VIII
Not more than two hours after Antonio's return to his farm a messenger arrived from the guest-house and handed in two letters. The first ran:
Mrs. Baxter presents her compliments to Signor da Rocha and begs to request that he will call to-day without fail, as Mrs. B. is under the unpleasant obligation of making a painful communication to Signor R.
The second letter was shorter still. It contained the single line:
I must see you too.
Antonio's amazement quickly gave place to indignation. He had examined his conscience concerning the whole business too often to deceive himself, and he knew that he was not to blame for what had happened. Yet here he was, summoned to endure a lecture from the vulgar Mrs. Baxter. Worse still, when Sir Percy came back he would be told the tale. Antonio would be regarded ever afterwards as an abuser of a sacred trust, a heartless trifler with young affections, an outsider, a brute, a cur fit for the horse-whip. And he would have to suffer all this injustice in silence, because he could only clear himself by disgracing the lady.
As he grew cooler the monk became certain that Isabel had not deliberately betrayed him to Mrs. Baxter. Probably she had broken down after her protracted excitements and had let slip some fatal admission in a moment of hysteria. Or perhaps a chattering servant had seen her walking with Antonio in the woods. Gravest possibility of all, some sharp eyes or ears might have detected her absence in the middle of the night. At this last thought he seized his hat and set out for the guest-house at once.
When he reached the road, still soft after the rain, some hoof-marks reassured him. He recognized them as the shoe-prints of Negro, an old post-horse ridden by the casual letter-carrier of Navares. News of some kind had evidently arrived from Sir Percy. Perhaps he was ill, or dying. The monk's heart melted towards Isabel as he perceived that new troubles were hurrying to smite her, and he would gladly have submitted to the bitter censures of Mrs. Baxter in their stead.
Isabel met him about fifty yards from the guest-house door. She looked more beautiful than ever, but her expression dismayed him. No traces lingered of the exaltation to which she had attained only a few hours before. She seemed proud, hard, defiant.