The Catholic World Volume Iii Part 143

All the people looked with charity upon the woman who had sincerely and publicly repented, for although the society called cultivated finds in religious demonstrations another cause for vituperation, adding to the condemnation of faults which it never forgets the reproach of hypocrisy upon those who turn to G.o.d, the people, more generous and more just, honor the open evidence of penitence and humiliation. Therefore, when they saw Rita abase herself and weep, their indignation was exchanged for compa.s.sion, and the _epithet_ "infamous!" for the pitiful words "poor child!"

This was because the common people, though they know not what philanthropy means, know well, because religion teaches them, what is Christian charity.

CHAPTER XVII.

To Perico, the life into which he found himself drawn by necessity, and by the vigorous influence Diego exercised over him, was one of misery; Diego also had been drawn into a life of crime by a terrible misfortune; but having entered, he adopted it as a warrior does his iron armor, without heeding either its hardness or its oppressive weight. Perico followed his wicked companions while he detested them.

He was like the silver fish of some peaceful inland lake which, caught by some fatal current, is carried away into the bitter and restless waters of the sea, where it agonizes without the power to escape. At times, when a crime was committed under his eyes, he wished in his desperation to end his torments at once, by giving himself up to justice; but shame, and want of energy to overcome it, held him back.

The others hated him, and surnamed him "The Sad," but he was sustained by Diego's powerful protection. Diego felt attracted toward the man whose life he had saved, and who was, he felt, good and honest. For the rough and austere Diego was of a strong and n.o.ble nature that had not yet descended to the lowest grade of evil, which is hatred of the good.

In one of their raids, when the band had approached Tas Yentas, near Alocaz, a spy arrived in breathless haste from Utrera, telling them that a company of mountain soldiery had just left the latter place in the direction of Tas Yentas, informed of their whereabouts by some travellers they had lately pillaged.

They made haste to take refuge in an olive grove, but had hardly entered it when they were surprised by a troop of cavalry. A deadly contest then commenced, sustained by these men, who were fighting for their lives with terrible bravery.

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"Perico," said Diego, "now or never is the occasion to prove that you do not eat your bread without earning it. This is a fair fight. At them, if you are a man!"

On hearing these words, Perico, confused, and like a drunken man, threw himself in the way of the b.a.l.l.s, firing upon the poor soldiers--men who were sacrificing everything for the good of society, which, in its egotism, does not even thank them; for it happens to them as to the confessors and doctors, who are laughed at in health, and anxiously called upon when there is any danger. One of the bandits was killed, two of the soldiers wounded, and a ball of Perico's, fired at a great distance, killed the commander of the troop. The consternation which followed this catastrophe gave the robbers an opportunity to escape. They fled beyond Utrera, pa.s.sed through the haciendas of La Chaparra and Jesus-Maria, and arrived exhausted at nightfall in Valobrega. This valley, not far from Alcala is surrounded by ridges and olive slopes. In the most retired part of it, on the margin of a brook, are still standing the ruins of a Moorish castle called Marchenilla. Men and horses threw themselves upon the turf at the base of these solitary ruins. They quenched their thirst in the brook, and when night set, in lighted a fire, and all except Diego and Perico lay down to sleep.

"An evil day, Corso," said Diego, caressing his horse, which lowered and then lifted his beautiful head as if to a.s.sent to his master's words, and say to him, "What matter since I have saved you?"

"I treat thee shamefully, my son," continued the chief, who loved his horse the more fondly because he loved no other creature. The horse, as if he had understood, neighed gaily, and, rising on his hind feet, balanced himself, and then dropped down upon all four beside his master, presenting his head to be caressed.

"What will become of thee if l am taken?" said the robber, leaning his head against the neck of the animal, which now stood motionless.

"Truly," said Diego, seating himself by the fire in front of Perico, "it is to you we owe our escape to-day with so little loss."

"To me?" asked Perico surprised.

"Yes," answered the captain; "the troop was commanded by a brave officer, who knew the country, and did not mean child's play. The son of the Countess of Villaoran. He would have given us work if you had not killed him."

"G.o.d have mercy on me!" exclaimed Perico, springing to his feet and raising his clasped hands to heaven. "What are you saying? The son of the countess was there, and I killed him?"

"What shocks you?" replied Diego.

"Perhaps you thought we were firing sugar-plums? Heavens!" he added impatiently, "you exasperate me! One would take you for a travelling player, with all your att.i.tudes and extravagances. By all that's sacred, the convict is right. You missed your vocation; instead of choosing a life of freedom you should have turned friar. Come! keep watch," he added, wrapping himself in his mantle, and lying down with a stone under his head and his carbine between his knees.

His words were lost upon Perico. The unhappy man tore his hair and cursed himself in his despair. He had killed the son of the mistress and benefactress of his uncles, his own companion of childhood.

CHAPTER XVIII.

How vividly, during that gloomy night did the tranquil scenes of his lost domestic happiness present themselves to Perico! And for what had he exchanged them? His present frightful existence. All around him was motionless. He saw in the sad monotony of the night the changeless monotony of his misery; in the fire {796} burning before him, his consuming conscience; and in the cold and impenetrable obscurity beyond, his dark and cheerless future.

"Power of G.o.d!" he cried, "can I see and remember, and feel all this, and yet live?"

The red and wavering flame threw from time to time a glare of light across the strange wild forms of the ruins, presently leaving them in deep shadow, appearing to take refuge within, as a dying memory flashes up and then buries itself in the oblivion of the past. He heard his own breathing exaggerated by the silence, he saw horrible shapes in the obscurity. Fingers threatened him--eyes glared at him--reproachful voices accused him. And no, he was not mistaken, by the clearer light of the flames, now blown by the wind, he saw, beyond a remnant of wall, a pair of hard black eyes fixed upon him. Startled, and doubtful between the imaginary and the real, Perico did not know whether he ought to put himself under the protection of heaven, by making the sign of the cross, or to call for earthly help by giving the signal of alarm.

Before he could act, there came from behind the stone ruin a ruin of humanity; from behind the degradation of time, a wreck of human degradation--an old, filthy, and disgusting gipsy woman. The tint of the brown woollen skirts which covered her fleshless limbs blended with that of the ruin; she wore about her neck a kerchief, and over her faded locks a black cloth mantilla.

Perico was struck motionless as a stone, or as if the repulsive face had been that of the Medusa.

"Don't be uneasy," said the vision, approaching, "there is nothing to be afraid of. I have not come with bad motive, and you need not be on the watch. I knew that you were here, and have caused it to be rumored that you were making your way in the direction of the Sierra de Ronda, and that people had seen you near Espera and Villa-Martin."

"But why have you come here?" exclaimed Perico, instinctively alarmed at the aspect of the woman.

"To put you in the way of securing, at a stroke, a fortune that will last you your lifetime," she replied.

"That which you are likely to offer does not inspire much confidence,"

said Perico.

"Why should I wish to harm you?" said the gipsy; "and as to my looks, a poor cloak may cover a hail companion. I bring a treasure to your very hands; you have only to extend them."

"A treasure," said Perico, in whom the word, instead of exciting covetousness, only suggested the idea that the woman was mad, "a treasure, and where is it?"

The old wretch, who saw in the question only what she expected to find, avidity and thirst for gold, approached Perico as if she feared the breath of night might intercept her words, and the anathemas of heaven dissolve them in the air, and whispered in his ear, "In the church."

Perico, utterly shocked, gave a step backward, but recovering himself, rushed upon the woman like a tiger, and pushing her with all his might, exclaimed, "Go!"

"I will not go," she said, unintimidated; "I came to speak with the captain and the convict, and I will speak with them."

In his anguish lest she should do it, and to force her to go, Perico drew a dagger and flashed its shining blade in the firelight. The gipsy shrieked and the robbers woke.

"What is this?" shouted Diego; "what has happened? Perico, are you going to kill a woman?"

"No, no, I do not want to kill her, only to drive her away."

"And because," said the old woman, "I have come so far, through danger and fatigue, to put you in a way to leave this slavish life you are leading, like the Blond of Espera, who committed one robbery so great that he had enough to go beyond the seas and pa.s.s the rest of his days in comfort."

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The robbers grouped themselves around her; the convict presenting her with a fragment of the wall as a seat.

"Do not listen! do not listen!" cried Perico, beside himself; "she purposes a sacrilege!"

"Sir," said the convict to Diego, "oblige that agonizing priest to hold his tongue, he is like the dog in the manger. Let this good woman speak, and we shall know what she has to say--a regiment of horse couldn't silence that dismal screech-owl."

Diego hesitated, but finally turned toward the hag, and Perico, knowing then that hope was lost, for the bandit always followed his first impulses, rushed away, running hither and thither among the olives like a madman.

The gipsy had calculated everything, and her measures were well taken.

The great advantages so exaggerated, the difficulties so easily overcome, the well-arranged precautions, upon which she amplified so largely, produced their effect. The temptation which offers flowers with one hand and with the other hides the thorns, convinced some and seduced others.

All the plans were settled, and the hours and signals agreed upon, and before the c.o.c.ks, day's faithful sentinels, announced his coming, the band was on its way to the solitary hacienda of "El Cuervo," and the old witch crawling like a cunning and venomous snake to her den in the wood of Alcala, where in the depths of the earth she had conceived the crime to which amidst darkness and ruins she had persuaded evil-doers--the crime which was to be perpetrated in the temple of G.o.d.