Wood Rangers Part 25

Tiburcio in going forth from his chamber, and traversing the path that conducted him to the appointed rendezvous, was under the belief he had not been observed: neither was he; but unfortunately chance had now betrayed him.

The night was not so dark as Don Estevan and Cuchillo would have wished; nevertheless, by crouching low, and keeping well in to the wall that enclosed the garden, they succeeded in reaching a little grove of orange and citron trees, the foliage of which was thick enough to shelter them from view. From this grove, thanks to the calmness of the night, they could catch every word that was said--for under the shadow of the trees they were able to approach very near to the speakers.

"Whatever you may hear," whispered Don Estevan in the ear of the other, "remain motionless as I do."

"I will," simply answered Cuchillo.

The two now placed themselves in an att.i.tude to see and hear. They were separated from the speakers by a slight barrier of leaves and branches, and by a distance not greater than an active man could pa.s.s over in two bounds. Little did the victims of their espionage suspect their proximity--little dreamt Tiburcio of the danger that was so near him.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

LOVE THROUGH THE WINDOW.

For a time the listeners heard nothing beyond those commonplace speeches exchanged between lovers--when the young man, doubtful of his position, makes himself heard in reproaches, or arguments, which to him appear all-powerful, while the responses which he meets with show too plainly that he is either not loved at all, or that the advantages are on the side of the girl. But was this really the position of Tiburcio with Rosarita? It remains to be known.

According to the custom of country houses throughout Mexico, the window of Rosarita's chamber was unglazed. Strong iron bars, forming what is called the _reja_, hindered an entrance from without; and behind this reja, lit up by the lamp in the chamber, the young girl was standing in an att.i.tude of graceful ease. In the calm and perfumed night she appeared even more charming than when seen in the brilliant saloon--for it is behind the railing of these balconies that the women of Spanish race appear to the greatest advantage.

A _reboso_ of silk was thrown over her head, falling over her shoulders in graceful undulations. The window running quite down to the level of the floor concealed nothing of her person; she was visible from the crown of her head to the satin slipper that covered her pretty little foot; and the outline of her figure formed in a graceful silhouette against the light burning within.

Tiburcio, his forehead resting against the bars, appeared to struggle with a painful conviction that was fast forcing itself upon him.

"Ah!" said he, "I have not forgotten, as you, Rosarita, the day when I first saw you in the forest. The twilight was so sombre I could scarce make out your form, which appeared like the graceful shadow of some siren of the woods. Your voice I could hear, and there was something in it that charmed my soul--something that I had never heard till that moment."

"I have never forgotten the service you rendered us," said the young girl; "but why recall those times? they are long past."

"Long past! no, not to me, Rosarita--that scene appears to me as if it had happened yesterday. Yes," continued the young man, in a tone of melancholy, "when the light of the camp-fire by little and little enabled me to observe the radiant beauty of your face, I can scarce describe the emotion which it gave me."

Had Tiburcio, instead of looking to the ground, but raised his eyes at that moment, he might have noticed upon the countenance of Rosarita an expression of interest, while a slight blush reddened her cheeks.

Perhaps her heart was scarce touched, but rarely does woman listen, without pleasure, to those impa.s.sioned tones that speak the praises of her beauty.

Tiburcio continued in a voice still softer and more marked by emotion:--"I have not forgotten the flowers of the llianas which I gathered for you, and that seemed to give forth a sweeter perfume when mingled with the tresses of your hair. Ah! it was a subtle poison that was entering into my heart, and which has resulted in filling it with an incurable pa.s.sion. Ah! fool that I have been! Is it possible, Rosarita, that you have forgotten those sweet souvenirs upon which I have lived from that day up to the present hour?"

There are certain moments of indiscretion in the life of most women, of which they have a dislike to be reminded. Was it so with Rosarita? She was silent for a while, as if her rebellious memory could not recall the particulars mentioned by Tiburcio.

"No," at length answered she, in a tone so low as not to betray a slight trembling of her voice, "I do not forget, but we were then only children--to-day--"

"To-day," interrupted Tiburcio in a tone of bitter reproach, "to-day that is all forgotten, since a Senator from Arispe has condescended to comprise you in his projects of ambition."

The melodious voice of Rosarita was now heard in a tone of disdainful anger. Tiburcio had wounded her pride.

"Comprise me in his projects of ambition," said she, her beautiful nostrils curving scornfully as she spoke, "and who has told you, senor, that it is not I who condescend?"

"This stranger, too," continued Tiburcio, still preserving his reproachful manner, "this Don Estevan--whom I hate even worse than the Senator--has talked to you of the pleasures of Madrid--of the wonderful countries that lie beyond the sea--and you wish to see them with your own eyes!"

"Indeed I acknowledge," answered Rosarita, "that in these deserts life appears to me dull enough. Something tells me that I was not made to die without taking part in those splendours of the world of which I have heard so much. What can you offer to me--to my father?"

"I understand now," cried Tiburcio with despairing bitterness, "to be poor, an orphan, unhappy--these are not the t.i.tles to win the heart of a woman."

"You are unjust, Tiburcio. It is almost always the very reverse that happens--for it is the instinct of a woman to prefer those who are as you say. But it is different with fathers, who, alas! rarely share this preference with their daughters."

There was in these last words a sort of tacit avowal which Tiburcio evidently did not comprehend--for he continued his reproaches and bitter recriminations, causing the young girl many a sigh as she listened to them.

"Of course you love this Senator," said he. "Do not talk, then, of being compelled!"

"Who talks of being compelled?" said Rosarita, hastily interrupting the young man. "I said nothing of compulsion, I only spoke of the desire which my father has already manifested; and against his will, the hopes you may have conceived would be nothing more than chimeras or idle dreams."

"And this will of your father is to throw you into the arms of a ruined prodigal, who has no other aim than to build up the fortune he has squandered in dissipation, and satisfy his ambitious desires? Say, Rosarita, say! is this will in consonance with your own? Does your heart agree to it? If it is not, and there is the least compulsion upon you, how happy should I be to contest for you with this rival. Ah! you do not make answer--you love him, Rosarita? And I--Oh! why did they not leave me to die upon the road?"

At this moment a slight rustling was heard in the grove of oranges, where Don Estevan and Cuchillo were crouching in concealment.

"Hush!" said the young girl, "did you not hear a noise?"

Tiburcio turned himself quickly, his eye on fire, his heart beating joyfully with the hope of having some one upon which to vent the terrible anger that tortured it--but the rays of the moon shone only upon the silvery foliage--all was quiet around.

He then resumed his gloomy and pensive att.i.tude. Sadness had again taken possession of his soul, through which the quick burst of anger had pa.s.sed as lightning though a sombre sky.

"Very likely," said he, with a melancholy smile, "it is the spirit of some poor lover who has died from despair."

"Santisima Virgen!" exclaimed Rosarita, making the sign of the cross.

"You make me afraid, Tiburcio. Do you believe that one could die of love?" she inquired in a tone of _naivete_.

"It may be," replied Tiburcio, with a sad smile still playing upon his lips. Then changing his tone, he continued, "Hear me, Rosarita! you are ambitious, you have said so--hear me then! Supposing I could give you all that has been promised you? hitherto I have preferred to plead the cause of Tiburcio poor and an orphan; I shall now advocate that of Tiburcio Arellanos on the eve of becoming rich and powerful; n.o.ble too I shall become--for I shall make myself an ill.u.s.trious name and offer it to you."

As he said these words the young man raised his eyes towards heaven: his countenance exhibited an altered expression, as if there was revived in his soul the pride of an ancient race.

For the first time since the commencement of the interview, Tiburcio was talking sensibly, and the daughter of Eve appeared to listen with more attention than what she had hitherto exhibited.

Meanwhile the two spies were also listening attentively from their hiding-place among the oranges. Not a word of what was said, not a gesture escaped them. The last speech of Tiburcio had caused them to exchange a rapid glance. The countenance of the outlaw betrayed an expression of rage mingled with shame. After the impudent manner in which he had boasted of his penetration, he felt confounded in the presence of Don Estevan, whose eyes were fixed upon him with a look of implacable raillery.

"We shall see now," whispered the Spaniard, "whether this young fellow knows no more of the situation of the Golden Valley than he does of the Garden of Eden."

Cuchillo quailed under this terrible irony, but made no reply.

As yet Don Estevan had learnt nothing new. The essential object with him was to discover whether Tiburcio's pa.s.sion was reciprocated: the rest was of little importance. In the behaviour of Rosarita there was certainly something that betrayed a tender compa.s.sion for the adopted son of Arellanos; but was this a sign of love? That was the question to which Don Estevan desired to have the answer.

Meanwhile, having excited the evil pa.s.sions of the outlaw to the highest pitch, he judged it prudent to moderate them again; an explosion at that moment would not have been politic on his part. A murder committed before his face, even though he had not ordered it either by word or gesture, would at least exhibit a certain complicity with the a.s.sa.s.sin, and deprive him of that authority which he now exercised over Cuchillo.

"Not for your life!" said he, firmly grasping the arm of the outlaw, whose hand rested upon his knife. "Not for your soul's safety!

Remember! till I give the word, the life of this young man is sacred.

Hush!" he continued, "listen!" and still holding the outlaw by the arm he turned his eyes upon Tiburcio, who had again commenced speaking.

"Why should I conceal it from you longer?" exclaimed the young man, in a tone to which the attentive att.i.tude of Rosarita had lent animation.

"Hear me, then! honours--riches--power I can lay at your feet, but you alone can enable me to effect this miracle."

Rosarita fixed her eyes upon the speaker with an interrogatory expression.

"Perhaps I should have told you sooner," continued Tiburcio, "that my adopted mother no longer lives--"