In Kedar's Tents Part 42

'My child, we are in G.o.d's hand,' he said, with a break in his gruff voice.

And then came the heavy step of one carrying sorrow.

Conyngham laid his burden on the sofa. General Vincente was holding his handkerchief to his side, and his eyes, which had a thoughtful look, saw only Estella's face.

'I have sent for a doctor,' said Conyngham. 'Your father is wounded.'

'Yes,' said Vincente immediately; 'but I am in no pain, my dear child. There is no reason, surely, for us to distress ourselves.'

He looked round and smiled.

'And this good Conyngham,' he added, 'carried me like a child.'

Julia was on her knees at the foot of the sofa, her face hidden in her hands.

'My dear Julia,' he said, 'why this distress?'

'Because all of this is my doing,' she answered, lifting her drawn and terror-stricken face.

'No, no!' said Vincente, with a characteristic pleasantry. 'You take too much upon yourself. All these things are written down for us beforehand. We only add the punctuation--delaying a little or hurrying a little.'

They looked at him silently, and a.s.suredly none could mistake the shadows that were gathering on his face. Estella, who was holding his hand, knelt on the floor by his side, quiet and strong, offering silently that sympathy which is woman's greatest gift.

Concepcion, who perhaps knew more of this matter than any present, looked at Concha and shook his head. The priest was b.u.t.toning his ca.s.sock, and began to seek something in his pocket.

'Your breviary?' whispered Concepcion; 'I saw it lying out there-- among the dead.'

'It is a comfort to have one's duty clearly defined,' said the General suddenly, in a clear voice. He was evidently addressing Conyngham. 'One of the advantages of a military life. We have done our best, and this time we have succeeded. But--it is only deferred. It will come at length, and Spain will be a republic. It is a failing cause--because, at the head of it, is a bad woman.'

Conyngham nodded, but no one spoke. No one seemed capable of following his thoughts. Already he seemed to look at them as from a distance, as if he had started on a journey and was looking back.

During this silence there came a great clatter in the streets, and a sharp voice cried 'Halt!' The General turned his eyes towards the window.

'The cavalry,' said Conyngham, 'from Madrid.'

'I did not expect--them,' said Vincente slowly, 'before the dawn.'

The sound of the horses' feet and the clatter of arms died away as the troop pa.s.sed on towards the Calle de la Ciudad, and the quiet of night was again unbroken.

Then Concha, getting down on to his knees, began reciting from memory the office--which, alas! he knew too well.

When it was finished, and the gruff voice died away, Vincente opened his eyes.

'Every man to his trade,' he said, with a little laugh.

Then suddenly he made a grimace.

'A twinge of pain,' he said deprecatingly, as if apologising for giving them the sorrow of seeing it. 'It will pa.s.s--before the dawn.'

Presently he opened his eyes again and smiled at Estella, before he moved with a tired sigh and turned his face towards that Dawn which knows no eventide.

CHAPTER x.x.x. THE DAWN OF PEACE.

'Quien no ama, no vive.'

The fall of Morella had proved to be, as many antic.i.p.ated, the knell of the Carlist cause. Cabrera, that great general and consummate leader, followed Don Carlos, who had months earlier fled to France.

General Espartero--a man made and strengthened by circ.u.mstances--was now at the height of his fame, and for the moment peace seemed to be a.s.sured to Spain. It was now a struggle between Espartero and Queen Christina. But with these matters the people of Spain had little to do. Such warfare of the council-chamber and the boudoir is carried on quietly, and the sound of it rarely reaches the ear, and never the heart, of the ma.s.ses. Politics, indeed, had been the daily fare of the Spaniards for so long that their palates were now prepared to accept any sop so long as it was flavoured with peace. Aragon was devastated, and the northern provinces had neither seed nor labourers for the coming autumn. The peasants who, having lost faith in Don Carlos, rallied round Cabrera, now saw themselves abandoned by their worshipped leader, and turned hopelessly enough homewards. Thus gradually the country relapsed into quiet, and empty garners compelled many to lay aside the bayonet and take up the spade who, having tasted the thrill of battle, had no longer any taste for the ways of peace.

Frederick Conyngham was brought into sudden prominence by the part he played in the disturbance at Toledo--which disturbance proved, as history tells, to be a forerunner of the great revolution a year later in Madrid. Promotion was at this time rapid, and the Englishman made many strides in a few months. Jealousy was so rife among the Spanish leaders, Christinos distrusted so thoroughly the reformed Carlists, that one who was outside these petty considerations received from both sides many honours on the sole recommendation of his neutrality.

'And besides,' said Father Concha, sitting in the sunlight on his church steps at Ronda, reading to the barber, and the shoemaker, and other of his parishioners, the latest newspaper, 'and besides--he is clever.'

He paused, slowly taking a pinch of snuff.

'Where the river is deepest it makes least noise,' he added.

The barber wagged his head after the manner of one who will never admit that he does not understand an allusion. And before any could speak the clatter of horses in the narrow street diverted attention.

Concha rose to his feet.

'Ah!' he said, and went forward to meet Conyngham, who was riding with Concepcion at his side.

'So you have come, my son,' he said, shaking hands. He looked up into the Englishman's face, which was burnt brown by service under a merciless sun. Conyngham looked lean and strong, but his eyes had no rest in them. This was not a man who had all he wanted.

'Are you come to Ronda, or are you pa.s.sing through?' asked the priest.

'To Ronda. As I pa.s.sed the Casa Barenna I made inquiries. The ladies are in the town, it appears.'

'Yes; they are with Estella in the house you know--unless you have forgotten it.'

'No,' answered Conyngham getting out of the saddle. 'No; I have forgotten nothing.'

Concepcion came forward and led the horse away.

'I will walk to the Casa Vincente. Have you the time to accompany me?' said Conyngham.

'I have always time--for my neighbour's business,' replied Concha.

And they set off together.

'You walk stiffly,' said Concha. 'Have you ridden far?'

'From Osuna--forty miles since daybreak.'

'You are in a hurry.'

'Yes, I am in a hurry.'