I should have liked to put my arm about her and give her a woman"s sympathy, but I did not dare. All I could do was to leave her alone.
XXV.
Casa Grande held three jealous women. The situation had its comic aspect, but was tragic enough to the actors.
In the evening the lingering guests of the house and the neighbors of the town a.s.sembled as usual for the dance. Only Estenega absented himself. Valencia stood her ground: she would not go while Estenega remained. Chonita moved proudly among her guests, and never had been more gracious. Valencia dared not meet her eyes nor mine, but, seeing that Prudencia was watching her, avenged her own disquiet by enhancing that of the bride. Never did she flirt so imperiously with Reinaldo as she did that fateful night; and Reinaldo, who was man"s vanity collected and compounded, devoted himself to the dashing beauty. Her cheeks burned with excitement, her eyes were restless and flashing.
The music stopped. The women were eating the dulces pa.s.sed by the Indian servants. The men had not yet gone into the dining-room.
Valencia dropped her handkerchief; Reinaldo, stooping to recover it, kissed her hand behind its flimsy shelter.
Then Prudencia arose. She trailed her long gown down the room between the two rows of people staring at her grim eyes and pressed lips; her little head, with its high comb, stiffly erect. She walked straight up to Reinaldo and boxed his ears before the a.s.sembled company.
"Thou wilt flirt no more with other women," she said, in a loud, clear voice. "Thou art my husband, and thou wilt not forget it again. Come with me."
And, amidst the silence of mountain-tops in a snow-storm, he stumbled to his feet and followed her from the room.
I could not sleep that night. In spite of the amus.e.m.e.nt I had felt at Prudencia"s _coup-d"etat_, I was oppressed by the chill and foreboding which seemed to emanate from Chonita and pervade the house. I knew that terrible calm was like the menacing stillness of the hours before an earthquake. What would she do in the coming convulsion? I shuddered and tormented myself with many imaginings.
I became so nervous that I rose and dressed and went out upon the corridor and walked up and down. It was very late, and the moon was risen, but the corners were dark. Figures seemed to start from them, but my nerves were strong; I never had given way to fear.
My thoughts wandered to Estenega. Who shall judge the complex heart of a man? the deep, intense, lasting devotion he may have for the one woman he recognizes as his soul"s own, and yet the strange wayward wanderings of his fancy,--the nomadic a.s.sertion of the animal; the pa.s.sionate love he may feel for this woman of all women, yet the reserve in which he always holds her, never knowing her quite as well as he has known other women; the last test of highest love, pa.s.sion without sensuality? And yet the regret that she does not gratify every side of his nature, even while he would not have her; regret for the terrible incongruity of human nature, the mingling of the beast and the divine, which cannot find satisfaction in the same woman; whatever the fire in her, she cannot gratify the instincts which rage below pa.s.sion in man, without losing the purity of mind which he adores in her. She, too, feels a vague regret that some portion of his nature is a sealed book to her, forever beyond her ken. But her regret is nothing to his: he knows, and she does not.
My meditations were interrupted suddenly. I heard a door stealthily opened. I knew before turning that the door was that of Chonita"s room, the last at the end of the right wing. It opened, and she came out. It was as if a face alone came out. She was shrouded from head to foot in black, and her face was as white as the moon. Possessed by a nameless but overwhelming fear, I turned the k.n.o.b of the door nearest me and almost fell into the room. I closed the door behind me, but there was no key. By the strip of white light which entered through the crevice between the half-open shutters I saw that I was in the room of Valencia Menendez; but she slept soundly and had not heard me.
I stood still, listening, for many minutes. At first there was no sound; I evidently had startled her, and she was waiting for the house to be still again. At last I heard some one gliding down the corridor.
Then, suddenly, I knew that she was coming to this room, and, possessed by a horrible curiosity and growing terror, I sank on my knees in a corner.
The door opened noiselessly, and Chonita entered. Again I saw only her white face, rigid as death, but the eyes flamed with the terrible pa.s.sions that her soul had flung up from its depths at last. Then I saw another white object,--her hand. But there was no knife in it.
Had there been, I think I should have shaken off the spell which controlled me: I never would see murder done. It was the awe of the unknown that paralyzed my muscles. She bent over Valencia, who moved uneasily and cast her arms above her head. I saw her touch her finger to the sleeping woman"s mouth, inserting it between the lips. Then she moved backward and stood by the head of the bed, facing the window. She raised herself to her full height and extended her arms horizontally. The position gave her the form of a cross--a black cross, topped and pointed with malevolent white; one hand was spread above Valencia"s face. She was the most awful sight I ever beheld. She uttered no sound; she scarcely breathed. Suddenly, with the curve of a panther, her figure glided above the unconscious woman, her open hand describing a strange motion; then she melted from the room.
Valencia awoke, shrieking.
"Some one has cursed me!" she cried. "Mother of G.o.d! Some one has cursed me!"
I fled from the room, to faint upon my own bed.
XXVI.
The next morning Casa Grande was thrown into consternation. Valencia Menendez was in a raging fever, and had to be held in her bed.
After breakfast I sent for Estenega and told him of what I had seen.
In the first place I had to tell some one, and in the second I thought to end his infatuation and avert further trouble. "You firebrand!" I exclaimed, in conclusion. "You see the mischief you have worked! You will go, now, thank heaven--and go cured."
"I will go,--for a time," he said. "This mood of hers must wear itself out. But, if I loved her before, I worship her now. She is magnificent!--a woman with the pa.s.sions of h.e.l.l and the sweetness of an angel. She is the woman I have waited for all my life,--the only woman I have ever known. Some day I will take her in my arms and tell her that I understand her."
"Diego," I said, divided between despair and curiosity, "you have fancied many women: wherein does your feeling for Chonita differ? How can you be sure that this is love? What is your idea of love?"
He sat down and was silent for a moment, then spoke thoughtfully: "Love is not pa.s.sion, for one may feel that for many women; not affection, for friendship demands that. Not even sympathy and comradeship; one can find either with men. Nor all, for I have felt all, yet something was lacking. Love is the mysterious turning of one heart to another with the promise of a magnetic harmony, a strange original delight, a deep satisfaction, a surety of permanence, which did either heart roam the world it never would find again. It is the knowledge that did the living body turn to corruption, the spirit within would still hold and sway the steel which had rushed unerringly to its magnet. It is the knowledge that weakness will only arouse tenderness, never disgust, as when the fancy reigns and the heart sleeps; that faults will clothe themselves in the individuality of the owner and become treasures to the loving mind that sees, but worships.
It is the development of the highest form of selfishness, the pa.s.sionate and abiding desire to sacrifice one"s self to the happiness of one beloved. Above all, it is the impossibility to cease to love, no matter what reason, or prudence, or jealousy, or disapproval, or terrible discoveries, may dictate. Let the mind sit on high and argue the soul"s mate out of doors, it will rebound, when all is said and done, like a rubber ball when the pressure of the finger is removed.
As for Chonita she is the lost part of me."
He left that day, and without seeing Chonita again. Valencia was in wildest delirium for a week; at the end of the second every hair on her head, her brows, and her eyelashes had fallen. She looked like a white mummy, a ghastly pitiful caricature of the beautiful woman whose arrows quivered in so many hearts. They rolled her in a blanket and took her home; and then I sought Chonita, who had barely left her room and never gone to Valencia"s. I told her that I had witnessed the curse, and described the result.
"Have you no remorse?" I asked.
"None."
"You have ruined the beauty, the happiness, the fortune, of another woman."
"I have done what I intended."
"Do you realize that again you have raised a barrier between yourself and your religion? You do not look very repentant."
"Revenge is sweeter than religion."
Then in a burst of anger I confessed that I had told Estenega. For a moment I thought her terrible hatred was about to hurl its vengeance at me; but she only asked,--
"What did he say?"
Unwillingly, I repeated it, but word for word. And as I spoke, her face softened, the austerity left her features, an expression of pa.s.sionate grat.i.tude came into her eyes.
"Did he say that, Eustaquia?"
"He did."
"Say it again, please."
I did so. And then she put her hands to her face, and cried, and cried, and cried.
XXVII.
At the end of the week Dona Trinidad died suddenly. She was sitting on the green bench, dispensing charities, when her head fell back gently, and the light went out. No death ever had been more peaceful, no soul ever had been better prepared; but wailing grief went after her. Poor Don Guillermo sank in a heap as if some one had felled him, Reinaldo wept loudly, and Prudencia was not to be consoled. Chonita was away on her horse when it happened, galloping over the hills. Servants were sent for her immediately, and met her when she was within an hour or two of home. As she entered the sala, Don Guillermo, Reinaldo, and Prudencia literally flung themselves upon her; and she stood like a rock, and supported them. She had loved her mother, but it had always been her lot to prop other people; she never had had a chance to lean.
All that night and next day she was closely engaged with the members of the agonized household, even visiting the grief-stricken Indians at times. On the second night she went to the room where her mother lay with all the pomp of candles and crosses, and bade the Indian watchers, crouching like buzzards about the corpse, to go for a time.
She sank into a chair beside the dead, and wondered at the calmness of her heart. She was not conscious of any feeling stronger than regret.
She tried to realize the irrevocableness of death,--that the mother who had been so kindly an influence in her life had gone out of it.