Part 24 (2/2)

It was a matter of delivering certain papers to the Spanish commandant in Tamaulipas. There would be some employment found for me with the Royal troops. I was a relation of the Riegos. And there came upon his voice a strange ardour; a swiftness into his utterance. He walked away from the table; came back, and gazed into my face in a marked, expectant manner. He was not prompted by any love for me, he said, and gave an uncertain laugh.

My wits had returned to me wholly; and as he repeated ”No love for you--no love for you,” I had the intuition that what influenced him was his love for Seraphina. I saw it. I read it in the workings of his face. His eyes retained his good-humoured twinkle. He did not attach any importance to a boy-and-girl affair; not at all--pah! The lady, naturally young, warmhearted, full of kindness. I mustn't think.... Ha, ha! A man of his age, of course, understood.... No importance at all.

He walked away from the table trying to snap his fingers, and, suddenly, he reeled; he reeled, as though he had been overcome by the poison of his jealousy--as though a thought had stabbed him to the heart. There was an instant when the sight of that man moved me more than anything I had seen of pa.s.sionate suffering before (and that was nothing), or since. He longed to kill me--I felt it in the very air of the room; and he loved her too much to dare. He laughed at me across the table. I had ridiculously misunderstood a very proper and natural kindness of a girl with not much worldly experience. He had known her from the earliest childhood.

”Take my word for it,” he stammered.

It seemed to me that there were tears in his eyes. A stiff smile was parting his lips. He took up the pistol, and evidently not knowing anything about it, looked with an air of curiosity into the barrel.

It was time to think of making my career. That's what I ought to be thinking of at my age. ”At your age--at your age,” he repeated aimlessly. I was an Englishman. He hated me--and it was easy to believe this, though he neither glared nor grimaced. He smiled.

He smiled continuously and rather pitifully. But his devotion to a--a--person who.... His devotion was great enough to overcome even that, even that. Did I understand? I owed it to the lady's regard, which, for the rest, I had misunderstood--stupidly misunderstood.

”Well, at your age it's excusable!” he mumbled. ”A career that...”

”I see,” I said slowly. Young as I was, it was impossible to mistake his motives. Only a man of mature years, and really possessed by a great pa.s.sion--by a pa.s.sion that had grown slowly, till it was exactly as big as his soul--could have acted like this--with that profound simplicity, with such resignation, with such horrible moderation--But I wanted to find out more. ”And when would you want me to go?” I asked, with a dissimulation of which I would not have suspected myself capable a moment before. I was maturing in the fire of love, of danger; in the lurid light of life piercing through my youthful innocence.

”Ah,” he said, banging the pistol on to the table hurriedly. ”At once.

To-night. Now.”

”Without seeing anybody?”

”Without seeing... Oh, of course. In your own interest.”

He was very quiet now. ”I thought you looked intelligent enough,” he said, appearing suddenly very tired. ”I am glad you see your position.

You shall go far in the Royal service, on the faith of Pat O'Brien, English as you are. I will make it my own business for the sake of--the Riego family. There is only one little condition.”

He pulled out of his pocket a piece of paper, a pen, a travelling inkstand. He looked the lawyer to the life; the Spanish family lawyer grafted on an Irish attorney.

”You can't see anybody. But you ought to write. Dona Seraphina naturally would be interested. A cousin and... I shall explain to Don Balthasar, of course.... I will dictate: 'Out of regard for your future, and the desire for active life, of your own will, you accept eagerly Senor O'Brien's proposition.' She'll understand.”

”Oh, yes, she'll understand,” I said.

”Yes. And that you will write of your safe arrival in Tamaulipas. You must promise to write. Your word...”

”By heavens, Senor O'Brien!” I burst out with inexpressible scorn, ”I thought you meant your villains to cut my throat on the pa.s.sage. I should have deserved no better fate.”

He started. I shook with rage. A change had come upon both of us as sudden as if we had been awakened by a violent noise. For a time we did not speak a word. One look at me was enough for him. He pa.s.sed his hand over his forehead.

”What devil's in you, boy?” he said. ”I seem to make nothing but mistakes.”

He went to the loophole window, and, advancing his head, cried out:

”The schooner does not sail to-night.”

He had some of his cut-throats posted under the window. I could not make out the reply he got; but after a while he said distinctly, so as to be heard below:

”I give up that spy to you.” Then he came back, put the pistol in his pocket, and said to me, ”Fool! I'll make you long for death yet.”

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