True, the events of that unfortunate evening at the old ruin sometimes arose in my mind to haunt me. My greatest sorrow was my being bound down by oath to keep what seemed to me the secret of a villain—a secret that had deprived our family of the estates of Coila, had deprived my parents—yes, that was the hard and painful part. For, strange as it may appear, I cared nothing for myself. So enamoured had I become of our new home in the Silver West, that I felt but little longing to return to 180 the comparative bleakness and desolation of even Scottish Highland scenery. I must not be considered unpatriotic on this account, or if there was a decay of patriotism in my heart, the fascinating climate of Mendoza was to blame for it. I could not help feeling at times that I had eaten the lotus-leaf. Had we not everything that the heart of young men could desire? On my own account, therefore, I felt no desire to turn the good soldier M'Rae away from Coila, and as for Irene—as for bringing a tear to the eyes of that beautiful and engaging girl, I would rather, I thought, that the dark waters of the laguna should close over my head for ever.
Besides, dear father was happy. His letters told me that. He had even come to like his city life, and he never wrote a word about Coila.
Still, the oath—the oath that bound me! It was a dark spot in my existence.
Did it bind me? I remember thinking that question over one day. Could an oath forced upon any one be binding in the sight of Heaven? I ran off to consult my brother Moncrieff. I found him riding his great bay mare, an especial favourite, along the banks of the highest estancia canal—the canal that fed the whole system of irrigation. Here I joined him, myself on my pet brown mule.
'Planning more improvements, Moncrieff?' I asked.
He did not speak for a minute or two.
'I'm not planning improvements,' he said at last, 'but I was just thinking it would be well, in our orra[11] moments, if we were to strengthen this embankment. There is a terrible power o' water here. Now supposing that during some awful storm, with maybe a bit shock of earthquake, it were to burst here or hereabouts, don't you see that the flood would pour right down upon the mansion-house, and clean it almost from its foundations?' 181
'I trust,' I said, 'so great a catastrophe will not occur in our day.'
'It would be a fearful accident, and a judgment maybe on my want of forethought.'
'I want to ask you a question,' I said, 'on another subject, Moncrieff.'