Part 15 (1/2)
”Speak, Richard!” she exclaimed. ”Your silence at this moment is an insult to me.”
”For G.o.d's sake, have mercy on me, Dolores,” I said. ”I am not free--I have a wife.”
For some moments she sat staring fixedly at me, then, flinging my hand from her, covered her face. Presently she uncovered it again, for shame was overcome and cast out by anger. She rose and stood up before me, her face very white.
”You have a wife--a wife whose existence you concealed from me till this moment!” she said. ”Now you ask for mercy when your secret has been wrung from you! Married, and you have dared to take me in your arms, to excuse yourself afterwards with the plea of pa.s.sion! Pa.s.sion--do you know what it means, traitor? Ah, no; a breast like yours cannot know any great or generous emotion. Would you have dared show your face to me again had you been capable of shame even? And you judged my heart as shallow as your own, and, after treating me in that way, thought to win my forgiveness, and admiration even, by parading before me with a sword! Leave me, I can feel nothing but contempt for you. Go; you are a disgrace to the cause you have espoused!”
I had sat utterly crushed and humiliated, not daring even to raise my sight to her face, for I felt that my own unspeakable weakness and folly had brought this tempest upon me! But there is a limit to patience, even in the most submissive mood; and when that was overpa.s.sed, then my anger blazed out all the more hotly for the penitential meekness I had preserved during the whole interview. Her words from the first had fallen like whip-cuts, making me writhe with the pain they inflicted; but that last taunt stung me beyond endurance. I, an Englishman, to be told that I was a disgrace to the Blanco cause, which I had joined, in spite of my better judgment, purely out of my romantic devotion to this very woman! I too was now upon my feet, and there face to face we stood for some moments, silent and trembling. At length I found my speech.
”This,” I cried, ”from the woman who was ready yesterday to shed her heart's blood to win one strong arm for her country? I have renounced everything, allied myself with abhorred robbers and cut-throats, only to learn that her one desire is everything to her, her divine, beautiful country nothing. I wish that a man had spoken those words to me, Dolores, so that I might have put this sword you speak of to one good use before breaking it and flinging it from me like the vile thing it is! Would to G.o.d the earth would open and swallow up this land for ever, though I sank down into h.e.l.l with it for the detestable crime of taking part in its pirate wars!”
She stood perfectly still, gazing at me with widely dilated eyes, a new expression coming into her face; then when I paused for her to speak, expecting only a fresh outburst of scorn and bitterness, a strange, sorrowful smile flitted over her lips, and, coming close to me, she placed her hand on my shoulder.
”Oh,” she said, ”what a strength of pa.s.sion you are capable of! Forgive me, Richard, for I have forgiven you. Ah, we were made for each other, and it can never, never be.”
She dropped her head dejectedly on my shoulder. My anger vanished atthose sad words; love only remained--love mingled with profoundest compa.s.sion and remorse for the pain I had inflicted. Supporting her with my arm, I tenderly stroked her dark hair, and, stooping, pressed my lips against it.
”Do you love me so much, Dolores,” I said, ”enough even to forgive the cruel, bitter words I have just spoken? Oh, I was mad--mad to say such things to you, and shall repent it all my life long! How cruelly have I wounded you with my love and my anger! Tell me, dearest Dolores, can you forgive me?”
”Yes, Richard; everything. Is there any word you can speak, any deed you can do, and I not forgive it? Does your wife love you like that--can you love her as you love me? How cruel destiny is to us! Ah, my beloved country, I was ready to shed my blood for you--just to win one strong arm to fight for you, but I did not dream that this would be the sacrifice required of me. Look, it will soon be time for you to go--we cannot sleep now, Richard. Sit down here with me, and let us spend this last hour together with my hand in yours, for we shall never, never, never meet again.”
And so, sitting there hand in hand, we waited for the dawn, speaking many sad and tender words to one another; and at last, when we parted, I held her once more unresisting to my breast, thinking, as she did, that our separation would be an eternal one.
CHAPTER XVIII
About the stirring events of the succeeding days I have little to relate, and no reader who has suffered the malady of love in its acutest form will wonder at it. During those days I mixed with a crowd of adventurers, returned exiles, criminals, and malcontents, every one of them worth studying; the daylight hours were pa.s.sed in cavalry exercises or in long expeditions about the country, while every evening beside the camp fire romantic tales enough to fill a volume were told in my hearing. But the image of Dolores was ever before my mind, so that all this crowded period, lasting nine or ten days, pa.s.sed before me like a phantasmagoria, or an uneasy dream, leaving only a very confused impression on my brain. I not only grieved for the sorrow I had occasioned her, but mourned also that my own heart had so terribly betrayed me, so that for the moment the beautiful girl I had persuaded to fly from home and parents, promising her my undying affection, had ceased to be what she had been, so great was this new inconvenient pa.s.sion. The General had offered me a commission in his tatterdemalion gathering, but, as I had no knowledge of military matters, I had prudently declined it, only requesting, as a special favour, that I might be employed constantly on the expeditions he sent out over the surrounding country to beat up recruits, seize arms, cattle, and horses, and to depose the little local authorities in the villages, putting creatures of his own in their places. This request had been granted, so that morning, noon, and night I was generally in the saddle.
One evening I was in the camp seated beside a large fire and gloomily staring into the flames, when the other men, who were occupied playing cards or sipping _mate_, hastily rose to their feet, making the salute.
Then I saw the General standing near gazing fixedly at me. Motioning to the men to resume their cards, he sat down by my side.
”What is the matter with you?” he said. ”I have noticed that you are like a different person since you joined us. Do you regret that step?”
”No,” I answered, and then was silent, not knowing what more to say.
He looked searchingly at me. Doubtless some suspicion of the truth was in his mind; for he had gone to the Casa Blanca with me, and it was scarcely likely that his keen eyes had failed to notice the cold reception Dolores gave me on that occasion. He did not, however, touch on that matter.
”Tell me,” he said at length, ”what can I do for you?”
I laughed. ”What can you do except to take me to Montevideo?” I replied.
”Why do you say that?” he returned quickly.
”We are not merely friends now as we were before I joined you,” I said.
”You are my General; I am simply one of your men.”
”The friends.h.i.+p remains just the same, Richard. Let me know frankly what you think of this campaign, since you have now suddenly turned the current of the conversation in that direction?”
There was a slight sting in the concluding words, but I had, perhaps, deserved it. ”Since you bid me speak,” I said, ”I, for one, feel very much disappointed at the little progress we are making. It seems to me that before you are in a position to strike, the enthusiasm and courage of your people will have vanished. You cannot get anything like a decent army together, and the few men you have are badly armed and undisciplined. Is it not plain that a march to Montevideo in these circ.u.mstances is impossible, that you will be obliged to retire into the remote and difficult places to carry on a guerilla war?”
”No,” he returned; ”there is to be no guerilla war. The Colorados made the Orientals sick of it, when that arch-traitor and chief of cut-throats, General Rivera, desolated the Banda for ten years. We must ride on to Montevideo soon. As for the character of my force, that is a matter it would perhaps be useless to discuss, my young friend. If I could import a well-equipped and disciplined army from Europe to do my fighting, I should do so. The Oriental farmer, unable to send to England for a thres.h.i.+ng-machine, is obliged to go out and gather his wild mares from the plain to tread out his wheat, and I, in like manner, having only a few scattered _ranchos_ to draw my soldiers from, must be satisfied to do what I can with them. And now tell me, are you anxious to see something done at once--a fight, for instance, in which we might possibly be the losers?”