"We are overtaken," the letter began, "by soldiers charged to carry us back to Castello Lagos, and surrender us into the hands of Rodrigues. To save me from such a fate, which was worse than death tenfold, Senhor de Pino has offered to convey me to Caracas. I have tried, but in vain, to obtain the same favor for you; but he dare not venture upon it. Indeed, he endangers his own life in saving me, wherefore I look to you to support the story he has given out to account for not obeying the governor's orders to the letter—to wit, that I have perished by the way. I know you are too reasonable and too generous to bear me ill-will for abandoning you, for sure you will own I have no choice but to do so. Farewell, Benet. Oh, may Providence be merciful to you!"
When I had came to the end, and turned it about, to see if there was not some little kind word that I had overlooked and could find none, the knife dropped from my hand; and truly all vigor and power seemed gone from my body, so that my limbs trembled under me as if I had just risen from a bed of sickness.
Then I could not believe I had read aright, and so went through it again and again and again; after that, pondering each word, to see if I could not make it appear a little better than it looked.
At last, when I could no longer see the writing for want of light, I flung myself prone on the ground, and gave myself up to the most miserable reflections ever man endured. It was as if a miser had suddenly discovered all his gold turned to fine ashes; for no miser ever prized his pieces for their true ring and bright lustre more than I valued Lady Biddy for her loyalty, and generous, loving disposition; and now I could find nothing but heartless ingratitude and careless cruelty in her nature, to abandon me thus, without a word of regret or comfort. It seemed to me as if her chief end in writing was to obtain security for herself and Lewis de Pino, by persuading me to support the story of her death; and with such a cold, cruel heart, to invoke the mercy of Providence towards me was nothing but hypocrisy, with a taint of blasphemy.
"Had she studied to crush the love out of my heart she could not have writ more unkindly," says I to myself. Then it came to my mind that this cruelty was studied to that end, in order that my passion might not give me the power to escape and rejoin her. And the more I thought of this, the more likely it appeared. "She has Lewis de Pino," says I, grinding my teeth in rage, "and has no further need of me."
Then I cursed her for a cruel, unkind jade, and would try to think I was well rid of such a baggage—that all women were false alike for fools and boys to love, and fit only to be treated as men like Rodrigues treated them. "They make sport," says I, "of those who are fond enough to love them, and kiss the hand of a cruel, hardened wretch like Lewis de Pino. 'Tis the trick of a dog who snaps at loving children who would caress it, and cringes before the tyrant who spurns it with his foot. Fear not that I shall seek to separate you from your lord—no, not though I saw him lift the whip to flog you as he would another slave. I trust no woman again; the friendship of Rodrigues is more stanch and loyal. I have done all a man could do in proportion to his means for the love of a woman; but I have come to an end of my folly. My body shall shed its blood no more for you—no, nor my heart a tear. And yet," thinks I, my rage abating as I perceived how dreary and barren my life must henceforth be, which seemed, as I looked back on it, to be all strewn with flowers and gladdened with sunshine—"yet, in truth, I do wish you had died before you writ that letter. Would that I could yet treasure that tender joy of love for you that has made a fool of me! Ay, would that you had died ere I knew you worthless, while I yet thought you all that was beautiful and good and kind! 'Twould have broke my heart to have lost you then; but better 'tis to live with ever-abiding sorrow for such loss than to find nothing in the world to weep for."
In this fashion did I pass from one fit to another—from rage to regret, from bitter hate to tender grief—till the stars shone brightly through the rifts above; but they came into sight and passed away, marking the growing hours, without my heeding any longer the increasing distance between Lady Biddy and me; nor did I once think to make my escape. She was gone from me forever, and with her all my hopes and anxiety. I gave no thought as to what would happen on the morrow, or what my fate would be when Rodrigues got me again into his hands. If I had thought of it I should have welcomed the prospect of death itself even by the worst torture his cruel nature could devise.
Lady Biddy had appealed to my generosity and reason, but I had neither one nor the other, else had I perhaps brought myself to see that, after all, she had done no more than I should have bid her do if her fate had been in my hands. Could I have consented to her being carried back with me to Rodrigues? No! not though the alternative was to yield her to the mercy of Lewis de Pino. Then why was I so put about because she had done that which I would have had her do? Simply because she had not paid me the compliment to ask my advice? There may have been no time to appeal to my decision; she may, as she said, have depended on my good judgment to accept what was inevitable. These and many other arguments I could urge, never occurred to me then, for my reason was undone.
As I lay there on the ground with that passionate turmoil in my breast, with my eyes turned away from the stars that seemed to look down on me through the night with a sweet, still sorrow that made my pain the more hard to endure, I saw a streak of light between the door and the footsill, and presently heard the bar being taken down very carefully, but after a pause, as if assurance were being made that I was not astir.
"They are come to murder me in my sleep," thinks I; "is this the mercy she prayed Providence to bestow on me, or did she pray that mercy of Lewis de Pino?"