Ruiz seemed stunned. Reyes saw that his point was gained, and uttered but a few words more, which elicited only the response,—“Ramirez’s daughter? Wonderful, wonderful! And after all, she will be mine. Heavens! how can I live a day longer without seeing her? Commend me to the Señor General. You know, my father, my heart is good, though my brain may have erred! Tell me, has she said but one good word for me? She—”
“Enough!” cried Reyes, laughing the more. “I have not seen her, I tell thee; and if thou wouldst know what she thinks, find a pretext and see her at Doña Carmen’s house. It was a strange freak of the General’s to take her there, but a happy one. Thou shalt not be molested on the way, I promise thee. But I have no further time for talking. Adios! thou art the only man I have ever seen whom love has brought to his right senses. It will be well if thou art as sane a year after the wedding!”
The two men embraced, in the fashion of the country, and with an ardor on the part of Ruiz that he seldom affected.
“Caramba! the father is a man of a thousand,” he muttered to himself as he watched him disappear, guiding his horse so deftly that not a sound broke the silence of the night. “Virgin of consolation!” he continued, as he walked slowly back to his quarters. “This is like a dream. Plague upon it! That is the fault of my father; he is always in haste. I would have asked him a thousand questions, had he given me but a quarter of an hour. But it is of Chinita herself I will ask them. Surely she must have shown some favor toward me, or my godfather would not recommend me to her with such confidence. Santo Niño, show me some way to make it possible to steal into Guanapila and exchange a word with her!”
The curiosity of the young man as much as his love prompted the latter aspiration. His suspicion of the identity of Ramirez with the brother of Doña Isabel, the Leon Vallé so long supposed dead, returned to him with force; but he longed to know whether the secret of her birth had been conveyed to Chinita, and how her flight had been contrived. He pictured her then like a bird in a cage beating herself against the iron bars of Doña Carmen’s windows. That was not what she had hoped for when she had talked to him of Ramirez. If she had tolerated him before, would he not now be doubly dear, as one who should liberate her from the natural restraints of a maiden’s life?
Ruiz forgot his fancied wrongs in an intoxication of delight. Constant pondering upon the question how he should manage to evade the vigilance and suspicions of Gonzales and effect a visit to Guanapila kept him preoccupied, yet feverishly alert, until the increased indisposition of Doña Isabel brought about what appeared to him a special interposition in his behalf, and in pleading for the aid of “Our Lady of the Impossible” he promised her in pious gratitude a candle of enormous proportions.
To reach a point where he might leave his generous but failing friend had become the most earnest desire of Gonzales. But its fulfilment had seemed an impossibility, for from the time he assumed command of the troops almost hourly news had been brought to him of gatherings of bands of Conservatives, which promised to offer formidable resistance to any movement he might make; and until Doña Isabel was safety disposed of, he desired at almost any risk to avoid an open collision.
The march had slowly proceeded, and so constantly had Gonzales been occupied, and so serious became the condition of Doña Isabel, that there was but little conversation between them, and somewhat to his impatience that on her part had been limited to a few brief sentences of warning against Ruiz and constant inquiries for Chinita, and entreaties that search should be made for her in every direction.
Gonzales, as far as was possible, had obeyed these inopportune requests; but the anxiety and grief that prompted them seemed to him strained and unnatural, though he could not doubt after due inquiry made that the lost girl was of remarkable beauty and of an original and fascinating character. Still, his knowledge of the class whence he supposed her sprung had made quite credible to him the generally accepted theory of her flight. Yet he started when Doña Isabel had mentioned the American as her probable companion or instigator, adding in a low voice, “Twice an American has robbed him.” What did she mean? His cheek flushed as he remembered that it had been said that for love of the murdered Ashley, Herlinda had taken the veil. And had Doña Isabel dreamed that he would find consolation after so many years in this beautiful peasant girl whom she had raised from the dust? Gonzales silently resented the insinuation. Yet none the less the suggestion of the complicity of the American in her disappearance haunted and vexed him. He did not tell Doña Isabel that to Ward he owed the definite news of the approach of reinforcements, and that he had virtually left him in charge of El Toro, and that the commission from Juarez for which the foreigner had applied had already doubtless reached him. Had he betrayed this young girl,—the protégée of Doña Isabel,—in spite of his zeal in his service the American should have much to answer for to him. A few weeks would decide all. He preferred to wait patiently the development of affairs, and refrained from perplexing further the mind of Doña Isabel.
Meanwhile the condition of the lady had become rapidly worse. Perhaps she had brought from Tres Hermanos the germs of the disease that during these very days was working such terrible havoc there; perhaps the long days and nights of exertion, anxiety, and grief had produced it,—but certain it is that as the position of Gonzales became more critical, so the imminent danger of Doña Isabel increased. A desperate evil commands a desperate remedy. So it was at length decided that an effort should be made to convey the lady to the city of Guanapila, to the house of her daughter Doña Carmen; and Ruiz, in the utter impossibility that Gonzales found of personally conducting the party, was permitted to execute the delicate and important trust.