The Flag of Distress Part 8

"And now?"

"I hate him!"

"Why, may I ask? What has changed you?"

"That's easily answered. When I first met him I was younger than now; a mere girl, full of girlish fancies--romantic, as called. I thought him handsome; and in a sense so he is. In person, you'll admit, he's all man may, or need, be--a sort of Apollo, or Hyperion. But in mind--ah, Inez, that man is a very Satyr--in heart and soul a Mephistopheles."

"But why should you be afraid of him?"

Carmen does not reply promptly. Clearly, she has not yet bestowed the whole of her confidence. There is something withheld.

Inez, whose sympathies are now enlisted, presses for _the_ explanation.

"Carmen--dear Carmen! tell me what it is. Have you ever given Don Francisco a claim to call you his _novia_?"

"Never! Neither that, nor anything of the kind. He has no claim, and I no compromise. The only thing I've reason to regret is, having listened to his flattering speeches without resenting them."

"Pst! What does that signify? Why, Don Faustino has made flattering speeches to me--scores of them--called me all sorts of endearing names-- does so whenever we two are together alone. I only laugh at him."

"Ah! Faustino Calderon is not Francisco de Lara. They are men of very different dispositions. In the behaviour of your admirer there's only a little of the ludicrous; in that of mine, there may be a great deal of danger. But let us cease discussing them. There's no time for that now. The question is, are they coming to call on us?"

"I think there can be no question about it. Very likely they've heard that we're soon going away, and are about to honour us with a farewell visit."

"Supposing they should stay till our English friends arrive!"

"Let them--who cares? I don't."

"But I do. If papa were at home, I mightn't so much mind it. But, just now, I've no desire to see Senor De Lara alone--still less while being visited by Eduardo. They're both _demonios_, though in a different way."

"Look yonder!" exclaims Inez, pointing towards the British frigate, where a boat is in the water under her beam. The sun, reflected from dripping oar-blades, tells them to be in motion.

While the girls continue gazing, the boat is seen to separate from the ship's side, and put sh.o.r.eward, straight towards the sand-pit which projects in front of Don Gregorio's dwelling. The rowers are all dressed alike, the measured stroke of their oars betokening that the boat belongs to the man-o'-war. But the young ladies do not conjecture about this; nor have they any doubt as to the ident.i.ty of two of the figures seated in the stern-sheets. Those uniforms of dark blue, with the gold b.u.t.tons, and yellow cap-bands, are so well known as to be recognisable at any distance to which love's glances could possibly penetrate. They are the guests expected, for whom the spare horses stand saddled in the _patio_. For Don Gregorio, by no means displeased with certain delicate attentions which the young British officers have been paying to the female members of his family, has invited them to visit him--ride out along with the ladies, and, on return, stay to dinner. He knows that a treat of this kind will be pleasing to those he has asked; and, before leaving home, had given orders for the steeds to be saddled.

It is not the first time Crozier and Cadwallader have been to the Spaniard's house, nor the first to stretch their limbs under his dining-table, nor the first for them to have held pleasant converse with the _senoritas_, and strolled along solitary paths, opportune for the exchange of those love-locks. But it may be the last--at least during their sojourn in California. For in truth is it to be a farewell visit.

But with this understanding, another has been entered into. The acquaintance commenced in California is to be renewed at Cadiz, when the _Crusader_ goes thither, which she is ere long expected to do. But for such antic.i.p.ation Carmen Montijo and Inez Alvarez would not be so high-hearted at the prospect of a leave-taking so near. Less painful on this account, it might have been even pleasant, but for what they see on the opposite side--the hors.e.m.e.n approaching from the town. An encounter between the two pairs gives promise to mar the happy intercourse of the hour.

"They'll meet--they must!" says Carmen, apprehensively.

"Let them!" rejoins Inez, in a tone of nonchalance. "What if they do?"

"What! They may quarrel. I'm almost sure they will."

"No fear for that; and, if they should, where's the danger? You, such a believer in the romantic--stickler for old knight-errantry--instead of regretting it, should be glad! Look there! Lovers coming from all sides--suitors by land and suitors by sea! Knights terrestrial, knights aquatic. No lady of the troubadour times ever had the like; none ever honoured by such a rivalry! Come, Carmen, be proud! Stand firm on your castle-keep! Show yourself worthy to receive this double adoration!"

"Inez, you don't know the danger."

"There is none. If they should come into collision, and have a fight, let them. I've no fear for mine. If Willie Cadwallader isn't a match for Faustino Calderon, then he's not match, or mate, for me--never shall be."

"_Sobrina_! you shock me. I had no idea you were such a _demonia_. The Moorish blood, I suppose. Your words make me almost as wicked as yourself. It isn't for that I'm afraid. I've as much confidence in my lover as you in yours. No fear that Senor Crozier will cower before Francisco de Lara. If he do, I shall take back my heart a second time, and carry it unscathed to Cadiz!"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A SWEET PAIR OF SUITORS.

While the young ladies upon the house-top are discussing the characters of De Lara and Calderon, these worthies, in return, are conversing of them, and in a strain which bodes little good to Inez, with much evil to Carmen. That the visit designed for them is of no ordinary nature, but for an all important purpose, can be gleaned from the speech pa.s.sing between the two hors.e.m.e.n as they ride along the road.

De Lara commences it by remarking:--

"Well, friend Faustino, from something you said before setting out, I take it you're going to Don Gregorio's on an errand very similar to my own? Come, _camarado_! declare it!"

"Declare yours!"

"Certainly. I shall make no secret of it to you; nor need I. Why should there be any between us? We've now known one another long enough, and intimately enough, to exchange confidences of the closest kind. To-day mine is--that I mean proposing to Don Gregorio's daughter--offering her my hand in marriage."

"And I," returns Calderon, "intend doing the same to his grand-daughter."

"In that case, we're both in the same boat; and, as there's no rivalry between us, we can pull pleasantly together. I've no objection to being your uncle; even admitting you to a share in the old Spaniard's property--proportioned to your claims of kinship."

"I don't want a dollar of the Don's money; only his grand-daughter. I'm deeply in love with her."

"And I," continues De Lara, "am just as deeply in love with his daughter--it may be deeper."

"You couldn't. I'm half-mad about Inez Alvarez. I could kill her--if she refuse me."

"I _shall_ kill Carmen Montijo--if she refuse _me_." The two men are talking seriously, or seem so. Their voices, the tone, the flashing of their eyes, the expression upon their faces, with their excited gesticulation--all show them to be in earnest.

At the last outburst of pa.s.sionate speech they turn in their saddles, and look each other in the face. De Lara continues the dialogue:

"Now, tell me, Faustino; what hope have you of success?"

"For that, fair enough. You remember the last _fandango_ held at Don Gregorio's--on the day of the cattle-branding!"

"Certainly I do. I've good reason to remember it. But go on."

"Well, that night," proceeds Calderon, "I danced twice with Inez, and made many sweet speeches to her. Once I went farther, and squeezed her pretty little hand. She wasn't angry, or at all events didn't say or show it. Surely, after such encouragement, I may ask that hand in marriage--with fair presumption of not being refused. What's your opinion?"

"Your chances seem good. But what about himself. He'll have something to say in the matter."

"Too much, I fear; and that's just what I do fear. So long as his bit of grazing-land was worth only some thirty thousand dollars, he was amiable enough. Now that by this gold discovery it's got to be good value for eight or ten times the amount, he's become a different man, and in all likelihood will go dead against me."

"Like enough; it's the way of the world. And therefore, on that account, you needn't have a special spite against the Senor Montijo.

You're sure no one else stands between you and your sweetheart? Or is there something in the shape of a rival?"

"Of course there is--a score of them, as you ought to know; same as with yourself, De Lara. Suitors have been coming and going with both, I suppose, ever since either was old enough to receive them. The last I've heard of paying attentions to Inez is a young naval officer--a midshipman on board a British man-of-war now lying in the harbour.

Indeed there are two of them spoken of; one said to be _your_ rival, as the other is mine. Shall I tell you what's been for some time the talk of the town? You may as well know it, if you don't already."