CHAPTER V.
In a large, handsome room, overlooking a shining river, now ablaze with sunshine, sat a beautiful woman, wearing on her face unmistakable signs of sadness.
She scarcely heeded the opening door, until two pretty children came bounding to her side, clambering onto her chair and lap.
Then her face changed, and a sweet, tender smile chased away all gloom; the idle hands were busy now stroking the curly heads pressed so close against her.
"I would have brought them to you before, but their father wished to keep them; he is always so happy when they are near," a little, dark-eyed woman, clad in picturesque robes of brilliant crimson and gold, said rapidly, as she threw herself down on a pile of soft cushions opposite the sweet, pale mother.
Lianor sighed, but she could not look sad long with those loved children clasped in her arms.
"I cannot understand Manuel," she said, with a puzzled expression in her eyes; "he is so strange, sometimes gay—almost too gay; then he relapses into a gloomy, brooding apathy, from which even the children have no power to rouse him."
"But you have. He is never too morose to have a smile for you. I think, sometimes, he feels lonely. You are bound to him, yet your heart is as unresponsive to his passionate love as if you were strangers," Savitre said, thoughtfully.
"Do you think so, Savitre? I am indeed sorry; but you know how impossible it is to forget my first love. I like Manuel, but beyond that, affection—except for my darlings—is dead; buried in Luiz's grave."
"Hush! here comes Manuel," Savitre whispered, warningly.
It was indeed Manuel, older and graver-looking than of yore, with a deep melancholy in his eyes, brought there only by intense suffering.
Savitre, on his entrance, softly glided from the room, leaving husband and wife alone.
"Lianor," he began, a bright smile lighting up his face as he bent to kiss her fair brow, "I have been thinking, and am resolved to quit India and return to Portugal. I have been here long enough. Don't you think that will be pleasant, dearest?"
"Nothing would please me more," Lianor cried, delightedly. "The greatest wish of my life is to see Portugal once more, to show our country to our children," bending to kiss her tiny daughter's face.
"Then it will be granted. Prepare to start as soon as possible. Now, I am determined to leave here. Something seems to urge me to go at once."
Only too anxious, Lianor began her arrangements.
Savitre, who had never cared to leave her friend before, even to become Panteleone's bride, entered into the preparations with unconcealed eagerness.
She had faithfully promised her lover that, once in Portugal, she would, with his father's approval, marry him.
Lianor felt no regret at leaving India, except for a loved grave—her father's—which she had so carefully tended.
Not many days after, Manuel Tonza, his wife, children, Panteleone, and Savitre, accompanied by several faithful servants, including Lalli and Tolla, embarked in a fine stately ship, which was to bear them in safety to their home.
Tonza seemed full of joy as he saw the last lines of the Indian coast disappear. He had rarely appeared so happy since his marriage with Lianor five years before.
For several days the good ship went steadily on her way, until one night a terrific storm arose, and the vessel, heedless of the human cargo it was bearing, drifted onward at the mercy of the tempest.
Tonza, holding Lianor and his children closely to him, stood silently dismayed, scarcely able to realize the awful danger which lay before him and those he loved.
Still onward, through the almost impenetrable darkness, went the doomed ship, until, as the dense shadows began to clear and the storm to cease, a sudden shock was felt by all—she had struck against some rocks and was slowly sinking!
"We must be somewhere near land," the captain cried, his voice sounding above the roaring waters.
By aid of the fast-breaking dawn, they could see the line of high, dark rocks, upon which the ship had met her fate.
With much difficulty and peril, under the captain's cool directions, the crew managed at last to leave the sinking vessel, not without much loss of life. Out of nearly five hundred only a few arrived in safety, amongst whom were Tonza, his wife, children, Savitre, and Panteleone.
When the day broke in calm splendor, the sun shown upon a mournful sight—a group of shipwrecked men and women.
No sign of habitation met their view; only a weary waste of bare land, sheltered by a few trees, from whose branches hung a goodly supply of fruit.
"If we go farther inland, we are sure to find some natives, if only savages," Tonza remarked gravely; and followed by the men, he commenced the long, weary way.
Lianor, pale but firm, holding in her arms her little daughter, walked beside him, heedless of the fatigue which oppressed her and made her long to sink upon the sandy ground to rest.
Onward they went, never pausing to rest their tired feet until, as the day was about to decline, they came to a deep waterfall, over which they had to cross. No easy task, as the only means of doing so was by an uneven path, made from a line of rocks, on either side of which the boiling waters poured in terrific fury.
Tonza—who, now the captain had perished, placed himself at the head of the crew—was the first to put his foot upon the crossing; then, turning to the people, he said:
"Be careful, and not glance behind or down, or you will lose your balance and fall."
Lianor, who, by her husband's wish, had given her child to one of the men, followed closely behind Manuel, who held his boy in his arms.
Silently, without daring to murmur one word, the men walked bravely onward.
They were nearly half way across.
Manuel had indeed touched firm ground, when a sudden cry from her little girl made Lianor turn in affright to see what ailed her.
That move was fatal; the next instant she had lost her footing and fallen into the dashing torrent.
With a despairing shriek Manuel stopped, and had not some one held him back, would have dashed in after his wife. Panteleone, who saw a chance of saving her, quickly slipped over the side, caught her in his aims as she was about to sink, then bore her to land.
Forgetful of all others, Manuel threw himself beside her still form, from which all life seemed to have fled, calling wildly on her name, pressing passionate kisses on her cold face, hoping by the warmth of his caresses to bring back the color to her cheeks.
But it was useless; Lianor was dead; her head having struck against a rock, caused instant unconsciousness, from which they could not rouse her.
When Tonza realized the awful truth he rose to his feet, pale and haggard, his eyes full of despairing anguish.
"It is just; my sin is punished. My wife, the only thing I loved on earth, for whose sake I committed crime, is taken from me! She alone had power to make me happy; without her I cannot live. It is time I confessed all, and you shall be my judges. It was I who caused the death of Luiz Falcam, that I might win his betrothed; and when I heard that Diniz Sampayo had discovered partly the truth, I had him thrown into prison on suspicion of having stolen the very poignard with which Luiz had met his death—one that I myself had placed in the assassin's hand! You all know how he escaped, but he is an exile for my fault. If ever you should see him, tell him his innocence is established; he can return to India in peace. You have heard my story, now judge me;" and with arms crossed over his breast, his head bowed in deepest grief and humility, he waited his sentence.
A dead hush fell over the group, broken only by the suppressed sobs of Savitre, who was crouching beside Lianor, and the pitiful moans of the little girl dying in one of the rough seamen's arms.
At last Pantaleone, a look of compassion on his face, went towards his friend, and, laying his head on Tonza's shoulder, said gently:
"My cousin, you have sinned, but God has sent your punishment; that is sufficient. Live to devote your life to bringing up the little motherless children left to you. Restore Sampayo to his own again; then try, by true repentance, to atone for the wrong you did him."
Tonza raised his head, and glanced gratefully at Panteleone; but his eyes were full of firm resolution none could understand.
"You are good, but my life is worth nothing, now she has gone. See, this poor babe will soon follow her mother. Garcia I leave to you; he is too young to realize his loss; but never let him know his father's sin!" he exclaimed hoarsely; and, after pressing his boy tightly to his breast, kissed the dying child; then softly lifting Lianor in his arms, he first pressed his lips reverently on her pale brow, and, before any one could prevent him, or realize what he was about to do, he had sprang from the rock into the deep torrent, and disappeared with his precious burden from their view.
A cry of horror burst from the lips of all present, and many efforts were made to find their bodies; but in vain.
With saddened hearts the people turned away, and continued their journey, praying they might ere long find help and shelter.
Before the day had closed another soul had winged its flight to Heaven, and the tiny waxen form of Lianor's baby-girl left in its last resting-place in the golden sand.
A small wooden house, surrounded by sweet-scented flowers of brightest hue, amongst which a beautiful, dark-eyed woman was softly gliding, culling large clusters of the delicate blossoms.
As she stopped to gather a few rich carnations, singing in a low, musical voice, a man, young and handsome, slipped from beneath the pretty porch, and walking noiselessly behind her, suddenly lifted her in his strong arms, pressing the slight form tenderly to his breast.
"Take care, Diniz," she cried, warningly, a ring of deepest joy thrilling her clear voice. "You will spoil all my flowers!"
"Except the fairest of all—yourself. Ah, Miriam, my darling! how happy we have been since that day when you so generously saved me from a felon's doom!" rapturously kissing the beautiful, dark face so near his own.
Their bliss was broken by a crowd of brown-skinned people, moving toward the cottage, seemingly acting under some emotion.
"What has happened? What is it?" husband and wife cried simultaneously.
"We have seen a party of white men, doubtlessly shipwrecked on the coast, coming in this direction. They are even now in sight," one man said quickly.
Diniz flushed, and his eyes grew bright with suppressed joy.
"Perhaps some of our countrymen, Miriam. Let us hasten forward to welcome them," he cried eagerly; and leading his wife, while the crowd followed curiously behind, Sampayo hurried in the direction from whence the strangers were coming.
It was not long before they met the tired crew, now dwindled to about twenty, many having perished on the way.
As Diniz stepped towards the first stranger, on whose arm leaned a young and beautiful woman, a low cry burst from his lips.
"Panteleone!" he gasped, "is it really you?"
"What, Diniz!" and the two friends, separated for so long a time, warmly clasped hands.
"But how comes it that you are like this?"
Panteleone briefly related their voyage from India, and the disastrous end. Tears shone in his eyes when he recounted the sad death of Lianor and her husband.
"Poor, poor girl! How sorry I am!" Diniz said mournfully, while Miriam, scarcely able to repress her sobs, drew Lianor's orphan boy in her arms, and bore him to their pretty home.
"You are welcome—all!" Sampayo said gently, turning to the haggard-looking seamen. "Come."
A few days later a grand old ship, bound for Portugal, started from that coast, bearing the wrecked crew to their former destination.
Amongst those on board were Diniz and his wife (Phenee had long since joined his forefathers), who, now his innocence was made known, had no longer the fear of being imprisoned, and could return in safety to his native land.
Panteleone's father received Savitre with almost paternal love, and some months after their arrival, when their mourning for poor Lianor was lessened, the two faithful hearts became one.
Little Garcia, Tonza's son, was tenderly nurtured in their tranquil home, and the aunt he loved so dearly became a second mother, replacing the one he had lost.
No shadow of his father's sin darkened his young life; he lived unconscious of the sad fate of his mother, who, won by crime, by her death avenged Luiz Falcam, for, through her, Manuel Tonza had atoned for all.
THE END.
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