Part 7 (2/2)
But Don Miguel was staring with perturbed visage at something behind his antagonist. ”Santa Maria!” he faltered, ”what is yonder? It is a spirit!”
Freeman had his wits about him, and perhaps entertained a not too high opinion of Mexican fair play. So, before turning round, he advanced till he was alongside his companion. Then he looked, and saw something which was certainly enigmatic.
Among the wild-mustard plants there appeared a moving luminosity, having an irregular, dancing motion, as of a will-o'-the-wisp singularly agitated. Sometimes it uplifted itself on high, then plunged downwards, and again jerked itself from side to side; occasionally it would quite vanish for an instant. Accompanying this manifestation there was a clawing and reaching of shadowy arms: altogether, it was as if some t.i.tanic spectral gra.s.shopper, with a heart of fire, were writhing and kicking in convulsions of phantom agony. Such an apparition, in an hour and a place so lonely, might stagger a less superst.i.tious soul than that of Don Miguel de Mendoza.
Freeman gazed at it for a moment in silence. It mystified him, and then irritated him. When one is bent heart and soul upon an important enterprise, any interruption is an annoyance. Perhaps there was in the young American's nature just enough remains of belief in witches and hobgoblins to make him feel warranted in resorting to extreme measures.
At any rate, he lifted his revolver, and fired.
It was a long shot for a revolver: nevertheless it took effect. The luminous object disappeared with a faint explosive sound, followed by a shout unmistakably human. The long stems of the wild mustard swayed and parted, and out sprang a figure, which ran straight towards the two young men.
Hereupon, Don Miguel, hissing out an appeal to the Virgin and the saints, turned and fled.
Meanwhile, the mysterious figure continued its onward career; and Freeman once more levelled his weapon,--when a voice, which gave him such a start of surprise as well-nigh caused him to pull the trigger for sheer lack of self-command, called out, ”Why, you abominable young villain! What the mischief do you mean? Do you want to be hanged?”
”Professor Meschines!” faltered Freeman.
It was indeed that worthy personage, and he was on fire with wrath. He held in one hand a shattered lantern mounted on the end of a pole, and in the other a long-handled net of gauze, such as entomologists use to catch moths withal. Under his left arm was slung a brown j.a.panned case, in which he presumably deposited the spoils of his skill. Freeman's shot had not only smashed and extinguished the lantern which served as bait for the game, but had also given the professor a disagreeable reminder that the tenure of human life is as precarious as that of the silly moth which allows itself to be lured to destruction by s.h.i.+ning promises of bliss.
”Upon my soul, professor, I am very sorry,” said Freeman. ”You have no idea how formidable you looked; and you could hardly expect me to imagine that you would be abroad at such an hour----”
”And why not, I should like to know?” shouted the professor, towering with indignation. ”Was I doing anything to be ashamed of? And what are you doing here, pray, with loaded revolvers in your hands?--Hallo! who's this?” he exclaimed, as Don Miguel advanced doubtfully out of the gloom.
”Senor de Mendoza, as I'm a sinner! and armed, too! Well, really! Are you two out on a murdering expedition?--Oho!” he went on, in a changed tone, glancing keenly from one to another: ”methinks I see the bottom of this mystery. You have ridden forth, like the champions of romance, to do doughty deeds upon each other!--Is it not so, Don Miguel?” he demanded, turning his fierce spectacles suddenly on that young man.
Don Miguel, ignoring a secret gesture from Freeman, admitted that he had been on the point of expunging the latter from this mortal sphere.
The professor chuckled sarcastically. ”I see! Blood! Wounded honor!
The code!--But, by the way, I don't see your seconds! Where are your seconds?”
”My dear sir,” said Freeman, ”I a.s.sure you it's all a mistake. We just happened to meet at the gen--er--happened to meet, and were riding home together----”
”Now, listen to me, Harvey,” the professor interrupted, holding up an expository finger. ”You have known me since some ten years, I think; and I have known you. You were a clever boy in your studies; but it was your foible to fancy yourself cleverer than you were. Acting under that delusion, you pitted yourself against me on one or two occasions; and I leave it to your candid recollection whether you or I had the best of the encounter. You call yourself a man, now; but I make bold to say that the--discrepancy, let us call it--between you and me remains as conspicuous as ever it was. I see through you, sir, much more clearly than, by this light, I can see you. I am fond of you, Harvey; but I feel nothing but contempt for your present att.i.tude. In the first place, conscious as you are of your skill with that weapon, you know that this affair--even had seconds been present--would have been, not a duel, but an a.s.sa.s.sination. You acted like a coward!--I say it, sir, like a coward!--and I hope you may live to be as much ashamed of yourself as I am now ashamed for you. Secondly, your conduct, considered in its relations to--to certain persons whom I will not name, is that of a boor and a blackguard. Suppose you had accomplished the cowardly murder--the cowardly murder, I said, sir--that you were bent upon to-night. Do you think that would be a grateful and acceptable return for the courtesy and confidence that have been shown you in that house?--a house, sir, to which I myself introduced you, under the mistaken belief that you were a gentleman, or, at least, could feign gentlemanly behavior! But I won't--my feelings won't allow me to enlarge further upon this point.
But allow me to add, in the third place, that you have shown yourself a purblind donkey. Actually, you haven't sense enough to know the difference between those who pull with you and those who pull against you. Now, I happen to know--to know, do you hear?--that had you succeeded in what you were just about to attempt, you would have removed your surest ally,--the surest, because his interests prompt him to favor yours. You pick out the one man who was doing his best to clear the obstacle out of your path, and what do you do?--Thank him?--Not you!
You plot to kill him! But even had he been, as you in your stupidity imagined, your rival, do you think the course you adopted would have promoted your advantage? Let me tell you, sir, that you don't know the kind of people you are dealing with. You would never have been permitted to cross their threshold again. And you may take my word for it, if ever you venture to recur to any such folly, I will see to it that you receive your deserts.--Well, I think we understand each other, now?”
Freeman's emotions had undergone several variations during the course of the mighty professor's harangue. But he had ended by admitting the force of the argument; and the reminiscences of college lecturings aroused by the incident had tickled his sense of humor and quenched his anger. He looked at the professor with a sparkle of laughter in his eyes.
”I have done very wrong, sir,” he said, ”and I'm very sorry for it. If you won't give me any bad marks this time, I'll promise to be good in future.”
”Ah! very smooth! To begin with, suppose you ask pardon of Senor Don Miguel de Mendoza for the affront you have put upon him.”
To a soul really fearless, even an apology has no terrors. Moreover, Freeman's night ride with Don Miguel, though brief in time, had sufficed to give him the measure of the Mexican's character; and he respected it so little that he could no longer take the man seriously, or be sincerely angry with him. The professor's a.s.surance as to Don Miguel's inoffensiveness had also its weight; and it was therefore with a quite royal gesture of amicable condescension that Freeman turned upon his late antagonist and held out his hand.
”Senor Don Miguel de Mendoza,” said he, ”I humbly tender you my apologies and crave your pardon. My conduct has been inexcusable; I beg you to excuse it. I deserve your reprobation; I entreat the favor of your friends.h.i.+p. Senor, between men of honor, a misunderstanding is a misunderstanding, and an apology is an apology. I lament the existence of the first; the professor, here, is witness that I lay the second at your feet. May I hope to receive your hand as a pledge that you restore me to the privilege of your good will?”
Now, Don Miguel's soul had been grievously exercised that night: he had been insulted, he had s.h.i.+vered beneath the shadow of death, he had been a prey to superst.i.tious terrors, and he had been utterly perplexed by the professor's eloquent address, whereof (as it was delivered in good American, and with a rapidity of utterance born of strong feeling) he had comprehended not a word, and the unexpected effect of which upon his late adversary he was at a loss to understand. Although, therefore, he had no stomach for battle, he was oppressed by a misgiving lest the whole transaction had been in some way planned to expose him to ridicule; and for this reason he was disposed to treat Freeman's peaceful overtures with suspicion. His heart did not respond to those overtures, but neither was it stout enough to enable him to reject them explicitly. Accordingly, he adopted that middle course which, in spite of the proverb, is not seldom the least expedient. He disregarded the proffered hand, bowed very stiffly, and, saying, ”Senor, I am satisfied,” stalked off with all the rigidity of one in whose veins flows the sangre azul of Old Castile. Freeman smiled superior upon his retreat, and then, producing a cigar-case, proceeded to light up with the professor. In this fragrant and friendly cloud we will leave them, and return for a few minutes to the house of General Trednoke.
It will be remembered that something was said of Grace being privy to the nocturnal advances of Senor de Mendoza. We are not to suppose that this implies in her anything worse than an aptness to indulge in romantic adventure: the young lady enjoyed the mystery of romance, and knew that serenades, and whisperings over star-lit balconies, were proper to this lat.i.tude. It may be open to question whether she really was much interested in De Mendoza, save as he was a type of the adoring Spaniard. That the scene required: she could imagine him (for the time-being) to be the Cid of ancient legend, and she herself would enact a role of corresponding elevation. Grace would doubtless have prospered better had she been content with one adorer at a time; but, while turning to a new love, she was by no means disposed to loosen the chains of a former one; and, though herself as jealous as is a tiger-cat of her young, she could never recognize the propriety of a similar pa.s.sion on the part of her victims. She had been indignant at Freeman's apparent infidelity with Miriam; but when she had (as she imagined) discovered her mistake, she had listened with a heart at ease to the protestations of Don Miguel. She had parted from him that evening with a half expressed understanding that he was to reappear beneath her window before day-light; and she had pictured to herself a charming balcony-scene, such as she had beheld in Italian opera. Accordingly, she had attired herself in a becoming negligee, and had spent the fore part of the night somewhat restlessly, occasionally emerging on the veranda and gazing down into the perfumed gloom of the garden. At length she fancied that she heard footsteps. Whose could they be, unless Don Miguel's? Grace retreated within her window to await developments. Don Miguel did not appear; but presently she descried a phantom-like figure ascending the flight of steps to the veranda. Could that be he? If so, he was bolder in his wooing than Grace had been prepared for. But surely that was a strange costume that he wore; nor did the unconscious harmony of the gait at all resemble the senor's self-conscious strut. And whither was he going?
<script>