“A fig for their consent! We shall force it! Don’t be letting that scare you. Whether they’re agreeable or not, we’ll have a marriage ceremony, or the form of one—all the same. I can fix that, or I’m much mistaken about the place we’re going to, and the sort of men we may expect to meet there. When I last looked on Santiago De Veragua—bidding adieu to a place that was rather pleasant—I left behind a few old familiars, who are not likely to have forgotten me, though long years have rolled by since. Some there, who will still be willing, and ready, to do me a service, I doubt not; especially now I have the means to pay for it, and handsomely. If the Padre Padierna be yet alive, he’ll marry me to Carmen Montijo without asking her any questions; or, if he did, caring what answers she might give to them. It’s now nine years since I saw the worthy Father, and he may have kicked up his heels long ago; though that’s not likely. He was a tough old sinner, and knew how to take care of himself. However, it won’t matter much. If he’s under ground, I’ve got another string to my bow, in the young extra, Gonzaga; who, in my time, had charge of souls in a parrochia, nearer the place where I hope we shall be able to make shore. He may by this have risen to be grand church dignitary. Whether or not, I’ve but little fear of his having forgotten old times, when he and I used to go shares in certain little adventures of the amorous kind. So you perceive, mio amigo, we’re not drifting towards a desert coast, inhabited only by savages; but one where we’ll find all the means and appliances of civilisation—among them a priest, to do the little bit of ecclesiastical service we may stand in need of, and without asking awkward questions, or caring a claco for consequences. Neither of the two I’ve spoken of will trouble their consciences on that score, so long as it’s me. More especially after I’ve shown them the colour of the stuff with which our pockets will be so plentifully lined. And if neither of my old acquaintances turn up, there are no end of others, who’ll be willing to tie the knot that’s to make us happy for life. I tell you, hombre, we’re steering straight towards an earthly paradise. You’ll find Santiago all that.”
“I hope it may be, as you say.”
“You may rest sure of it. Once in the old Veraguan town, with these women as our wives—and they no longer able to question our calling them so—we can enter society without fear of showing our faces. And with this big bonanza at our backs, we may lead a luxurious life there; or go anywhere else it pleases us. As for returning to your dear California, as you call it, you won’t care for that when you’ve become a Benedict.”
“You’ve made up your mind, then, that we marry them?”
“Of course I have, and for certain reasons. Otherwise, I shouldn’t so much care, now that they’re in our power, and we can dictate terms to them. You can do as you please respecting marriage, though you have the same reasons as myself, for changing your señorita into a señora.”
“What do you allude to?”
“To the fact that both these damsels have large properties in Spain, as a worthy friend in San Francisco made me aware just before leaving. The Doña Carmen will inherit handsomely at her father’s death, which is the same as if said and done now. I don’t refer to his gold-dust, but a large landed property the old gentleman is soon coming into in Biscay; and which, please God, I shall some day look up and take possession of. While the other has no end of acres in Andalusia, with whole streets of houses in Cadiz. To get all that, these women must be our wives; otherwise, we should have no claim to it, nor yet be able to show our faces in Spain.”
“Of course I’m glad to hear about all that,” rejoins Hernandez; “but, if you believe me, it’s not altogether the money that’s been tempting me throughout this whole affair. I’m mad in love with Iñez Alvarez;—so mad, that if she hadn’t a claco in the world I’m willing to be her husband.”
“Say, rather, her master; as I intend to be of Carmen Montijo. Ah! once we get ashore, I’ll teach her submission. The haughty dame will learn what it is to be a wife. And if not an obedient one, por Dios! she shall have a divorce, that is, after I’ve squeezed out of her the Biscayan estate. Then she can go free, if it so please her.”
On pronouncing this speech, the expression on the speaker’s countenance is truly satanic. It seems to foreshadow a sad fate for Carmen Montijo.