“True, true! and one might as well hope to find again the wildbird escaped from its cage, as to see that Juan Planillos! God save us! if he was indeed the true Juan Planillos!” and the mystified major-domo actually turned pale at the thought. “They say he is more devil than man; that would explain how he got out of the hacienda, for Pedro Gomez swears he let no man pass, either out or in.”
Don Rafael had his own private opinion about that, and of whom the disguised visitor might be. Yet why should he have attacked the American? Had Ashley too been within the walls,—and for what purpose? These questions were full of deep and startling import, and again impressing upon his subordinate that endless trouble might be avoided by a discreet silence, he walked thoughtfully away, those vague suspicions and conjectures taking definite shape in his mind. He went to the gate with some design of warily questioning Pedro, but the man was not there; for once, friend or foe might go in or out unnoticed. But it was a day of disorder, and Don Rafael could readily divine the excuse for the gate-keeper’s neglect of duty. Remembering that he had not broken his fast that day, he went to his own rooms for the morning chocolate; and from thence he presently saw Pedro emerge from the opposite court, and with bowed head and reluctant steps repair to his wonted post. Don Rafael Sanchez knew his countrymen, especially those of the lower class, too well to hasten to him and ply him with inquiries as he longed to do. He knew too well the value of patience, and more than once had found it golden. Rita, his young wife, had come to him, and through her tears and ejaculations was relating the account of the murder the servants had brought to her, which was as wild and improbable as the reality had been, though not more ghastly, when a servant entered with a hasty message from Doña Isabel.
IV.
While the discovery of the murder had caused this wild excitement outside the walls of the hacienda, a far different scene was being enacted within. Mademoiselle La Croix, the governess of the two sisters Herlinda and Carmen Garcia, had arisen early, leaving her youngest charge asleep, and, hurriedly donning her dressing-gown, hastened to the adjoining apartment, where Herlinda was enjoying that deep sleep which comes to young and healthy natures with the dawn, rounding and completing the hours of perfect rest, which youthful activity both of body and mind so imperatively demands.
A beautiful girl, between fifteen and sixteen, in her perfect development of figure, as well as in the pure olive tints of her complexion, revealing her Castilian descent,—Herlinda Garcia lay upon the white pillows shaded by a canopy of lace, one arm thrown above her head, the other, bare to the elbow, thrown across a bosom that rose and fell with each breath she drew, with the regularity of perfect content. Yet she opened her eyes with a start, and uttered an exclamation of alarm, as Mademoiselle La Croix lightly touched her, saying half petulantly, as she turned away, “Oh, Mademoiselle, why have you wakened me? I was so happy just then! I was dreaming of John!”
She spoke the English name with an indescribable accent of tenderness, but Mademoiselle La Croix repeated it after her almost sharply.
“John! yes,” she said, “it is no wonder he is always in your thoughts; as for me, Heaven knows what will happen to me! I am sure, had I known—” and the Frenchwoman paused, to wipe a tear from her eye.
“Ah, yes, it was thoughtless, cruel of us!” interrupted Herlinda, penitently, yet scarcely able to repress a smile as her glance fell upon the gayly flowered dressing-gown which formed an incongruous wrapping for the thin, bony figure of the governess; “but, dear Mademoiselle, nothing worse than a dismissal can happen to you, and you know John has promised—”
The governess drew herself up with portentous dignity. “Mademoiselle wanders from the point,” she interrupted; “it is of herself only I was thinking. This state of affairs must be brought to a close,” she added solemnly, after a pause. “At all risks, Herlinda, John must claim you.”
“So he knows, so I tell him,” answered Herlinda, suddenly wide awake, and ceasing the pretty yawns and stretchings with which she had endeavored to banish her drowsiness. “Oh, Mademoiselle,” a shade of apprehension passing over her face, “I have done wrong, very wrong. My mother will never forgive me!”