Part 28 (1/2)
The old man's lips quivered slightly, and the great brown hand laid upon the table trembled for an instant; with a strong effort he recovered himself, and said hurriedly,--
”Concho's mule is saddled and ready for you at the foot of the garden.
You will follow the beach a league beyond the Indians' cross. In the boat will await you the trusty messenger of the Church. You will say to him, 'Guadalajara,' and give him these letters. One is to the captain.
You will require no other introduction.” He laid the papers on the table, and, turning to Hurlstone, lifted his tremulous hands in the air.
”And now, my son, may the grace of G.o.d”--
He faltered and stopped, his uplifted arms falling helplessly on Hurlstone's shoulders. For an instant the young man supported him in his arms, then placed him gently in the chair he had just quitted, and for the first time in their intimacy dropped upon his knee before him. The old man, with a faint smile, placed his hand upon his companion's head.
A breathless pause followed; Father Esteban's lips moved silently.
Suddenly the young man rose, pressed his lips hurriedly to the Father's hand, and pa.s.sed out into the night.
The moon was already suffusing the dropping veil of fog above him with that nebulous, mysterious radiance he had noticed the first night he had approached the Mission. When he reached the cross he dismounted, and gathering a few of the sweet-scented blossoms that crept around its base, placed them in his breast. Then, remounting, he continued his way until he came to the spot designated by Concho as a fitting place to leave his tethered mule. This done, he proceeded on foot about a mile further along the hard, wet sand, his eyes fixed on the narrow strip of water and sh.o.r.e before him that was yet uninvaded by the fog on either side.
The misty, nebulous light, the strange silence, broken only by the occasional low hurried whisper of some spent wave that sent its film of spume across his path, or filled his footprints behind him, possessed him with vague presentiments and imaginings. At times he fancied he heard voices at his side; at times indistinct figures loomed through the mist before him. At last what seemed to be his own shadow faintly impinged upon the mist at one side impressed him so strongly that he stopped; the apparition stopped too. Continuing a few hundred paces further, he stopped again; but this time the ghostly figure pa.s.sed on, and convinced him that it was no shadow, but some one actually following him. With an angry challenge he advanced towards it. It quickly retreated inland, and was lost. Irritated and suspicious he turned back towards the water, and was amazed to see before him, not twenty yards away, the object of his quest--a boat, with two men in it, kept in position by the occasional lazy dip of an oar. In the pursuit of his mysterious shadow he had evidently overlooked it. As his own figure emerged from the fog, the boat pulled towards him. The priest's pa.s.sword was upon his lips, when he perceived that the TWO men were common foreign sailors; the messenger of the Church was evidently not there.
Could it have been he who had haunted him? He paused irresolutely. ”Is there none other coming?” he asked. The two men looked at each other.
One said, ”Quien sabe!” and shrugged his shoulders. Hurlstone without further hesitation leaped aboard.
The same dull wall of vapor--at times thickening to an almost impenetrable barrier, and again half suffocating him in its soft embrace--which he had breasted on the night he swam ash.o.r.e, carried back his thoughts to that time, now so remote and unreal. And when, after a few moments' silent rowing, the boat approached a black hulk that seemed to have started forward out of the gloom to meet them, his vague recollection began to take a more definite form. As he climbed up the companion-ladder and boarded the vessel, an inexplicable memory came over him. A petty officer on the gangway advanced silently and ushered him, half dazed and bewildered, into the cabin. He glanced hurriedly around: the door of a state-room opened, and disclosed the indomitable and affable Senor Perkins! A slight expression of surprise, however, crossed the features of the Liberator of Quinquinambo as he advanced with outstretched hand.
”This is really a surprise, my dear fellow! I had no idea that YOU were in this affair. But I am delighted to welcome you once more to the Excelsior!”
CHAPTER VII.
THE RETURN OF THE EXCELSIOR.
Amazed and disconcerted, Hurlstone, nevertheless, retained his presence of mind.
”There must be some mistake,” he said coolly; ”I am certainly not the person you seem to be expecting.”
”Were you not sent here by Winslow?” demanded Perkins.
”No. The person you are looking for is probably one I saw on the sh.o.r.e.
He no doubt became alarmed at my approach, and has allowed me quite unwittingly to take his place in the boat.”
Perkins examined Hurlstone keenly for a moment, stepped to the door, gave a brief order, and returned.
”Then, if you did not intend the honor of this visit for me,” he resumed, with a smile, ”may I ask, my dear fellow, whom you expected to meet, and on what s.h.i.+p? There are not so many at Todos Santos, if my memory serves me right, as to create confusion.”
”I must decline to answer that question,” said Hurlstone curtly.
The Senor smiled, with an accession of his old gentleness.
”My dear young friend,” he said, ”have you forgotten that on a far more important occasion to YOU, I showed no desire to pry into your secret?”
Hurlstone made a movement of deprecation. ”Nor have I any such desire now. But for the sake of our coming to an understanding as friends, let me answer the question for you. You are here, my dear fellow, as a messenger from the Mission of Todos Santos to the Ecclesiastical Commission from Guadalajara, whose s.h.i.+p touches here every three years.
It is now due. You have mistaken this vessel for theirs.”
Hurlstone remained silent.