Henri’s head!’ said Jerusha
+solemnly.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i212.jpg" alt=""></div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i213a.jpg" alt=""></div>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IX.</h2>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/i213b.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="M">
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="drop-cap">M</span>EANWHILE Maraquita, up on
+the hill range, was fast recovering
+her equanimity. With
+Lizzie and the Doctor’s bungalow out of
+sight; with her mother’s assurance that
+De Courcelles should be banished from
+Beauregard before they returned to it;
+with recuperated health, and the prospect
+of a marriage beyond her most ambitious
+dreams, life seemed to stretch out like
+one long vista of pleasure before her.
+Hers was a shallow, frivolous nature, incapable
+of looking beyond the present, or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>
+of dwelling long upon the past. She was
+a terrible coward though, and had she remained
+on the plantation, and been subjected
+to the entreaties and reproaches of
+her lover, might have thrown up everything
+to link her fate with his, and regretted
+it bitterly for ever afterwards.
+The marriage she was about to make with
+Sir Russell Johnstone was in reality far
+better suited to her. So long as he was
+attentive to her, and loaded her with
+presents, she didn’t mind his being middle-aged
+and ugly, for she had very little
+sentiment in her nature, and no idea of
+love as it should be betwixt man and
+woman. Her notion of a lover was of
+some one who must be always paying her
+compliments, or giving her pretty things,
+or devising schemes for her enjoyment,
+and in these particulars Sir Russell was
+perfect. He displayed all the infatuation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span>
+and imbecility which usually attacks an
+elderly man who finds himself in sudden
+and unexpected possession of a beautiful
+girl; and Maraquita could never inhale too
+much of the incense of flattery. She
+bridled, and simpered, and blushed under
+his adoring glances, as if she had never
+been subjected to such an ordeal before;
+whilst Mrs Courtney would entreat ‘dear
+Sir Russell to spare her little girl such
+a battery of admiration, or he would
+frighten her back into her shell.’ Quita
+was beginning to give herself also all the
+airs and graces of a Governor’s wife, and
+to hold her head above even her own
+mother. The Government Bungalow was
+charmingly commodious, and filled with
+official servants, whom the little lady
+ordered about as if they already belonged
+to her; and in fact she had already reconciled
+herself so effectually to her new<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>
+position, that she had almost forgotten that
+which was just past, and which she was
+ready to try and believe had never existed.
+She rode with the Governor, and walked
+with him, and smiled at his compliments,
+and even suffered him to embrace her,
+without the least display of repugnance
+or dislike. Not that the recollection of
+Henri de Courcelles had entirely ceased
+to trouble her. She thought of him often,
+but with no warmer feeling than fear.
+She would start, every now and then, in
+the midst of her occupation, to remember
+the threat he had made her, and to shiver
+under the apprehension that he might
+fulfil it. She would run at such times to
+her mother, and implore her to find out if
+De Courcelles had really left their service,
+and if he had quitted San Diego, or
+was lingering round Beauregard. She
+declared that she never could summon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span>
+courage to be married until she knew that
+there was no fear of her former lover way-laying
+her on her way to church, as he had
+sworn to do, and perhaps injuring or
+frightening her into a betrayal of the secret
+between them. Mrs Courtney became so
+anxious at last that her daughter’s mind
+should be set at rest, that she asked her
+husband to join them on the hills for a few
+days, thinking it would be safer to confer
+with him on the subject by word of mouth,
+than through a letter. Mr Courtney came
+up as soon as his business would permit
+him, and the first moment his wife had
+him to herself, she broached the distasteful
+subject.</p>
+
+<p>‘What have you done about De Courcelles,
+Mr Courtney? Have you given
+him warning to leave us?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I have, my dear, for I feel very dissatisfied
+concerning him. I sent for him<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span>
+as soon as you had left home, as I told
+you I should, and informed him that reports
+had reached me concerning himself
+and Maraquita that I could not pass over
+without comment.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Mr Courtney! I <i>begged</i> you not to
+use our dear girl’s name.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Well, I couldn’t tell him a lie, Nita,
+and I really could invent no better excuse
+for sending him away. So I thought
+honesty would be, as usual, the best
+policy.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But what did he say to it?’ demanded
+Mrs Courtney breathlessly. ‘Did he
+deny the fact, or—or—tell any falsehoods
+about it?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Not that I am aware of. He neither
+admitted nor denied the truth of my
+statement, but I could see from his
+manner that it had hit home. So I told
+him he could stay on the plantation on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span>
+one condition only, and that was that
+he fulfilled his engagement with Lizzie
+Fellows.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I <i>wish</i> you hadn’t,’ replied his wife,
+with a look of vexation. ‘I don’t want
+him to stay, under any circumstances.
+Things can never be the same again
+between us after the avowal of his
+impudent pretensions, and I can’t see
+how the matter would be improved by
+his marrying Lizzie Fellows. In fact,
+Mr Courtney, I think you should also
+try and provide for Lizzie elsewhere,
+for Quita can hardly notice her when
+she is Lady Johnstone, after what she
+has done.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Nita, I don’t believe she has done
+anything she need be ashamed of. I
+have full faith in Lizzie, as I have told
+you before, and I will not insult her
+by a suspicion of wrong. However,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span>
+with regard to her marrying Henri de
+Courcelles, you may set your mind at
+rest, for she has refused him.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Lizzie has <i>refused</i> to marry De Courcelles?’
+exclaimed Mrs Courtney, with
+amazement.</p>
+
+<p>‘Have I not said so? De Courcelles
+seemed quite ready to accede
+to my proposal, and I gave him a week
+to settle it in. Before a couple of days
+were over our heads, however, he came
+to tell me that it was of no use, and Miss
+Fellows had refused to have anything
+to do with him. I told him I couldn’t
+go back from my word, and that (under
+the circumstances) I refused to retain
+him on the plantation as an unmarried
+man, so I would pay him a quarter’s
+salary, and he must clear out in a week.
+But before I did so, I walked down
+to Lizzie’s bungalow, and had a very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span>
+plain conversation with her on the
+subject.’</p>
+
+<p>Mrs Courtney’s complexion faded to a
+dull yellow.</p>
+
+<p>‘About the nurse-child? Does she still
+deny that it is hers?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Emphatically, and with such undeniable
+sincerity, that I quite believe her. I
+would stake my life that she has nothing
+to do with that child except to take care
+of it. She is a most injured woman, in
+my opinion, and I urged her, for her own
+sake as well as ours, to do as her father
+(were he living) would command her, and
+reveal the name of the mother of the
+infant.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Mr Courtney, how <i>very</i> wrong of
+you to try and make Lizzie break her
+oath! Why, it would be <i>perjury</i>!’ cried
+Mrs Courtney, virtuously indignant, and
+trembling with anxiety, ‘and I would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span>
+rather think she had fallen, than commit
+such a crime. Surely she was not so
+weak as to be persuaded to do such a
+thing?’</p>
+
+<p>‘No; she is adamant, and her lips are
+closed like a vice. She refuses to say
+anything upon the subject, excepting to
+reiterate her former assertion that the
+child is not hers. And she told me the
+reason she had rejected Monsieur de
+Courcelles’ proposal is because he has
+said the same thing of her as other people.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Well, of course. What can she expect?’
+said his wife, looking infinitely
+relieved. ‘It is very hard on the poor
+girl, but she is bound to keep her oath;
+and people <i>will</i> talk. I have heard the
+coolies speaking of it in the most confident
+manner, as if they had not the
+slightest doubt that she is the baby’s
+mother.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span>‘I’d like to hear a coolie talking of her
+affairs in <i>my</i> presence!’ returned Mr
+Courtney, clenching his fist. ‘He
+wouldn’t talk again in a hurry. If I
+can’t do anything else for the daughter
+of my poor dead friend, I will protect
+her. But there was something Lizzie
+said that somewhat puzzled me, Nita.
+In speaking of De Courcelles, she used
+these terms,—“<i>He</i>, who of all others
+should have died before he accused me
+of a crime of which he <i>knew</i> I was guiltless.”
+She emphasised the word “<i>knew</i>”
+so deeply that it attracted my attention,
+and I asked her <i>how</i> De Courcelles should
+<i>know</i> of her innocence above other people.
+But I could get nothing further out of
+her. She blushed to her eyes, poor girl,
+and was silent; but I was sure she felt
+she had gone too far. What can De
+Courcelles know for certain, Nita? Is it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span>
+possible he can have anything to do
+with this mysterious little stranger at the
+bungalow?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Dear me, Mr Courtney, how can <i>I</i>
+answer the question?’ exclaimed his wife
+pettishly. ‘I don’t see anything peculiar
+in Lizzie’s words. She meant, doubtless,
+that being her betrothed husband, he
+should have had more faith in her virtue;
+and so he should. But men judge women
+by themselves, and so we seldom come off
+scot-free. But are you going to get another
+overseer? <i>That</i> is the most important
+thing to me. I can’t think of
+that De Courcelles’ presumption with any
+patience.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes, yes, my dear! it is all settled, and
+he leaves us next week. I have already
+engaged his successor—Mr Campbell, who
+used to manage the Glendinning estates
+before old Mr Houston died. He bears<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span>
+an excellent character, and, I trust,
+may prove all we require. He is noted
+for his kindness to his coolies; and I
+am afraid De Courcelles has not raised
+the character of Beauregard in that
+respect.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, he is a wretch all round!’ cried
+Mrs Courtney; ‘and I shall not breathe
+freely till he is gone. I hope he will leave
+the island altogether.’</p>
+
+<p>‘That I cannot tell you, for I have
+nothing to do with his movements after
+he quits the plantation. I think he is
+sure to do so, however, as he is not a
+favourite in San Diego, and would find
+it difficult to get another situation here.
+But let us talk of something more pleasant,
+Nita. How is our Maraquita getting
+on with the Governor? Is it all plain
+sailing?’</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>Plain sailing?</i>’ echoed Mrs Courtney.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span>
+‘What a term to apply to it. Why, they
+positively <i>adore</i> each other, my dear, and
+are never happy when apart. Sir Russell
+is only <i>too</i> charming. He follows Quita
+about everywhere, and waits on her like
+a slave. He has given her the most
+exquisite diamond pendant, and an Arab
+horse that cost him two hundred pounds.
+I am longing to see our darling installed
+as the mistress of Government House.
+Sir Russell means to go over to Trinidad
+for the honeymoon. The Government
+steamer will take them on board directly
+after the wedding-breakfast; and they will
+be absent for a month. The day after they
+return to Government House, the marriage
+will be celebrated by a splendid ball. He
+is going to issue invitations to everybody
+in the island—high and low. Isn’t it
+noble of Sir Russell? But he says he
+would ask the whole world, if he could,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span>
+to witness his triumph in the possession of
+so lovely a bride.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I don’t wonder at his enthusiasm,’ exclaimed
+the father, ‘for he has got the
+loveliest girl in the British possessions!
+But what about her fal-lals, my dear?
+Can they be got ready in time?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Only just enough to go on with, Mr
+Courtney; but Sir Russell is as impatient
+as a boy of twenty, and refuses to wait a
+day over the month. I have sent my
+orders to England, as you desired me;
+but, of course, they can’t be here in time.
+The wedding-dress I can luckily supply.
+Perhaps you have forgotten the exquisite
+dress of Honiton lace you gave me when
+the dear child was born. I am having it
+made up over white satin; and she could
+wear nothing, Sir Russell says, more elegant
+or appropriate. As the happy event
+is taking place in the hot season, Maraquita<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span>
+can wear nothing but white muslin
+and lace, which I shall have no trouble in
+procuring for her; and by the time the
+rainy season sets in, her dresses will have
+arrived from England. Really, Mr Courtney,
+it seems as if the fates smiled upon
+her, for nothing could be more fortunate
+than everything has turned out.’</p>
+
+<p>The planter acquiesced in his wife’s
+opinion, and the few days he spent on the
+hills confirmed it as his own. No two
+people could appear to be happier than
+Quita and her <i>fiancé</i>. She suffered herself
+to be loved, and caressed, and petted
+to any extent; and Sir Russell was always
+ready to gratify her. Her proud father
+thought she looked lovelier than ever,
+under the consciousness of her coming
+honours, and went back to Beauregard
+fully satisfied that she was the most fortunate
+girl in the world. But as the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span>
+time passed on, and the moment drew
+near when the mother and daughter
+must also quit the hills, Quita’s agitation
+became very apparent.</p>
+
+<p>‘Mamma,’ she would say, in a horrified
+whisper, clinging fast to her mother’s
+hand, ‘are you quite, <i>quite</i> sure <i>he</i> has
+left Beauregard?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Quite sure, my dearest. Your father
+sent him away a fortnight ago, and
+Mr Campbell, the new overseer, is
+living at the Oleander Bungalow in his
+stead.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But might he not be hiding somewhere
+near? At Shanty Hill, or in the
+Miners’ Gulch? There are public-houses
+in both those places.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Quita, my child, you must get over
+this foolish fear. In the first place, your
+father is quite convinced that De Courcelles
+has left San Diego, as there is no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span>
+vacant situation in the island for which
+he could apply; and in the second, even
+if he were in the neighbourhood he would
+not dare to speak to you, far less to try
+and injure you.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Ah, mamma, you don’t know Henri!
+You should have seen his eyes when he
+said he would stab me at the altar. He
+is terrible when he is in a rage. And I
+feel convinced he will keep his word. He
+will hang about Beauregard till my wedding-day,
+and then he will hide in the
+church and shoot me, and I shall die
+in my wedding-dress, bespattered with
+blood!’ replied Quita, relapsing into tears
+at the awful picture she had conjured up
+in her imagination.</p>
+
+<p>‘Quita, you will make yourself ill if
+you go on like this!’ said Mrs Courtney,
+with grave solicitude. ‘You are really
+too silly to be reasoned with. Do<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span>
+you forget you are going to be the
+Governor’s wife? You are not going
+to marry a nobody, but a man high
+in position and power, and no one
+will dare to assail you either by word
+or deed. The church in which you
+are married will be lined with the
+military; and if you are nervous,
+Sir Russell will have a special guard
+of honour to protect you. But don’t
+let <i>him</i> guess at any of your nervous
+fears, for Heaven’s sake, or he may
+get curious to learn the cause of them.
+Rely on me, Quita, that all will be
+well.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But there is another thing, mamma,’
+said the girl, after a pause. ‘I am horribly
+afraid that old Jessica knows too
+much. One night when—when—I had
+been at the bungalow, I found her awake
+and watching for my return. And two<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span>
+or three times she has muttered hints
+that I could not misunderstand.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Quita, Quita, what trouble you
+have got yourself into. It seems as if
+we should never surmount the difficulties
+in our path. I shall know no peace until
+you are Lady Johnstone.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Nor I either, mamma! But can’t we
+send Jessica away too? I don’t intend
+to take her to Government House, and
+you will have no use for her when I am
+gone.’</p>
+
+<p>‘My dear, I am afraid it would be
+dangerous to dismiss her. She would
+guess the reason, and these negroes are
+very revengeful. They will serve you
+to the death, so long as you make them
+your friends; but once turn round on
+them, and their malice knows no bounds.
+Jessica has been with you since your
+birth, and to send her adrift just as you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span>
+are going to be married, would be to set
+her tongue going like a mill-wheel. No,
+Quita, you must pursue a more politic
+course! I think we made a mistake in
+not bringing Jessica up to the hills with
+us. Had I known what you tell me
+now, I would not have consented to
+her being left behind; but you must
+take her some presents when we return,
+and do all in your power to conciliate
+her. Don’t encourage any familiarity,
+nor appear to understand any hints she
+may give you, but keep her in a good
+temper, my dear child, until after the
+fourteenth, whatever you do.’</p>
+
+<p>Acting on her mother’s advice, Maraquita
+took a gaily-coloured shawl and
+a necklace of gilt beads to Jessica when
+she returned to the White House, and
+made the old nurse’s heart repent that
+she had been led into repeating any<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>
+scandal about her missy. But the departure
+of the overseer was too important
+an event to be passed over in
+silence, and Maraquita was doomed to
+hear a repetition of what was thought
+concerning it in the coolie quarters.</p>
+
+<p>‘Missy seen de new oberseer?’ Jessica
+commenced, the first moment they
+were left alone. ‘He berry fine man,—broader
+den Massa Courcelles, and
+plenty more colour in face; nice hair
+too—same colour as de carrots—and a
+soft voice, kinder like a woman’s.’</p>
+
+<p>‘No, Jessica, I haven’t seen him yet;
+but papa has asked him to dine with us
+this evening.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Ah, Missy won’t like him same as
+Massa Courcelles, for sure,—but Massa
+Campbell good man for all dat, and
+Massa Courcelles berry bad man—all de
+niggers dance when he go ’way, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>
+Jerusha she throw mud after him, and
+frighten his horse so he stand right up
+on his two legs.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Was he hurt?’ cried Quita suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>However frivolous a woman may be,
+she cannot quite lose all interest, at a
+moment’s notice, in the man she has
+loved.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, no, missy! Massa Courcelles
+same like part of horse. He nebber
+thrown; only, he swear and curse plenty
+at Jerusha.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Who <i>is</i> Jerusha?’ asked Quita, betrayed
+by curiosity into forgetting her
+studied reticence; ‘and why should she
+throw dirt at Monsieur de Courcelles?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Ah, missy not knowing. Jerusha only
+a poor coolie, but all de niggers would
+throw dirt at Massa Courcelles if they
+dared. But he been berry bad man to
+poor Jerusha—same as he been to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span>
+my missy,’ added Jessica, in a lower
+tone.</p>
+
+<p>Maraquita turned deathly white.</p>
+
+<p>‘How has he hurt Jerusha?’ she asked,
+in spite of herself.</p>
+
+<p>‘He’s left her with a baby, Missy
+Quita—a nice baby, too, most as white
+as himself, with his eyes and hair; but
+Jerusha feel bad about it, ’cause he’s
+treated her berry cruel, and whipt them
+both with de cowhide.’</p>
+
+<p>Maraquita turned her head aside, and
+burst into tears. She would have given
+worlds that the old nurse should not
+have witnessed her emotion, but she
+could not restrain it. How true it is
+that the love of most women is founded
+on vanity, and that even if they do not
+want a man themselves, they cannot
+bear that any one else should have him.
+Besides, this degrading <i>liaison</i> with a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span>
+coolie girl had taken place at the very
+time that Henri de Courcelles had been
+swearing eternal love to herself. Quita
+did indeed feel at that moment that she
+had parted with a woman’s best possession
+for nothing. She had never been
+so terribly humiliated before. Jessica
+was not slow to take advantage of her
+young mistress’s weakness.</p>
+
+<p>‘Don’t cry, missy,’ she said; ‘dat man
+not worth one tear from my missy’s bright
+eyes. He false and cruel, and got bad
+heart. Missy forget all about dis trouble
+when she marry de Governor. And
+Missy Liz will keep de secret, nebber
+fear, and old Jessica too. Nobody tell
+nuffin, de Governor nebber know, and
+den eberyting go right.’</p>
+
+<p>But this allusion roused the instinctive
+fear in Maraquita’s bosom. She forgot
+her mother’s caution, and the folly of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>
+resenting the old nurse’s hints. She forgot
+everything, except the awful fear of
+exposure, and in her alarm she played
+her worst card, and turned round upon
+Jessica like a fury.</p>
+
+<p>‘What do you mean by speaking to
+me like that?’ she panted. ‘How <i>dare</i>
+you pretend to think that I cried because
+I was in trouble for any one but the poor
+coolie girl? I know I am a fool to feel
+such things. Any one is a fool who
+wastes a tear on you coloured people,
+for you are all false, and mischief-making,
+and scandalous; but it is too bad that
+you should speak as though I were crying
+for myself. What trouble could I be
+in? I have everything I want, and in
+a few days I shall marry the Governor,
+and none of you will dare to say a word
+against me; and if you do, Sir Russell
+will have you whipped, and put in prison,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>
+and you may lie and die there, for aught
+I care.’</p>
+
+<p>It was a foolish and childish rage in
+which she indulged, but Quita was not
+much raised above the coloured people
+she professed to scorn, either in intellect
+or education. Yet it was sufficient to
+excite the desire for revenge in the
+object of her wrath.</p>
+
+<p>‘Missy have me whipped and put in
+prison?’ she shrieked; ‘<i>me</i>—who hab
+nursed her in my bosom, ever since
+she was a tiny baby? Oh, no, Missy
+Quita, you nebber mean dat! I will
+tell Massa Courtney, and de Governor,
+eberyting before dat. I tell dem all
+I know. I clare de character of poor
+Missy Liz, down at de Doctor’s bungalow,
+and I tell <i>whose</i> child dat is what she
+nurse day and night.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, Jessica!’ cried Maraquita, frightened<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>
+beyond expression, as she threw
+herself on her knees before the
+old negress, ‘don’t say that. I was
+beside myself. I didn’t stop to weigh
+my words. I know you are good and
+faithful, and will be true to me, and
+keep my terrible secret, for you wouldn’t
+ruin your poor little missy who loves
+you; would you, Jessica?’</p>
+
+<p>But the old negress was not to be so
+easily conciliated. She looked very surly,
+even whilst Maraquita’s white arms were
+wreathed about her withered neck.</p>
+
+<p>‘Missy Quita, you berry ungrateful gal,’
+she murmured presently. ‘How many
+nights I sit up and watch and wait, while
+you flirting wid dat overseer, fear your
+moder or some one come and find you
+out? Den when you taken bad, ole Jess
+know your trouble all de time, and nebber
+speak one word. But now you going<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span>
+to be grand rich lady, you want to
+kick old Jessica out, and forget all
+she done for you. But I won’t be
+kicked out, Missy Quita. You must
+take me to Government House, and
+give me good wages, or I won’t keep
+your secret any longer; and it isn’t
+no good saying I’m ungrateful, missy,
+’cause you were ungrateful first, and you
+knows it.’</p>
+
+<p>Maraquita saw the terrible mistake she
+had made, when it was too late. Why
+had she not remembered her mother’s
+advice to conciliate the old negress
+until the marriage was an accomplished
+fact? <i>Then</i>, Mrs Courtney would have
+devised some plan to keep her quiet.
+But now there was but one course open
+to her,—to promise to give Jessica everything
+she demanded, however unreasonable.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span>‘Why, of course, Nursey,’ she answered,
+with assumed playfulness. ‘Did you think
+I was going to leave my old darkey
+behind? What should I do without
+you? You shall come to Government
+House as soon as I am settled there,
+and dress me in the mornings, as you
+have always been used to do; and
+perhaps some day you may nurse my
+little children as you nursed me. Will
+that content you, Jessica?’ she added,
+with trembling lips that ill-concealed her
+anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>‘And missy will raise my wages?’
+demanded the negress; ‘Governor’s lady
+give better wages than planter’s daughter,
+and I hab worked for eighteen
+long years in your service, Missy
+Quita.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes, yes! You shall have any wages
+you like, Jessica. I shall tell Sir Russell<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span>
+what a good servant you have been
+to me, and he will be proud to reward
+you. But perhaps you would rather
+have a pension,’ said Quita wistfully,
+‘or a lump sum of money, that will
+enable you to go back to your own
+country, and live there.’</p>
+
+<p>‘No, missy; I rather live and die with
+you. You seem like my own child to
+me, and San Diego like my country. I
+no want go way; and if missy good to
+me, I keep her secrets always, and no
+one shall hear ole Jess tell de truth
+about her.’</p>
+
+<p>Maraquita felt this was only a compromise,
+but she had no alternative but
+to accept it. There was a hard, stony
+look in old Jessica’s eyes that alarmed
+her, and made her doubt her promises
+of fidelity. She was not slow to perceive,
+either, the mercenary motive of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span>
+her demand for higher wages, but she
+could not afford to comment on it. She
+had put herself in the power of another
+woman—the most terrible bondage the
+sex is ever subjected to—and she saw
+no way to loosen her chains, except by
+perfect acquiescence. But she loathed
+the old negress, even while she forced
+herself to caress her. The affection of
+her whole life seemed to have faded
+beneath the ordeal to which it had been
+subjected. Jessica was no longer the
+kind and faithful nurse who had tended
+her from her infancy, and to whom she
+had run in every dilemma, but a hard
+and grasping creditor, who had possession
+of that which might ruin her
+life, and demanded her very blood in
+ransom. However, there seemed no way
+but one out of the scrape, and so Maraquita
+promised to do all and everything<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span>
+that the negress might require, and tried
+to soothe her ruffled feelings with soft
+words and caresses.</p>
+
+<p>But she did not feel sure that she
+had succeeded, even though Jessica paid
+her some honied compliments in return,
+and lay down in her bed that
+night longing more than ever that
+the wedding-day had come and
+gone.</p>
+
+<p>All went smoothly, however. No one
+saw or heard anything further of Henri de
+Courcelles, nor was Quita even annoyed
+by the mention of his name. He seemed
+to have totally disappeared from Beauregard,
+and Mr Courtney fully believed
+that he had left the island. The old
+nurse made no further disagreeable
+allusions to the past, and appeared to
+be as devoted to her young mistress as
+she had ever been, so that Maraquita<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span>
+regained her lightness of heart, and
+turned her attention entirely to the
+brilliant prospects before her. The fourteenth
+was close at hand, and the preparations
+for the Governor’s wedding,
+which was to take place in the Fort
+church, were on a scale of magnificence
+never before attempted in San Diego.
+The church was to be embowered in
+flowers; the military were to line the
+road leading to it; half the gentry in the
+island were to be engaged in singing a
+choral service; and a splendid barouche,
+drawn by four horses, and preceded by
+a guard of honour, was to convey the
+newly-married couple back to Beauregard.</p>
+
+<p>Here, naturally, all were in a flutter.
+Mrs Courtney, never a good housekeeper,
+was nearly out of her mind over the
+wedding-breakfast and the completion of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span>
+Maraquita’s dress, and was thankful to
+delegate the issuing of the invitations to
+her husband and her daughter. Mr
+Courtney made out the list of names,
+whilst Maraquita wrote the invitations in
+a very irregular hand on gold-edged
+paper. Half-way down the list she
+came upon the name of Miss Fellows.</p>
+
+<p>‘<i>Lizzie?</i>’ she exclaimed, with rather
+rashly expressed astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>‘Of course! why not?’ returned her
+father quickly.</p>
+
+<p>‘Well, because, although <i>we</i> don’t
+believe the reports about her, papa,
+<i>other</i> people do, and some of the ladies
+of San Diego might object to meet
+her.’</p>
+
+<p>Mr Courtney consigned the ladies of
+San Diego to a warmer region, but
+held to his determination.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span>‘There shall be no festivity held in
+my house to which Lizzie Fellows is
+not invited,’ he answered sternly; ‘and
+the fact that she is still welcomed here,
+will be the best denial of these infamous
+calumnies against her. I should
+be ashamed of you, my daughter, if you
+consented to her name being omitted
+from our guests. The poor girl has
+suffered enough from the death of her
+father, and the rascality of that scoundrel
+De Courcelles, to say nothing of these
+cruel rumours, without our turning our
+backs upon her.’</p>
+
+<p>The mention of De Courcelles’ name
+was enough to stop Maraquita’s tongue,
+and she wrote the invitation without
+further comment. Only, as both she
+and her mother anticipated, Lizzie’s
+reply was in the negative. She made
+her recent loss the excuse for not joining<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span>
+in any gaiety; but Maraquita and
+Mrs Courtney knew that after the insults
+they had hurled at her, she would
+never place her foot voluntarily again
+within the walls of the White House.</p>
+
+<p class="center">END OF VOL. II.</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 75275 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
+
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+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #75275 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75275)