For the Soul of Rafael Part 39

it has been great sport, but for the thought of--of a woman whose heart has been shown to me as a priest! The thing I have done is a sacrilege, and Father Andros would scorch me well for it--but I would rather burn than have her ever know the truth--I who am the lover of another woman!"

Keith Bryton reached out his hand to the outlaw, and there were no more words spoken between them of the matter.

Later Dona Angela returned, and hearing from Ana that Bryton was again conscious of his whereabouts, insisted on seeing him; and this time the silent padre of the prayers offered no protest, only sat in the window-seat, and did not lift his eyes, and listened.

"I've been wild--just that, Keith, ever since they brought you back.

Who? oh, Dona Raquel and Ana, and, of course, the padre. My! You looked awful. I'm glad you are better. There is to be a really great Spanish dance, and I should have hated to go unless you were out of danger. They would not allow me inside this door before, and I--Keith, there are a thousand things I want to say to you, and--"

The priest arose and made a quiet movement toward the door. The interview was evidently terminated. Keith had not had a chance to say anything, and Dona Angela whisked out of the room in a temper. She sought Rafael, but could not find him, for the reason that he had taken Ana's advice and tumbled into bed. She finally found Ana and Raquel in the dining-room, and smiled tolerantly at the fact that the latter, covered with a great ap.r.o.n of linen, was attending personally to the moulding of candles, and not a servant, not even Ana, was allowed to help.

The days of Dona Angela's stay had brought her face to face with many self-satisfying little scenes of that sort. Remembering that first meeting of the two as strangers, it was comforting to Angela to be able to look down in some way on the wife of Rafael Arteaga; and since she chose to make of herself a servant---- It seemed so incredible to the woman who had never, never, had all she wanted of luxury, that this other girl, young, and many said handsome, had not the natural woman's vanity for decking herself with the gorgeous things stacked in those old chests. To her it seemed a warrant to Rafael to seek companionship elsewhere. A woman who could claim a throne lessened her value by stooping to the cares of the kitchen. It argued low tastes; it emphasized the uneven division of things. It was a constant reminder to Angela Bryton that she, the woman who appreciated it all, who would have held a half-regal Court of Love in the old walls where only endless prayers were whispered,--she was the woman to whom it should belong by right. For her, Rafael Arteaga would have spread carpets of velvet on the tiled floors and cast himself, happy, at her feet.

All these thoughts had given her a sort of insolent courage to comment on the girl who trod the Mission-made bricks, and whose eyes looked out so often over one's head.

"Of all the Indian servants, have you none trained in so laborious a task as this?" she asked, sinking into one of the rawhide-seated chairs at the table. "It is horrid work. I wonder you spoil your hands."

Ana flashed a glance of resentment at the languid blossom of a woman, always a shimmer of lacy ruffles, a picture of alluring, half-childish helplessness. It was for such a white kitten Rafael was losing all his sense.

"I should be proud to use my hands for the same work, instead of this endless embroidery," she observed; "but Dona Raquel will not hear of it."

"To mould the candles for the altar, each woman of each house should make her own," returned Raquel, quietly. "You have not that custom in your land--no?"

"Certainly not. We are not taught that extra pounds of beef tallow will help to save our souls if burned in silver holders."

"No? What, then, does it take to save souls in your country?"

"Those who come here leave their souls at home for safe-keeping,"

declared Ana, thrusting her needle viciously into the embroideries of lawn; "they only bring their long purses to be filled."

For one moment the snapping black eyes of Ana met the childish blue ones of Angela and carried in their glance an accusation and understanding.

Angela's pretty teeth closed with a vicious click under her red lips, then she shrugged her dimpled shoulders, and laughed.

"Oh, you see of course only the merchants here," she conceded, "the people who buy hides, and tallow, and herds of horses."

Then she turned again to Raquel, who had seen some of the little byplay.

"And those candles of purest white, packed in scented cotton, for what especial purpose are they reserved?"

"They are the candles for the dead."

Angela shuddered, as with a pa.s.sing chill.

"How constantly you people keep before you remembrance of the tomb!"

she exclaimed. "One needs to get out in the sun often to remember that the old Mission is not really a vault."

"It is," said Ana; "there are padres of the old days buried under some of the floors."

"How perfectly horrid! And you make all those dozens of immaculate candles to be used for whoever comes first," she continued, addressing herself to Raquel, with a slight smile of disdain as at a childish pastime; "and they are all duly blessed, I suppose, and duly insured to light the souls from the path of the inferno."

For the first time Raquel perceived the touch of malice under the smiling query.

"You are right," she said, quietly; "those are of the first I ever made with my own hands here in San Juan Capistrano. Padre Sanchez bestowed on them his blessing, and the thought of so holy a man is in itself a blessing."

"But think," persisted the soft little malicious tones, "is it not often the story of the pearls and the swine? Any sodden drunken Indian beast is likely to be laid in state with those emblems of purity burning in his honor."

Raquel paused with the last handful of them, and the violet eyes, dark with indignation, met the blue ones.

"That is true," she said, coldly. "We are taught that souls are all alike before G.o.d. These in my hand may be lit for any one--for a sodden beast that dies in sin, for a murderer, for me perhaps, or it may be they burn even for you, senora!"

"Ugh! how ghastly!" The blue eyes wavered, and she arose with a little shiver. "But I don't think I would want them, really," she added, as she was leaving the room, "any more than I would want ma.s.ses said if I should go under a breaker some day when bathing, and never come up again. The fashion of the living praying for the dead seems a bit incongruous and amusing. Save the candles for those of the faith, Dona Raquel."

Her little mocking laugh made more pointed her intention of ridicule.

The face of Raquel was still and expressionless, as she slowly placed the last of the candles in the perfumed box and closed the lid. Ana flung down her embroidery, and said to Raquel, with blazing eyes:

"Raquelita! Some day I shall choke that pretty little white devil, you will see! How and why we endure her mocking I don't know. That she is of Keith Bryton's family is something, but it is not enough. When he is able I shall tell him some things--I shall tell Don Eduardo things! She makes a mock of our women, and I keep quiet; she makes her love to your husband, and I say nothing; but, Raquel, she makes mockery of your religion in your own house. Can you stand that too?"

Raquel put her hands over her eyes an instant in a tired way.

"Quiet, you, Anita mia," she said after a little. "Words are not so much use. They will go away soon now--after the dance to-morrow night. And I do not think it is true of Rafael. He is her caballero, as he would be yours or Juanita's; that is all. There is that other woman in the willows. She--"

"Raquelita, how little you know men! Pretty Marta by the river is only a servant; but our men go mad for these white women of blue eyes--mad!"

"A few days more, and that will be forgotten as he would forget the brown girls. Have patience. At least, she will not mock our religion to him; and the rest--it is only one day and two nights more, Anita, and you will help me."

"At least you will find a way to keep those pearls from her," insisted Ana, stubbornly. "How could you offer them to her? Oh, I could have screamed at you!"

"The pearls are but a trifle to let go for a night, dear. Help me with the candles to the altar-place. Oh, yes, she may have the pearls."

[Music]

Porque tu eres mi vida, Tu eres mia mada, Tu eres mi Dios!

CHAPTER XX

Angela Bryton sought until she found Rafael asleep in a corner of the travellers' room.

"Ana Mendez knows; she has told your wife," she said, abruptly. "Two nights and a day we have; that is all. Raquel says I am not more to you than a brown girl in the willows. You make her pay for that!"

"Pay?" He rubbed the sleep of the brandy from his eyes and sat up, then caught her to him in the instinct of possession.

Quickly she drew aside and eluded him.

"Not yet," she said, with the glint of steel in her eyes. "Not until you make her pride pay, Rafael mio! She tosses a string of pearls to me as a queen would to a waiting-maid, to show how trifling a thing it is to her. One string! Rafael, where now is that boat?"

"The boat?" He stumbled to his feet and stared at her.