He thought it was Pachin, the man-servant, and he then suspected that he was the traitor who had opened the gate to the duke. Ever since the night when he had discovered his sister-in-law with the grandee, his incessant efforts to find out who had helped the duke into the house had been fruitless. He could not have suspected anybody less than such an old servant as Pachin. Then, as he thought that the man might possibly go and warn the traitors, he continued his course toward the house as quickly as possible.
He once more climbed to his father-in-law"s room, but this time only as far as the window. Swiftly on tiptoe he automatically turned to the Persian chamber, as if, having met the duke there once, he must necessarily be there again. Great, therefore, was his surprise to find it dark and deserted. He stood a moment riveted to the spot, but suddenly, struck by an idea, he ran to the room where Ventura slept. The door was locked from the inside. He called out quickly:
"Ventura! Ventura!"
"Who is there?" cried his wife from within in a frightened, strange voice.
"It is I. Open, open directly."
"I am in bed."
"No matter, open at once."
"Let me dress."
"No; open directly, or I"ll break the door."
"I am coming! I am coming!"
The young man waited a minute, but instead of the door he thought he heard the window of the room being opened.
"Open, Ventura!" he cried in a rage. And receiving no answer, he gave such a blow at the door with his powerful cyclopean leg that it burst the lock with a loud noise. The room was in darkness.
"Ventura! Ventura!" he cried.
No answer. He struck a match with a trembling hand, and gave a look round the room. His wife, pale and affrighted, was cowering in a corner in her night-dress. Gonzalo turned his eyes from her and looked all round in search of some one, until he noticed the window half open.
Throwing it up and leaning out, he saw something white running under the trees--it was the figure of a man in his shirt-sleeves.
Gonzalo did not stop to climb down from the window; he took a flying leap into the garden, and darted after the fugitive like an arrow. But the man had already reached the iron gate, opened it, and disappeared.
Gonzalo was not far behind him, but an instant later he saw him on horseback, under the shadow of the trees, dash down the road in the direction of Nieva.
Inspired, nevertheless, with an insane hope of catching him, Gonzalo rushed back to the stables, took out his beautiful saddle-horse, and putting on a bridle, he jumped on his bare back, and also took the road to Nieva with all speed possible. He had neither spurs nor whip, but the brave animal obeyed his voice, or rather his roars, and went at a furious pace. The eyes of the horse saw the road, but the rider was only conscious of a black abyss, which seemed about to swallow him up, and the old elms that lined the road seemed to fly by like a ghastly procession of phantoms.
On, on, on.
The n.o.ble brute flew on as if impelled by a goad for about half an hour.
"It is impossible," said Gonzalo to himself, "that his horse is better than mine. He had at least a start of two gunshots of me!" But just as he was thinking this, and was hesitating about reining in the horse, he pa.s.sed by one that stood saddled, but riderless, by the side of the road. He made his own steed halt with some difficulty, and turning back to see what it was, he recognized the duke"s English mare.
"Oh," he roared, "now I"ve got you!" For he thought his enemy must have had a fall. He dismounted and searched the ground, but no rider did he find. Then he said to himself: "Perhaps hearing the gallop of my horse, and fearing that it would overtake him, he has hidden himself somewhere about here."
He then sprang into the neighboring field, and made as careful a search as he could by the light of matches: he looked behind the hedges, he searched the brambles, then he went some way along the bank of a stream on his left, but his box of matches came to an end before he could discover his enemy, so he retraced his steps, mad with rage.
If the Duke of Tornos were hidden somewhere about there, he must have had an anxious time of it.
CHAPTER x.x.xII
RETRIBUTION
After seeing her husband disappear through the window, Ventura dressed herself quickly and left the room to find a servant. Just at this moment Pachin arrived with a disconcerted face, carrying a light.
"The senorito is rushing after the duke across the garden," he said in a hardly audible voice.
"Will he catch him?" asked the unfaithful wife, very pale, although somewhat recovered from her fright.
"I don"t think so; the duke has his horse tied to the Antony vine. He had the start, and, once mounted, it will be impossible to overtake him."
"Where shall I hide myself? If he comes back he will kill me."
"It will be best to leave the house. Come with me."
The girl then followed the servant along the pa.s.sages, down the back staircase and out by the kitchen door. Pachin wished to take her to the parish priest"s house, which was near to the estate. When they were entering the garden they saw Gonzalo running toward the house, and they only just had time to hide behind the Washingtonia close to the dining-room. From there they saw him go into the stable, bring out a horse and go off full gallop, and Ventura thought she would die of fright.
"No, no; I don"t want to go to the priest"s house. He will return soon, and the priest could not defend me from him--he is a poor old man--I want to go to Sarrio."
"But, senorita, to Sarrio at this hour, and raining?"
"Is there no carriage?"
"There is the landau, but there are no horses. Wait a bit. I will alter the shafts, and we will harness Senorita, Pablo"s mare--I don"t answer for her going in it."
"Capital! capital!"
Pachin carried out his idea as quickly as possible. Ventura got into the carriage, and off they went.
Although at first the mare rebelled a little, once on the highroad the thought of the stable at Sarrio, her usual abode, made her go very well.
The girl told the servant to drive her to Don Rudesindo"s house, as she was on rather intimate terms with his wife. There she remained until two or three days after the event, when her father took her to Madrid, and from thence to Ocana, where she was shut up in a convent by the joint arrangement of Gonzalo and Rosendo. The great patrician, as we know, was not much in favor of positive religions, but "as long as society provided no other coercive measures for certain moral transgressions, he was perforce led to look for them from old social inst.i.tutions, deficient and vitiated as they might be."
We must now return to Gonzalo. He pa.s.sed the whole day locked in his room in a state of agitation approaching madness. The only person who ventured to enter his room was Don Rosendo, who talked to him in a kind and dignified style, adorned with periphrases and florid periods befitting his character as a writer. He took a seat by his side and cursed his daughter, "whose inexpressible conduct, defying [Don Rosendo had lately taken a great fancy to this verb] at once morality, law, and social practise, had placed her beyond the pale of all legal and family protection."
It was he who suggested shutting her up for a time in a convent. Poor Gonzalo, overwhelmed and distraught, never answered a word, but listened to him while walking backward and forward across the room with his hands in his pockets and his eyes wet and gloomy. Once only he raised his head to say with firmness:
"Take her where you like--but don"t let her see my children. I do not want her lips to touch them."
At dusk a servant came to tell Gonzalo that two gentlemen had arrived in a trap, who wished to see him on urgent business. Guessing immediately the import of the matter he said at once: "Show them in."
Two gentlemen from Nieva then entered. One was the Marquis of Soldevilla, a middle-aged man, quite bald, with a complexion marked with erysipelas, and black teeth. He talked in a loud tone to seem at his ease. The other, named Golarzo, was old, gray, and a man of few words or friends. They came on behalf of the duke to arrange a serious matter that had happened the previous night--about an affair of honor. The duke did not wish to rob the Senor de las Cuevas of the reparation due to him. To run away on such an occasion was not according to his habits nor his character, neither was it befitting his social status. But at the same time, in the interest of Gonzalo and himself, he expected that all would be executed with as much privacy as possible.
Without wincing, and affecting a calmness he was far from feeling, Gonzalo put no check to the loquacity of the marquis, which bordered on impertinence.
"All right," he said, when he had finished. "I accept the challenge, and I am ready to fulfil it when it suits you. But it is rather odd," he added with a nervous laugh, which badly cloaked the anger which consumed him. "It is rather odd for the senor duke to send the challenge, seeing that I am the injured party. This course seems to me more prompted by fear than by gentlemanliness."
"Senor de las Cuevas," broke in the ex-colonel with acerbity, "we can not permit these derogatory remarks to be made in our presence."