The Pirates of the Prairies Part 51

Shaw thunderstruck by these words, p.r.o.nounced in a tone that admitted of no reply; he saw the fearful position he was in, and a mad fury seized on him. Dona Clara had left her head fall again in her hands and was weeping: The young man felt a sob choking him.

"Oh!" he said, "What pleasure you take in torturing my heart. You say I betrayed you, I who loved you so!"

Dona Clara drew herself up, haughty and implacable.

"Yes," she answered ironically, "you love me, sir, but it is after the fashion of wild beasts, that carry off their prey to their den to rend it at their pleasure; yours is a tiger's love."

Shaw seized her arm violently, and looked firmly in her eyes.

"One word more, one insult further, madam," he gasped, "and I stab myself at your feet: when you see my corpse writhing on the ground, possibly you may then believe in my innocence."

Dona Clara, surprised, gazed at him fixedly.

"What do I care?" she then said, coldly.

"Oh!" the young man exclaimed in his despair, "You shall be satisfied."

And with a movement rapid as thought, he drew his dagger. Suddenly a hand was roughly laid on his arm; but Dona Clara had not stirred.

Shaw turned round. Fray Ambrosio was standing behind him, smiling, but not relaxing his grasp.

"Let me go," the young man said, in a hollow voice.

"Not so, my son," the monk said gently, "unless you first promise to give up your homicidal project."

"Do you not see," Shaw exclaimed pa.s.sionately, "that she believes me guilty?"

"It must be so: leave it to me to persuade her of the contrary."

"Oh! if you did that?" the young man muttered, with an accent of doubt.

"I will do it, my son," Fray Ambrosio said, still smiling; "but you must first be reasonable."

Shaw hesitated for a moment, then let fall the weapon, as he muttered--

"There will still be time."

"Excellently reasoned," said the monk. "Now, sit down, and let us talk.

Trust to me: the senora ere long will not feel the slightest doubt about your innocence."

During this scene Dona Clara had remained motionless as a statue of grief, apparently taking no interest in what pa.s.sed between the two men.

"This young man has told you the perfect truth," he said; "it is a justice I take pleasure in rendering him. I know not what cause urged him to act so, but, in order to save you, he achieved impossibilities; holding you in his arms, he fought with a cloud of redskins thirsting for his blood. When Heaven sent us so miraculously to his a.s.sistance, he was about to succ.u.mb, and he rolled unconscious under our horses' hoofs, still holding against his bleeding breast the precious burthen which had doubtless been confided to him, and from which he had sworn only death should separate him. That is the real truth, madam: I swear it on my honour."

Dona Clara smiled bitterly.

"Oh," she answered, "keep these deceitful and useless protestations to yourself, father; I have learned to know you too, thanks be to Heaven, for some time past, and am aware what faith can be placed in your word."

The monk bit his lips spitefully.

"Perhaps, you are mistaken, madam," he answered, with a humble bow, "and too readily put faith in false appearances."

"Very false, in truth," the girl exclaimed, "since your conduct, up to this day, has only proved their correctness."

A flash shot from the monk's savage eye, which expired as soon as it burst forth; he composed his countenance, and continued with immoveable gentleness--

"You judge me wrongly too, senorita; misfortune renders you unjust. You forget that I owe all to your father."

"It is not I, but you, who have forgotten it," she said, sharply.

"And who tells you, madam," he said, with a certain degree of animation, "that if I am in the ranks of your enemies, it is not to serve you better?"

"Oh!" she answered, ironically; "it would be difficult for you to supply me with proofs of such admirable devotion."

"Not so much as you suppose; I have at this moment one at my service, which you cannot doubt."

"And that proof is?" she asked with a sneer.

"This, madam. My comrades are asleep; two horses have been tied up by myself fifty paces from here in the forest; I will lead you to them, and guided by this unhappy young man, who is devoted to you, although you have been cruel to him, after the perils to which he has exposed himself for your sake--it will be easy for you to get out of our reach in a few hours, and foil any pursuit. That is the proof, madam; can you now say it is false?"

"And who will guarantee me," she replied, "that this feigned solicitude you take in me, and which, I fancy, is very sudden, does not conceal a new snare?"

"Moments are precious," the monk said again, still imperturbable; "every second that slips away is a chance of safety you are deprived of. I will not argue with you, but limit myself to saying--of what use would it be to me to pretend to let you escape?"

"How do I know? Can I guess the causes on which you act?"

"Very good, madam, do as you think proper; but Heaven is my witness that I have done all in my power to save you, and that it was you who refused."

The monk uttered these words with such an accent of conviction, that, in spite of herself, Dona Clara felt her suspicions shaken. Fray Ambrosio's last observation was correct: why feign to let her escape, when he had her in his power? She reflected for a moment.

"Listen," she said to him, "I have sacrificed my life; I know not if you are sincere; I should like to believe so; but as nothing can happen to me worse than what threatens me here, I confide in you; lead on, therefore, to the horses you have prepared for me, and I shall soon know whether your intentions are honest, and I have been deceived in my opinion of you."

A furtive smile lit up the monk's face, and he uttered a sigh of satisfaction.

"Come," he said, "follow me; but walk cautiously, so as not to arouse my comrades, who are probably not so well disposed towards you as I am."

Dona Clara and Shaw rose and noiselessly followed the monk, the squatter's son walking before the maiden and removing all the obstacles to her pa.s.sage. The darkness was thick, hence it was difficult to walk through the thickets, interlaced as they were with creepers and parasitical plants; Dona Clara stumbled at every step.

At the expiration of half an hour, they reached the skirt of the forest, where two horses, fastened to trees, were quietly nibbling the young tree shoots.

"Well," the monk said, with a triumphant accent, "do you believe me now, senora?"

"I am not saved yet," she sadly answered; and she prepared to mount.

Suddenly, the branches and shrubs were violently parted, six or eight men rushed forward, and surrounded the three, ere it was possible for them to attempt a defence. Shaw, however, drew a pistol, and prepared to sell his life dearly.

"Stop, Shaw," Dona Clara said to him, gently; "I now see that you were faithful, and I pardon you. Do not let yourself be uselessly killed; you see that it would be madness to resist!"

The young man let his head droop, and returned the pistol to his girdle.