CHAPTER XXVI.
WHAT HAS HAPPENED?
The light increased as we advanced; the space it occupied grew larger; also it seemed to be entering at what I now judged to be the mouth, or exit, of some narrow, vaulted passage, through which we were progressing and arriving at the end of; almost, too, it seemed as if this passage was itself growing less dark; as if now--as I turned my eyes to where the mute walked by my side--the outline of his form was becoming visible.
What was I to find at the end of this outlet--what to see awaiting me when at last I stood at the opening in the midst of the wintry dawn--a scaffold, or the braséro? Which? I perceived now--my eyes accustoming themselves to the dusky gloom--that this vaulted way, or corridor, was one hewn through a bed of rock, and roughly, too, blasted, perhaps, in earlier days; and that all along its sides were great slabs, or masses, of this rock, that lay where they had fallen. Perceived something else, also--a man crouching down behind one of the fallen blocks, his cape held across his face by one hand, so that naught but the eyes were visible; the eyes--and one other thing that shone and glistened even in the surrounding gloom--a huge gold earring, of the circumference of a crown-piece, which fell over the crimson edge, or guarding, of that cloak.
Where had I seen a man wearing such earrings as that before? Where? Then, even as I went on to my death, I remembered--recalled the man. 'Twas he who had cried out to the Alcáide in the court, bidding him question Eaton as to how he knew so much of Gramont's past--yet--what doing here, why hiding behind that fallen mass? Was there some one within these dungeons whom he sought--some one for whom an attempted rescue was to be planned? I knew of none--knew of no other prisoner within these walls--since now Gramont was, must be, as far away as his unhappy child--my lost love, Juana. Yet, perhaps, it was not very like I should have known.
But now the end was at hand. I scarce cared to turn my eyes to observe whether or not the mute had seen the sailor shrinking behind the stone; instead, nerved myself, by both prayer and fierce determination, to meet my fate, to make my exit into the open as bravely as became a man; to let not one of my executioners see that I feared them or the flames that were to burn the life out of me.
So we drew near the mouth of the passage--moving through the gloom that was as the gloom of a shuttered and darkened house on some wintry morn--I seeing that, beyond and outside, was a sloping, stone-flagged decline that led down to a lane which ran out into the open country beyond. We were, therefore, outside the walls of Lugo, and I deemed that it was here, unknown to the townspeople, that I was to meet my fate.
We stood a moment later on that stone-covered descent, and I gazed around it startled--amazed! For here, upon it, was no hideous braséro piled up with logs of wood, and drenched with resin and pitch to make those logs burn more fiercely; no upright plank nor beam against which the sufferer's hand--my hand!--was to be nailed through the palm; no executioners clad in black from head to foot. Instead, a man in peasant's dress--green breeches, leather zapátas and a sheepskin jacket. A peasant holding by the reins two horses, one black, the other dappled grey.
I felt almost as though once more I should faint--felt as I had done in that reeking, mouldy corridor through which I had come--became sick, indeed, at the relief, even though 'twere for an hour or so only, which was accorded me from instant death, since I knew that here that death could not be dealt out.
Then I turned to the deaf and dumb man--if such he was--who had now released my arm--had done so, indeed, since the half light had been reached--and implored him to tell me what was intended.
For answer--he guessed, no doubt, the import of my words--he pointed to the horses and made signs I should mount one of them. And I, incredulous, asking God inwardly what was meant, went toward the black one and seizing its reins and twisting a lock of its mane around my thumb prepared to do as I was bid, yet with my nerves tingling and trembling so that I scarce knew whether I could reach the saddle or not.
Then, ere the attempt was made, as I raised my foot to the iron, the mute touched my arm, felt in his belt with the other hand and, producing a piece of paper, gave it to me.
It was from Juana; ran thus in English:
Your road is through Samos, Caldelas and the other Viana. At Terroso you will cross the frontier. The jailer will guide you to us. Come quickly, so that thereby my fate may be decided.
Juana.
That was all. All--from her to me! From her to me! No word of love accompanying the message. Not one!
She had saved me in some way--had induced the Alcáide to bring about my escape also--had done this, yet could send me no greeting such as she must have known I hungered for. Was it shame, remorse, that made her so silent and so cold? Heartbroken, I thrust the letter into my pocket, and, at a sign from the mute, mounted the horse, he doing the same with the other.
Then, ere we gave them their reins, he leant across and put into my hands the sword he had carried under his arm since first he opened the door of my cell; a sword long and serviceable-looking, with a great hilt and curled quillon; one that I had seen another like somewhere, though where it was I could not recall.
* * * * * * * * *
'Twas over twenty leagues to Terroso, I learnt in the course of our ride. Diminishing those leagues moment by moment, we went on and on, the black horse that I bestrode never faltering in its quick pace, the grey keeping close to it.
And I, my brain whirling, my heart beating tumultuously within my breast, my whole being--my soul!--shaken by the release from an awful death which had come to me, would have given all that I was possessed of if from that stricken, silent, terrible companion by my side I could have extracted one word--gleaned from him one jot or atom of information! Yet to my repeated exclamations he, seeing that I was speaking to him, shook his head persistently; when I made signs to him in the alphabet which I felt sure he knew, he turned his face away and rode on stolidly. Had a dead man, a spectre, been riding ever by my side, swiftly when I rode swiftly, halting when I halted, neither could have been more terrible to me than this living creature, so immutable and impenetrable.
I was sore beset--distraught, my mind full of fearful fancies! Fancies that I should find Juana dead--though, too, I imagined that she would not slay herself until she had made sure of my safety, else why her letter?--fancies that, since the letter contained no word or hint of love, she had forced herself to tear me out of her heart forever; forced herself to do so because now she knew she could never be aught to me again. These fancies, these thoughts, were awful in their intensity; were made doubly so by this silent creature who never quitted my side.
And once my agony of nerves grew so great that I turned round upon him--gesticulating fiercely--hating myself for my brutality in doing so against one who was, in truth, my saviour--shrieking at him:
"Speak! Speak! For God's sake, speak! Utter some word. Give some sign of being alive--a reasoning thing. Speak, I say, or leave me--else I shall slay you."
Then I shuddered and could have slain my own self at the man's action.
For he turned and looked at me--it was in the fast gathering twilight, as side by side always, we were slowly riding up a mountain path--looked--then, as I gazed, the tears rolled down his coarse face! And, poor unhappy, afflicted thing! those tears continued to trickle down that face till night hid it from my eyes.
I knew now that he understood at least, that he comprehended the words of pity and remorse I poured forth before the darkness came; at least the touch I made gently on his sleeve was read aright by him. For on his broad, expressionless face, to me for so long a stolid mask, there came a placid smile, and once he returned my touch lightly as still we rode on, and on, and on.
We halted that night to rest our horses and ourselves at a miserable inn, high up in the mountains, a place round which the snow was falling in great flakes, that seemed, indeed, to be embedded in snow. A ghastly, horrid place in which, as I sat shuddering by the fire, while my companion and the landlord slept near it--wondering if by now Juana had accomplished her dreadful purpose, unable longer to bear the company of the man, Morales, to whom she had sold herself; or, almost worse still, the company of her sin stained father; wondering too, if by now that splendid form was stiff in death!--I almost cursed the escape that had come to me. In truth, I think that now, upon this night, amidst the horrors of this lonely mountain inn, I was almost a madman; for the soft beat of the flakes upon the glass of the window seemed to my frenzied mind like the tapping of ghostly fingers; as I fixed my eyes upon those flakes and saw them alight one by one upon the panes and then dissolve and vanish, it looked to me as though they were fingers that scratched at the window and were withdrawn only to return a moment later. Also the wind screamed round the house--I started once, feeling sure I heard a woman--Juana--shriek my name, plucked at the sword by my side and would have made for the door, but that the landlord laughed at me and pushed me back, saying that those shrieks were heard nightly and all through the night during the winter.
At last, however, I slept, wrapped in my cloak before the peat fire, the mute in another chair by my side. And so, somehow, the night wore through. The morning came, and we were on our road once more, ten leagues still to be compassed ere the frontier was reached, with, behind us, as now I gathered from my mutilated companion's manner in answer to my questions, the possibility that we might be pursued. That after us, in hot chase, might be coming some from Lugo who had discovered our escape.
The mountain water courses and rivulets hummed beneath the frozen snow bound over them by the bitter frost, the tree boughs waved above our heads and across our path as, gradually descending once more to the plain, the chestnuts and the oak trees took the place of the gaunt black pines left behind above; once on this bitter morning we saw the sun steal out from amidst the clouds--lying down low on the horizon as though setting instead of rising. Yet on we rode for our lives, with upon me a deeper desire than the salvation of my own existence--the hope that I should be in time to save Juana, to wrench her from Morales ere it was too late, to bear her away at last to happiness and love unspeakable. Rode on, my black horse stumbling once over a mass of stone rolled down from the heights above; the dappled grey coming to its haunches from a similar cause, yet both lifted quickly by a sharp turn of our wrists and rushing on again down the declivity, danger in every stride and only avoided by God's mercy.
The leagues flew by--were left behind--a long billowy plain arrived at, sprinkled with hamlets from which the cheerful smoke rose to the sky; the mute had passes which took us through that other town of Viana; the last spot of importance was reached--and passed!--that lay between us and the border--between us and Portugal and safety.
Then once more our beasts slackened in their stride, again the ground rose upward, once more the hills were before us, above them at the summit was the frontier, Terroso. Another hour and we should be there--Juana's and my fate determined.
To use whips--neither of us had spurs--was cruel, yet there was no other way; therefore we plied them, pressed reeking flanks, rode on and on mercilessly. And now the end was at hand; afar off I saw a cabin over which floated both the banner of Spain and of Portugal. We were there some moments later--the mute's papers again examined--our passage allowed.
We had escaped from Spain!
"You ride quickly," the Portuguese aduanista said; "seek some others, perhaps, who come before you?" and he addressed himself to my companion, probably because he bore the passports. Then continued: "If 'tis a señor and señora you desire, they are in the fonda half a league further on."
"They," he said, "'They' God be praised!" I murmured. Had any tragedy occurred it would not have been "they."
Not waiting to answer, but briefly nodding my thanks, we went on, the last half league dwindling to little more than paces now.
And then I saw the fonda, a place no bigger than a wooden cabin, I saw a woman seated on a bench outside against its wall, her elbows upon her knees, her dark head buried in her hands.
She heard the ring of our horses' hoofs upon the road, all sodden as it was with half-melted snow, and sprang to her feet--then advanced some paces and, shading her eyes, looked up the way that we were coming; dashed next her hand across those eyes as though doubting what she saw, and ran down the road toward us.
As I leapt from my horse she screamed, "Mervan!" and threw herself into my arms, her lips meeting mine in one long kiss, then staggered back some paces from me, exclaiming:
"How! How, oh, my love, how--how have you escaped--found your way here--to me?"
"How?" I repeated after her, startled at the question; startled, too, at the tone of her voice. "How! Do I not owe my salvation to you--to your power over him--the Alcáide?"
"My God! No!" she answered. "Never would he have aided you to escape." Then, suddenly, as some thought struck her, she screamed aloud: "Mervan--Mervan--where is my unhappy father?"
"Your father! Is he not here?"
"No! No! No! Oh, God! what has happened? Has he been left behind to meet his doom?"
And, as she spoke, she reeled and would have fallen had I not caught her in my arms.