Part 16 (1/2)
”Fifteen miles,” said the padre. ”Does it need four hours and a fresh horse to journey fifteen miles?”
”But I have friends to visit on the way,” and to give convincing details to an excuse which was plainly disbelieved, Shere added, ”Just this side of Setenil I have friends.”
The padre was still dissatisfied. ”There is only one house just this side of Setenil, and Esteban Silvela I saw with my own eyes to-day in Ronda.”
”He may well be home by now, and it is not Esteban whom I go to see.”
”Not Esteban,” exclaimed the padre. ”Then it will be--”
”His sister, the Senora Christina,” said Shere with a laugh at his companion's persistency. ”Since the brother and sister live alone, and it is not the brother, why it will be the sister. You argue still very closely, padre.”
The padre stood back a little from Shere and stared. Then he said slyly, and with the air of one who quotes:
”All women are born tricksters.”
”Those were rank words,” said Shere composedly.
”Yet they were often spoken when you grew vines in the Ronda Valley.”
”Then a crowd of men must know me for a fool. A young man may make a mistake, padre, and exaggerate a disappointment. Besides, I had not then seen the senora. Esteban I knew, but she was a child, and known to me only by name.” And then, warmed by the pleasure in his old friend's face, he said, ”I will tell you about it.”
They walked on slowly side by side, while Shere, who now that he had begun to confide was quite swept away, bent over his saddle and told how after inheriting a modest fortune, after wandering for three years from city to city, he had at last come to Paris, and there, at a Carlist conversazione, had heard the familiar name called from a doorway, and had seen the unfamiliar face appear. Shere described Christina. She walked with the grace of a deer, as though the floor beneath her foot had the spring of turf. The blood was bright in her face; her brown hair shone; she was sweet with youth; the suppleness of her body showed it and the steadiness of her great clear eyes.
”She pa.s.sed me,” he went on, ”and the arrogance of what I used to think and say came sharp home to me like a pain. I suppose that I stared--it was an accident, of course--perhaps my face showed something of my trouble; but just as she was opposite me her fan slipped through her fingers and clattered on the floor.”
The padre was at a loss to understand Shere's embarra.s.sment in relating so small a matter.
”Well,” said he, ”you picked up the fan and so--”
”No,” interrupted Shere. His embarra.s.sment increased, and he stammered out awkwardly, ”Just for the moment, you see, I began to wonder whether after all I had not been right before; whether after all any woman would or could baulk herself of a fraction of any man's admiration, supposing that it would only cost a trick to extort it.
And while I was wondering she herself stooped, picked up the fan, and good-humouredly dropped me a curtsey for my lack of manners. Esteban presented me to her that evening. There followed two magical months in Paris and a June in London.”
”But, Esteban?” said the padre, doubtfully. ”I do not understand. I know something of Esteban Silvela. A lean man of plots and devices. My friend, do you know that Esteban has not a groat? The Silvela fortunes and estate came from the mother and went to the daughter. Esteban is the Senora Christina's steward, and her marriage would alter his position at the least. Did he not spoil the magic of the months in Paris?”
Shere laughed aloud in a.s.sured confidence.
”No, indeed,” said he. ”I did not know Esteban was dependent on his sister, but what difference would her marriage make? Esteban is my best friend. For instance, you questioned me about my uniform. It is by Esteban's advice and help that I wear it.”
”Indeed!” said the padre, quickly. ”Tell me.”
”That June, in London, two years ago--it was by the way the last time I saw the senora--we three dined at the same house. As the ladies rose from the table I said to Christina quietly, 'I want to speak to you to-night,' and she answered very simply and quietly, 'With all my heart.' She was not so quiet, however, but that Esteban overheard her.
He hitched his chair up to mine; I asked him what my chances were, and whether he would second them? He was most cordial, but he thought with his Spaniard's pride that I ought--I use my words, not his--in some way to repair my insufficiency in station and the rest; and he pointed out this way of the uniform. I could not resist his argument; I did not speak that night. I took out my papers and became a Spaniard; with Esteban's help I secured a commission. That was two years ago. I have not seen her since, nor have I written, but I ride to her to-night with my two years' silence and my two years' service to prove the truth of what I say. So you see I have reason to thank Esteban.” And since they were now come to the edge of the town they parted company.
Shere rode smartly down the slope of the hill, the padre stood and watched him with a feeling of melancholy.
It was not merely that he distrusted Esteban, but he knew Shere, the cadet of an impoverished family, who had come out from England to a small estate in the Ronda valley, which had belonged to his house since the days of the Duke of Wellington in Spain. He knew him for a man of tempests and extremes, and as he thought of his ardent words and tones, of his ready acceptance of Esteban's good faith, of his description of Christina, he fell to wondering whether so sudden and violent a conversion from pa.s.sionate cynic to pa.s.sionate believer would not lack permanence. There was that little instructive accident of the dropped fan. Even in the moment of conversion so small a thing had almost sufficed to dissuade Shere.
Shere, however, was quite untroubled--so untroubled, indeed, that he even rode slowly that he might not waste the luxury of antic.i.p.ating the welcome which his unexpected appearance would surely provoke. He rode into the groves of almond and walnut trees and out again into a wild and stony country. It was just growing dusk when he saw ahead of him the square white walls of the enclosure, and the cl.u.s.ter of buildings within, glimmering at the foot of a rugged hill. The lights began to move in the windows as he approached, and then a man suddenly appeared at his side on the roadway and whistled twice loudly as though he were calling his dog. Shere rode past the man and through the open gates into the courtyard. There were three men lounging there, and they came forward almost as if they had expected Shere. He gave his horse into their charge and impetuously mounted the flight of stone steps to the house. A servant in readiness came forward at once and preceded Shere along a gallery towards a door. Shere's impetuosity led him to outstep the servant, he opened the door, and so entered the room unannounced.
It was a long, low room with a wainscot of dark walnut, and a single lamp upon the table gave it shadows rather than light. He had just time to notice that a girl and a man were bending over the table in the lamplight, to recognise with a throb of the heart the play of the light upon the girl's brown hair, to understand that she was explaining something which she held in her hands, and then Esteban came quickly to him with a certain air of perplexity and a glance of inquiry towards the servant. Then he said:--