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diff --git a/75275-0.txt b/75275-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..44a2c5d --- /dev/null +++ b/75275-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3854 @@ + +*** 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 *** |