Chapter VI.

by Bret Harte

　　The next morning Paul could not help noticing an increased and evenexaggerated respect paid him by the hotel attendants. He was askedif his Excellency would he served with breakfast in a private room,and his condescension in selecting the public coffee-room struckthe obsequious chamberlain, but did not prevent him from precedingPaul backwards to the table, and summoning a waiter to attendspecially upon "milor." Surmising that George and the colonelmight be in some way connected with this extravagance, he postponedan investigation till he should have seen them again. And,although he hardly dared to confess it to himself, the unexpectedprospect of meeting Yerba again fully preoccupied his thoughts. Hehad believed that he would eventually see her in Europe, in somevague and indefinite way and hour: it had been in his mind when hestarted from California. That it would be so soon, and in such asimple and natural manner, he had never conceived."He had returned from his morning walk to the Brunnen, and wassitting idly in his room, when there was a knock at the door. Itopened to a servant bearing a salver with a card. Paul lifted itwith a slight tremor, not at the engraved name of "Maria Concepcionde Arguellos de la Yerba Buena," but at the remembered school-girlhand that had penciled underneath the words, "wishes the favor ofan audience with his Excellency the Lord Lieutenant-Governor of theCalifornias."Paul looked inquiringly at the servant. "The gnadige Fraulein wasin her own salon. Would Excellency walk that way? It was but astep; in effect, the next apartment."Paul followed him into the hall with wondering steps. The door ofthe next room was open, and disclosed a handsomely furnished salon.A tall graceful figure rose quickly from behind a writing-table,and advanced with outstretched hands and a frank yet mischievoussmile. It was Yerba.Standing there in a grayish hat, mantle, and traveling dress, allof one subdued yet alluring tone, she looked as beautiful as whenhe had last seen her--and yet--unlike. For a brief bitter momenthis instincts revolted at this familiar yielding up in his faircountrywomen of all that was distinctively original in them toalien tastes and habits, and he resented the plastic yetcharacterless mobility which made Yerba's Parisian dress andEuropean manner fit her so charmingly and yet express so little.For a brief critical moment he remembered the placid, unchangingsimplicity of German, and the inflexible and ingrained reserve ofEnglish, girlhood, in opposition to this indistinctive cosmopolitangrace. But only for a moment. As soon as she spoke, a certainflavor of individuality seemed to return to her speech."Confess," she said, "it was a courageous thing for me to do. Youmight have been somebody else--a real Excellency--or heaven knowswhat! Or, what is worse in your new magnificence, you might haveforgotten one of your oldest, most humble, but faithful subjects."She drew back and made him a mock ceremonious curtsy, that even inits charming exaggeration suggested to Paul, however, that she hadalready made it somewhere seriously."But what does it all mean?" he asked, smiling, feeling not onlyhis doubts and uneasiness vanish, but even the years of separationmelt away in her presence. "I know I went to bed last night a veryhumble individual, and yet I seem to awaken this morning a veryexalted personage. Am I really Commander of the Faithful, or am Idreaming? Might I trouble you, as my predecessor Abou Hassan didSweetlips, to bite my little finger?""Do you mean to say you have not seen the 'Auzeiger?'" shereturned, taking a small German printed sheet from the table andpointing to a paragraph. Paul took the paper. Certainly there wasthe plain announcement among the arrivals of "His Excellency PaulHathaway, Lord Lieutenant-Governor of the Californias." A lightflashed upon him."This is George's work. He and Colonel Pendleton were here with melast night.""Then you have seen the colonel already?" she said, with a scarcelyperceptible alteration of expression, which, however, struck Paul."Yes. I met him at the theatre last evening." He was about toplunge into an animated description of the colonel's indignation,but checked himself, he knew not why. But he was thankful the nextmoment that he had."That accounts for everything," she said, lifting her prettyshoulders with a slight shrug of weariness. "I had to put a stepto George's talking about me three months ago,--his extravagance issomething too awful. And the colonel, who is completely in hishands,--trusting him for everything, even the language,--doesn'tsee it.""But he is extravagant in the praise of his friends only, and youcertainly justify all he can say."She was taking off her hat, and stopped for a moment to look at himthoughtfully, with the soft tendrils of her hair clinging to herforehead. "Did the colonel talk much about me?""A great deal. In fact, I think we talked of nothing else. He hastold me of your triumphs and your victims; of your variouscampaigns and your conquests. And yet I dare say he has not toldme all--and I am dying to hear more."She had laid down her hat and unloosed a large bow of her mantle,but stopped suddenly in the midst of it and sat down again."I wish you'd do something for me.""You have only to name it.""Well, drop all this kind of talk! Try to think of me as if I hadjust come from California--or, better, as if you had never knownanything of me at all--and we met for the first time. You could, Idare say, make yourself very agreeable to such a young lady who waswilling to be pleased--why not to me? I venture to say you havenot ever troubled yourself about me since we last met. No--hear methrough--why, then, should you wish to talk over what didn'tconcern you at the time? Promise me you will stop this reminiscentgossip, and I promise you I will not only not bore you with it, buttake care that it is not intruded upon you by others. Makeyourself pleasant to me by talking about yourself and yourprospects--anything but me--and I will throw over those princes andbarons that the colonel has raved about and devote myself to youwhile you are here. Does that suit your Excellency?" She hadcrossed her knees, and, with her hands clasped over them, and thetoe of her small boot advanced beyond her skirt, leaned forward inthe attitude he remembered to have seen her take in the summer-house at Rosario."Perfectly," he said."How long will you be here?""About three weeks: that, I believe, is the time allotted for mycure.""Are you really ill," she said quietly, "or imagine yourself so?""It amounts to about the same thing. But my cure may not take solong," he added, fixing his bright eyes upon her.She returned his gaze thoughtfully, and they remained looking ateach other silently."Then you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. That isvery often the case," she said quietly. "There," she added inanother tone, "it is settled. You will come and go as you like,using this salon as your own. Stay, we can do something today.What do you say to a ride in the forest this afternoon? Millyisn't here yet, but it will be quite proper for you to accompany meon horseback, though, of course, we couldn't walk a hundred yardsdown the Allee together unless we were verlobt.""But," said Paul, "you are expecting company this afternoon. DonCaesar--I mean Miss Briones and her brother are coming here to saygood-by."She regarded him curiously, but without emotion."Colonel Pendleton should have added that they were to remain hereovernight as my guests," she said composedly. And of course weshall be back in time for dinner. But that is nothing to you. Youhave only to be ready at three o'clock. I will see that the horsesare ordered. I often ride here, and the people know my tastes andhabits. We will have a pleasant ride and a good long talktogether, and I'll show you a ruin and a distant view of the villawhere I have been staying." She held out her hand with a frankgirlish smile, and even a girlish anticipation of pleasure in herbrown eyes. He bent over her slim fingers for a moment, andwithdrew.When he was in his own room again, he was conscious only of astrong desire to avoid the colonel until after his ride with Yerba.He would keep his word so far as to abstain from allusion to herfamily or her past: indeed, he had his own opinion of its futility.But it would be strange if, with his past experience, he could notfind some other way to determine her convictions or win herconfidence during those two hours of companionship. He wouldaccept her terms fairly; if she had any ulterior design in heradvances, he would detect it; if she had the least concern for him,she could not continue long an artificial friendship. But he mustnot think of that!By absenting himself from the hotel he managed to keep clear ofPendleton until the hour arrived. He was gratified to find Yerbain the simplest and most sensible of habits, as if she had alreadydivined his tastes and had wished to avoid attracting undueattention. Nevertheless, it very prettily accented her tallgraceful figure, and Paul, albeit, like most artistic admirers ofthe sex, not recognizing a woman on a horse as a particularlyharmonious spectacle, was forced to admire her. Both rode well,and naturally--having been brought up in the same Western school--the horses recognized it, and instinctively obeyed them, and theirconversation had the easy deliberation and inflection of a tete-a-tete. Paul, in view of her previous hint, talked to her of himselfand his fortunes, of which she appeared, however, to have someknowledge. His health had obliged him lately to abandon politicsand office; he had been successful in some ventures, and had becomea junior partner in a bank with foreign correspondence. Shelistened to him for some time with interest and attention, but atlast her face became abstracted and thoughtful. "I wish I were aman!" she said suddenly.Paul looked at her quickly. For the first time he detected in thering of her voice something of the passionate quality he fancied hehad always seen in her face."Except that it might give you better control of your horse, Idon't see why," said Paul. "And I don't entirely believe you.""Why?""Because no woman really wishes to be a man unless she is consciousof her failure as a woman.""And how do you know I'm not?" she said, checking her horse andlooking in his face. A quick conviction that she was on the pointof some confession sprang into his mind, but unfortunately showedin his face. She beat back his eager look with a short laugh."There, don't speak, and don't look like that. That remark wasworthy the usual artless maiden's invitation to a compliment,wasn't it? Let us keep to the subject of yourself. Why, with yourpolitical influence, don't you get yourself appointed to somediplomatic position over here?""There are none in our service. You wouldn't want me to sinkmyself in some absurd social functions, which are called by thatname, merely to become the envy and hatred of a few richrepublicans, like your friends who haunt foreign courts?""That's not a pretty speech--but I suppose I invited that too.Don't apologize. I'd rather see you flare out like that than paycompliments. Yet I fancy you're a diplomatist, for all that.""You did me the honor to believe I was one once, when I was simplythe most palpable ass and bungler living," said Paul bitterly.She was still sweetly silent, apparently preoccupied in smoothingout the mane of her walking horse. "Did I?" she said softly. Hedrew close beside her."How different the vegetation is here from what it is with us!" shesaid with nervous quickness, directing his attention to the grassroad beneath them, without lifting her eyes. "I don't mean what iscultivated,--for I suppose it takes centuries to make the lawnsthey have in England,--but even here the blades of grass seem topress closer together, as if they were crowded or overpopulated,like the country; and this forest, which has been always wild andwas a hunting park, has a blase look, as if it was already tired ofthe unchanging traditions and monotony around it. I think overthere Nature affects and influences us: here, I fancy, it is itselfaffected by the people.""I think a good deal of Nature comes over from America for thatpurpose," he said dryly."And I think you are breaking your promise--besides being a goose!"she retorted smartly. Nevertheless, for some occult reason theyboth seemed relieved by this exquisite witticism, and trotted onamicably together. When Paul lifted his eyes to hers he could seethat they were suffused with a tender mischief, as of a reprovingyet secretly admiring sister, and her strangely delicate complexionhad taken on itself that faint Alpine glow that was more of anillumination than a color. "There," she said gayly, pointing withher whip as the wood opened upon a glade through which the partedtrees showed a long blue curvature of distant hills, "you see thatwhite thing lying like a snowdrift on the hills?""Or the family washing on a hedge.""As you please. Well, that is the villa.""And you were very happy there?" said Paul, watching her girlishlyanimated face."Yes; and as you don't ask questions, I'll tell you why. There isone of the sweetest old ladies there that I ever met--theperfection of old-time courtliness with all the motherishness of aGerman woman. She was very kind to me, and, as she had no daughterof her own, I think she treated me as if I was one. At least, Ican imagine how one would feel to her, and what a woman like thatcould make of any girl. You laugh, Mr. Hathaway, you don'tunderstand--but you don't know what an advantage it would be to agirl to have a mother like that, and know that she could fall backon her and hold her own against anybody. She's equipped from thestart, instead of being handicapped. It's all very well to talkabout the value of money. It can give you everything but onething--the power to do without it.""I think its purchasing value would include even the gnadige Frau,"said Paul, who had laughed only to hide the uneasiness that Yerba'sapproach to the tabooed subject had revived in him. She shook herhead; then, recovering her tone of gentle banter, said, "There--I've made a confession. If the colonel talks to you again about myconquests, you will know that at present my affections are centredon the Baron's mother. I admit it's a strong point in his--inanybody's--favor, who can show an unblemished maternal pedigree.What a pity it is you are an orphan, like myself, Mr. Hathaway!For I fancy your mother must have been a very perfect woman. Agreat deal of her tact and propriety has descended to you. Only itwould have been nicer if she had given it to you, like pocketmoney, as occasion required--which you might have shared with me--than leaving it to you in one thumping legacy."It was impossible to tell how far the playfulness of her brown eyessuggested any ulterior meaning, for as Paul again eagerly drewtowards her, she sent her horse into a rapid canter before him.When he was at her side again, she said, "There is still the ruinto see on our way home. It is just off here to the right. But ifyou wish to go over it we will have to dismount at the foot of theslope and walk up. It hasn't any story or legend that I know of; Ilooked over the guide-book to cram for it before you came, butthere was nothing. So you can invent what you like."They dismounted at the beginning of a gentle acclivity, where anancient wagon-road, now grass-grown, rose smooth as a glacis.Tying their horses to two moplike bushes, they climbed the slopehand in hand like children. There were a few winding broken steps,part of a fallen archway, a few feet of vaulted corridor, a suddenbreach--the sky beyond--and that was all! Not all; for beforethem, overlooked at first, lay a chasm covering half an acre, inwhich the whole of the original edifice--tower turrets, walls, andbattlements--had been apparently cast, inextricably mixed andmingled at different depths and angles, with here and there, likemushrooms from a dust-heap, a score of trees upspringing."This is not Time--but gunpowder," said Paul, leaning over aparapet of the wall and gazing at the abyss, with a slight grimace."It don't look very romantic, certainly," said Yerba. "I only sawit from the road before. I'm dreadfully sorry," she added, withmock penitence. "I suppose, however, something must have happenedhere.""There may have been nobody in the house at the time," said Paulgravely. "The family may have been at the baths."They stood close together, their elbows resting upon the brokenwall, and almost touching. Beyond the abyss and darker forest theycould see the more vivid green and regular lines of the plane-treesof Strudle Bad, the glitter of a spire, or the flash of a dome.From the abyss itself arose a cool odor of moist green leaves, thescent of some unseen blossoms, and around the baking vines on thehot wall the hum of apparently taskless and disappointed bees.There was nobody in sight in the forest road, no one working in thebordering fields, and no suggestion of the present. There mighthave been three or four centuries between them and Strudle Bad."The legend of this place," said Paul, glancing at the long brownlashes and oval outline of the cheek so near his own, "is simple,yet affecting. A cruel, remorseless, but fascinating Hexie wasonce loved by a simple shepherd. He had never dared to syllablehis hopeless affection, or claim from her a syllabled--perhaps Ishould say a one-syllabled--reply. He had followed her from remotelands, dumbly worshiping her, building in his foolish brain an air-castle of happiness, which by reason of her magic power she couldalways see plainly in his eyes. And one day, beguiling him in thedepths of the forest, she led him to a fair-seeming castle, and,bidding him enter its portals, offered to show him a realization ofhis dream. But, lo! even as he entered the stately corridor itseemed to crumble away before him, and disclosed a hideous abyssbeyond, in which the whole of that goodly palace lay in heaped andtangled ruins--the fitting symbol of his wrecked and shatteredhopes."She drew back a little way from him, but still holding on to thetop of the broken wall with one slim gauntleted hand, and swungherself to one side, while she surveyed him with smiling, partedlips and conscious eyelids. He promptly covered her hand with hisown, but she did not seem to notice it."That is not the story," she said, in a faint voice that even herstruggling sauciness could not make steadier. "The true story iscalled 'The Legend of the Goose-Girl of Strudle Bad, and theenterprising Gosling.' There was once a goose-girl of the plain whotried honestly to drive her geese to market, but one eccentric andwillful gosling-- Mr. Hathaway! Stop--please--I beg you let mego!"He had caught her in his arms--the one encircling her waist, theother hand still grasping hers. She struggled, half laughing;yielded for a breathless moment as his lips brushed her cheek, and--threw him off. "There!" she said, "that will do: the story wasnot illustrated.""But, Yerba," he said, with passionate eagerness, "hear me--it isall God's truth.--I love you!"She drew back farther, shaking the dust of the wall from the foldsof her habit. Then, with a lower voice and a paler cheek, as ifhis lips had sent her blood and utterance back to her heart, shesaid, "Come, let us go.""But not until you've heard me, Yerba.""Well, then--I believe you--there!" she said, looking at him."You believe me?" he repeated eagerly, attempting to take her handagain.She drew back still farther. "Yes," she said, "or I shouldn't behere now. There! that must suffice you. And if you wish me stillto believe you, you will not speak of this again while we are outtogether. Come, let us go back to the horses."He looked at her with all his soul. She was pale, but composed,and--he could see--determined. He followed her without a word.She accepted his hand to support her again down the slope withoutembarrassment or reminiscent emotion. The whole scene throughwhich she had just passed might have been buried in the abyss andruins behind her. As she placed her foot in his hand to remount,and for a moment rested her weight on his shoulder, her brown eyesmet his frankly and without a tremor.Nor was she content with this. As Paul at first rode on silently,his heart filled with unsatisfied yearning, she rallied himmischievously. Was it kind in him on this, their first daytogether, to sulk in this fashion? Was it a promise for theirfuture excursions? Did he intend to carry this lugubrious visagethrough the Allee and up to the courtyard of the hotel to proclaimhis sentimental condition to the world? At least, she trusted hewould not show it to Milly, who might remember that this was onlythe second time they had met each other. There was something sosweetly reasonable in this, and withal not without a certainhopefulness for the future, to say nothing of the half-mischievous,half-reproachful smile that accompanied it, that Paul exertedhimself, and eventually recovered his lost gayety. When they atlast drew up in the courtyard, with the flush of youth and exercisein their faces, Paul felt he was the object of envy to theloungers, and of fresh gossip to Strudle Bad. It struck him lesspleasantly that two dark faces, which had been previously regardinghim in the gloom of the corridor and vanished as he approached,reappeared some moments later in Yerba's salon as Don Caesar andDona Anna, with a benignly different expression. Dona Annaespecially greeted him with so much of the ostentatious archness ofa confident and forgiving woman to a momentarily recreant lover,that he felt absurdly embarrassed in Yerba's presence. He wasthinking how he could excuse himself, when he noticed a beautifulbasket of flowers on the table and a tiny note bearing a baron'screst. Yerba had put it aside with--as it seemed to him at themoment--an almost too pronounced indifference--and an indifferencethat was strongly contrasted to Dona Anna's eagerly expressedenthusiasm over the offering, and her ultimate supplications toPaul and her brother to admire its beauties and the wonderful tasteof the donor.All this seemed so incongruous with Paul's feelings, and above allwith the recollection of his scene with Yerba, that he excusedhimself from dining with the party, alleging an engagement with hisold fellow-traveler the German officer, whose acquaintance he hadrenewed. Yerba did not press him; he even fancied she lookedrelieved. Colonel Pendleton was coming; Paul was not loath, in hispresent frame of mind, to dispense with his company. A convictionthat the colonel's counsel was not the best guide for Yerba, andthat in some vague way their interests were antagonistic, had begunto force itself upon him. He had no intention of being disloyal toher old guardian, but he felt that Pendleton had not been frankwith him since his return from Rosario. Had he ever been so withher? He sometimes doubted his disclaimer.He was lucky in finding the General disengaged, and together theydined at a restaurant and spent the evening at the Kursaal. Later,at the Residenz Club, the General leaned over his beer-glass andsmilingly addressed his companion."So I hear you, too, are a conquest of the beautiful SouthAmerican."For an instant Paul, recognizing only Dona Anna under that epithet,looked puzzled."Come, my friend," said the General regarding him with someamusement, "I am an older man than you, yet I hardly think I couldhave ridden out with such a goddess without becoming her slave."Paul felt his face flush in spite of himself. "Ah! you mean MissArguello," he said hurriedly, his color increasing at his ownmention of that name as if he were imposing it upon his honestcompanion. "She is an old acquaintance of mine--from my own State--California.""Ah, so," said the General, lifting his eyebrows in profoundapology. "A thousand pardons.""Surely," said Paul, with a desperate attempt to recover hisequanimity, "you ought to know our geography better.""So, I am wrong. But still the name--Arguello--surely that is notAmerican? Still, they say she has no accent, and does not looklike a Mexican."For an instant Paul was superstitiously struck with the fatalinfelicity of Yerba's selection of a foreign name, that now seemedonly to invite that comment and criticism which she should haveavoided. Nor could he explain it at length to the General withoutassisting and accenting the deception, which he was always hopingin some vague way to bring to an end. He was sorry he hadcorrected the General; he was furious that he had allowed himselfto be confused.Happily his companion had misinterpreted his annoyance, and withimpulsive German friendship threw himself into what he believed tobe Paul's feelings. "Donnerwetter! Your beautiful countrywoman ismade the subject of curiosity just because that stupid baron ispersistent in his serious attentions. That is quite enough, mygood friend, to make Klatschen here among those animals who do notunderstand the freedom of an American girl, or that an heiress mayhave something else to do with her money than to expend it on theBaron's mortgages. But"--he stopped, and his simple, honest faceassumed an air of profound and sagacious cunning--"I am glad totalk about it with you, who of course are perfectly familiar withthe affair. I shall now be able to know what to say. My word, myfriend, has some weight here, and I shall use it. And now youshall tell me who is our lovely friend, and who were her parentsand her kindred in her own home. Her associates here, you possiblyknow, are an impossible colonel and his never-before-approachedvalet, with some South American Indian planters, and, I believe, apork-butcher's daughter. But of them--it makes nothing. Tell meof her people."With his kindly serious face within a few inches of Paul's, andsympathizing curiosity beaming from his pince-nez, he obliged thewretched and conscience-stricken Hathaway to respond with adetailed account of Yerba's parentage as projected by herself andindorsed by Colonel Pendleton. He dwelt somewhat particularly onthe romantic character of the Trust, hoping to draw the General'sattention away from the question of relationship, but he waschagrined to find that the honest warrior evidently confounded theTrust with some eleemosynary institution and sympatheticallyglossed it over. "Of course," he said, "the Mexican Minister atBerlin would know all about the Arguello family: so there would beno question there."Paul was not sorry when the time came to take leave of his friend;but once again in the clear moonlight and fresh, balmy air of theAllee, he forgot the unpleasantness of the interview. He foundhimself thinking only of his ride with Yerba. Well! he had toldher that he loved her. She knew it now, and although she hadforbidden him to speak further, she had not wholly rejected it. Itmust be her morbid consciousness of the mystery of her birth thatwithheld a return of her affections,--some half-knowledge, perhaps,that she would not divulge, yet that kept her unduly sensitive ofaccepting his love. He was satisfied there was no entanglement;her heart was virgin. He even dared to hope that she had alwayscared for him. It was for him to remove all obstacles--to prevailupon her to leave this place and return to America with him as herhusband, the guardian of her good name, and the custodian of hersecret. At times the strains of a dreamy German waltz, played inthe distance, brought back to him the brief moment that his arm hadencircled her waist by the crumbling wall, and his pulses grewlanguid, only to leap firmer the next moment with more desperateresolve. He would win her, come what may! He could never havebeen in earnest before: he loathed and hated himself for hisprevious passive acquiescence to her fate. He had been a weak toolof the colonel's from the first: he was even now handicapped by apreposterous promise he had given him! Yes, she was right tohesitate--to question his ability to make her happy! He had foundher here, surrounded by stupidity and cupidity--to give it no othername--so patent that she was the common gossip, and had offerednothing but a boyish declaration! As he strode into the hotel thatnight it was well that he did not meet the unfortunate colonel onthe staircase!It was very late, although there was still visible a light inYerba's salon, shining on her balcony, which extended before andincluded his own window. From time to time he could hear themurmur of voices. It was too late to avail himself of theinvitation to join them, even if his frame of mind had permittedit. He was too nervous and excited to go to bed, and, withoutlighting his candle, he opened the French window that gave upon thebalcony, drew a chair in the recess behind the curtain, and gazedupon the night. It was very quiet; the moon was high, the squarewas sleeping in a trance of checkered shadows, like a giganticchessboard, with black foreshortened trees for pawns. The click ofa cavalry sabre, the sound of a footfall on the pavement of thedistant Konigsstrasse, were distinctly audible; a far-off railwaywhistle was startling in its abruptness. In the midst of this calmthe opening of the door of the salon, with the sudden uplifting ofvoices in the hall, told Paul that Yerba's guests were leaving. Heheard Dona Anna's arch accents--arch even to Colonel Pendleton'smonotonous baritone!--Milly's high, rapid utterances, the suavefalsetto of Don Caesar, and her voice, he thought a triflewearied,--the sound of retiring footsteps, and all was still again.So still that the rhythmic beat of the distant waltz returned tohim, with a distinctiveness that he could idly follow. He thoughtof Rosario and the rose-breath of the open windows with a strangelonging, and remembered the half-stifled sweetness of her happyvoice rising with it from the veranda. Why had he ever let it passfrom him then and waft its fragrance elsewhere? Why-- What wasthat?The slight turning of a latch! The creaking of the French windowof the salon, and somebody had slipped softly half out on thebalcony. His heart stopped beating. From his position in therecess of his own window, with his back to the partition of thesalon, he could see nothing. Yet he did not dare to move. Forwith the quickened senses of a lover he felt the diffused andperfumed aura of her presence, of her garments, of her flesh, flowin upon him through the open window, and possess his wholebreathless being! It was she! Like him, perhaps, longing to enjoythe perfect night--like him, perhaps, thinking of--"So you ar-range to get rid of me--ha! lik thees? To tur-rn me offfrom your heels like a dog who have follow you--but without a word--without a--a--thanks--without a 'ope! Ahme and my sister; we are the or-range dry--now we can go! Like theold shoe, we are to be flung away! Good! But I am here again--yousee. I shall speak, and you shall hear-r."Don Caesar's voice--alone with her! Paul gripped his chair and satupright."Stop! Stay where you are! How dared you return here?" It wasYerba's voice, on the balcony, low and distinct."Shut the window! I shall speak with you what you will not theworld to hear.""I prefer to keep where I am, since you have crept into this roomlike a thief!""A thief! Good!" He broke out in Spanish, and, as if no longerfearful of being overheard, had evidently drawn nearer to thewindow. "A thief. Ha! muy bueno--but it is not I, you understand--I, Caesar Briones, who am the thief! No! It is that swaggeringespadachin--that fanfarron of a Colonel Pendleton--that pattern ofan official, Mr. Hathaway--that most beautiful heiress of theCalifornias, Miss Arguello--that are thieves! Yes--of a name--MissArguello--of a name! The name of Arguello!"Paul rose to his feet."Ah, so! You start--you turn pale--you flash your eyes, senora,but you think you have deceived me all these years. You think Idid not see your game at Rosario--yes, even when that foolishCastro muchacha first put that idea in your head. Who furnishedyou the facts you wanted? I--Mother of God! Such facts!--I, whoknew the Arguello pedigree--I, who know it was as impossible foryou to be a daughter of them as--what? let me think--as--as it isimpossible for you to be the wife of that baron whom you woulddeceive with the rest! Ah, yes; it was a high flight for you,Mees--Mees--Dona Fulana--a noble game for you to bring down!"Why did she not speak? What was she doing? If she had but uttereda single word of protest, of angry dismissal, Paul would have flownto her side. It could not be the paralysis of personal fear: thebalcony was wide; she could easily pass to the end; she could evensee his open window."Why did I do this? Because I loved you, senora--and you knew it!Ah! you can turn your face away now; you can pretend tomisunderstand me, as you did a moment ago; you can part from me nowlike a mere acquaintance--but it was not always so! No, it was youwho brought me here; your eyes that smiled into mine--and drovehome the colonel's request that I and my sister should accompanyyou. God! I was weak then! You smile, senora; you think you havesucceeded--you and your pompous colonel and your clever governor!You think you have compromised me, and perjured me, because ofthis. You are wrong! You think I dare not speak to this puppet ofa baron, and that I have no proofs. You are wrong!""And even if you can produce them, what care I?" said Yerbaunexpectedly, yet in a voice so free from excitement and passionthat the weariness which Paul had at first noticed seemed to be theonly dominant tone. "Suppose you prove that I am not an Arguello.Good! you have yet to show that a connection with any of your racewould be anything but a disgrace.""Ah! you defy me, little one! Caramba! Listen, then! You do notknow all! When you thought I was only helping you to fabricateyour claim to the Arguellos' name, I was finding out who you reallywere! Ah! It was not so difficult as you fondly hope, senora. Wewere not all brutes and fools in the early days, though we stoodaside to let your people run their vulgar course. It was yourhired bully--your respected guardian--this dog of an espadachin,who let out a hint of the secret--with a prick of his blade--and ascandal. One of my peon women was a servant at the convent whenyou were a child, and recognized the woman who put you there andcame to see you as a friend. She overheard the Mother Superior sayit was your mother, and saw a necklace that was left for you towear. Ah! you begin to believe! When I had put this and thattogether I found that Pepita could not identify you with the childthat she had seen. But you, senora, you yourself supplied themissing proof! Yes! you supplied it with the necklace that youwore that evening at Rosario, when you wished to do honor to thisyoung Hathaway--the guardian who had always thrown you off! Ah!--you now suspect why, perhaps! It was your mother's necklace thatyou wore, and you said so! That night I sent the good Pepita toidentify it; to watch through the window from the garden when youwere wearing it; to make it sure as the Creed. I sent her to yourroom late that night when you had changed your dress, that shemight examine it among your jewels. And she did and will swear--look you!--swear that it is the one given you as a child by thewoman at the convent, who was your mother! And who was that woman--eh? Who was the mother of the Arguello de la Yerba Buena?--whothis noble ancestress?""Excuse me--but perhaps you are not aware that you are raising yourvoice in a lady's drawing-room, and that although you are speakinga language no one here understands, you are disturbing the hotel."It was Paul, quiet, pale in the moonlight, erect on the balconybefore the window. As Yerba, with a start, retreated quickly intothe room, Don Caesar stepped forward angrily and suspiciouslytowards the window. He had his hand reached forward towards thehandle as if to close the swinging sash against the intruder, whenin an instant he was seized by Paul, tightly locked in a desperategrip, and whirled out on the balcony. Before he could gain breathto utter a cry, Hathaway had passed his right arm around theMexican's throat, effectively stopping his utterance, and, with asupreme effort of strength, dragged him along the wall, fallingwith him into the open window of his own room. As he did so, tohis inexpressible relief he heard the sash closed and the boltdrawn of the salon window, and regained his feet, collected, quiet,and triumphant."I am sorry," he said, coolly dusting his clothes, "to have beenobliged to change the scene of this discussion so roughly, but youwill observe that you can speak more freely here, and that anyaltercation we may have in this room will be less likely to attractcomment.""Assassin!" said Don Caesar chokingly, as he struggled to his feet."Thank you. Relieve your feelings as much as you like here; infact, if you would speak a little louder you would oblige me. Theguests are beginning to be awake," continued Paul, with a wickedsmile, indicating the noise of an opening door and footsteps in thepassage, "and are now able to locate without difficulty the sceneof the disturbance."Briones apparently understood his meaning and the success of hisstratagem. "You think you have saved her from disgrace," he said,with a livid smile, in a lower tone and a desperate attempt toimitate Paul's coolness. "For the present--ah--yees! perhaps inthis hotel and this evening. But you have not stop my mouth for--a--to-morrow--and the whole world, Mr. Hathaway.""Well," said Paul, looking at him critically, "I don't know aboutthat. Of course, there's the equal chance that you may kill me--but that's a question for to-morrow, too."The Mexican cast a quick glance at the door and window. Paul, asif carelessly, changed the key of the former from one pocket to theother, and stepped before the window."So this is a plot to murder me! Have a care! You are not in yourown brigand California!""If you think so, alarm the house. They will find us quarreling,and you will only precipitate matters by receiving the insult thatwill make you fight--before them.""I am r-ready, sir, when and where you will," said Briones, with aswaggering air but a shifting, furtive eye. "Open--a--the door.""Pardon me. We will leave this room together in an hour for thestation. We will board the night express that will take us inthree hours beyond the frontier, where we can each find a friend.""But my affairs here--my sister--I must see her.""You shall write a note to her at that table, saying that importantbusiness--a dispatch--has called you away, and we will leave itwith the porter to be delivered in the morning. Or--I do notrestrict you--you can say what you like, provided she don't get ituntil we have left.""And you make of me a prisoner, sir?""No; a visitor, Don Caesar--a visitor whose conversation is sointeresting that I am forced to detain him to hear more. You canpass the time pleasantly by finishing the story I was obliged tointerrupt a moment ago. Do you know this mother of Miss Yerba, ofwhom you spoke?""That's m--my affair.""That means you don't know her. If you did, you'd have had herwithin call. And, as she is the only person who is able to saythat Miss Yerba is not an Arguello, you have been very remiss.""Ah, bah! I am not one of your--a--lawyers.""No; or you would know that, with no better evidence than you have,you might be sued for slander.""Ah! Why does not Miss Yerba sue, then?""Because she probably expects that somebody will shoot you.""As you for instance?""Perhaps.""And if you do not--eh?--you have not stop my mouth, but your own.And if you do, you help her to marry the Baron, your rival. Youare not wise, friend Hathaway.""May I remind you that you have not yet written to your sister, andyou may prefer to do it carefully and deliberately?"Don Caesar arose with a vindictive glance at Paul, and pulled achair before the table, as the latter placed pen, ink, and paperbefore him. "Take your time," he added, folding his arms andwalking towards the window. "Say what you like, and don't let mypresence restrain you."The Mexican began to write furiously, then spasmodically, thenslowly and reluctantly. "I war-r-n you, I shall expose all," hesaid suddenly."As you please.""And shall say that if I disappear, you are my murderer--youunderstand--my murderer!""Don't consult me on a question of epithets, but go on."Don Caesar recommenced his writing with a malign smile. There wasa sudden sharp rap at the door.Don Caesar leaped to his feet, grasped his papers, and rushed tothe door; but Paul was before him. "Who is there?" he demanded."Pendleton."At the sound of the colonel's voice Don Caesar fell back. Paulopened the door, admitted the tall figure of the colonel, and wasabout to turn the key again. But Pendleton lifted his hand in grimdeprecation."That will do, Mr. Hathaway. I know all. But I wish to speak withBriones elsewhere, alone.""Excuse me, Colonel Pendleton," said Paul firmly, "but I have theprior claim. Words have passed between this gentleman and myselfwhich we are now on our way to the station and the frontier tosettle. If you are willing to accompany us, I shall give you everyopportunity to converse with him alone, and arrange whateverbusiness you may have with him, provided it does not interfere withmine.""My business," said Pendleton, "is of a personal nature, that willnot interfere with any claim of yours that Mr. Briones may chooseto admit, but is of a private quality that must be transactedbetween us now." His face was pale, and his voice, although steadyand self-controlled, had that same strange suggestion of sudden agein it which Paul had before noticed. Whether Don Caesar detectedit, or whether he had some other instinctive appreciation ofgreater security, Paul could not tell. He seemed to recover hisswagger again, as he said,--"I shall hear what Colonel Pendleton has to say first. But I shallhold myself in readiness to meet you afterwards--you shall notfear, sir!"Paul remained looking from the one to the other without speaking.It was Don Caesar who returned his glance boldly and defiantly,Colonel Pendleton who, with thin white fingers pulling hismoustache, evaded it. Then Paul unlocked the door, and saidslowly, "In five minutes I leave this house for the station. Ishall wait there until the train arrives. If this gentleman doesnot join me, I shall be better able to understand all this and takemeasures accordingly.""And I tell to you, Meester Hathaway, sir," said Don Caesar,striking an attitude in the doorway, "you shall do as I please--Caramba"Hold your tongue, sir--or, by the Eternal!"--burst out Pendletonsuddenly, bringing down his thin hand on the Mexican's shoulder.He stopped as suddenly. "Gentlemen, this is childish. Go, sir!"to Don Caesar, pointing with a gaunt white finger into the darkenedhall. "I will follow you. Mr. Hathaway, as an older man, and onewho has seen a good deal of foolish altercation, I regret, sir,deeply regret, to be a witness to this belligerent quality in alaw-maker and a public man; and I must deprecate, sir--deprecate,your demand on that gentleman for what, in the folly of youth, youare pleased to call personal satisfaction."As he moved with dignity out of the room, Paul remained blanklystaring after him. Was it all a dream?--or was this ColonelPendleton the duelist? Had the old man gone crazy, or was hemerely acting to veil some wild purpose? His sudden arrival showedthat Yerba must have sent for him and told him of Don Caesar'sthreats; would he be wild enough to attempt to strangle the man insome remote room or in the darkness of the passage? He steppedsoftly into the hall: he could still hear the double tread of thetwo men: they had reached the staircase--they were descending! Heheard the drowsy accents of the night porter and the swinging ofthe door--they were in the street!Wherever they were going, or for what purpose, he must be at thestation, as he had warned them he would be. He hastily threw a fewthings into his valise, and prepared to follow them. When he wentdownstairs he informed the porter that owing to an urgent call ofbusiness he should try to catch the through express at threeo'clock, but they must retain his room and luggage until they heardfrom him. He remembered Don Caesar's letter. Had either of thegentlemen, his friends who had just gone out, left a letter ormessage? No, Excellency; the gentlemen were talking earnestly--hebelieved, in the South American language--and had not spoken tohim.Perhaps it was this that reminded Paul, as he crossed the squareagain, that he had made no preparation for any possible fatal issueto himself in this adventure. She would know it, however, and whyhe had undertaken it. He tried to think that perhaps some interestin himself had prompted her to send the colonel to him. Yet,mingled with this was an odd sense of a certain ridiculousness inhis position: there was the absurdity of his prospective antagonistbeing even now in confidential consultation with his own friend andally, whose functions he had usurped, and in whose interests he wasabout to risk his life. And as he walked away through the silentstreets, the conviction more than once was forced upon him that hewas going to an appointment that would not be kept.He reached the station some ten minutes before the train was due.Two or three half-drowsy, wrapped-up passengers were already on theplatform; but neither Don Caesar nor Colonel Pendleton was amongthem. He explored the waiting-rooms and even the half-lit buffet,but with no better success. Telling the Bahnhof Inspector that hispassage was only contingent upon the arrival of one or twocompanions, and describing them minutely to prevent mistakes, hebegan gloomily to pace before the ticket-office. Five minutespassed--the number of passengers did not increase; ten minutes; adistant shriek--the hoarse inquiry of the inspector--had the Herr'scompanions yet gekommt? the sudden glare of a Cyclopean eye in thedarkness, the ongliding of the long-jointed and gleaming spottedserpent, the train--a hurried glance around the platform, one ortwo guttural orders, the slamming of doors, the remounting of blackuniformed figures like caryatides along the marchepieds, a puff ofvapor, and the train had come and gone without them.Yet he would give his adversary fifteen minutes more to allow foraccident or delay, or the possible arrival of the colonel with anexplanation, and recommenced his gloomy pacing, as the Bahnhof sankback into half-lit repose. At the end of five minutes there wasanother shriek. Paul turned quickly to the inspector. Ah, then,there was another train? No; it was only the up express for Basle,going the other way and stopping at the Nord Station, half a mileaway. It would not stop here, but the Herr would see it pass in afew moments at full speed.It came presently, with a prolonged despairing shriek, out of thedarkness; a flash, a rush and roar at his side, a plunge into thedarkness again with the same despairing cry; a flutter of somethingwhite from one of the windows, like a loosened curtain, that atlast seemed to detach itself, and, after a wild attempt to follow,suddenly soared aloft, whirled over and over, dropped, and driftedslowly, slantwise, to the ground.The inspector had seen it, ran down the line, and picked it up.Then he returned with it to Paul with a look of sympathizingconcern. It was a lady's handkerchief, evidently some signal wavedto the well-born Herr, who was the only passenger on the platform.So, possibly, it might be from his friends, who by some stupidmischance had gone to the wrong station, and--Gott im Himmel!--itwas hideously stupid, yet possible, got on the wrong train!The Herr, a little pale, but composed, thought it was possible.No; he would not telegraph to the next station--not yet--he wouldinquire.He walked quickly away, reaching the hotel breathlessly, yet in aspace that seemed all too brief for his disconnected thought.There were signs of animation in the hall, and an empty carriagewas just reentering the courtyard. The hall-porter met him withdemonstrative concern and apology. Ah! if he had only understoodhis Excellency better, he could have saved him all this trouble.Evidently his Excellency was going with the Arguello party, who hadordered a carriage, doubtless, for the same important journey, anhour before, yet had left only a few moments after his Excellency,and his Excellency, it would appear, had gone to the wrong station.Paul pushed hurriedly past the man and ascended to his room. Bothwindows were open, and in the faint moonlight he could see thatsomething white was pinned to his pillow. With nervous fingers herelit his candles, and found it was a note in Yerba's handwriting.As he opened it, a tiny spray of the vine that had grown on thecrumbling wall fell at his feet. He picked it up, pressed it tohis lips, and read, with dim eyes, as follows:--"You know now why I spoke to you as I did to-day, and why the otherhalf of this precious spray is the only memory I care to carry withme out of this crumbling ruin of all my hopes. You were right,Paul: my taking you there was an omen--not to you, who can never beanything but proud, beloved, and true--but to me of all the shameand misery. Thank you for all you have done--for all you would do,my friend, and don't think me ungrateful, only because I amunworthy of it. Try to forgive me, but don't forget me, even ifyou must hate me. Perhaps, if you knew all--you might still love alittle the poor girl to whom you have already given the only nameshe can ever take from you--Yerba Buena!