“‘Ah, how joyously Ashley left his wife—for the last time,’ Pedro exclaimed at length, ceasing to expect my questions and taking the tone of narrative. ‘Yes, Don Juan called Herlinda always his wife: what was the keeper of the gate to demand,—the word of a priest forsooth, rather than that of the man whom his mistress loved? Ah! Doña Isabel I knew would ask all, or the young Gonzales. One cannot do worse than put his hand in a boiling pot, and wherefore do that when it hangs over his neighbor’s fire? Yes, never had Ashley seemed more confident, more gay. “I shall not again need to waken thee at midnight to let me pass like a thief who leaves a bribe,” he said; “to-morrow I shall be free to come and go as I will.”
“‘Alas!’ the remorseful Pedro continued, ‘as my eyes followed the young American, I thought any woman might be pardoned for loving him: had he not beguiled my own heart? for I swear I loved him. Yet I wondered at the courage of the Niña Herlinda,—she who had seemed so timid, so yielding to her mother’s every wish. Caramba! it is true,—“There is nothing too strong for love or death.” I laughed as Ashley stepped forth, to think how youth in its folly can baffle caution, when a voice behind me echoed the sound. The blood froze in my veins, so overpowering was the very presence near me even before it touched me. Almighty powers! when I looked up, the man in the peasant’s dress, whom only a few hours before I had admitted as a stranger within the walls, hurled himself upon me; but the blaze in his eyes could burn only from the fierce and terrible rage of the evil spirit of that house. It was Leon Vallé who dashed me down and rushed out into the night.’”
Chinita uttered an exclamation; then repeating the name, “Leon! Leon Vallé,” listened with bated breath, while Ashley continued in the words of Pedro:—
“‘I knew at the moment that Ashley was lost. Not a thousand prayers, nor the swiftest aid my cries could have gained him, would have saved him. I waited, scarce daring to breathe; with strained ears I listened. Would the murderer, his first work accomplished, return? I knew then he held my life forfeit; yet had he returned, I should have opened the gate to him. Ah, you know not the power of that man! As it was in Leon Vallé then, so it is now in Ramirez. God, what power in those terrible eyes! I felt it then, I felt it to-day. What resistance was possible? The morning came. I was still alive, but the people came to me crying of the dead. What need had I to ask the name? In the midst of the tumult a terrible shriek rang on my ears. I thought my brain was turning. There was but one thought that steadied it,—confession, confession to Doña Isabel.
“‘As soon as it was possible I sought her presence. I cannot tell you what passed; I only know the words I would have spoken died on my lips. Whether Doña Isabel had known of it or not, I could not determine; but that the love of Herlinda Garcia and the young American was to die with him, and that the terrible vengeance which had been worked for her was not to be in vain, seared itself upon my mind. The preservation of that secret was to atone for my sins, and not confession. Never to mortal was my knowledge to be breathed. This was the penitence laid upon me. And so, despairing, I left her. What was the immortal soul of a poor peasant in comparison to the honor of the family of Garcia?
“‘It was well! Why should a servant gainsay his mistress? So months went on, Señor. Within and around the hacienda people were dying. They told me the niña Herlinda herself was pining,—some whispered for the American; but a terror seized even on the boldest, and the American’s name ceased to be heard, and that of the young Gonzales took its place. The gossips were content to blame any name unchid for her wan cheeks and sunken eyes. But I knew that no man had scorned her love, and that no living man had aught to answer for had she loved too well. I had not seen her for weeks and weeks; but one night a creature so pale and wan I thought it her ghost, accosted me. Strange, strange the mission that brought her. It was to entreat my protection—that of the worthless Pedro—for the child which in secret and in banishment she was about to bring into the world.
“‘Well! well! I promised all she asked. I should have done so even had I thought it possible the dire need she pleaded would be hers. Oh! I had heard strange and fearful tales of deeds that have been wrought within the walls of these great and solitary haciendas; but that Doña Isabel would stoop to crime, and that I should find it in my power to save a child which she would strive to sacrifice, I could not believe. Trouble, I thought, had made Herlinda mad. But she was mad only with the frenzy of a prophetess.
“‘With terrible forebodings I saw her taken from her home. Day and night I thought of her, and my heart was like ice; but one day, when worn out with watching and expectancy I sat at the gate, I fell into a doze, and in my dream heard the voice of Herlinda calling me. It changed to that of a man. I woke with a start, and a child was dropped into my hands. Strange and wonderful must have been the means by which the hunted and distracted Herlinda had evaded the mother she feared! Who had been her friends, Señor? The wonder is with me still. I saw the face of her messenger but for a moment, yet it has haunted me. Yes, more than once, when I have thought of new faces that have passed before me, I have said, “Such an one was like the man; why was I blind to it when he stood before me?”’ Pedro started up, and clasped my arm so powerfully that I shrank. ‘Señor!’ he cried, ‘As God lives, I saw such a face to-day! It was that of the man who rode behind him they call Ramirez.’
“‘Reyes!’ I ejaculated. ‘Reyes!’ What strange sport made the messenger of Herlinda the follower of Ramirez? I—”
Ashley paused, for Chinita echoed the name with an intense surprise far greater than his own. She clasped her hands to her temples, as though fearing the mad bewilderment of her thoughts was crazing her. “Tell me no more,” she said faintly. “Do I not know the unnatural wretch that I have been? But what of Pedro? Why did you leave him? How dared you leave him? You!” She turned upon Pepé, accusingly. “He lives, you say, and yet you are here!”