Part 37 (1/2)

CHAPTER x.x.x

ORMSGILL BEARS THE TEST

The black troops were coming home again when they halted at a coffee-planter's fazienda within easy march of the coast to allow the rear guard to come up. They had met with no resistance since they crossed the river. The rebels had melted away before them and vanished into the forests and marshes of the interior, and the troops had pushed on into a waste and empty country finding only a few deserted villages here and there. This was, however, very much what their leader had expected, for he knew that in an affair of this kind everything usually turns upon the first success, and he had made his plans with that fact in view. Dom Clemente Figuera was, at least, a capable soldier.

The fazienda was old and somewhat ruinous. Its prosperity had departed, though plantations of coffee and cocoa still stretched about the rambling white house and dusky laborers' sheds, and a little coa.r.s.e sugar was made chiefly for the sake of the resultant rum. Cocoa could no longer be grown there by antiquated methods at a profit, and there had of late been trouble about the labor supply. Standing where it did within easy reach of the coast, the fazienda was open to inspection, and the rulers of that colony had of late been making inquiries as to the way in which the legislation that permitted the planters to engage the negroes brought down from the bush was carried out. Indeed, its owners realized with concern that there was likely to be a change in their ruler's views. Dom Clemente had, in fact, issued one or two proclamations which filled them with alarm, for they knew that what he said was usually done.

Still, during the few days the troops halted there the white planters had many guests, men who had, for the most part, axes to grind. They wished to discover how the changes Dom Clemente appeared to be contemplating might affect their trade, which like everything else in that country depended upon the labor supply. Some of them wanted concessions, and to be the first to benefit by any reprisals that might be made upon the rebels, and others had grievances against the inland officials whom they supposed Dom Clemente was not altogether satisfied with. It was also, they felt, desirable to gain his ear, or, at least, those of his subordinates, before affairs were debated officially when he reached the coast, but perhaps, Dom Clemente was aware of this, for he had most vexatiously remained behind, and those under him had, it seemed, instructions to observe a judicious reticence. In this case, at least, they also considered it advisable to carry their instructions out.

Ormsgill, however, knew very little about what was going on, and late on the second afternoon after he reached the fazienda he sat listlessly in a half-ruinous shed which was partly filled with bags of coa.r.s.e sugar. The door was shut, and he fancied there was a sentry on guard outside it, but from where he sat he could look out through an unglazed window across the tall green cane towards the wooded ridge that shut the plantation in. It is also possible that he could have got out that way and slipped into the cane without anybody noticing him, for black sentries are not invariably watchful, but he had given Dom Clemente his parole, and he would have had to leave behind the boys he had brought down. Besides, he was utterly listless. He had for several months overtaxed his physical strength, and the fever of the country had rudely shaken him, and left behind it an apathetic la.s.situde, as it frequently does.

It was very hot in the shed which had lain since morning under a scorching sun, and the glare that still streamed in through the window hurt his heavy eyes. He sat on an empty case, ragged and travel-stained, brooding heavily while the perspiration trickled from his worn face. Nothing seemed to matter, and it would have afforded him little pleasure had he been offered his liberty. He would, he knew, leave all he valued behind him when he left that country, and worn out in body as he was, and enervated in will, he shrank from the duty that awaited him, for if he ever reached Las Palmas, which seemed somewhat doubtful, Mrs. Ratcliffe would certainly expect him to carry out his promise. He was in one way sorry for Ada Ratcliffe, but he fancied that she would, after all, probably be satisfied with the things he could offer her. Since that was the case, and she had kept faith with him, it was evident that he could not draw back now.

Perhaps he was foolish, but he was one who kept his word, and at least endeavored to live up to his severely simple code.

At last the glare outside the window commenced to die away, and he could see an odd palm tuft cut with a restful greenness against the paling sky. It was very hot still, but evening was at hand and by and by one of the younger lieutenants who had shown him some kindness on the march would probably come in and talk to him. He fancied he heard the man's footsteps when another half hour had slipped away, and then his voice rose sharply as he said something to the black sentry, but he did not come in, and Ormsgill rose with every nerve quivering when he heard another voice he recognized. Still, he contrived to lay a restraint upon himself when the door opened and Benicia Figuera stood in the entrance.

She was clad in thin draperies that gleamed immaculately white, and the fine lines of the figure they flowed about were silhouetted sharply against the light. Her face was in shadow, but Ormsgill saw the sudden compa.s.sion in her eyes, and the blood crept to his forehead. Then she turned for a moment towards the portly, black-robed lady who appeared behind her, and apparently addressed the invisible lieutenant.

”It is very hot here, and I think the Senora Castro would find it more comfortable if you brought her a chair outside,” she said. ”You can leave the door open. It is scarcely likely that I shall run away with your prisoner.”

The man outside apparently made no demur and when the portly lady disappeared Benicia turned towards Ormsgill.

”Now we can talk,” she said. ”You are looking very ill.”

Ormsgill drew forward the empty case, and laid some matting on it. ”A prisoner's quarters are not usually very sumptuous, and that is the only seat I can offer you,” he said. ”I was a little astonished when I saw you.”

Benicia sat down, and smiled when he found a place among the sugar bags.

”Astonished--that was all?” she said.

The man felt his forehead grow warm, but he laughed. ”Well,” he said, ”I'm not sure that quite expresses everything. Still, I certainly was astonished. I wonder if one could ask what brought you here?”

”I came to meet my father--for one thing,” and the little pause might have had its significance, though Benicia who unrolled her fan was handicapped by the fact that she was speaking English and had to choose her words carefully. ”I am told that he is expected here some time to-night--but you are ill. It is needless to say--is it not?--that I am sorry.”

She looked sorry. In fact, her manner was exquisitely expressive of sympathy, but Ormsgill contrived to answer lightly.

”The thing is not altogether unnatural,” he said. ”A good many of your father's troops are sick, too. After all, there are worse troubles than a slight attack of African fever, and I shall no doubt get well again presently.”

”And you are still--a very little--lame.”

It did not strike Ormsgill as significant that she should have noticed this, though he had only moved a pace or two when she came in. Indeed, nothing of that kind would have occurred to him then, for while his blood stirred within him he was struggling fiercely to retain his self-control.

”It is possible that I shall always be a little lame,” he said, and laughed somewhat bitterly. ”Still, I'm not sure that it matters. You see, I don't even know what will be done with me when we reach the coast.”

”You have certainly enemies there--as well as friends. There are gentlemen of some influence who had an interest in Herrero's business, and it seems they have made rather serious complaints against you. It is even suggested that you brought about his death. We, of course, know that such complaints are absurd.”

”I wonder why?”

Benicia leaned forward a little with her eyes fixed on him. ”It is only strangers one wastes compliments upon,” she said. ”I think you and I are friends.”