I will now go and send you some aguardiente, for you must be thirsty."
And he went out and left his guest alone.
Dario threw himself face downward on the bed. He was in love, and the lady had kissed another man as if she had no love to spare. True, it was but her brother she had kissed, but would she have eyes for any one else during a stranger"s brief visit? And how, in this crowded house, could he speak a word with her alone? And that terrible dragon of a mother!
He sprang to his feet as an Indian servant entered with a gla.s.s of aguardiente. When he had burnt his throat, he felt better. "I will stay until I have won her, if I remain a month," he vowed. "It will be some time before Don Roberto will care to talk business."
But Don Roberto was never too occupied to talk business. After he had taken his bath and siesta, he sent a servant to request Don Dario Castanares to come up to the library, where he spent most of his time, received all his visitors, reprimanded his children, and took his after-dinner naps. It was a luxurious room for the Californian of that day. A thick red English carpet covered the floor; one side of the room was concealed by a crowded bookcase, and the heavy mahogany furniture was handsomely carved, although upholstered with horse-hair.
In an hour every detail of the transaction had been disposed of, and Dario had traded a small rancho for a herd of cattle. The young man"s face was very long when the last detail had been arranged, but he had forgotten that his host was as Californian as himself. Don Roberto poured him a br.i.m.m.i.n.g gla.s.s of angelica and gave him a hearty slap on the back.
"The cattle will keep for a few days, Don Dario," he said, "and you shall not leave this house until the festivities are over. Not until a week from to-morrow--do you hear? I knew your father. We had many a transaction together, and I take pleasure in welcoming his son under my roof. Now get off to the young people, and do not make any excuses."
Dario made none.
IV
The next morning at eight, Francisca stood before the altar in the chapel, looking very handsome in her rich gown and soft mantilla. The bridegroom, a sensible-looking young Englishman, was somewhat nervous, but Francisca might have been married every morning at eight o"clock.
Behind them stood Don Roberto in a new suit of English broadcloth, and Dona Jacoba in heavy lilac silk, half covered with priceless lace. The six bridesmaids looked like a huge bouquet, in their wide delicately coloured skirts. Their dark eyes, mischievous, curious, thoughtful, flashed more brilliantly than the jewels they wore.
The sala and Don Roberto"s room beyond were so crowded that some of the guests stood in the windows, and many could not enter the doors; every family within a hundred leagues had come to the wedding. The veranda was crowded with girls, the sparkling faces draped in black mantillas or bright rebosos, the full gay gowns fluttering in the breeze. Men in jingling spurs and all the bravery of gold-laced trousers and short embroidered jackets respectfully elbowed their way past brown and stout old women that they might whisper a word into some pretty alert little ear. They had all ridden many leagues that morning, but there was not a trace of fatigue on any face. The court behind the sala was full of Indian servants striving to catch a glimpse of the ceremony.
Dario stood just within the front door, his eyes eagerly fixed upon Elena. She looked like a California lily in her white gown; even her head drooped a little as if a storm had pa.s.sed. Her eyes were absent and heavy; they mirrored nothing of the solemn gayety of the morning; they saw only the welts on her brother"s back.
Dario had not seen her since Santiago"s arrival. She had not appeared at supper, and he had slept little in consequence; in fact, he had spent most of the night playing _monte_ with Joaquin and a dozen other young men in the billiard-room.
During the bridal ma.s.s the padre gave communion to the young couple, and to those that had made confession the night before. Elena was not of the number, and during the intense silence she drew back and stood and knelt near Dario. They were not close enough to speak, had they dared; but the Californian had other speech than words, and Dario and Elena made their confession that morning.
During breakfast they were at opposite ends of the long table in the dining room, but neither took part in the songs and speeches, the toasts and laughter. Both had done some manoeuvring to get out of sight of the old people, and sit at one of the many other tables in the sala, on the corridor, in the court; but Elena had to go with the bridesmaids, and Joaquin insisted upon doing honour to the uninvited guest. The Indian servants pa.s.sed the rich and delicate, the plain and peppered, dishes, the wines and the beautiful cakes for which Dona Jacoba and her daughters were famous. The ma.s.sive plate that had done duty for generations in Spain was on the table; the crystal had been cut in England. It was the banquet of a grandee, and no one noticed the silent lovers.
After breakfast the girls flitted to their rooms and changed their gowns, and wound rebosos or mantillas about their heads; the men put off their jackets for lighter ones of flowered calico, and the whole party, in buggies or on horseback, started for a bull-fight which was to take place in a field about a mile behind the house. Elena went in a buggy with Santiago, who was almost as pale as she. Dario, on horseback, rode as near her as he dared; but when they reached the fence about the field careless riders crowded between, and he could only watch her from afar.
The vaqueros in their broad black hats shining with varnish, their black velvet jackets, their crimson sashes, and short, black velvet trousers laced with silver cord over spotless linen, looked very picturesque as they dashed about the field jingling their spurs and shouting at each other. When the bulls trotted in and greeted each other pleasantly, the vaqueros swung their hissing reatas and yelled until the maddened animals wreaked their vengeance on each other, and the serious work of the day began.
Elena leaned back with her fan before her eyes, but Santiago looked on eagerly in spite of his English training.
"Caramba!" he cried, "but that old bull is tough. Look, Elena! The little one is down. No, no! He has the big one. Ay! yi, yi! By Jove! he is gone--no, he has run off--he is on him again! He has ripped him up!
Brava! brava!"
A cheer as from one throat made the mountains echo, but Elena still held her fan before the field.
"How canst thou like such b.l.o.o.d.y sport?" she asked disgustedly. "The poor animals! What pleasure canst thou take to see a fine brute kicking in his death-agony, his bowels trailing on the ground?"
"Fie, Elena! Art thou not a Californian? Dost thou not love the sport of thy country? Why, look at the other girls! They are mad with excitement.
By Jove! I never saw so many bright eyes. I wonder if I shall be too stiff to dance to-night. Elena, she gave me a beating! But tell me, little one, why dost thou not like the bull-fight? I feel like another man since I have seen it."
"I cannot be pleased with cruelty. I shall never get used to see beasts killed for amus.e.m.e.nt. And Don Dario Castanares does not like it either.
He never smiled once, nor said "Brava!""
"Aha! And how dost thou know whether he did or not? I thought thy face was behind that big black fan."
"I saw him through the sticks. What does "By Jove" mean, my Santiago?"
He enlightened her, then stood up eagerly. Another bull had been brought in, and one of the vaqueros was to fight him. During the next two hours Santiago gave little thought to his sister, and sometimes her long black lashes swept above the top of her fan. When five or six bulls had stamped and roared and gored and died, the guests of Los Quervos went home to chocolate and siesta, the others returned to their various ranchos.
But Dario took no nap that day. Twice he had seen an Indian girl at Elena"s window, and as the house settled down to temporary calm, he saw the girl go to the rancheria among the willows. He wrote a note, and followed her as soon as he dared. She wore a calico frock, exactly like a hundred others, and her stiff black hair cut close to her neck in the style enforced by Dona Jacoba; but Dario recognized her imitation of Elena"s walk and carriage. He was very nervous, but he managed to stroll about and make his visit appear one of curiosity. As he pa.s.sed the girl he told her to follow him, and in a few moments they were alone in a thicket. He had hard work to persuade her to take the note to her mistress, for she stood in abject awe of Dona Jacoba; but love of Elena and sympathy for the handsome stranger prevailed, and the girl went off with the missive.
The staircase led from Don Roberto"s room to Dona Jacoba"s; but the lady"s all-seeing eyes were closed, and the master was snoring in his library. Malia tiptoed by both, and Elena, who had been half asleep, sat up, trembling with excitement, and read the impa.s.sioned request for an interview. She lifted her head and listened, panting a little. Then she ran to the door and looked into the library. Her father was sound asleep; there could he no doubt of that. She dared not write an answer, but she closed the door and put her lips to the girl"s ear.
"Tell him," she murmured, horrified at her own boldness--"tell him to take me out for the contradanza tonight. There is no other chance." And the girl went back and delivered the message.
V
The guests and family met again at supper; but yards of linen and mounds of plate, spirited, quickly turning heads, flowered muslin gowns and silken jackets, again separated Dario and Elena. He caught a glimpse now and again of her graceful head turning on its white throat, or of her sad pure profile shining before her mother"s stern old face.
Immediately after supper the bride and groom led the way to the sala, the musicians tuned their violins and guitars, and after an hour"s excited comment upon the events of the day the dancing began. Dona Jacoba could be very gracious when she chose, and she moved among her guests like a queen to-night, begging them to be happy, and electrifying them with her brilliant smile. She dispelled their awe of her with magical tact, and when she laid her hand on one young beauty"s shoulder, and told her that her eyes put out the poor candles of Los Quervos, the girl was ready to fling herself on the floor and kiss the tyrant"s feet.
Elena watched her anxiously. Her father petted her in his harsh abrupt way. If she had ever received a kiss from her mother, she did not remember it; but she worshipped the blinding personality of the woman, although she shook before the relentless will. But that her mother was pleased to be gracious tonight was beyond question, and she gave Dario a glance of timid encouragement, which brought him to her side at once.
"At your feet, senorita," he said; "may I dare to beg the honour of the contradanza?"
She bent her slender body in a pretty courtesy. "It is a small favour to grant a guest who deigns to honour us with his presence."
He led her out, and when he was not gazing enraptured at the graceful swaying and gliding of her body, he managed to make a few conventional remarks.
"You did not like bull-fighting, senorita?"
"He watched me," she thought. "No, senor. I like nothing that is cruel."
"Those soft eyes could never be cruel. Ay, you are so beautiful, senorita."
"I am but a little country girl, senor. You must have seen far more beautiful women in the cities. Have you ever been in Monterey?"
"Yes, senorita, many times. I have seen all the beauties, even Dona Modeste Castro. Once, too--that was before the Americans came--I saw the Senorita Ysabel Herrera, a woman so beautiful that a man robbed a church and murdered a priest for her sake. But she was not so beautiful as you, senorita."
The blood throbbed in the girl"s fair cheeks. "He must love me," she told herself, "to think me more beautiful than Ysabel Herrera. Joaquin says she was the handsomest woman that ever was seen."
"You compliment me, senor," she answered vaguely. "She had wonderful green eyes. So has the Senora Castro. Mine are only brown, like so many other girls"."
"They are the most beautiful eyes in California. They are like the Madonna"s. I do not care for green eyes." His black ones flashed their language to hers, and Elena wondered if she had ever been unhappy. She barely remembered where she was, forgot that she was a helpless bird in a golden cage. Her mate had flown through the open door.
The contradanza ends with a waltz, and as Dario held her in his arms his last remnant of prudence gave way.
"Elena, Elena," he murmured pa.s.sionately, "I love thee. Dost thou not know it? Dost thou not love me a little? Ay, Elena! I have not slept one hour since I saw thee."
She raised her eyes to his face. The sadness still dwelt in their depths, but above floated the soft flame of love and trust. She had no coquetry in her straightforward and simple nature.
"Yes," she whispered, "I love thee."
"And thou art happy, querida mia? Thou art happy here in my arms?"