AGAIN ON THE ROCK.
McKay travelled as far as Constantinople in one of the man-of-war despatch-boats used for the postal service. There he changed into a transport homeward bound, and proceeded on his voyage without delay.
But half-an-hour at Constantinople was enough to gain tidings of the Arcadia and her passengers.
The yacht, he learnt, had left only a week or two before. It had lingered a couple of months at the Golden Horn, during which time General Wilders lay between life and death.
Mortification at last set in, and then all hope was gone. The general died, and was buried at Scutari, after which Mrs. Wilders, still utilising the Arcadia, started for England.
The yacht, a fast sailer, made good progress, and was already at anchor in Gibraltar Bay on the morning that McKay arrived.
"Shall I go on board and tax her with her misdeeds?" McKay asked himself. "No; she can wait. I have more pressing and more pleasant business on hand."
His first visit was to the Convent. "You shall have every assistance from us," said the Governor, Sir Thomas Drummond. "But what do you propose to do, and how can I help?"
"My object, sir, is to collect all the animals I can in the shortest possible time. I propose, first, to set the purchase going here—under your auspices, if you agree—then visit Alicante, Valencia, Barcelona, and ship off all I can secure."
"An excellent plan. Well, you shall have my hearty co-operation. If there is anything else—"
An aide-de-camp came in at this moment and whispered a few words in his general's ear.
"What! on shore? Here in the Convent, too? Poor soul! of course we will see her. Let some one tell Lady Drummond. Forgive me, Mr. McKay: a lady has just called whom I am bound by every principle of courtesy, consideration, and compassion to see at once. Perhaps you will return later?"
McKay bowed and passed out into the antechamber. On the threshold he met Mrs. Wilders face to face.
"You—!" she gasped out, but instantly checked the exclamation of chagrin and dismay that rose to her lips.
"You hardly expected to see me, perhaps; but I was miraculously saved."
McKay spoke slowly, and the delay gave Mrs. Wilders time to collect herself.
"I am most thankful. It has lifted a load off my mind. I feared you were lost."
"Yes; the sea seldom gives up its prey. But enough about myself. You are going in to see the general, I think; do not let me detain you."
"I shall be very pleased to see you on board the yacht."
"Thank you, Mrs. Wilders; I am sure you will. But to me such a visit would be very painful. My last recollections of the Arcadia are not too agreeable."
"Of course not. You were so devoted to my poor dear husband."
Mrs. Wilders would not acknowledge his meaning.
"But I shall see you again before I leave, I trust."
"My stay here is very short. I am only on a special mission, and I must return to the Crimea without delay. But we shall certainly meet again some day, Mrs. Wilders; you may rely on that."
There was meaning, menace even, in this last speech, and it gave Mrs. Wilders food for serious thought.
McKay did not pause to say more. He was too eager to go elsewhere.
His first visit, as in duty bound, had been to report his arrival and set on foot the business that had brought him. His second was to see sweet Mariquita, the girl of his choice.
They had exchanged several letters. His had been brief, hurried accounts of his doings, assuring her of his safety after every action and of his unalterable affection; hers were the artless outpourings of a warm, passionate nature tortured by ever-present heartrending anxiety for the man she loved best in the world. There had been no time to warn her of his visit to Gibraltar, and his appearance was entirely unexpected there.
Things were much the same at the cigar-shop. McKay walked boldly in and found La Zandunga, as usual, behind the counter, but alone. She got up, and, not recognising him, bowed obsequiously. Officers were rare visitors in Bombardier Lane and McKay's staff-uniform inspired respect.
"You are welcome, sir. In what can we serve you? Our tobacco is greatly esteemed. We import our cigars—the finest—direct from La Havanna; our cigarettes are made in the house."
"You do not seem to remember me," said McKay, quietly. "I hope Mariquita is well?"
"Heaven protect me! It is the Sergeant—"
"Lieutenant, you mean."
"An officer! already! You have been fortunate, sir." La Zandunga spoke without cordiality and was evidently hesitating how to receive him. "What brings you here?"
"I want to see Mariquita." The old crone stared at him with stony disapproval. "I have but just arrived from the Crimea to buy horses and mules for the army."
"Many?" Her manner instantly changed. This was business for her husband, who dealt much in horseflesh.
"Thousands."
"Won't you be seated, sir? Let me take your hat. Mariqui—ta!" she cried, with remarkable volubility. The guest was clearly entitled to be treated with honour.
Mariquita entered hastily, expecting to be chidden, then paused shyly, seeing who was there.
"Shamefaced, come; don't you know this gentleman?" said her aunt, encouragingly. "Entertain him, little one, while I fetch your uncle."
"What does it mean?" asked Mariquita, in amazement, as soon as she could release herself from her lover's embrace. "You here, Stanislas: my aunt approving! Am I mad or asleep?"
"Neither, dearest. She sees a chance of profit out of me—that's all. I will not baulk her. She deserves it for leaving us alone," and he would have taken her again into his arms.
"No, no! Enough, Stanislas!" said the sweet girl, blushing a rosy red. "Sit there and be quiet. Tell me of yourself: why you are here. The war, then, is over? The Holy Saints be praised! How I hated that war!"
"Do not say that, love! It has been the making of me."
"Nothing would compensate me for all that I have suffered these last few months."
"But I have gained my promotion and much more. I can offer you now a far higher position. You will be a lady, a great lady, some day!"
"It matters little, my Stanislas, so long as I am with you. I would have been content to share your lot, however humble, anywhere."
This was her simple, unquestioning faith. Her love filled all her being. She belonged, heart and soul, to this man.
"You will not leave me again, Stanislas?" she went on, with tender insistence.
"My sweet, I must go back. My duty is there, in the Crimea, with my comrades—with the army of my Queen."
"But if anything should happen to you—they may hurt you, kill you!"
"Darling, there is no fear. Be brave."
"Oh, Stanislas! Suppose I should lose you—life would be an utter blank after that; I have no one in the world but you."
McKay was greatly touched by this proof of her deep-seated affection.
"It is only for a little while longer, my sweetest girl! Be patient and hopeful to the end. By-and-by we shall come together, never to part again."
"I am weak, foolish—too loving, perhaps. But, Stanislas, I cannot bear to part with you. Let me go too!"
"Dearest, that is quite impossible."
"If I was only near you—"
"What! you—a tender woman—in that wild land, amidst all its dangers and trials!"
"I should fear nothing if it was for you, Stanislas. I would give you my life; I would lay it down freely for you."
He could find no words to thank her for such un-selfish devotion, but he pressed her to his heart again and again.
He still held Mariquita's hand, and was soothing her with many endearing expressions, when La Zandunga, accompanied by Tio Pedro, returned.
The lovers flew apart, abashed at being surprised.
McKay expected nothing less than coarse abuse, but no honey could be sweeter than the old people's accents and words.
"Do not mind us," said La Zandunga, coaxingly.
"A pair of turtle-doves," said Tio Pedro: "bashful and timid as birds."
"Sit down, good sir," went on the old woman: "you can see Mariquita again. Let us talk first of this business."
"You want horses, I believe?" said Tio Pedro. "I can get you any number. What price will you pay?"
"What they are worth."
"And a little more, which we will divide between ourselves," added the old man, with a knowing wink.
"That's not the way with British officers," said McKay, sternly.
"It's the way with ours in Spain."
"That may be. However, I will take five hundred from you, at twenty pounds apiece, if they are delivered within three days."
Tio Pedro got up and walked towards the door.
"I go to fetch them. I am the key of Southern Spain. When I will, every stable-door shall be unlocked. You shall have the horses, and more, if you choose, in the stated time."
"One moment, Señor Pedro; I want something else from you, and you, señora."
They looked at him with well-disguised astonishment.
"I have long loved your niece; will you give her to me in marriage?"
"Oh! sir, it is too great an honour for our house. We—she—are all unworthy. But if you insist, and are prepared to take her as she is, dowerless, uncultured, with only her natural gifts, she is yours."
"I want only herself. I have sufficient means for both. They may still be modest, but I have good prospects—the very best. Some day I shall inherit a great fortune."
"Oh! sir, you overwhelm us. We can make you no sufficient return for your great condescension. Only command us, and we will faithfully execute your wishes."
"My only desire is that you should treat Mariquita well. Take every care of her until I can return. It will not be long, I trust, before this war is ended, and then I will make her my wife."
McKay's last words were overheard by a man who at this moment entered the shop.
It was Benito, who advanced with flaming face and fierce, angry eyes towards the group at the counter.
"What is this—and your promise to me? The girl is mine; you gave her to me months ago."
"Our promise was conditional on Mariquita's consent," said La Zandunga, with clever evasion. "That you have never been able to obtain."
"I should have secured it in time but for this scoundrel who has come between me and my affianced bride. He'll have to settle with me, whoever he is," and so saying, Benito came closer to McKay, whom hitherto he had not recognised. "The Englishman!" he cried, starting back.
"Very much at your service," replied McKay, shortly. "I am not afraid of your threats. I think I can hold my own with you as I have done before."
"We shall see," and with a muttered execration, full of hatred and malice, he rushed from the place.
When, an hour or two later, Mrs. Wilders hunted him up at the Redhot Shell Ramp, she found him in a mood fit for any desperate deed. But, with native cunning, he pretended to show reluctance when she asked him for his help.
"Who is it you hate? An Englishman? Any one on the Rock?" he said. "And what do you want done? I have no wish to bring myself within reach of the English law."
"It is an English officer. He is here just now, but will presently return to the Crimea."
"What is his name?" asked Benito, eagerly, his black heart inflamed with a wild hope of revenge.
"McKay—Stanislas McKay, of the Royal Picts."
It was his name! A fierce, baleful light gleamed in Benito's dark eyes; he clenched his fists and set his teeth fast.
"You know him?" said Mrs. Wilders, readily interpreting these signs of hate.
"I should like to kill him!" hissed Benito.
"Do so, and claim your own reward."
"But how? When? Where?"
"That is for you to settle. Watch him, stick to him, dog his footsteps, follow him wherever he goes. Some day he must give you a chance."
"Leave it to me. The moment will come when I shall sheathe my knife in his heart."
"I think I can trust you. Only do it well, and never let me see him again."