"No one saw me approach the house," he observed, "so you will not be suspected; yet hasten, for should I now be observed, our difficulties would be increased."
Where woman"s wit is sharpened by love, she finds no difficulties in serving him she loves. In a short time the stranger was concealed within the roof of the mansion, where she might, without exciting suspicion, constantly communicate with him.
Juanetta, having thus obeyed the impulse of her heart, returned to her seat near the window to meditate on the act she had performed, and the responsible office she had undertaken.
"Yet who is the stranger to whom I have given my heart?" she thought; "he loves me, surely, or he would not tell me so; and I love him--he is so handsome, so eloquent--he narrates adventures so surprising--he has done such daring deeds. It is strange, too, that he should seek to leave the ship, and that another officer should have committed a murder--oh, horrible! what fierce, bad men those on board must be, except my Juan!"
Poor girl! she was young, loving, and ignorant of the wickedness in the world, or she would have suspected even him. Her meditations were interrupted by the appearance of her father, accompanied by the alcalde, and two officers in British uniforms. They were conversing earnestly as they pa.s.sed the widow, and they thus did not observe her.
"There can be no doubt of it, senor," observed the alcalde to one of the English officers: "the murder must have been committed by him--his flight proves it."
"Where can he have concealed himself?" said the officer. "I would give a high reward to whoever discovers him, for such a crime must not go unpunished."
"He must still be wandering about near the coast, for without a horse-- and I cannot learn that any person has supplied him with one--he cannot have escaped into the interior. The scouts also I sent out bring no intelligence of him."
On hearing these words Juanetta turned pale, for dreadful suspicions crossed her mind; but she had vowed to protect the stranger, and she felt the necessity of appearing calm. She had scarcely time to compose herself before her father and his guests entered the apartment.
Refreshments were ordered, and as she was obliged to busy herself in performing the duties of a hostess, her agitation was not observed.
During the repast she listened eagerly to gain further information, but what she heard only served to increase her doubts and fears. At length her father, telling her that he would soon return, took his departure with his guests.
Unhappy Juanetta! she dared not believe what yet her reason told her was too true. Left alone, she burst into tears. They afforded some relief to her aching heart, and when calmness had again returned, she hastened to the place where she had concealed her dangerous guest. As she went, she resolved to tell him that she would see him no more, yet to a.s.sure him that her promise given, he was safe while under her father"s roof.
She thought she would confess all that had pa.s.sed to her father, and trusting to his generosity, entreat him to aid her in favouring the escape of the suspected criminal.
Fortunate for her had she been firm in her resolve. Alas! that pa.s.sion should too often triumph over the dictates of reason! yet who can fathom the deep well of a woman"s heart? Surely not she herself, while it remains free from the rubbish, the wickedness, the knowledge of the world, those things which choke it up and foul its pure waters. Juan lay sleeping on the hard floor, yet so lightly, that he started the moment she slowly raised the trap-door which opened into the chamber, and grasping a pistol on which his hand had rested, he sprang to his feet. When he saw who was his visitor, his glance became less fierce, but still he did not quit his hold of his weapon. He was about to speak, but she, placing her finger to her mouth, signified to him to be silent till she had carefully closed the place of ingress.
"I have come, senor, to bid you prepare for instant flight." She spoke in a low tone, and her voice faltered. "You cannot remain here in safety, for I have heard dreadful stories, and I feel sure you will be sought for here. They cannot be true; I know they cannot; but yet I wish they had not been spoken."
"Should all the world desert me, my Juanetta will still believe me true," exclaimed the young man as he approached her and knelt at her feet. "Do not credit those tales, dearest; they are told by my foes and tyrants to destroy me; but my vengeance will yet alight on their heads.
Yet what care I what they they say or do while you, sweet angel, are my protector?"
He took the maiden"s hand, and she did not withdraw it. He pressed her hand to his lips, and his imploring glance met her eyes, already suffused with tears. She smiled, for she could not believe him false; that youth with his gallant air and bold look; crime cannot be an inhabitant of a figure so n.o.ble, she thought.
An arch-traitor was within the garrison, and the deceiver was victorious over the simple maiden. She dared not remain long in his company, lest her absence might betray her guest. To one person alone did she confide her secret, a black slave who had attended her from a child, and loved her faithfully. Her word was his law, and Mauro promised that no harm should befall the stranger. His own conceptions of right and wrong were not very clear, nor did he make very minute inquiries as to the truth of the story his mistress told him. He believed that the Englishman had been ill-treated, and had avenged himself, and he was acute enough to discover that his young mistress loved the handsome stranger. He therefore considered it his duty to please her to the utmost of his power.
THE DESERTER"S DREAM.
Left again alone, Juan"s weary limbs sank once more beneath the power of sleep; but though the frame was still, the mind refused to be at rest.
He dreamed that he was again a boy, young, innocent, and happy; but yet all the time a consciousness of the bitter truth mocked the vain illusion, like some dark phantom hovering over him; he felt and knew that the dream was false, still it seemed vivid and clear like the reality.
He thought that he lay at the feet of his fond and gentle mother, while his proud father smiled at his youthful gambols. It was in a princely hall, decked with all the luxury wealth can supply; other children were there, but he was the eldest and best beloved, the inheritor of almost boundless riches--of t.i.tle and power. He had early learned his own importance; foolish nurses had not been slow to give him the baneful lesson; and while his parents believed him to be all their hearts could wish, the noxious seeds were already taking root. Years rolled on; he had gained knowledge at school, and beneath the care of his tutor, but, as regards self-government or religious feelings, he was still less educated than the poorest peasant on his father"s broad domains. At last the truth had burst on his father"s mind. His son was pa.s.sionate, headstrong, self-willed, and, worse, deceitful. Every means of reclaiming him had been tried in vain, and he had determined to send him to sea under a strict captain, who promised to curb, if not to break, his spirit, if severity could influence him.
Young Hernan stood before his father, while his mother sat overpowered with grief. The carriage was waiting which was to convey him to Portsmouth. He was unmoved, for filial affection had been swallowed up by selfishness, and he fancied that he was about to lead a life of freedom and independence. He had yet to learn what a man-of-war was like. His mother pressed him to her heart, and his father strove to bless him as he turned to quit the room, for he was still his son.
The carriage rolled off, and in a few hours he was on board the ship which was to be his home and school for three long years. He learned many a lesson, it is true, but the great one came too late for him to profit by it. The first three years of his naval career pa.s.sed by, and many a wild act had he committed, such as had often brought him under the censure of his superiors. That he was unreformed his father felt too surely convinced, and he was accordingly again sent to sea.
He was no longer a boy, and the irregularities of that age had grown into the vices of manhood. Yet among his equals he had friends, and, knowing their value, he took care to cultivate them. The most intimate was Edward Staunton, his superior in age by two years--one whose generous spirit, believing that he had discovered n.o.ble qualities in his companion, longed to win him back to virtue. Together they paced the deck in the midnight watch, and spoke of their future prospects, till even Hernan believed that he had resolved to amend. There are calm and often happy moments in a sailor"s life, when all the dangers of their floating home, except the watch on deck, are wrapped in sleep; and then many a youth pours into his attentive shipmate"s ears the tale of his love, his hopes and fears, and pictures the beauty of the girl he has left behind--the lady of his heart, with whom he fondly fancies he shall some day wed. Such a tale did Staunton tell; and Hernan listened carelessly at first, but afterwards with interest, as the ardent lover, delighting in the picture he was conjuring up, described the surpa.s.sing beauty of his mistress.
"Then you must introduce me to your lovely Blanche, and let me judge whether she is as fair as you paint her," said Hernan to his companion; and Staunton, guileless himself, promised to gratify his wish.
"I shall not allow you to break your word, remember," added Hernan.
"Never fear," answered Staunton, laughing. "But see what a sudden change has come over the sky while we have been speaking! We shall have a reef in the topsails before many minutes are out."
It was true. When they began their watch the sky was studded with a million stars, the dark sea was calm, and a gentle breeze filled the sails of the n.o.ble frigate. Now wild clouds were coursing each other across the arch of heaven, the light foam flew over the ocean, and the ship heeled over to the rising blast.
Scarcely had he spoken, when the voice of the officer of the watch roused his sleeping men with the order to furl the topgallant-sails quickly, followed by that to take a reef in the topsails. Hernan"s duty had led him aloft. He was careless in keeping a firm hold. The ship gave a sudden lurch, and he found himself struggling in the wild waters.
He could swim, but the fall had numbed his limbs, and the ship flew past him. Despair was seizing him, when he heard the cry which arose from the deck of "a man overboard?" echoed by a hundred voices. He was sinking beneath the waves, when he felt a friendly hand grasping his arm, and once more he rose to the surface of the water, and the voice of Edward Staunton cheered him to fresh exertions. He saw, too, the bright light of the life-buoy, which floated at a short distance only from them. It was a fearful thing, though, to be left thus alone on that stormy sea, for the dim outline of the frigate was scarcely visible, and she might be unable to fetch again, while the light continued burning, the spot where they were. For his sake, Staunton had thus risked his life. With great exertions Staunton dragged him to the life-buoy, and hanging on to it, they anxiously watched the approach of the frigate.
"The boat has been swamped, and we shall be left to perish miserably here," exclaimed Hernan. "Curses on my fate!"
"No," cried Staunton; "hark, I hear the shouts of the people in the boat pulling towards us. The frigate must have gone far to leeward before she could be hove-to to lower one."
Again the shouts were heard, and a dark object emerged from the obscurity which surrounded them. In a few minutes they were on board, and scarcely was the boat hoisted in than down came the tempest with tenfold fury, and vain would then have been any attempt to save him had he still been struggling in the waves. He was profuse in his professions of grat.i.tude to Staunton, and he thought himself sincere.
The frigate returned home, her crew were paid off, and Staunton and his friend received their promotion.
"And now, Staunton, you must keep to your word, and introduce me to your beautiful friend, Miss Blanche D"Aubigne," said Hernan, after they had been some time on sh.o.r.e, and had met by chance in London.
"Gladly," answered Edward; "I have told her all about you, and she will be most glad to see you."
So they went together to the village where the fair girl resided; it was at no great distance from the country-seat of Sir Hernan Daggerfeldt, the father of Edward"s friend. Staunton had won his promotion by his own exertions; and another step, his commander"s rank, was to be gained before he could hope to make Blanche his bride. Such was the decree of her father, who had given an unwilling consent to their union, and he felt that he had no right to murmur at the decision. A short stay on sh.o.r.e was all he could hope to enjoy, before he must again go afloat for two or three more weary years; but she was still very young, and he confided in her truth and love.
This Hernan knew; he was surprised and delighted when first introduced to Miss D"Aubigne, for her beauty far surpa.s.sed his expectations. He thought her far more lovely than any one he had ever met, when, with artless simplicity, she received him as the friend of her betrothed.
Edward went to sea, and Hernan took up his abode at his father"s seat.
Every week his visits to the village of Darlington grew more frequent, and Blanche unsuspectingly received him with pleasure, while her father, who knew his prospects, welcomed him cordially.
Hernan knew that Blanche looked on him as a friend of her intended husband, and he at first thought not of inquiring into his own feelings regarding her. Soon, however, a fierce pa.s.sion sprang up in addition to the simple admiration he at first had felt. Indeed, he scarcely attempted to conceal it; but she was too pure-minded and unsuspecting to perceive the existence of the feelings she had inspired.
Thus matters went on till even she could no longer deceive herself as to Hernan"s real feelings. Horrified at the discovery, she refused to see him more, and Hernan saw that he must make a bold stroke or lose her forever. He called falsehood and treachery to his aid. He went to her father; he spoke of his own ardent love, of his future wealth, of the position he could offer; then he continued to express his regret that Edward, his friend, was unworthy of her, that he had expressed his anxiety to break off the connection, but was unwilling to wound her feelings by doing so abruptly, and therefore intended to write, when he had reached his station, to free her from her engagement. Mr D"Aubigne listened, and believed what he wished to be true; but Blanche was long incredulous, and refused to credit the tale of her intended"s disloyalty. At last, however, the cruel letter came; it was enclosed in one to Hernan. It spoke of the impolicy of early engagements, of the misery of married poverty, of the difficulty of governing the affections, and of the danger of wedding when love has begun to decay.
Hernan watched the effect of the letter, and congratulated himself on its success; still Blanche disbelieved her senses, but dared not utter her suspicions. Hernan knew, too, that it was so, yet he trusted in the versatility of his talents to bring his schemes to a successful issue.
Her father"s influence was exerted in his favour, and Blanche was told that she must discard her former lover from her heart. She had loved too truly, however, to obey the command, and she determined not to wed another till she had heard from his own lips that he was indeed changed.
Hernan Daggerfeldt knelt at the feet of Blanche D"Aubigne. He had seized her hand, and was pressing it with rapture to his lips, while she in vain endeavoured to withdraw it.
"Rise, sir, rise," she said; "you wrong me--you wrong him who is away-- your friend, the preserver of your life. While he lives, I am his, and his alone!"
"I do not wrong him," he answered. "His nature is fickle, and if he no longer loves you, will not woman"s pride teach you to forget him?"
"I know not that he no longer loves me," she replied.
"Did not his letter convince you?" he asked.
"That letter! No, sir," she replied, rising proudly from her seat, and a smile of unwonted bitterness curling her lip. "That letter was a forgery."
"On my sacred word, on my soul, it was not!" he cried, vehemently. "It is you who wrong me and my devoted love. Be mine, and let me enjoy the only heaven I seek. If I speak not the truth, may the Powers above strike me this moment dead at your feet?" Blanche shuddered at his words. At that instant a dark form seemed to rise up between them, and to gaze with threatening aspect at Hernan, while it shielded Blanche from him. Soon it a.s.sumed the form of Edward Staunton, and beckoning Hernan to follow, slowly receded from the room. Even the deceiver trembled, and daring not to disobey, followed the phantom.
It led him through dark chambers, beneath roaring waterfalls, along dizzy heights, whence the sea-birds could scarce be seen in the depths below, on the wild sh.o.r.e, where the fierce waves dashed with terrific fury, while the tempest raged, and the lightnings flashed around his head, and then with a derisive shriek which sounded high above the furious turmoil, disappeared amid the boiling ocean.