“But I do. If papa were at home, I mightn’t so much mind it. But, just now, I’ve no desire to see Señor De Lara alone—still less while being visited by Eduardo. They’re both demonios, though in a different way.”
“Look yonder!” exclaims Iñez, pointing towards the British frigate, where a boat is in the water under her beam. The sun, reflected from dripping oar-blades, tells them to be in motion.
While the girls continue gazing, the boat is seen to separate from the ship’s side, and put shoreward, straight towards the sand-pit which projects in front of Don Gregorio’s dwelling. The rowers are all dressed alike, the measured stroke of their oars betokening that the boat belongs to the man-o’-war. But the young ladies do not conjecture about this; nor have they any doubt as to the identity of two of the figures seated in the stern-sheets. Those uniforms of dark blue, with the gold buttons, and yellow cap-bands, are so well known as to be recognisable at any distance to which love’s glances could possibly penetrate. They are the guests expected, for whom the spare horses stand saddled in the patio. For Don Gregorio, by no means displeased with certain delicate attentions which the young British officers have been paying to the female members of his family, has invited them to visit him—ride out along with the ladies, and, on return, stay to dinner. He knows that a treat of this kind will be pleasing to those he has asked; and, before leaving home, had given orders for the steeds to be saddled.
It is not the first time Crozier and Cadwallader have been to the Spaniard’s house, nor the first to stretch their limbs under his dining-table, nor the first for them to have held pleasant converse with the señoritas, and strolled along solitary paths, opportune for the exchange of those love-locks. But it may be the last—at least during their sojourn in California. For in truth is it to be a farewell visit.
But with this understanding, another has been entered into. The acquaintance commenced in California is to be renewed at Cadiz, when the Crusader goes thither, which she is ere long expected to do. But for such anticipation Carmen Montijo and Iñez Alvarez would not be so high-hearted at the prospect of a leave-taking so near. Less painful on this account, it might have been even pleasant, but for what they see on the opposite side—the horsemen approaching from the town. An encounter between the two pairs gives promise to mar the happy intercourse of the hour.
“They’ll meet—they must!” says Carmen, apprehensively.
“Let them!” rejoins Iñez, in a tone of nonchalance. “What if they do?”
“What! They may quarrel. I’m almost sure they will.”
“No fear for that; and, if they should, where’s the danger? You, such a believer in the romantic—stickler for old knight-errantry—instead of regretting it, should be glad! Look there! Lovers coming from all sides—suitors by land and suitors by sea! Knights terrestrial, knights aquatic. No lady of the troubadour times ever had the like; none ever honoured by such a rivalry! Come, Carmen, be proud! Stand firm on your castle-keep! Show yourself worthy to receive this double adoration!”
“Iñez, you don’t know the danger.”